‘Let’s get a seat,’ I said, urging him back towards the couch. I felt uncomfortably visible standing in the middle of the lobby, and all the more on the spot for it.
I plonked myself down on the edge of a couch, my head spinning. I chose my spot so that Keith would sit on the couch opposite, but he came around the low table and sat beside me.
‘Look, things were said, in haste and in anger,’ he told me, friendly but firm, like we both knew this was difficult. ‘It was all such a shock. I’d never had to deal with the press before, and I was dropped into all of that because of what you’d done. But now I’ve had time to reflect, and that’s why I’m here to forgive you.’
To be honest, it took me a moment to remember why I was supposed to be in the wrong. So many other things had been to blame that my own guilt got lost in the fog.
‘See, being exposed to the media like that was actually what made me understand what a mental world you’ve been caught up in, so I realised it was no wonder you had your head turned. But it’s time to get real now, Monica. You can fly home with me tomorrow, and once you’re back in normality we can put all this behind us.’
I wondered if he’d got his dates wrong, but another part of me suspected that in Keith’s mind this wasn’t an issue.
‘I still have a show tomorrow,’ I told him.
He shook his head.
‘I think they’ve had quite enough out of you already. Dragged you from pillar to post for a month and made a fool of you in front of the whole world.’
He still didn’t understand. I wasn’t on a fucking hen weekend here.
‘That comes with the territory,’ I replied. ‘But it is my territory. This is my job, Keith.’
‘It’s a job, yes, but it’s not where you belong, Mon. This is what I mean by having your head turned. And I know who bloody turned it: that lassie Heike. She’s had her claws in you, seduced you into joining this band and seduced you into God knows what else. She’s used you and humiliated you.’
‘Nobody has used me, Keith. I’m a grown adult. I’m capable of making my own decisions and taking the consequences. I’m happy to talk things through when the tour is over, but that isn’t until tomorrow night. You know we’ve the US tour coming up in a few weeks as well, don’t you?’
‘Christ, Monica. You should hear yourself. You’re losing sight of who you are, and you’re giving up a great life that we could have together. This is why you have to come home now. We can put all of this behind us, and I won’t hold any of it against you, I promise. Trust me, everything will look different once you’re back in the real world and she’s out of the picture. Everything will make sense once she’s no longer part of your life.’
The more he talked, the more I realised this was so over. He wasn’t offering a chance at making up: he was laying down the terms of my surrender. And boy had he ever picked the wrong day.
I felt bad about him having come all the way over here, but only until I realised what was going on in his head. He kept talking about me having been made a fool of, but this was because he was the one who felt humiliated, and now he needed to put that right by proving to the world that I was back in my place. He still didn’t understand what this band meant to me, or who I really was. I saw an ugly side to him, one I realised I had always been aware of but had either been in denial about or maybe thought I could control. I wondered how often I had modified my behaviour to prevent that part of him from revealing itself, how much of the real me I had subconsciously sacrificed.
‘Where are you staying?’ I asked him, derailing his rant.
‘At the Radisson. I splashed out on a junior suite for us back when…’
‘Nice,’ I said, standing up. ‘Stay there. It’s late, Keith, and I’ve a busy day making a fool of myself tomorrow. Good night.’
Catch of the Day
Mairi maintained a heavy right foot where the open road invited it, but she didn’t take any risks. Monica had a head start of anything up to an hour, but as long as they made it to Kennacraig for the same sailing, they knew they would catch up to her on the boat.
Mairi stayed in the car at the ferry port, keeping her head down while Parlabane, whom Monica wouldn’t recognise, bought the tickets. Until she was on board and thus had nowhere to run to, they couldn’t afford to let her spot the manager she’d so studiously been blanking.
They cornered her in the observation lounge, having watched her return from the bar with a coffee and pick a table on the port side. Her attention was focused on ripping open a sachet of sugar and pouring it into her drink when they made their move, Mairi slipping into the seat alongside and Parlabane taking his place opposite.
