by DS Butler
Henryk knocked on the door.
The door opened a few centimetres. The safety chain was still on. Two blue eyes, laced with heavy mascara, peered out at him.
Henryk moved closer to the door so she could see him.
“It is Henryk,” he said. “Anya’s brother.”
There was a pause before the door opened to reveal a girl not much older than Anya. She was slim and short, barely five feet tall. Her fair hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and she wore a loose green top over black leggings. She smelled of violets.
“Victoria?”
The girl nodded.
“Have you heard from her?” Henryk asked, walking into the hall.
Victoria sighed and closed the door behind him.
“No, Henryk,” she said, her flip-flops smacking the floor as she walked along the hallway. “I told you. Anya’s busy, that’s all. She has a new job. She’ll be in touch once she’s settled.”
Henryk gritted his teeth in frustration. She sounded just like that stupid police officer. He wanted to shake some sense into her. Why couldn’t anyone else see that Anya must be in danger? Anya would never leave for a new job without telling him.
“What is this job?” Henryk asked. “If it was good, she would have told me. I think it must be bad.”
Victoria put her hands on her hips and sighed. “I’m sure Anya’s okay, Henryk. Can I get you a drink or something?”
“No.” Henryk folded his arms across his chest.
Victoria rolled her eyes. “Well, I need one.”
Henryk followed her to the kitchen. Victoria poured a hefty slug of vodka into a pink glass, dropped in two ice cubes and topped it up with Coke, which fizzed over the ice. The foamy bubbles threatened to run over the side of the glass. She picked it up and took an unladylike slurp to avoid the spillage.
“So, tell me about Anya’s new job, Victoria.”
Victoria took another sip of her drink. “Well.” She paused to think. “I don’t know that much about it. But she was going to be an entertainer.” Victoria’s face brightened. “She said it paid very well.”
Henryk scowled. “Entertainer?”
Victoria sighed and leaned back against the door of the chrome-coloured fridge. “I know what you’re thinking, Henryk, but really, it’s not like that. Anya is a sensible girl. She wouldn’t do any of that kind of stuff.”
He knew Victoria thought he was being overprotective, acting like an annoying older brother, out to spoil Anya’s fun. It wasn’t like that. Victoria thought she knew Anya, but she didn’t. Not really, not like he did.
His sister would never make him worry like this. If she hadn’t been in touch, it must be because something was stopping her.
Or someone, Henryk thought, and a shiver of dread crept along his spine.
“Do you fancy a brownie?” Victoria asked. She pushed forward a pack of four supermarket-brand brownies. The chocolate had melted, smearing the plastic packaging.
“No.”
Victoria gazed down at them, then pushed them away. “No. You’re right. I shouldn’t either.”
She left the cakes behind and carried her drink into the front room, and Henryk followed. She perched on the arm of the sofa and crossed her legs, a flip-flop dangling from her foot.
“Don’t you want to sit down?” she asked.
“No,” Henryk said. “I don’t want to sit down. I want to find out what has happened to my sister.”
Victoria ran a hand through her blonde hair. “Nothing, Henryk. Nothing has happened. She probably just needs a bit of space. And I’m not surprised, with you chasing her like this!”
Henryk slumped down into an armchair. He knew he was going about this the wrong way, with the police, as well as Victoria. He needed to get their sympathy, make them understand why he was so worried. Acting like this, he wasn’t helping things at all.
Her expression softened, pity shining in her eyes. “I’m sure she’ll be in touch soon. Somebody mentioned something about a cruise ship. Perhaps, she had to leave quickly. She’ll probably give you a ring as soon as the ship gets to the next port. Just give her a bit of time. She’s a big girl. You have to give her space. She’s following her dreams, Henryk.”
As Victoria raised the glass to her lips, the sleeve of her green top slid a little way down her arm, revealing an angry, red mark. Victoria noticed him looking and yanked the material down to cover it.
Henryk was about to ask how she had hurt herself, then thought better of it. It didn’t concern him.
“Did Anya meet a man?” Henryk asked.
Victoria narrowed her eyes. “If she did, it’s none of your business. If she wanted to confide in you, she would have.”
Henryk got to his feet so quickly, Victoria flinched.
He stepped towards her. “She’s my sister, Victoria. Something is wrong. I feel it.”
5
Mackinnon snuck a glance at his watch. Where was the food? At least, if he were eating, he wouldn’t have to talk.
“Right,” Chloe said, standing up. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She touched the back of his hand and smiled, then walked off in the direction of the ladies’ toilets.
Mackinnon watched her go with a rising sense of panic. Great, now he’d have to talk to the kids on his own.
He turned away from Chloe’s retreating back, to find both girls staring at him.
“So,” he said. “Sounds like you guys had a great time today.”
Mackinnon cringed. Even to his own ears, he sounded like a crummy kid’s TV presenter. He sounded false, and kids picked up on that sort of thing. They sensed insincerity, like sharks sense blood. He’d read that somewhere.
Sarah picked up her straw again and started stabbing the ice cubes.
Katy shrugged. “Yeah, it was a nice day.”
Mackinnon found himself warming to Katy, if only because she looked as uncomfortable with this meeting as he was.
