He combed the floor with his fingers for something to defend himself with. But other than dust, the odd nail and a pile of powder, he found nothing. No broken lump of blockwork that he could use to strike out with. And of course, even if he had found something, he might never get the chance to use it. If the men had torches, they’d quickly spot him and be able to close in on him slowly.
Then he realised that what he needed was right by him.
He crouched and waited, the rain hammering against the building. Such was the noise, the men might already have been inside for all he knew.
The darkness, the threat to his life, closed in on him, bringing with it his oldest friend, claustrophobia. His throat felt constricted, his breath shallower. He felt now, more than ever, that he might become consumed with panic, start hyperventilating. He had to resist it. If that happened, he was theirs for the taking.
*
Wallace mounted the stairs. Having swept the ground floor and the small yard outside, he was confident that Keddie was upstairs. Tapper had offered him his phone, shown him the powerful torch it had. But Wallace had declined. His eyes would adjust to the dark and, while a torch worked for him, it also worked against him, showing his prey exactly where he was. Surprise would be everything now. Giving him the chance to strike once, rather than get involved in a messy and unnecessary struggle.
He reached the top of the stairs. He moved stealthily into the space, each footfall slow and gentle. He was confident that the rain was masking his movements, but still didn’t want to take any chances.
Wallace became aware of the opening that led on to the balcony. The subdued light and the sound of the rain. His eyes moved around, taking in a handful of shapes. One of them was where Keddie was hiding, of that he was certain.
*
Sam was desperate to move. He felt the darkness was like a wall, slowly closing in on him, ready to bury him. He had a sudden image of the courtiers and slaves of an Egyptian emperor, entombed with their master inside a pyramid.
And that was when he smelt it.
It was the odour he’d encountered in the house when he’d found Eleanor slumped against that radiator.
Her attacker was in the room with him. And close.
His hand tightened, ready to strike.
The smell was gathering strength, getting closer. Sam held his breath, aware now that his next move was critical – quite possibly all that stood between his survival, and death.
Sam heard the man shouting over the din of the rain. ‘I know you’re in here!’
It was all that Sam needed. While the smell suggested proximity, the voice confirmed it – as if the man were compensating for the noise of the rain and trying to throw his words as far as possible. In doing so, he’d given Sam the best clue yet as to his position. It was now or never.
Sam shot up from his crouching position and saw a dark shape before him. He paused for a second, hoping his sudden movement would get him noticed, saw the figure swivel in his direction, then flung the contents of his hand at the man’s head.
The effect was instant. The man cried out. ‘Argh! Fuck! Fuck!’
As the cement powder burned into the man’s eyes, Sam charged out from his hiding place and ran at the shape before him, his right shoulder hitting the man hard in the chest. Sam felt the pain shoot from his shoulder and down his arm. It was like ramming a wall. He saw the shape drop away, arms flailing, and heard a mighty thud, accompanied by a crack. There was another cry of pain, but more truncated, like the man’s breath was being forced from his lungs at the same time.
As Sam rushed to the stairs, a voice came up from below.
‘Pat! Pat! Are you OK?’
He paused, aware now that he was sandwiched between the two men. There was a groan from behind him, a shift in the light as the large man began to lift himself off the floor. Sam made a rapid calculation. He had to get away from the big man. But the only escape route he could see took him directly into the path of the other man. There was nothing for it.
He bolted, taking the stairs two steps at a time. He hit the ground floor running and surged forward, aware now of a figure silhouetted in the doorway. Sam pelted at him, right arm pulled back and ready to strike.
As the man’s features loomed out of the dark, Sam flung his hand forward, smacking into the face in front of him, following through with the full weight of his charging body. The man fell back, but instead of tumbling to the ground, he slammed into the side of the doorway, effectively blocking Sam’s path.
Sam crashed into the man. Skull met skull and Sam felt a searing pain in his forehead. The sudden and violent full stop had an instant effect. Though he managed to right himself, Sam felt his balance floundering, his feet stumble. The man was similarly disoriented, but was pulling himself away from the doorframe, and moving into Sam’s path to strike out. Despite feeling as if someone had branded his forehead with a hot poker, Sam did not hesitate. As the man moved into his orbit, he swung his right fist, driving it into the man’s stomach. There was a sharp intake of breath – he’d winded him – and his adversary bent over double.
With the man disabled, Sam pushed past him. A hand grabbed at his parka as he passed but Sam lashed out with his left arm, beating the man’s hand away. He was, quite suddenly, free of them both.
He stumbled down the street, dizzy with pain, his legs threatening to give way at any minute. But he was also aware that although he’d possibly injured them both, there was only a brief window of opportunity before they rallied and began chasing. And now they’d be raging as well as murderous.
Still running, Sam glanced back at the dark building. Seeing no one emerging from it, he turned his head in the direction of travel. Which was when he saw the headlights of a car about to cross his path. Sam tried to stop but it was too late. The car was suddenly in front of him and he flung himself on to the bonnet.
He landed on his side, the metal crunching beneath him. Brakes screeched and he was pressed against the windscreen as the car jammed to a halt. He knew he’d had a lucky escape. Had the car arrived milliseconds later, he would have been hit.
