Solomon's Keepers (26 page)

Twenty-four

The address on the paper Shaw has given her is Flat 4, 114 Drummond Road. The car registered in her name is a 1995 Golf, Blue.

Drummond Road is a three-lane one-way thoroughfare. Eva passes along it once trying to spot which way the numbers run and realises too late that she’s into the low hundreds. She takes a turn around a block and several sets of traffic lights later she is back where she had first started counting. There’s a hotel with a green awning, flags and a few potted palms demarcating its qualified welcome. She cruises past in the nearside lane, slows to a crawl just ahead of the hotel and reads the numbers, traffic bunched and ranting on her rear end. She sees it briefly, a nondescript door on an undifferentiated piece of pavement, a house given over to flats; meters down the pavement all taken. A stroke of luck: fifty yards ahead a van is pulling out. She slides alongside the space and backs in. Why isn’t she taking anyone with her? Why did she insist on going alone? Shaw would have handled it. She knows that at one and the same time this is stupid and yet it seems the only way. Time is running out. Rees is close, within reach.

It is cold and the breeze tosses leaves and pieces of litter at her as she walks back along the pavement. Amongst the traffic fumes there are evening smells of cooking from an unseen restaurant. As she approaches the house a couple walk past her arm in arm, talking gently through coordinated smiles. She progresses car by scrutinised car but the only Golf she sees is red. She walks past the house and fifty yards down the road the other side before returning and walking up the path to the door. There are lights on the first floor but not at the top. Where would flat four be? The grey metal speaker box has five plastic windows with handwritten names. Number four is Iwanowski; sharp-stroked capitals in green ink.

Eva waits by the door for several minutes. At one point she raises her fingers to the button and tries a couple of whispered openings. Hi, I’m trying to contact Zena Iwanowski. Hi, is that Ms Iwanowski? She doesn’t want to hold the conversation through the speakerphone. She needs to get inside or to get her outside. She withdraws to the street and walks back up to her car. She decides to walk a little further in each direction and look for the blue Golf. It isn’t cowardice, she tells herself; it could be there, could tell her something, make a preliminary connection. She checks the signs on the street; residents’ parking is mixed in with meters. If Zena were parked near her home it would be here somewhere. She walks for five minutes but there is no blue Golf. She checks her watch and it’s already ten. She is hungry and scared and unsure. Suddenly she is overwhelmed with the sense that all this is futile. If this woman really is the link to Rees then she would probably be travelling all over with him. They probably lived in hotels wherever they needed to be. Zena’s car was probably never used, probably parked in a garage somewhere gathering dust. They would have false identities for protection. They would travel by private transport laid on by Matzov, always moving, slipping from minder to minder as they crossed borders, glided past officials, stepped into waiting limousines, waiting aeroplanes, frictionless lives.

The next intersection is with a busy street lined with bright shop fronts and fast food joints. The pavement is red and white with discarded packets. She turns the corner and ambles along trying to gather her thoughts. She is operating on intuition, on willpower; she can feel how right she is by the shiver down her spine and the way the back of her neck prickles. She doesn’t believe in coincidences. There is a reason that she has been shown that Rees is still alive. A reason Shaw has chased her down. It all has a purpose. She doesn’t need to think, she needs to act. She knows this is dangerous. Then somewhere up above her behind a brightly lit counter two youths are calling at her through steam. All right love? Want a hot dog? She stops and looks up at a dark boy with a greasy apron and a wide smile. His companion flicks him with a dishcloth and laughs. Leave it out. She doesn’t want one but she orders a hot dog, onions, a Coke. Her mobile goes as she pumps thin ketchup along the dog’s meaty smile. She puts it down on the silver ledge and rummages for her phone. It’s Shaw.

‘Eva, where are you?’

‘I’m there. Call you back.’