“So you’re a policeman,” Sarah said. The way she said policeman made it sound like she thought it was a bad thing.
Mackinnon nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“My father’s an entrepreneur.”
“Really?” Mackinnon said. He had heard all about Sarah’s father from Chloe. Lots of names had been mentioned, but entrepreneur was not one of them.
“Yes,” Sarah said and waved her straw around, then pointed it at Mackinnon. “Mum said he’s quite brilliant. He’s invented all kinds of things.”
“Nothing that’s any good,” Katy said and grinned at Mackinnon.
“Oh, my God,” Sarah said, turning on her sister. “Take that back!”
“No.” Katy smirked.
“You’re just jealous because your dad doesn’t want anything to do with you!”
“Hey,” Mackinnon said.
Surprised at his interruption, both girls stopped arguing and turned to look at him.
“That’s not a nice thing to say.”
Sarah pulled a face, and Mackinnon felt Katy’s brown eyes fixed on him, weighing him up.
He pushed his chair back from the table and took a deep breath. Please, God, he thought, don’t let World War III start while Chloe’s in the ladies’ toilets. That would not make a good first impression.
When Mackinnon saw Chloe walking back towards the table, he sighed with relief.
“Mum, Katy’s saying nasty things about my dad,” Sarah said the moment Chloe pulled out her chair and sat down.
Chloe pursed her lips and looked disappointed, probably just as disappointed in Mackinnon as she was in the girls.
He knew he should say something to clear the air; but he had no idea what.
Chloe sat down, shook out her napkin, and placed it on her lap.
The waitress arrived with the first two plates of food. She set down Mackinnon’s steak and chips.
“Can I get you guys any sauces? Any more drinks?” the waitress asked.
When no one else replied, Mackinnon shook his head and
said, “No, thanks, we’re fine.”
They ate their meals in miserable silence.
Mackinnon cut into his steak and took a large bite. The evening wasn’t a complete failure. The steak was pretty good.
***
Henryk Blonski’s mind was whirring when he left Victoria Trent’s flat. Victoria didn’t realise it, but she had given him an idea.
Victoria was a nice enough girl, but she didn’t know where Anya was any more than he did. That didn’t matter. He was still glad he had spoken to her because their conversation triggered a memory.
Now Henryk was sure he had the information he needed to find his sister. One phone call would be enough to confirm his suspicions. His stomach churned with nerves.
As soon as he left Victoria’s flat and began walking toward the stairwell, Henryk reached for the mobile in his pocket. Then he stopped abruptly and looked behind him into the empty corridor.
He shivered.
There was no one there, but he had the uncanny sensation of being watched, like an antelope stalked by a predator on one of those TV wildlife documentaries.
Henryk loosened the grip on his phone and left it in his pocket. He wouldn’t make the call in here. Outside would be safer. He didn’t want to risk being overheard by anyone who might be lingering in the flats.
Outside in the cool night air, Henryk strode across the square and climbed over the three-foot tall, spiky, black railings that cordoned off the grass. He stood under the rustling branches of a beech tree and leaned back on its smooth bark. He took out his phone and dialled another number that had been in Anya’s notebook.
When the man answered, Henryk shouted at him down the phone. He told him he knew what had happened to Anya. To his surprise, the man didn’t deny it.
Instead, he laughed, a cold, grating laugh that chilled Henryk to the bone.
Henryk started to beg and plead for his sister. If only he would release her, give Anya back to him, Henryk promised to tell no one. The man on the other end hung up and Henryk was left listening to the cold, dull sound of silence.
It was enough evidence for Henryk. Now he knew who had Anya. He was sure of it.
His limbs trembled. He wiped his hands, slick with sweat, on his jeans. He’d known there was something wrong. He’d felt it. But this? He had never expected this. He stared with hatred at the phone in his hand and wanted to smash it.
He raised his palms and clamped them against his ears. He could still hear the man’s cruel laughter in his mind.
Hundreds of ideas crowded Henryk’s mind at once. What could he do? Go to the police? They weren’t interested before, would they even believe him now?
No. The police would take too long. Henryk didn’t have time to waste. He had to act now.
Maybe he could ask a friend to help? But who did he know in England that he could trust with something so important? Henryk took a deep breath.
No one.
He would have to do it alone.
He wasn’t afraid. He just needed to be prepared. That evil man would regret the day he ever even looked at Anya. Henryk would make sure of it.
He looked up and saw the light on in Victoria’s flat. She was peeking through the frothy, net curtains. She lifted her hand. Henryk waved back, then turned away, jumped over the railings and strode across the green.
He walked fast, slightly out of breath. He had to get back to his flat. He couldn’t confront this man unarmed. That would be madness.
Henryk stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and hunched his shoulders as he turned onto the main road, completely unaware that he was being followed.
6
Mackinnon got back to his Docklands studio flat at just after seven pm. He opened the front door, tapped his code into the alarm and leaned down to pick up the post.
He elbowed the door closed behind him, put the mail on the kitchen counter and walked straight to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Tiger beer.
What an evening.
