‘Sure,’ replied Keira, figuring she had no option but to agree. ‘Can I have the painkillers first?’
‘Soon as we finish our conversation! When does the trial start?’
‘First thing Monday morning.’
‘And you are the main witness against Engjell E Zeze?’
‘Yes.’
‘I already know the answers to these questions; I’m just making sure you are not trying to bullshit from the start. What happens if you don’t show up?’
‘If I don’t show up the court will issue a summons for me to appear, then if I still fail to show they might issue a warrant for my arrest and possibly look at charges of contempt.’
‘And what would happen to the charges against Engjell E Zeze – they would drop them?’
‘The prosecution would look to the other evidence against him – of which there is plenty – and try to construct a case based on that.’
‘So the trial would still go ahead?’
‘Yes.’
‘If you were defending him, what would you do to get him off?’
‘Stick the barrel of a gun in between his teeth and pull the trigger.’
‘I need you to be serious.’
‘I am being serious.’
‘What would happen if the main witness contradicted all the evidence, said she couldn’t remember, made out what she’d said might be wrong, sowed in some doubt . . . what would happen then?’
‘I’m the main witness.’
‘I know.’
‘You want me to go in there and throw the case?’
‘What would happen? Could you damage the case enough . . . that Engjell walks?’
‘I’d be doing something known as “falsifying an affirmation to tell the truth concerning matters material to an official proceeding”. Most people call it perjury.’
‘I don’t care what the fuck it’s called, I’m asking what would happen.’
‘It’s a gamble.’
‘For you?’
‘For everybody. The Crown has a lot of other evidence it could use, but this would certainly blow a big hole in the case. Chances are – if I was convincing, no signs of duress – then the case might collapse and E Zeze would be free to go. But I think you’ve got the wrong girl here. I want to see that little fuck hang, not walk free. I could have killed him twice in the past and I didn’t because I believe in the law. But there are certain people I would make an exception for and he is one of them.’
‘S’that why you stuck a piece of cutlery in one of my mik’s eye sockets?’
‘I believe in the rule of law, but I was cast in Newry and forged on the streets of Glasgow. I know when to run, I know when to call for help and I know when – no matter what I say or do – someone’s getting a slap. I was taught – “even if you know you’re going down – throw the first punch”. Your mik wasn’t there at the beach to go swimming, so I made sure I got in first. If I had my chances over again with E Zeze, I wouldn’t hesitate. It was a mistake – one that I won’t make again. Why d’you want him out? Or her. Is it a ‘he’ or a ‘she’? By the end I couldn’t tell.’
‘Engjell E Zeze is not of this earth. The Watcher is a demon that lives below the ground and survives on the souls of his victims, it can be male or female: whatever it chooses.’
‘The guy’s a psychopath.’
‘Engjell – the Watcher – carries the lifeblood of the Clan: a symbol of our power. It’s not good for business to have him rotting away in a cell like an ordinary mortal. It’s bad PR.’
‘Why don’t you wait till he gets sentenced then break him out of jail? You’d be in with a better chance.’
‘We don’t want there to be any doubt that he is a free man and that the reason for his release is legally sound.’
‘And what will the story be over here? He vanished from his prison cell after devouring the soul of his guard, then, with the help of some fellow demons, dug a tunnel all the way back to Tirana?’
‘Something like that. People here are very superstitious.’
‘All this to spring a fucked-up contract killer?’
‘Why are you come to Albania?’
‘Are we changing the subject? I was enjoying the conversation about the demon that can’t use his supernatural powers to escape from Barlinnie.’
‘You going to start getting tricky again?’
‘Well, ask me a real question. You already know why I’m in Albania . . . to help the boy.’
‘And it never occurred to you that this would put you in danger?’
‘No.’
‘I’m thinking you are naive.’
‘I’m thinking the same.’
‘Your eyes are still shut?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hold out your hand.’
Keira extended her arm and felt two small tablets being placed into the palm of her hand. Whoever had given them to her then grabbed hold of her wrist and guided a glass of water into her other hand.
She heard him walk to the other side of the room. ‘You can take the painkillers now.’
‘Did I pass?’
There was no answer.
Keira palmed the painkillers into her mouth and swallowed them. The water tasted strange, but it was cool and she was thirsty.
‘The fate of the boy Ermir is in your hands. If you want to help him, you know what you have to do.’
‘If it all works out and Engjell E Zeze walks, or flies or whatever the hell he does, how do I know you’ll let the boy go?’
‘You don’t.’
‘And if it all goes wrong, what happens then?’
‘To him or to you?’
‘To the boy.’
‘Before, we would have taken him into Europe through Greece. The borders between our countries are very porous. He would be traded on to an individual or group of individuals who like to fuck young boys, then when they got tired of his screaming and wetting himself – ’cause that’s what they do, you know: the little fuckers wet themselves all the time – they would dispose of him and come looking for something fresh. But now, because of all the shit in Syria and Afghanistan, Europe is awash with young children. They are too easy to come by so there is no money any more. When there is a glut in the market you have to sell cheap or dispose. With Ermir, we would probably just dispose of him.’