‘Monica,’ Mairi said neutrally. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’
She looked trapped and panicky, genuinely horrified. This wasn’t merely a surprise: clearly it was a disaster.
‘I’ve been trying to get in touch for days,’ Mairi went on. ‘I left messages.’
Monica stared down at the table, cheeks burning.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should have replied, I know. But it’s complicated, and it’s personal, and it’s private, okay?’
Mairi shrugged.
‘Okay,’ she conceded, looking to Parlabane. They’d agreed on how they’d play it, and he was up.
‘It’s funny how these things come around, though, isn’t it?’ he suggested. ‘I was on this same ferry less than a week ago, and I took this photograph.’
He placed his phone on the table and turned it around so that Bodo’s picture was the right way up, facing Monica.
‘Do you recognise this guy?’
Parlabane saw the impact on her face like a boulder dropped into a millpond. She wasn’t anywhere near as good at hiding it as the guys at the Brauereihallen.
Monica shook her head.
‘His name is Bodo Hoefner. Funny thing is, after seeing him on this boat we ran into him again in Berlin, where it would be fair to say wackiness ensued, some of it the homicidal variety. You definitely sure his face doesn’t ring any bells?’
‘I’ve never seen him before. I swear.’
She looked around pleadingly at Mairi, like she could call Parlabane off.
Mairi sighed.
‘You know, Monica, you’re a quite brilliant violinist, but a rank amateur at lying.’
‘I’m not lying,’ she insisted, tears beginning to form. ‘I don’t know who this guy is’
‘I think you do,’ said Mairi softly. ‘And I think you’re very scared of him. That’s okay. We can help you, but only if you talk to us.’
‘About what? I don’t know anything about what happened to you in Berlin.’
‘Then let’s talk about something else,’ said Parlabane. ‘Such as what you know about this guy being in possession of naked photos of you and of Heike coming out of the shower in a hotel bathroom.’
She shook her head, wiping away the tears that all three of them knew were betraying her. Parlabane knew the retreat into silence was still an option, so it was time to close that one too.
‘Or we could talk about a dead girl dressed to look like Heike, stabbed to death and left to rot in a shipping container in Germany.’
Underworld
Heike received the message by text as we stood on Kurfürstendamm. The tree-lined avenue had the most exclusive retail outlets in the city, and I’m sure if you scanned CCTV images going back years, you wouldn’t find photographs of two women looking less pleased about having just spent a fortune on designer gear.
In the café yesterday, the thick-necked creep had produced a card bearing the name of an upscale jewellery business. There were some details scribbled on the reverse.
‘You go here. You buy these: precisely these. Thirty-five thousand euro each. You text me when you have them, then I give you the rendezvous.’
He was demanding two Cartier watches. It was only when Heike referred to them as a ransom that it really sunk in how out of our depth we both were. I was surprised tha
t he wanted something so apparently frivolous, and wondered if he was doing it to make a point, trading Hannah for trinkets he didn’t even need.
Heike explained otherwise. High-end designer watches were a common and valuable commodity in the world of organised crime. They held their value (sometimes even gained more), they were easily transported and they came with receipts and paperwork, meaning that the money was laundered whenever they traded them in for cash. These days jewellers were supposed to tell police who they had sold them to if they had suspicions. This was why Heike being a rock star was the perfect cover.
As instructed, she sent a photograph of the goods to the number she’d been given. A few minutes later her phone chimed with the response.
‘We meet him in ninety minutes,’ she said.
I glanced at my watch, which looked pitiful after what we’d been browsing.
‘Exactly noon,’ I said. ‘Where?’
There was an unnerving inevitability about her answer:
‘Zoo Station.’
His choice was insulting, by implication: Heike was literally buying Hannah at a place synonymous with prostitution. I just hoped this was all I was supposed to read into it. If he somehow knew about Heike’s mother, then those two watches were never going to be enough, even after his talk of having to do the deal today.