He moved across to the bar and picked up a bottle opener, frowning as he hooked it over the cap. The bar was one of the few pieces of furniture he owned. Bottles of spirits were lined up along the polished wooden top. Mackinnon’s studio flat was perfect for a single bloke.
Mackinnon took a couple of gulps of beer and headed over to the bedroom area. Within seconds, he’d stripped off his work suit and pulled on jeans and an old, comfortable t-shirt. He picked up his beer and wandered back into the open plan living area, remembering how Chloe’s girls had stared at him tonight, weighing him up, judging him. He had a feeling he came up short.
He looked around his compact flat. If things did get serious with Chloe, he could say goodbye to this kind of lifestyle.
Chloe was just past forty with two kids already, so if things worked out with her, chances were he’d never have kids of his own.
He took another mouthful of beer and stood beside the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the London skyline.
Why was he thinking like this? It wasn’t like him. Trying to plan things out in advance, worrying about the details. Maybe because if it didn’t work out, it would affect more than just the two of them. Maybe because he really did want things to work out this time.
He should just play it by ear, see how things went. No point worrying about what might happen.
He took another sip of beer.
He loved this view. The flat was sold to him with views of the Thames. Not true. Not unless you counted the glimpse from the bathroom. You could see a sliver of water if you stood on the toilet seat and stuck your head out the window.
Despite that, it was still a great outlook. The London skyline, he loved it. The mix of old and new. He never tired of looking at it.
Mackinnon’s great-grandfather had worked as a stevedore at the docks, near to where Mackinnon’s block of flats now stood. Things had changed drastically since then. The city rumbled along, constantly changing, consuming and evolving.
One Canada Square, the largest tower in Canary Wharf, dominated the skyline, blinking against the dark blue sky. Lights were on in the offices, either businessmen and women working late, or maybe cleaners. London never stopped.
It was hard to believe the bombings happened just last year. London carried on … It always did, swallowing tragedies, producing new generations with new visions of what the city meant to them.
Mackinnon walked away from the window, picked up the TV remote and flopped down on the sofa.
Reality shows of one sort or another were on the first few channels he flicked through. One was a singing competition, another a fly-on-the-wall documentary about a set of teenage girls trying to make it in the modelling industry.
Not much on TV then. He considered heading to the gym. There was one in his apartment building for the residents. Even though it was so close, he still found reasons not to go, such as another beer in the fridge calling his name. That was the trouble with Tiger beer, he thought, walking to the kitchen then throwing the empty bottle in the recycling box: the bottles were just too small.
The phone rang. Mackinnon put the TV on mute and reached for his mobile. It was Chloe.
“Hey, you,” she said. “We just got home. The girls are worn out, too tired to even argue.”
Mackinnon glanced at the silent TV screen, where a young girl was sobbing her heart out because a panel of self-appointed experts had crushed her dreams.
“Good journey?” he asked.
“Yes. The train was busy, but we managed to get seats, so it wasn’t too bad. Listen, Jack, I have an idea.”
“Yeah?”
“Tomorrow night, the girls won’t be around. Why don’t you come up and stay the night?”
“In Oxford?”
“Yes. I’ll make dinner. It’ll be nice to spend some more time together, won’t it?”
Mackinnon paused for a moment. He was on earlies, so he’d have to get up at the crack of dawn to get back to London the next day for work, but what the hell.
It would be worth it. “Sounds good. Shall I aim to get there around six?”
“Perfect.”
After Mackinnon hung up, he walked across to the TV. A middle-aged woman in a tiny, tight leather skirt and scarlet corset, caked in makeup filled the screen with her mouth open as if she were screaming. Mackinnon was glad the sound was down. He reached over and switched off the power button.
Everyone was hungry for their fifteen minutes of fame. It was almost an obsession in Britain these days. He didn’t understand it.
7
Henryk Blonski’s hand shook as he pulled his keys from the back pocket of his jeans. Adrenaline flooded his system. He stood close to his front door and fumbled with the brass key. Why wouldn’t the stupid thing fit in the lock?
His mother’s voice filled his mind: “Spiesz sie powoli.” More haste, less speed.
He forced himself to slow down and deliberately and carefully inserted the key into the lock.
He would make him pay, this evil man who had Anya.
Henryk’s mind filled with images of revenge. He had a knife in his flat. It wasn’t as good as a gun, but there was no time to organise something like that.
He needed to get the knife then he would…
Henryk turned. He thought he heard a noise. Maybe footsteps?
There was nothing but the sound of his own raspy breathing and pounding heart beat. Henryk turned back to the front door and pushed it open. He needed to hurry and get the knife. He would make the man realise he picked on the wrong family.
He must have singled out poor Anya because she seemed like a sweet Polish girl, far from her family and friends. Well, he would soon realise Anya had someone. She had him.
As he started to push the door open, he hesitated. Perhaps he should go to the police. Perhaps he shouldn’t take the knife with him. He didn’t want to hurt anyone.
Henryk shook his head. It would be madness to go unarmed. Henryk had to prove he meant business, and if someone got hurt…
Cel uswieca srodki. The end justifies the means.
He was so consumed by his thoughts, he didn’t hear the heavy footsteps closing in behind him.