There were lots of things that Keira could have said in response, but she’d come across enough people who were beyond reason to know that there was no point in telling them where they were going wrong. Just as the law was there for the protection of the law-abiding, reason was there for the benefit of the reasonable.
‘Will you give me your besa that no harm will come to Ermir while he’s with you?’
‘If it makes you feel better.’
Keira was so thirsty she finished off the rest of the water.
‘This water has a strange taste.’
‘Who said it was water?’
Eighteen
The sound of a creaking door felt like a nice touch – a small accent to the dream playing in cinemascope inside Keira’s head; the juddering sensation too. That was before she realised that someone’s hand was on her shoulder shaking her awake.
‘Okay, you got to get up now, we here . . . We here, lady.’
Keira opened her eyes a crack to see a taxi driver staring back at her: a blur of objects moving behind him. Slowly the images pulled into focus: a straggle of commuters all heading in the same direction towards tall glass doors that slid open and shut, swallowing them whole.
The yellow cab had pulled up outside Rinas International Airport in Tirana.
Keira stared up at the slope of glass that spanned the entire front of the terminal building. It was six a.m. and the airport was already busy.
She swung her legs onto the pavement and – with the help of the taxi driver – pulled herself unsteadily to her feet.
‘You okay?’
Keira felt like shit, but still replied, ‘Yeah, fine.’
He lifted a small cabin bag from the boot. ‘You want I take into airport?’
‘Thanks. What happened to the boat? How did you get my case?’
The driver looked puzzled, so Keira tried again.
‘My bag – where did it come from? Did you pick me up from a boat?’
‘From hotel.’
‘Who booked the taxi? Was it me, because I don’t remember ordering a cab.’
The driver squeezed his lips together, while he tried to figure out what she meant and said, ‘I get call on radio, taxi from Hotel Shkop to airport. I come to hotel and take to airport. You book it, someone else, I don’t know.’
‘Okay, sorry, I’m a bit confused, because I don’t think it was me, but that’s fine. I need to be here, so . . . how much do I owe you?’
‘Is already paid.’
‘By whom, do you know?’
‘Lady, I pick you up, I drop you off. This I know. Who booked, who paid . . . I have no idea.’
*
It took Keira just under thirty minutes to reach the head of the queue. In that time she’d managed to drink two litres of water and the painkillers she’d bought from the newsagent’s were just starting to take effect. Her head was still sore, but nowhere near as bad as when she’d first arrived at the terminal. The girl behind the ticket desk nodded for Keira to step forward.
‘Passport and ticket, please. Where are you travelling to?’
Keira felt a knot in her stomach, ‘I’m flying to Gatwick, then connecting through to Glasgow, but I’ve just remembered I don’t have my passport, it was stolen . . .’ She was about to go into some lame explanation when the girl interrupted.
‘I’m afraid I can’t do anything without a passport. You didn’t get a temporary visa?’
‘Someone was supposed to meet me here this morning, but I’m late . . . I wasn’t thinking . . .’
The girl was staring back at her now, checking out the bruises and swelling on her face – making a decision. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do anything here. If you go to our customer service desk they might be able to help, but I can’t check you in without a passport, I’m sorry for this.’
‘I can’t miss this flight. Will I need to join the queue again?’
‘Maybe, maybe not, customer services will try to help you.’
Halfway across the busy concourse Keira thought she heard someone calling her name. She stopped to look around, then spotted Pavli heading towards her.
Keira’s relief was tainted by a sudden unease: she had no idea what to tell him about the night before. As he made his way through the crowds she decided to say nothing until she had figured it out herself. Pavli looked serious: maybe he already knew.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Sorry I’m so late. But we are okay on time for the plane, I think.’
‘Yes.’
‘What is happen to your face? It looks worse. It is infected maybe?’
‘Maybe.’
Keira was puzzled. The voice that had called a moment earlier didn’t belong to Pavli: it had been a female voice.
He noticed that her focus was elsewhere.
‘You are looking for someone?’
‘No, no one. Sorry. Thanks for coming, Pavli. I was at the front of queue before I realised I didn’t have my passport. I don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘Rough night?’
‘You could say.’
Pavli pulled an A4 envelope from the police-issue rucksack he had slung over his shoulder.
‘Here are your papers. You have to sign them in front of an official; that would be me, and a witness – that will be the girl at the desk. Come, we go over.’
Pavli led Keira back to the ticket desk and straight to the head of the queue. His uniform ensured that there were no objections to them cutting in.
‘This is my friend. I will sign her papers then you will sign as a witness then she will get on the plane, yes?’ It was more of a command than a question. Pavli signed the documents and handed them over to the girl, who in turn signed them and handed them back.
‘You have an executive lounge?’ asked Pavli.
