Stolen Souls jli-3

by Stuart Neville

  “I dreamed about her,” Ellen said.

  “Did you?”

  “There was a bad man,” Ellen said. “He wanted to hurt her.” At one time, Lennon would have been shocked at Ellen’s understanding of things that should not concern her. But he had learned over the last year or so that she had a way of knowing things that she should not.

  “He’s going to jail,” Lennon said. “He can’t hurt anyone.” Satisfied at his answer, Ellen got to her feet and crossed the room to where Susan dabbed Galya’s cheeks with a tissue. Ellen took Galya’s hand.

  “Come on,” she said.

  Without a word, Galya stood and allowed Ellen to lead her back to the tree, taking tiny shuffling steps on her tattered feet. She sat down on the floor between the two girls as Lennon looked on.

  Ellen pressed the doll into Galya’s hands. “Lookit,” she said. “You can change her clothes.”

  She selected a dress and showed it to the visitor.

  Galya smiled and said, “It is very pretty.”

  Ellen chose a trousers suit. “What about this one?”

  “Is pretty also,” Galya said.

  “But which one’s nicer?” Ellen asked.

  “The dress,” Galya said.

  Ellen handed her the outfit, and Galya began undoing the clasps, her tongue between her teeth, a child’s concentration on her face.

  Lennon left them to play.

  74

  ARTURAS STRAZDAS DIALED the number again.

  Still no answer.

  “Bastard,” he said after the tone. “Call me back, you fucking bastard.”

  He dropped the phone on the bed. The room felt much smaller than it had yesterday. He had slept for perhaps an hour and dreamt of Tomas lying on a slab, his blank eyes staring upward forever, and no one to bury him but Herkus. Except Herkus couldn’t do anything for Tomas because he too was dead.

  Strazdas had woken with a feeling of weight on his chest, and he had lain there unable to scream for long minutes. When he could move, he rushed to the desk in the living room and pressed his nose to the glass top, inhaling whatever traces of powder still lay there.

  He’d been trying to phone his contact ever since, and the bastard would not answer. Two hours had passed, and the sun cast a milky white light through the clouds that covered the city. Strazdas opened the window and gritted his teeth against the icy air that flooded in and around his naked body. He stood still and upright, goose pimples spreading over his skin, until he convulsed with the cold.

  The phone rang. He grabbed it.

  “Where have you been? Why haven’t you answered, you fucking—”

  “Arturas,” she said.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, his legs weakened by her voice. “Mother.”

  “Have you forgotten me?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Have you forgotten what you promised me?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Then talk to me.”

  He tried to find the words, but could not.

  “Talk to me,” she said again, a hardness in her voice that dislodged a memory he preferred to keep nailed down, not free to roam his mind, crashing into the things he thought he knew. He covered his genitals with his free hand and brought his knees together.

  “My driver is dead,” he said. “A madman killed him.”

  “Your driver does not concern me,” she said. “I am only concerned with the whore who killed my son.”

  Strazdas felt pressure in his bladder. “The police have her,” he said.

  He listened to silence for a few seconds before she said, “You will take her from them.”

  “My contact will deal with it,” he said.

  “I don’t care how you do it,” she said. “Just know this: you will not return to me until you have done what I have asked. Do you understand?”

  A deep, itching heat gnawed at his groin, his bladder burning for release. “I understand.”

  “Good,” she said, and hung up.

  He dropped the phone and ran to the bathroom, the first drops escaping him before he could reach the toilet bowl. A shiver coursed through him as he closed his eyes and listened to the sound of water on water.

  When his bladder was empty, he showered, the tap set as hot as he could stand it. He returned to the bedroom and retrieved his phone. Daylight had taken hold outside while he’d been gone. He dialed the contact’s number one more time and waited for the answering machine.

  “One hundred thousand for the whore,” he said.

  Less than a minute later, the contact called back.

  “It’s difficult today,” he said.