She snaps it shut and picks up the hot dog. She will walk back to the car and talk to him there. She rounds the corner and stops for a bite. She hates people that walk about the city eating but she is ravenous. And tonight she is someone else. The ketchup threatens to drip down her blouse, her smart jacket and linen trousers. She holds the hotdog as though her arm were circling a post and stretches her neck forwards to reach it. Headlights flash ahead. A black car pulls out of a space and comes towards her. Another manoeuvres behind it, stops, backs in. At a hundred yards and against the oncoming headlights she can’t see well but a thin figure walks between the cars and emerges to cross the pavement and approach one of the town houses. She judges the distance to be about right for the house. She lobs the hot dog over the railings and walks quickly forwards.

The blue Golf is about ten cars beyond her own. It is almost directly outside the house, driven forwards into a space that is too small, its rear end sticking out into the road. Eva has to bend to check the number. She knows anyway. The inside looks scruffy and there is an umbrella on the back seat. The steering wheel is clamped with a yellow security lock. She can see a small clip-on note pad on the wheel and some scribbled words. She can’t make out what they say. She looks up at the house and sees that the lights have come on behind the top floor curtains. She is seized by a sudden sense of urgency. She feels she knows that despite the late hour Zena will go out again. This might be her last chance. She steps across the pavement and looks over the low wall into the garden. A few large pot plants, some gravel, and loose bricks line the path. She needs to make sure this woman will come down, will let her in. She steps into the garden. The bricks by the path are heavy and slimy but the one she grabs lifts easily. She takes another look up at the top floor and walks out on to the street.

She stands between Zena’s car and the one behind. She doesn’t even look to see if anyone is watching before she raises her arm and takes a swing at the rear light cluster. The brick bounces and drops on to the road. Nothing but a dirty smear. She picks up the brick again. This time she uses two hands and points a corner at the centre of the taillight. Metal and plastic rend with a shriek. Someone calls from across the road. It takes a third blow to spray shards of plastic and leave an obvious mess. Still no alarm.

Several people watch incredulously from the far side of the road. Eva is focused on the windows on the top floor.

She retraces her steps to the front door and rings the bell, her heart hammering a flamenco beat.

The speaker hums and shreds a brisk woman’s voice into vibrating strips. ‘Hello, who is it?’

Eva takes a deep breath and speaks hurriedly. ‘They told me it’s your blue Golf. I’m afraid there’s been an accident. I’m very sorry.’

A pause.

‘What?’

‘The man said it was your blue Golf. It was sticking out and I hit it. This taxi swerved and made me hit it. There wasn’t anything I could do. I’m so sorry. You’d better come and see it.’

Eva was already regretting this gambit. ‘Look, I’m sorry but it’s really sticking out now and…’

Another pause and then muted tinny swearing. ‘I’m coming down.’

Eva walks down the short path. She doesn’t look up but she knows that Zena Iwanowski is sizing her up from the window on the top floor. How do you walk when you’re in shock and distraught? Probably how she was walking anyway. What now? Think about Rees. Focus.

After only a moment or two the door opens and Zena walks out. Her hair hangs straight and dark and wet against her face and she walks quickly with her arms swinging. For a moment Eva thinks she’ll walk right up and hit her. But she stops when she reaches the car. She is taller than Eva expects, and her eyes seem huge and dark in the street lights as she stares at Eva and then glances up and down the street and folds her arms.

‘I’m sorry,’ Eva says, ‘It’s this side. I had to swerve and I caught it there.’

Zena walks round into the road and looks closely at the damaged light and an ugly dent in the rear wing. Shards of coloured plastic lie in the street.

‘Shit,’ is all she says. She is thinking hard. She takes another quick look at Eva. Quick looks are all she needs.

‘I expect you heard the racket,’ Eva said. ‘It made a horrible noise. I’m surprised the whole street hasn’t turned out.’

‘Okay, so you leave me your details. I’m in a hurry.’

‘I haven’t got a…’ Eva waggles her fingers as though writing. She thinks Zena might invite her in but instead she walks around to the passenger side of her car and opens the door to lean in. When she re-emerges she has a pen and notepad in her hand. ‘Here, write it down.’