The location wasn’t all bad, as far as I was concerned. It was public – bustlingly so – meaning lots of witnesses. It was also the ideal place for a getaway: as soon as we had Hannah and her passport we could jump on the first train out of there.
Heike started walking back towards Adenauerplatz station.
‘Is it far to the Zoo?’ I asked.
‘It’s a ten-minute walk that way,’ she replied, pointing in the opposite direction. ‘But it’s a long time to wait. I want to ride the U-Bahn for a while. It helps me think.’
Heike didn’t say much after that, other than to tell me when we were changing trains. I had never done this before: travel with no destination, drifting like litter. Having grown up on Shetland, the first time I had ever travelled on an underground train I found it shockingly noisy, and that was just Glasgow. My first time on the London Tube was overwhelming: buffeted about by crowds, in danger of being swept away from my dad by all the bodies.
Heike seemed calmed by it. She watched the passengers, stared at the walls and billboards as they zipped past. She was miles away. Did she have a memory of this, sitting on a U-Bahn train with her mother? It seemed impossible, but I didn’t know how old she had been when her father took her away. My earliest memory – merely shapes and impressions – was of my parents putting lights on our Christmas tree, when I was coming up for two.
Maybe it was simply that on a day like this, it was better to travel hopefully than to arrive.
As the clock ticked towards noon we finally headed out towards Zoo Station, changing for the S7 line at Brandenburger Tor. Heike told me it used to be called Unter den Linden, before the Wall went up, after which it had become a ghost station. I had read that when people first re-entered these places late in 1989, they found all the ads and signs had stayed unchanged since 1961. The thought gave me a sense of what Heike must be feeling, having this preserved but hidden past suddenly revealed to her.
The train stopped between stations for a while due to a signalling issue, so that it was a couple of minutes after twelve when we got there. Heike strode urgently down the stairs, gripping the straps of her shoulder bag. Somewhere inside it were the two watches. We entered a big concourse, and saw the large white clock hanging over the middle. I could see benches beneath it, in a circle.
I scanned the figures seated there, looking for cream-blonde hair or a gorilla in a suit. Instead, I spotted Kabka waiting for us, leaning against an advertising billboard. She hadn’t seen us, and there was an anxious look on her face as she searched through the flow of passengers, looking for Heike.
Neither Hannah nor the gorilla were anywhere to be seen.
Kabka hurried forward as soon as she spotted us.
‘Where’s Hannah?’ Heike asked.
‘I am to take you. The exchange is not to be here.’
Heike and I traded looks. Neither of us liked this, but what choice did we have?
‘Where, then?’
‘It is not far.’
She led us out through the wide swing doors and on to a busy pavement.
‘I am so sorry,’ she said. ‘When Hannah told him she had the money so soon he knew someone else was giving it. He remembered seeing you with her in Madrid.’
Heike grabbed Kabka by the arm.
‘Does he know Hannah is my sister?’
‘No,’ she replied forcefully, like it was an accusation from Heike. ‘Hannah said he thinks you two were maybe lovers. That’s all. I would not tell him. I fucking hate him.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘I only know him as Boris. It is not his real name, I think. Everyone calls him it, though. The other men, I mean. It is because he looks like KGB.’
We followed Kabka across a dual carriageway and around what looked like an old department store ready for demolition. Behind its wooden fence, on boarded-up frames that were once display windows, were signs showing digital impressions of the new development. Plastic tubes fed through holes in the walls like the building was a patient in intensive care.
Kabka turned right on to a narrow back alley, stopping at a plain doorway in the rear of the building opposite. She gave it a nudge and it swung open, unlocked. On the inside of the door, there was a green panel showing a white stick figure in a running pose, the word ‘NOTAUSGANG’ printed above it in large letters. I could see stairs beyond it going down into gloom. This was an emergency exit, but from where?