  “My offer lasts until noon tomorrow,” Strazdas said. “After that, it’s half. The day after, half again.”

  “Leave it with me,” the contact said.

  75

  GALYA WOKE FROM a dense and dreamless sleep and wondered for a few seconds where she was. The memory of where she had been came first, crushing the air from her lungs, followed by the realization that she was safe.

  She lay still for a time, trying not to think about anything but the long bath she had taken before she had come in here to sleep. She had lain in the water for almost an hour, her bandaged feet wrapped in plastic bags and propped on the rim. Songs had come to her mind, songs from her childhood that she’d sung with her friends. She had hummed them to herself, listening to her voice resonate between the tiled walls.

  How long had she been asleep? It seemed as if she had closed her eyes only moments ago, burrowing into the warmth of Susan’s bed, but when she opened them the light had changed. She listened to the activity beyond the bedroom door. The two girls laughed in unison. Dishes and pots clanked and clattered. The woman, Susan, cooking. She seemed like a good person, but tired, as if something pained her from within. Galya imagined some of that pain was the fault of Lennon, the police officer who had brought her here.

  He was a curious man. A decent man, Galya thought. She wondered if he brought her to this woman’s home, instead of putting her in a cell, as some way of trying to prove his own value to himself. He smiled sometimes, and laughed, and talked, but now and then his thoughts would be elsewhere, his eyes vacant.

  Did Galya trust him? She wasn’t sure yet, but Susan clearly did, and that would have to do.

  She pushed the quilt back and sat up, lowering her feet to the floor as softly as she could. Her soles burned on contact, even with the dressings to shield them. The pain crept up through her ankles and into her calves. Aches and stings nagged at every part of her body.

  The clean clothes had been left in a small pile next to the bed. Her own had been taken by the police. Evidence, they had said.

  The kind woman who spoke to Galya in the hospital had told her she had nothing to fear from the police. The killing was clearly self-defense, she had said, they would understand that. The man who died had been a criminal. The police would not mourn his passing.

  But still, there were procedures, questions to answer. Courtrooms and lawyers. Months in this city, no prospect of going home.

  Galya felt tears returning, but she fought them back. She would have no more of that. Not now. There would be plenty of time to weep in the days and weeks ahead.

  She dressed in the jeans and T-shirt, both too big for her small shoulders and hips, and leaned on the wall as she eased her feet into the slippers. They provided a little cushioning for her feet as she walked to the door and opened it.

  Galya stood for a few seconds, watching. From here she could see through the short hallway to the living room where the girls continued to play beneath the tree. The policeman talked on his mobile phone while Susan arranged plates and cutlery on a table.

  Warm food smells caused Galya’s tongue to moisten, and her stomach to growl. Cooked meat, hot oil, boiled vegetables. Above it all, the sweetness of sugary things. Galya imagined chocolate and caramel, and had to suppress a joyful giggle with a hand over her mouth. A wave of dizziness swept across her mind, and sh
e steadied herself against the doorframe.

  Susan looked up from her preparations and smiled. “Come on,” she said. “Don’t be shy.”

  Galya walked slowly to the table, using any surface she could reach for balance. Her stomach burbled again, loud enough that Susan raised her eyebrows.

  “Sit down,” she said. “You can get a little head start on everyone else.”

  Galya lowered herself into one of the chairs, an empty plate in front of her. Susan reached into a tin and scooped up a handful of brightly wrapped sweets. She opened her hand above the plate, the sweets spilling from her fingers like pirate’s treasure. Galya unwrapped a green-colored jewel and took a bite, closed her eyes and let the chocolate melt on her tongue, exhaled through her nose as the corners of her mouth turned upward.

  When she opened them, the policeman sat facing her.

  “They want you in tonight, ready for interview in the morning,” he said.

  The fledgling smile died on her lips.

  “We can eat first,” he said. “But I have to take you in later. I asked if we could hold off until tomorrow, but the head of my MIT, my boss, he wants you in. He’s not happy I didn’t bring you straight from the hospital.”