Eva walks round to the kerb side and leans on the car roof to write. She writes slowly on the pad. Rees with me. Then she reaches in her pocket and hands back the note with a small photograph before backing away a couple of steps. She stands in the pathway between the gateposts. For a second she thinks Zena is going to pocket the picture without looking at it but she holds it up so she can study it by the streetlight.

Eva watches the woman stiffen the moment it registers but there is then a hesitation before she speaks. She looks carefully about her and then turns to Eva. She walks up close and stares. ‘What the hell is this? You trash my car for this nonsense? You’ve come to the wrong place.’

Eva knows now there is no mistake.

‘It’s not nonsense, Zena – Zena Iwanowski. And yes, I did it deliberately. It just might save your life. Not that I should care about that.’

‘Who are you? What do you want?’ The gaze was all over her, ravening and desperate.

‘I want to talk about Rees. I’ll tell you inside.’

‘How did you find me? I don’t know him.’

‘Don’t be stupid. Let’s go inside.’

‘Who are you? What do you know about me?’ Zena looks frightened. Eva steps aside to make way.

‘Okay, come inside.’ She hurries up the path with another backwards glance.

Eva closes the door behind them and follows Zena up the hessian-carpeted staircase. Something electronic beeps at Zena’s waist and she unhooks a small display and reads it as she walks, pressing buttons and murmuring to herself. There are three flights of stairs and neither woman speaks until they reach the top landing and stand by the painted red door to flat 4.

‘I am late. I should be out. I will have to go soon – I’m being picked up. I’ll give you five minutes.’

Eva nods and follows her into the hallway of the apartment.

The floor is chequered black and white and the walls are covered with a shiny silver fabric textured with gleaming facets like granite. The air smells of wood and wax. Eva sees herself in a mirror at the end of the hall and realises how red-faced and shaken she looks. Zena leads her into a living room where light from the window blinds stripes a dark leather sofa and shiny plasticized cushions in disarray on a bare wooden floor. When the lights flip on, Eva recognizes the slightly varying shapes of three KomViva receiver helmets strewn amongst tangles of cables. There is a coffee table with a bowl of old fruit. Across the room on a mantelpiece is an array of framed photos. A waft of orchestral music rises from speakers around the room but stops when Zena claps her hands.

‘We can sit over here.’

Eva picks her way through the electronic debris and sits on the sofa. Zena sits alongside her. ‘So what do you want? Who put you on to me?’

‘You are close to him, aren’t you?’

Zena doesn’t want to speak. She considers for a moment. ‘I didn’t say I know him. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you anything.’

‘Then just listen to me. Can I have the picture please?’

Zena looks at it closely in the light and then hands it back. Eva sits with it face up on her lap. It shows her sitting behind Rees, faces close together and her arms around his naked torso.

‘We weren’t supposed to be together. It was against the rules and we kept it secret. After he went away I was told he had died, I believed what they said. Can you imagine? And then I discovered he was alive, working with you. I asked people questions and everyone denied it, first the army, then your people at Network One. Then the threats came. And then the visitors at night. But we both know now, don’t we?’

Zena shuffles in her seat.

‘What do you want from me?’

Eva speaks softly. ‘Can you tell me if he’s all right?’

Zena’s voice drops to a whisper; ‘he’s working hard, isn’t he? You know that, how much he does. You connect, right?’ It sounds daft. Eva wonders if she thinks she’s being bugged.

‘You’d say he was healthy and happy?’

‘Yes, no, look, I don’t know.’

‘Yes you do. Just tell me if he’s well.’

She looks around, looks as if she wants to run away.

‘Not so good.’

Eva watches her steadily. ‘I just need to know some things, Zena, to sort some things out and I want you to be straight with me. Look at this picture. This is who I was, who Rees was before all this started. Now I don’t know who or what we are. And I don’t care about anything else. I don’t wish you any harm. Do you understand?’