Behind the glass a man was staring wide-eyed at Sam. He knew he couldn’t hang around – that he had to get moving. He slipped off the bonnet and landed on the ground to move off. But the driver was as quickly out of his vehicle and shouting at Sam. As Sam began to run, a hand grabbed him by the collar. Sam tried to push him away, striking the man in the face. But the hand held tight and then another was on his shoulder, pulling him back and then to the ground.
Chapter 46
Pozzani, Sicily
Sam was left in an interrogation room, given a cup of strong, black coffee. He suspected that, with his unshaven face, and dirty, oversized clothes, he cut a pathetic figure. But he no longer cared. He was safe. If only temporarily. And his next course of action was clear. He was alone – a foreigner in Sicily, with two men out to kill him. He had to tell the police what was happening.
But first, he needed to close his eyes for a short while. He folded his arms on the table and rested his head against them. He felt exhaustion weigh down on him like a cloak.
There was a cough. Sam looked up, blinking rapidly. How long had he been asleep? The man opposite him was wiry, with grey, dishevelled hair and an untrimmed beard. He looked down at some notes on the table.
‘Signor Keddie.’
‘Yes.’
‘I am Ispettore Guido Reni. Do you understand why you have been arrested?’
Sam nodded.
‘Today you assaulted a resident of Pozzani, Signor Massimo Fazzino.’
‘I didn’t mean to hurt him.’
Reni brushed aside the comment. ‘Of more interest to me is that you were running through the streets of the town in the middle of winter. We don’t get many English tourists here in the summer. We don’t get any at this time of year.’
‘I can explain.’
Reni lifted an outstretched hand. Be my guest.
Sam spo
ke for half an hour, the story pouring out in an exhausted babble. His account moved from Creech Hill to London, from Amsterdam to the camp and riverbank in Rome. He then shifted to Sicily, pausing to rack his brain for the names the hotelier had mentioned. Reni did not interrupt, but Sam got the creeping sensation that he did not believe a word.
When he finished, the policeman stared at Sam for an uncomfortable minute. Finally, he scratched his beard.
‘Here’s what I think, Signor Keddie. You haven’t really broken any laws. Massimo Fazzino doesn’t want to press charges. He isn’t hurt. He’s just angry. You were running without looking where you were going. He could have killed you.’ Reni paused. ‘So we will take a few more details and then you are free to go. As for your story, we will need to speak to the other people involved.’
‘You’re not going to arrest them?’
‘You have told me an extraordinary story. I need more evidence before I arrest two men. And what will I be arresting them for? Attacking you? Killing a solicitor in London?’
‘What about me?’ asked Sam, fear layering itself over the anger he felt. ‘There are two men out there who are trying to kill me.’
‘I suggest you book into the Pensione Vesuvio on Via Spugia. It’s the only other place I can think of that might be open.’
Sam rose from his seat. His legs ached and head pounded. Sweat had freshly salted the wound on his back. He felt himself sway with dizziness.
‘You OK?’ asked Reni, an arm reaching out to steady him.
Sam swatted him away. He paused for a second, steadied himself.
Reni walked Sam out of the police station, giving him directions to the pensione he’d mentioned.
Sam descended steps to a yard filled with vehicles. It was the rear of the station. Perhaps Reni was looking out for him making him leave this way, rather than sending him out the front like a lamb to the slaughter. No, that was hardly likely. If the policeman really intended to protect him, he’d still be inside.
He felt drizzle against his face and a cold, biting wind that whipped his skin. Dread tightened like a clamp around his chest. He was more alone than ever, disbelieved by the one person he should have been able to trust. He longed for a hole he could crawl into.
Behind him, at the back door of the station, he heard Reni talking to another man. There was the sound of a car blinking to attention, an engine starting and the vehicle accelerating away.
He turned, saw the car’s red tail-lights. If Tapper and Wallace were back at the hotel, the conversation Reni had in mind might take an hour, if not longer. That’s if they were there. If they were still on the streets, the deadly game of cat and mouse started as soon as they spotted him.
He needed to leave town. But then he had a thought that halted him in his tracks.
What if Zahra had also come here to find answers? What if the town brought more memories to the surface? And if she was here, she’d have no idea of the danger she was in.
But where would she be? As far as he could see, nearly every hotel was shut for the season. And besides, she was without cash and passport.
And then it struck him. In a town like Pozzani, there was a place that was always open. A place where he might, just might, find Zahra.
Leaving by the back door had, he hoped, bought him some time. But not long.
Chapter 47
Pozzani, Sicily
Wallace dabbed at the corners of his eyes with a tissue. They’d been weeping constantly since cement dust had been flung in them. He needed to get some drops. But in the meantime, medicine of a different kind was heading in his direction. Keddie, and he was alone again.
He and Tapper had witnessed the arrest from the darkened entrance of the half-finished building, Tapper relaying most of what was happening because Wallace was temporarily blinded.
They found the police station and holed up in a scruffy workers’ bar just down the road. Wallace rinsed his eyes in the basin in the toilet and joined Tapper at a table in the bar. His boss was fidgeting in his seat.