  Galya asked, “After, will I come back here?”

  The policeman shook his head. “No,” he said. “They want you in custody.”

  She felt heat in her eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” Lennon said. “They should have the Victim Care Suite available by tomorrow. You’ll only be in the cells for one night. I’ll make sure of it, I promise.”

  Galya smiled, though she had a feeling Jack Lennon, like most men, seldom kept his promises.

  76

  THEY ATE IN near silence, the occasional whispering between Ellen and Lucy the only conversation. Lennon watched Galya as she put away more food than he would ever have thought she could manage. She cleared one plate, then simply held it out to Susan, who dutifully reloaded it with turkey, ham, and roast potatoes. When the dessert came, trifle and ice cream, she devoured a bowlful, one heaping spoon after another. She burped when she had finished, and the girls erupted in laughter.

  “Please excuse,” she said.

  “Don’t worry,” Susan said as she set about gathering up the plates. “Why don’t you go and get some more sleep?”

  “Thank you,” Galya said. She looked at each of them in turn as she stood. “All of you.”

  Lennon smiled and nodded. “I think I’ll try for a nap too,” he said.

  “No you won’t,” Susan said. “You’ll help me clear up.”

  Lennon knew protesting would do him no good, so he sighed and collected cutlery and soiled napkins.

  As he and Susan piled dishes in the sink, she asked, “What’ll happen to her?”

  “She’ll be looked after,” Lennon said. “Even if the Public Prosecution Service goes after her for the killing, she’ll hardly do any time. Most likely Care NI will house her while the case is dealt with, then she’ll go home when it’s all done.”

  “And after that?” Susan asked. “What she’s been through, the trauma of it. How is she supposed to cope with that?”

  “That’s not for us to deal with,” he said, knowing how callous it sounded as he spoke.

  “Christ,” Susan said. “It’s like she’s just rubbish to be thrown away when you lot are done with her.”

  “It’s not like that,” Lennon said, even though he knew it was. “She’ll be cared for as well as we can manage. If she was an EU citizen, Polish or Latvian, anything, then she could stay here and get whatever treatment she needs. Counseling, medical care, all of that. But she’s Ukrainian. That means as soon as the system’s done with her, she has to get out of the country. We can’t do any more for her.”

  “It’s a shitty way to treat a human being,” she said. “But I know you’ll do your best for her.”

  Susan slipped an arm around Lennon’s waist. He put his around her shoulder and pulled her close.

  “Dishes will do till the morning,” she said. “Fancy a lie down?”

  Lennon looked over his shoulder to the children, who now lay in front of the television watching a Harry Potter movie.

  “They’ll be fine,” Susan said.

  Lennon watched his daughter as she rested her chin on her hands, her feet kicking idly in the air. He thought of every girl like Galya he’d met before, and remembered they had all once been small and full of wonder.

  “I hope so,” he said.

  77

  THE CONTACT SAID, “It’s in hand. Lennon will leave for the station with the girl. They won’t get there.”

  “Good,” Strazdas said.

  He sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, naked, his knees up to his chin. An icy draft explored his body. He had opened and closed the window a hundred times today. Boiling or freezing, there was no in between.

  “Then I want you on a plane out of here,” the contact said. “There’s a flight from the International Airport to Brussels at eleven in the morning. I’ll arrange a taxi for you.”

  “All right,” Strazdas said.

  “And I want paid,” the contact said.

  “Just do what I asked you to do,” Strazdas said. “Then you will be paid.”

  “It’ll be done,” the contact said.

  Strazdas shivered. “One more thing,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I need something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Herkus would get it for me, but he’s dead.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Coke,” Strazdas said.

  He listened to seconds of silence before the contact said, “Fuck off.”