‘Yes,’ replied the girl, who was frowning now, ‘But Miss Lynch’s ticket—’
‘Make sure my friend can go in there,’ said Pavli, cutting across her.
The check-in clerk smiled a tight one and said, ‘Of course, officer.’
Pavli turned to Keira. ‘You have time for kafe turke?’
‘If we’re quick,’ replied Keira.
*
The café was busy. Keira waited by a table whose occupants were just about to leave while Pavli went to the counter.
The table was in the corner with a view past a souvenir shop through into the check-in hall.
Keira slipped in behind the departing couple and sank into the chair. The seat was still warm. She rested her elbows on the table, closed her eyes and cupped her forehead in her splayed fingers. Blurred images of the previous night’s events flashed through her mind. She remembered everything up to the point she’d taken a hit to the solar plexus and had a needle stuck in her arm. Everything after that played out in a series of snapshots with no freeze-frame. The images were strange and disturbing, but Keira couldn’t hold on to them long enough to analyse or absorb what they meant.
‘I bought you a few tullumba as well.’ Pavli was back with the coffees. ‘If you don’t feel better after this then it must be the hospital you are needing.’
‘Just sitting on a seat warmed by another person’s arse has made me feel better already.’
‘You are okay?’
‘Just trying to piece together what happened last night.’
Keira picked a tullumba off the plate and bit into it. The sweet syrupy sponge worked well with the thick, gritty bitterness of the coffee.
Pavli continued, ‘I got a call from my father saying you disappeared from the beach.’
Keira wondered what else Xhon had told his son, but she was still reluctant to say too much.
‘He tried your room, but there was no answer. I think he was worried.’
‘Yeah, I took some sleeping pills and had an early night.’
‘So you missed all the fun?’
‘What fun?’
‘The girl on the table with the gun.’
Keira’s heart was doing double time against her ribcage as she replied, ‘I must have been upstairs at that point.’
‘Stood there covered in blood, screaming like she was trying to push the waves back with her voice alone.’
Keira could feel Pavli’s eyes on her as she asked, ‘What was that all about?’
Pavli shrugged. ‘Couple of the staff tried to talk her down, till she raised the gun on them then ran off.’
‘Who was she?’
‘No idea.’
‘Your dad didn’t say who it was?’
‘Why would he know?’
Keira had watched too many witnesses foundering through their interviews with the police, tying their story in knots and blowing the defence wide open. That’s what she was doing right now, but she couldn’t help herself. She knew she’d been drugged the night before: her brain was way off its personal best. She made an attempt to answer Pavli’s question.
‘It might have been one of the guests. He was on duty last night, I thought he might know . . .’
‘He was washing out the ladies’ toilet at the time. One of the diners had reported a big mess down there.’
‘What sort of mess?’
‘Blood everywhere, like there had been a fight: nasty one. You didn’t see this?’
‘Am I under caution?’
‘What is caution?’
‘Is this Xhon’s son Pavli having a conversation or officer Pavli Variboba conducting an investigation?’
‘You’re about to get on a plane. No crime has been reported to me, no one is arrested. This is Pavli having the chat with y
ou. Although the fact that you asked, makes me think maybe there is something you are not telling me.’
Keira was annoyed with herself. She didn’t want Pavli to think she was holding out on him, but now more that ever she needed to get on that plane. If she told Pavli what had happened – or what she remembered of it . . . ‘I didn’t see anything. I was in my room.’
‘I think even if I did arrest you now you wouldn’t tell me anything: also the fact that you haven’t asked about the girl at the apartment.’
‘Ask what about the girl?’
‘Anything! You identified her as the girl you were looking for – Lule – but it wasn’t her, it was her flatmate. I think maybe you knew this. I think – for some reason – you still don’t trust me.’
‘I’m still trying to make sense of it all myself. You were the only person who knew the address where Lule lived. It was a bit of a coincidence that there were people waiting for her when she got back.’
‘You think I called someone and told them the girl Lule’s address? Why would I do that? You were with me the whole time. Did you see me call anyone?’
‘No.’
‘But, what you are saying is, you don’t trust me.’
‘I’m not sure what I’m saying.’
‘Eliza Kastrati knew the address as well. She was in the car when I called it in. How do you know it wasn’t her?’
‘Her name is Ardiana, not Eliza. She works as a hooker. That’s why she didn’t want to give you her real name.’
Pavli shook his head. ‘And you don’t trust me!’
‘She was trying to help me.’
‘So am I.’
They sat in silence for a moment, then Pavli said, ‘You are coming back to Albania?’
‘Yes . . . I have to.’
‘Have to or want to?’
‘Both.’
‘We can go for that drink maybe?’
Keira didn’t hear Pavli’s last question. She’d spotted someone amongst the crowds staring over at her – a fleeting glimpse, then the figure was gone. The female voice she’d heard earlier calling her name was no delusion.
Pavli was speaking again, but Keira’s attention was elsewhere, searching the throng, scanning the faces of every passer-by hoping to see her – hoping to prove that she’d not been mistaken.
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