‘This is getting complicated, Pat,’ he whispered, drumming his fingers on the table’s surface. ‘God knows what Keddie is going to tell the police.’
Wallace wiped the tears from his bloodshot eyes. He noticed the barman looking in their direction.
‘Fuck, my head hurts,’ muttered Tapper. His boss had an injury of his own, a lump from his collision with Keddie. Fortunately, it was just inside the hairline so all but invisible. Just as well given the barman’s interest in them both.
‘We need to split,’ said Tapper. ‘I’ll take up a position at the front of the station, you watch the rear.’
Tensing in the darkness, Wallace waited as Keddie passed on the other side of the road. In a moment or two, he would step out of the shadows and begin tailing him. Then it was just a question of finding somewhere dark and quiet, and beating the man to a pulp.
Just as he was moving out of the alley, he saw another man behind Keddie. He pulled back into the shadows. Was the figure on Keddie’s tail? Wallace couldn’t be sure. He watched the man’s footfall. It was very deliberate, as if he were trying hard to match Keddie’s pace. The man was walking quietly and keeping to the sides of buildings. He was following the shrink, all right. Which meant only one thing. Keddie had excited the interest of the Old Bill.
Wallace stood immobile in the alleyway, no longer sure of what to do. Eliminating Keddie was one thing. But putting a copper down was out of the question.
Tapper was right. This was getting more and more complicated. He stepped from the shadows, hoping that he was mistaken, and the figure ahead was not a policeman. Because opportunities to resolve this were fast running out.
Chapter 48
Pozzani, Sicily
Sam glanced at the roofline of the town as he walked away from the police station and immediately knew where to head. The two tallest buildings in Pozzani jutted above the tiled roofs – a dome to the west of the station and another nearer the sea front.
The first church presented itself in minutes. He turned into a piazza and saw it in front of him. A modern building, shorn of decoration bar a statue of Mary in an alcove above the entrance.
Sam climbed a short set of steps and pushed the door open. Inside, the church was brightly lit and, at the front, filled with around twenty people, who turned in unison at the sound of Sam’s entrance. A man and woman stood at the front. Behind them, a priest, not in gowns, but a black suit, officiating. A wedding rehearsal, by the look of things.
Sam backed out of the church, his heart heavy, expectations dashed.
He moved on towards the sea front down an alleyway of buildings clad in crumbling plasterwork. A cold wind blasted up the street like a warning.
There was a banging noise above him. Startled, Sam looked up to see a shutter swinging in the breeze. He momentarily lost his footing on a slippery, loose cobble, stumbling forward.
He passed a café, its interior panelled and shadowy. A man stood at the bar, hunched forward in conspiratorial conversation with the barman.
The alleyway opened into another piazza. Leafless trees and empty benches around its edges, a fountain in the middle, the water turned off. A group of men stood near the fountain clad in thick coats and hats. As Sam moved past them, he saw black faces. They looked back at him with empty gazes.
The church was on the opposite side of the piazza. As the building emerged from behind the trees’ branches, he shuddered. The façade was lit from the side by a streetlight, casting theatrical shadows from every elaborate Baroque swirl, pillar and statue. As he got closer, he saw grotesque faces in the stonework, stains of algae, weeds sprouting from damp recesses.
He ascended the steps, the stonework cracked and loose beneath his feet, and tried one of the large doors. It was locked. He tried another, rapidly losing heart. This one eased open with a groan.
Like the unadorned church in Rome, the interior was lit by banks of votive candles. But that was where the similarities ende
d. Every inch of wall was crammed with stucco, frescoes and sculptures. This continued up the walls until the light petered out and darkness took over.
It was cold inside, a chill that seemed to emanate from the floor. Sam moved cautiously down the centre of the nave, his trainers squeaking damply on the marble floor. As the pews in front materialised from the dark, Sam saw they were empty.
A rustle to his side made his heart leap and he turned sharply to his left. There was a figure asleep on a pew, a head of matted hair the only sign of a human being.
Heart now hammering in his chest, he reached the transepts. Ahead was an altar of blood red marble fringed with sections of whiter stone. Laid over the top, a covering of lace, yellowing and threadbare. His eyes moved right and then left. And that was when he saw someone sitting in the front pew.
The person was lit from the side by a bank of candles. But at this distance, all Sam could see was a body clad in a thick coat, neck wrapped in a scarf, a baseball cap pulled low over a brow.
He moved in their direction. The person appeared to flinch.
Sam felt fear and excitement in equal measure. The figure on the pew had looked up. Sam saw a jawline, mouth and nose – dark skin, or was it just the light?
And then the figure stood, began inching towards him. Sam froze on the spot.
He could have turned around, run, but he no longer wanted to. With his body close to collapse and no other plans up his sleeve, what else could he do but have faith?
The figure was closer now and Sam saw that they did indeed have dark skin. Another of the immigrants in town? A hand reached for the baseball cap, pulling it free to reveal a head of curls tied back tightly in a ponytail.
Sam gasped. The person before him was Zahra. Alive.
Chapter 49
Denial (Sam Keddie Thriller Book 2) Page 17