'How long were you with the three of them before I came in?'
She shrugs. 'Only a few minutes. Three or four at most.'
I make some rough calculations. It seems extremely likely that Snowy's killer was Radovan, the same man who'd murdered Leah. He'd probably cleaned himself up by the time Alannah saw him. But I wonder why she never saw the briefcase.
'I heard the struggle outside in the hallway,' she continues, 'and the shot. And then Marco came running back in, telling us all that Pero was dead and a man with a gun was outside. Everyone went for their weapons, but then Marco made me go out there with the baton. He said he knew who you were and that you wouldn't shoot a lady.'
'He's right.'
'That's lucky, because he would, and he had a gun pointing at me when I went out to you.'
'Well, I guess you're forgiven, then. But what I don't understand is why Marco was trying to kill you in the flat just now.'
'Because I fucked up,' she answers evenly. 'He was still very angry when we left the brothel.'
'Hold on,' I interrupt, still slightly confused. 'When you left the brothel, he definitely wasn't carrying the briefcase?'
She shakes her head. 'No. I told you, I didn't see the briefcase.'
So now I'm wondering what the hell happened to it? Surely Marco wouldn't have left it behind. Not if it was that valuable. Which means someone else took it. But who?
'Anyway, Marco was still angry with me, but he was also in a hurry. He had to go somewhere urgently - he wouldn't say where - and he told me to go back to his flat to wait for him. As he left, I made an excuse and went back inside the building. I couldn't stand the idea of you being tortured to death in there. Radovan and Alexander are animals. I've heard what they've done to some of the girls who've tried to escape. I wanted to do something that would stop them but which wouldn't blow my cover, and I didn't have much time to think.'
'So you set the fire.'
She nods. 'It was a stupid move.'
'Not the best,' I admit, 'but at least it worked.'
'I knew the building was alarmed so I used some petrol to start a small fire in a room at the back that's used by the security. The problem was it spread a lot faster than I was expecting. I think everyone got out OK, because the alarms went off straight away. I dialled the police and the emergency services, but I thought that Radovan and Alexander might leave you to burn, so I came up to see if I could set you free.'
'You did that just for me?'
'I knew we'd be able to get out onto the roof
from where they were holding you, but I didn't expect Radovan and Alexander still to be there.'
'You still risked your neck,' I say. 'You know, I'm touched. Thank you.'
As I speak, I look at her and notice once again how pretty she is. I tell myself to be careful. Her story seems plausible enough, but if there's one thing I've learned today, it's that people aren't always what they seem.
'It still doesn't explain why Marco attacked you at the flat, though,' I add.
'I think someone from the brothel must have seen me go back in there. Maybe someone even saw me start the fire. I don't know for sure. But after I got out of there, I came back here and changed and showered. I wasn't sure what to do about Marco. He'd attacked me already so I knew it was dangerous to stay with him, but he was my only hope of finding Petra, which is why I still went to his place to wait for him, like he'd told me to.
'When he turned up, not long before you arrived, he was acting friendly, but as soon as I went into the bedroom to get something, he hit me over the back of the head and jumped on top of me like a man possessed, calling me a traitor
once again and demanding to know who I worked for. I knew that this time he really meant me harm, so I tried to fight him off. Then you arrived.'
She smiles, showing perfect white teeth. I smile back.
'This guy, Eddie Cosick. I need to speak to him.'
'I know how to find him,' she says, 'but I want you to do something for me as well. Will you help me find my sister?'
'And how do you think I'm going to be able to do that?'
'Now that I have lost any chance of finding Petra through Marco, you're my best hope. I can see you know how to defend yourself. I want you to get to Cosick. But I don't want you to kill him.'
'I'm not planning to,' I tell her, thinking that on the two occasions she's seen me I've made a real pig's ear of defending myself. 'I just want some answers.'
'Cosick has lots of women working as his slaves, but I doubt if any of them look like Petra. I want you to show him her photograph, and find out where she is. Then I want you to call
and tell me, and while you wait with him, I'll go and get her.'
Somehow, I don't think it'll be as easy as that.
'And what do you propose we do about his security?'
'His security will be less now. He had only a few men he trusted to guard him. One was Radovan, another was Pero, and they're both dead. He still has others, of course, but they will be spread more thinly. It'll be a risk, but a man like you will be able to manage it.'
As she says this, she slowly uncrosses her long legs and leans forward, her gaze drawing me in. I know it's a deliberate move on her part, a combination of flattery and sexual allure to get me to do what she wants. I sit back and think about what she's saying. Is she just being naive and clutching at straws, or does she have some other agenda?
'Do you want some more wine?' she asks, standing up.
My glass is empty. Hers is still half full.
She's smiling at me now, and there's confidence in her expression. And something else, too. It's a promise of more to come than simply wine, and even in my state, I know I'm not
imagining it. The warning bells in my head suddenly get a lot louder. I'm reminded of something my mother once told me after my father sold his lucrative printing business and ran away with his secretary. 'Women have power,' she said. 'They can make men do anything. Their secret is they always let the man think he's in charge. He never is, and he never will be.' Not exactly original, but wise words all the same, and I feel I really ought to be taking note of them.
But none of this stops me from returning her smile again and telling her that, sure, I'd love a top-up.
My head aches, and even now the adrenalin continues to pump through me. It's been a brutal day, a series of violent snapshots, each following the other so quickly that they almost blend into one: the shock of waking up this morning beside the woman I loved (still love), and seeing what they'd done to her body; the bloodbath at Ferrie's place, and the subsequent chase; finding Snowy with his throat cut and his blood all over the car I'd sold to him only a few months before; the terrible pleasure that coursed through me when I held down
Radovan's mask-clad face on the hotplate in the brothel. And now, after all that, I find myself drinking wine in a rundown shithole of a house with a beautiful woman who may or may not be lying to me about who she really is, knowing that very soon I could be making love to her.