  78

  LENNON WALKED GALYA to the car, the warmth of Susan’s kiss still lingering on his cheek. A dense fog doused the world in a sickly gray-white, masking the dark sky above. Snow, now freezing as the temperature dropped, crunched under their feet. Galya wore a pair of Susan’s old trainers, at least one size too big for her, padded out by thick socks to protect her feet. She held a hooded duffel coat tight around her thin body.

  He removed the sheets of cardboard he’d placed over the front and rear windshields to protect them from the frost and dumped them in the Audi’s trunk, then held the door for Galya. She thanked him in her soft voice as she settled into the passenger seat.

  Lennon checked the time as he fired the ignition. Almost ten. He’d been told they wanted her in before the shift change. Well, they would have to wait a few minutes, he thought. It would be slow going in this weather, and besides, it was Christmas.

  The traction control light flickered on the dashboard as he pulled out from the car park and made the right turn toward the roundabout at the bottom of Stranmillis Embankment. Galya sat in silence, buried in the coat, nose and eyes visible in the opening of the hood.

  “It’ll be all right,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself.

  She did not answer, but stared ahead as he drove along the embankment, the river lost in the fog to their right. The frozen air weighed down on the empty streets around them, exaggerating the quiet. Lennon saw no other cars, no pedestrians braving the cold.

  Why had the duty officer insisted the girl be brought in tonight? Who was going to come in to question her? When pressed, the duty officer said he’d been told to make it happen, and that was that. Lennon had asked who was doing the telling, and the duty officer said DCI Thompson didn’t want the girl out in the wild. But a man as lazy as Thompson didn’t get worked up about such things unless he was instructed to do so by someone else. Lennon wondered if the someone else might be an old friend from C3 Intelligence Branch trying to make his life difficult.

  He slowed the car by shifting down gears, only dabbing the brake pedal, to avoid skidding on the ice and snow. The Audi juddered and groaned as he stopped for the red light south of King’s Bridge. Even though there was no one to see it, he flicked his indicator on to cross the river.

  The
light went from red to amber, and Lennon halfclutched until the Audi started to pull. He released the hand brake on green, and eased the car away without skidding, taking his time to the second set of lights just a few yards ahead.

  “It won’t be long till we’re there,” he said. He turned his head to Galya, but she did not return his gaze.

  “I swear,” he said. “It’ll be all right. They’ll look—”

  Noise erupted from somewhere out in the fog: the roar of an engine and spinning of wheels. He looked for lights, but saw none. A car burst from the gray shroud, an old four-wheel-drive Nissan, its front end lurching from side to side as the driver fought the ice. For a brief second, Lennon thought someone had lost control of the car as it rolled down the slope from Ridgeway Street. But it gathered speed, and he knew the collision would be no accident.

  He stamped on the accelerator and felt the Audi jerk beneath him as its tires lost their grip on the ice-covered road. The rear end arced outward, turning the nose away from the river. Galya gasped as she realized what was happening. She covered her head with her arms as the other car slammed into the Audi’s rear quarter.

  Lennon felt rather than heard the bang of the passenger side airbags deploying as his neck jerked sideways. His head connected with the driver’s side window, and lightning flashed behind his eyes.

  He blinked, no idea if seconds or minutes had passed since the impact. His vision blurred and hardened. He listened. The Audi’s engine still idled, and some warning signal pinged. He looked around the car. The rear passenger-side window had shattered, the door buckled inward, but the front remained intact. Galya still sat with her head buried in her hands, her breath coming in jagged gulps.

  The damage would have been greater had the Nissan been able to hold a straight and steady course, but the ice had robbed it of grip and speed. On the far side, hazed by the thickening fog and smoke from its engine, Lennon saw the driver’s door open. A man emerged, a hood over his head, a scarf around his face. Lennon squinted through the mist as the man raised his hand.

  Lennon threw the Audi into first and floored the accelerator. The tires churned ice before the car hauled away, its rear end sweeping to the right, as the back window cracked and something tore into the roof lining. Galya screamed.