‘What is this place?’ I asked.
‘It was a nightclub. Closed down now. Sold. This whole block is going to be rebuilt.’
Heike stepped inside, but stopped at the top of the stairs. The passage was dimly lit by three fluorescent tubes. Several others remained dark or smashed, the darkness deepening the further the stairs went down from the open door.
‘I don’t like this,’ I said, the words coming out before I could stop myself.
‘It will be okay,’ Kabka told us.
‘I’m not so sure,’ replied Heike.
‘It will be okay,’ she said again, this time holding open her jacket.
Kabka had a handgun tucked into her waistband.
If it was intended to stop me worrying, it worked. I was no longer worried: I was terrified.
The stairway smelled of urine and damp. It felt cold as we descended, in contrast to the mugginess outside. I wondered how long the place had been closed. The electricity was still working, though, and I could see light coming from double doors at the bottom, one side of which was ajar.
Kabka pulled the door all the way open to reveal a low-ceilinged interior, a place both cavern-like and claustrophobic. Many of the bulbs had died, meaning the lighting was random: some areas in dark shadow alongside pools of harsh brightness that showed up the peeling walls and dog-eared carpet tiles.
The place had split levels, ramps leading to concrete platforms with aluminium barriers. I had heard many a club described as a cattle market: this was the first time I’d seen a place actually modelled on one.
I heard a door open somewhere and looked for the source of the sound. It came from next to the bar, a roller-shuttered gantry alongside which Boris had emerged. He strode to the crush barrier and stood with his arms folded, looking down at the three of us. He was alone, but he had left the door open. I couldn’t see where it led.
‘You have the watches?’ he asked. His voice barely carried, swallowed up by the soundproofing effects of the low ceiling and the carpeted floor. It was almost like a studio or a rehearsal room. The worrying implication of this was that if something bad happened down here, nobody was going to hear a cry for help. Nobody was going to hear a scream.
Heike removed the leatherbound
boxes from her bag, flipping one open to show the goods.
‘Now where’s Hannah?’ she replied.
Boris called out a word I didn’t quite catch; could have been a German name, could have simply been a command. A moment later, Heike and I gasped as one.
Hannah appeared from the doorway, gripped from behind by a tall and muscular man in a light grey suit and white shirt. It was the other guy from Madrid, the one who had blocked our path as Boris dragged Hannah away.
He had his left hand over Hannah’s mouth, and with his right he held a huge knife across her throat. While Boris was squat but powerful, this guy looked like he could pick him up and throw him. I gazed at the blade and the creature holding it, and I knew he could decapitate Hannah with a flick of the wrist.
But there was something even more frightening about him. He looked totally psychotic, like he was on coke or steroids or both. He was giving off so much aggression his whole body was shaking, his eyes bulging, knuckles white.
‘You bring the watches here now,’ Boris said. ‘Or Gerd may get angry.’
Heike stood there for a second longer than Gerd was happy with.
‘DO IT NOW!’ Gerd boomed, his voice an explosion even inside this dampened vault.
Hannah shook in his grip, her head tilted away from the blade.
Heike obeyed like a robot, helpless even though she was giving up her only leverage. We had walked into this with our eyes half shut, and now I’d have been happy just to get out of there with both of us still alive.
At his gesture she walked to the barrier and placed the boxes on the floor at his feet, eighteen inches up from where she stood. Boris lifted them and placed each in a separate pocket.
‘Documents,’ he ordered.
Heike handed over the receipts and certificates, the last things she could have withheld. She wasn’t for calling anybody’s bluff.
As soon as Boris had the paperwork in his hand he turned and made for the exit next to the bar, where he had come in.
‘Now you give me Hannah’s passport,’ Heike shouted at him.
He didn’t even glance over his shoulder. I watched the door close behind him, leaving us alone with his snarling, drug-wired partner.
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