And it's still not even dark.
When Alannah comes back into the room with the wine, I get to my feet and take the glass from her proffered hand, my fingers gently touching hers. Neither of us moves. We stare at each other in utter silence. Her pale lips part a little, and I can see the tips of her gleaming white teeth. I can hear her breathing. It's soft, but just a little bit faster than it was before. The marks on her neck are dark and uneven. I touch the skin lightly and she lets slip a tiny gasp.
'Does it hurt?' I ask her.
'No,' she whispers throatily.
The wine's making me light-headed, and my troubles seem to evaporate. The whole world has been reduced to this one room and the
woman with the long blonde hair and golden skin who stands in front of me. For these few liberating moments, nothing else matters.
I take a single gulp of the wine, put it down on the table, and touch my lips to hers. Her hand reaches behind my neck and pulls me into a tight embrace. We kiss hard, passionately, our bodies intertwined. She tastes of cinnamon. I cup one small, round breast and knead it lightly, pushing myself up against her, my breath coming in ragged, urgent gasps. She moans, and uses her other hand to pull my shirt loose from my jeans, her fingers running across my stomach and chest.
'Let's go to bed,' she whispers.
I don't resist as she leads me up the stairs and into a tiny bedroom with bare walls and un-polished floorboards. She unbuttons my shirt and rips it off, her mouth locked on mine, before pulling away and pausing simply to gaze at me. Her lips are parted and drawn back in a voluptuous smile, and tresses of blonde hair have fallen loose across her face. It's a look of undisguised lust, and every part of my body responds to it. I want this woman desperately.
I grind my pelvis against hers, my hands gripping her hips. The feeling is so intense it's as if it's taken on a life of its own, become almost unstoppable.
And yet something does stop me.
Leah.
A flashback from this morning invades my consciousness: of her, cold and lifeless on the bed, butchered like an animal. I can hear her cries on the DVD as, terrified and helpless, she awaits her bloody fate. And then, suddenly, I picture her as I knew her in happier times - laughing, vibrant and alive. The woman I was falling in love with. And I know I can't do this. Not today. Maybe not for a long time. And certainly not while the bastard who ordered her murder is still at large.
I let go of Alannah.
'I want you, Tyler,' she says huskily, taking my right hand by the wrist and guiding it towards her midriff.
'I want you too,' I say, but I'm no longer seeing her. In my mind's eye, I'm seeing Leah dying, and I wonder, with a sense of panic, whether this image will appear for the rest of my days whenever I'm intimate with another woman.
I look Alannah in the eye. 'But I can't do this.'
She seems surprised, and I'm guessing rejection isn't something she's used to. She lets go of my hand, and it drops to my side.
'I'm sorry,' I tell her, feeling vaguely embarrassed.
'What's wrong? Are you OK?'
I turn away from her gaze. 'I'm fine. It's just that there's someone else, that's all.'
'Oh,' she says. 'OK. I'm sorry, I didn't realize.'
'It's all right. Don't worry about it. I got caught up in things myself.'
Alannah walks round to the other side of the double bed and pulls a fresh pack of cigarettes from an open carton on the floor. She lights one and turns my way.
'You're something of an enigma, Mr Tyler,' she tells me. 'In my experience, faithful, romantic men are rare. Especially those who operate on the wrong side of the law.'
'Someone's got to be the standard bearer for fidelity,' I tell her with a small smile.
She manages an even smaller one in return and sits down on the bed, taking a drag on the cigarette and blowing out a thin line of smoke towards the cracked, nicotine-stained ceiling.
Outside the window, another commuter train comes rattling past.
I lean down and pick up my shirt from the floor, and she asks me where I got my scars.
'It's a long story,' I answer.
'Are you in a hurry to go anywhere?'
At some point soon I'm going to have to pay a visit to Eddie Cosick, but I'm tired, and it's been a long day. I need to rest. 'Not particularly,' I answer, pulling the shirt back on.
'Then why don't you tell me it? Get the wine from downstairs and come and sit with me.' She gives me a coy look. 'I won't bite. I promise.'
It's a foolish move, I know, but the bed looks a lot more comfortable than the chair with the springless springs in her living room, so I do as she asks, returning with the glasses and handing one to her.
'Cheers,' she says, giving my glass a little clink.
'Cheers,' I answer, making myself comfortable on the bed, conscious of her closeness.
'It's a pity we had to meet under such circumstances.'
I'm thinking it's a pity we had to meet at all, but I don't say anything. She asks me once again
about the scars, and I tell her the story of the day my APC was bombed in South Armagh. Despite what I said, it doesn't take long at all, because I still don't like talking about it. It may have been ten years ago, but the memories remain as raw as ever. I'm wondering whether in the future it'll be the same with the memories of today.
Alannah listens in silence, and when I'm finished she exhales loudly. 'That's some tale. And was it the end of your career in the army?'
'No, they couldn't get rid of me that easily. I was in hospital for three weeks, and on sick leave for eight weeks after that, but I went back and stayed for another six years.'
'Why?'
'Because I wasn't sure what else to do, I suppose. But it was never really the same after that. You know, I'd lost two friends dead, and then I lost a lot of others.'
'Really? Were you bombed again?'
'No. In a way, it was worse than that.'
She leans forward on one elbow, looking enthralled. 'Tell me about it.'
I feel a flicker of concern, knowing I shouldn't be letting on too much about myself. But she already knows my name, and one of my tales
about service in Northern Ireland, so I conclude that there doesn't seem much harm in adding another to the mix.