‘Death, you mean?’ Harry gave a shrug when she looked up at him. ‘Actually, we’re more accustomed to it than you might think.’
‘How?’
He told her briefly about the past couple of days, how death seemed to be following them around; about Silverman and the events at South Acres, and the trail they had followed to this flat. Something told him she wasn’t about to go screaming to the police about Param and Matuq, and she clearly had a connection of sorts to Silverman, which made her a person of interest.
She took it in without comment, then stood up. She studied the gun as if making a decision and clicked on the safety, switching her gaze squarely back to the two men. ‘I don’t see how any of this concerns me. I don’t know anyone called Silverman and I’ve no idea how he came to have my number or — ’ she looked down at the body of her friend — ‘why anyone would kill Cath. She was just passing through. . she didn’t have anything to steal, either. It’s. . crazy.’
Harry studied her face. There was a flat quality to her voice which made her sound robotic. Yet she seemed almost too controlled, given the circumstances. Unless she had an unusually low panic threshold. Whoever or whatever she was, unusual seemed a fair description.
‘So why are you here?’ he asked, changing the direction of the conversation. ‘You’ve got a flat in north London, you train there, you have friends. . you’ve got a routine. When you’re not travelling, that is.’ He gestured around them. ‘Why this place?’
Archer didn’t reply. Her attention seemed to have drifted off somewhere far away.
‘We might be able to help,’ Rik offered gently. But there was still no reaction.
‘I’m going to reach into my pocket,’ Harry told her. ‘There’s something I want you to look at. You OK with that?’ She didn’t respond. ‘Joanne?’
The sound of her name seemed to bring her back. She nodded assent, watching warily as Harry reached inside his jacket and pulled out the shot of Samuel Silverman from the airport camera. He flipped it the right way up and handed it to her. ‘This is the man we’re following. The one who had your phone number.’
Neither of them knew quite what to expect. Logic suggested that there was little likelihood that Joanne Archer had ever set eyes on Silverman before. The fact that he had been in possession of her phone number and initials might have been one of those inexplicable convergences of detail that sometimes pops up, in the same way that siblings who have never met occasionally discover a brother or sister living in the next street, unknown and unknowing neighbours for decades.
But Archer’s reaction on seeing the face in the photograph took them both by surprise. First came a look of intense shock, then her knees buckled and almost gave way, her face draining of colour. She stared at each man in turn, her lips working soundlessly.
‘This can’t be,’ she whispered finally, shaking her head. ‘He’s dead. He was blown to pieces three weeks ago!’
TWENTY-SEVEN
A car started with a tinny rattle, and a woman’s laughter floated up from the street, a rising trill ending on a high note. It was followed by a volley of goodbyes and the slamming of car doors. From further away came a brief squeal of car tyres and a man shouting an obscenity. A car horn, voices, a burst of music growing louder, then fading as it went by, a roller shutter slamming down. Normal street sounds.
Harry pulled his attention away from Joanne Archer and what she had just said. He cocked his head and eyed Rik, then stood up and left the room, ignoring the gun. He went through to the front window and checked the outside. Half the pavement was visible beyond the overhanging roof above the shops, the kerb lined with cars. Vehicle and shop lights splashed the faces of the few pedestrians still going about their business. He walked down the hallway and peered through the back door at the metal stairs and the yard below. All clear. Yet he felt a prickle of anxiety. Staying here made them vulnerable. Exposed.
He returned to the bedroom, where Archer and Rik were waiting in silence.
‘We have to go,’ he announced. ‘Now.’
They both looked round at the urgency in his voice.
‘Trouble?’ Rik asked.
‘Not sure. But staying here can’t be good.’ Harry looked at Joanne, who was still holding the gun. ‘Did you say your friend was just passing through?’
‘Yes. She rang my mobile yesterday. She needed a place to crash for a night. She was on her way up north to see her family. I couldn’t exactly turn her away, so I said she could stay. I gave her directions and she arrived yesterday evening.’ She gave a bitter smile. ‘She brought some wine and we gave it a hammering, talking over old times. We hadn’t seen each other for over a year.’
‘And you were the first to leave this morning?’
‘She said she wanted to be on her way by ten, but she was feeling hungover, so I went out; I had things to do which took me longer than I expected. She must have decided to wait for me to come back and. .’ Her voice trailed off as she thought about what had happened.
‘She was unlucky,’ said Harry. ‘Wrong place, wrong time.’
Joanne flinched at the harshness in his voice. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Whoever killed her got the wrong person. The killer came in, saw her and did what he was hired to do. You and she were about the same height, weight and colouring. If she was in the bathroom when he kicked the door in, and holding the towel to her face, he wouldn’t have noticed the difference until it was too late. He probably didn’t expect to find anyone else here but you. Then he sanitized the place to delay identification of the body.’
She stared at him as the implication sank in. ‘He’s been watching me.’ For some reason, she didn’t sound surprised.
‘Bet on it. And he’ll probably be back when he finds out he got the wrong woman.’ Harry pointed at the gun. ‘Put that thing out of sight but keep it handy. We have to go.’
‘What about my things?’ she protested. ‘And the photo — I’m not leaving it.’
He pushed it at her. ‘Take this, leave the rest. You can always buy more clothes.’
He made for the back door, leaving the other two to follow. They passed a pink gym bag in the hallway.
‘Leave it,’ said Harry, as she bent to pick it up. ‘A colour like that is a beacon. It got you noticed once already.’ He softened his tone. ‘Your gym buddy, Hughie, spotted you with it the other day.’
As she stepped outside, Rik hung back and asked quietly, ‘What’s the rush?’
‘Jennings is sending another team. After Matuq and Param, do you want to be here when they arrive?’
Rik pulled a face and followed Joanne outside without another word.
They walked back to the car with Joanne sandwiched between them, each checking vehicles parked at the kerb and eyeing pedestrians nearby. The clatter of a motorbike made Harry jumpy, the familiar sound too fresh from the night before. They climbed in and Rik headed north, while Harry kept an eye on the surrounding traffic.
He felt pretty sure they weren’t being followed, but his instincts had been wrong before and he didn’t want to take chances. Ever since the prickly feeling he’d had on the way to South Acres, he’d been fighting a rising sense of paranoia, and now found himself constantly checking their tail.
It took them an hour to reach Rik’s flat. Harry got Rik to change direction twice and double back on their route to throw off any possible pursuers. Joanne said little, even when addressed directly, but stared listlessly out at the traffic. Whatever vitality she had possessed on first entering her flat had drained away, and Harry guessed she was settling into a state of shock.
‘Shouldn’t we tell the police?’ she muttered at one point, as a patrol car sped by in the opposite direction. But the question lacked conviction. When nobody replied, she shrugged and huddled deeper into the corner. The gun, they noticed, never strayed from her hand.
Back at the flat, Rik made coffee and poured three brandies, while Joanne excused herself and went to the bathroom. She walked as if she was at the very limit of her resources, shoulders slumped in an attitude of defeat.
‘She needs some kip,’ Rik commented. ‘Or a shot of something.’
