Reckoning Point, стр. 42
“What did Braith do to the bodies in here?” he asks Roland suddenly.
Roland screws up his face and for a moment Lev thinks that he’s simply going to flee. But, to his surprise, the young man answers him, albeit in a voice loaded with unshed tears.
“He put them in there, he tried to make them smaller but he stopped doing that. He poured some stuff on them and put matches on them.” Roland points towards the bathroom door, standing slightly ajar.
“What do you mean, ‘he tried to make them smaller’?” Roland snaps.
Roland’s throat works, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He doesn’t answer, instead he raises his right hand and makes a sawing motion with his arm.
Lev shakes his head disbelief. How did Mark Braith expect to cut up three bodies and then set fire to them in a shared building without being found out?
“Can’t we just put her back in her own house?” Roland’s tone is sullen and scared.
Lev looks over at him, about to berate the boy, but he pauses and looks around. If he cleans up in here, nobody will ever know Joy was here. If she was found in her own apartment, if Lev can stage it to make it look like an accident …
He springs to life at the same time as the Dexedrine takes effect. “Yes, good man, Roland, good fucking idea!”
Lev darts into the kitchen and opens all of the cupboards. There are no gloves, nothing to cover his hands, expect … he snatches up a box of Clingfilm and waves it at Roland. He pulls out a length, tears it off with his teeth and binds it tightly around his right hand, repeating the procedure on his left hand and throws the box at Roland.
“Cover your hands, make sure you wrap them around your fingertips, then come and help me.”
While Roland struggles with the Clingfilm, Lev moves to the front door and opens it a crack. He peers out, looks left and right and edges forward to look over the balcony. The street is as quiet as it’s ever going to be, and turning back he sees Joy’s door is closed. He steps over to it, tries the handle, somewhat awkwardly with his Clingfilm bound hands, and relief floods through him as it opens easily. He pauses on the threshold, not knowing if Joy lives alone. She could have an entire family in there, for all he knows. But the flat is in darkness, and he moves inside. The interior is the same layout as his, so he treads around the lounge, into the bathroom and the small bedroom. He can see no evidence of any other person sharing this home with Joy, so satisfied, he returns to his own apartment to execute the next stage of the plan.
Elian jogs up the metal steps, her sneakered feet making no noise. As she reaches the floor which Lev’s apartment is on, she hears the gentle creak of a door opening. Nimbly, she ducks behind the large, iron banister that acts as part of one of the supports for the floor above. It’s him, she can see as she looks through one of the rusted holes in which a missing bolt should be. He’s shoeless, his own feet making even less sound than hers. She holds her breath as he looks over the railing to the pavement below and then he goes over to the apartment next to his, tries the door handle, and slips inside.
Elian breathes out and leans against the iron post. What’s he doing in there? It’s not his apartment, because she saw him come out of number 1058. But she has no time to ponder it further, as the door emits a tiny creak again and Lev is coming back out, darting along to his apartment.
Elian waits, is about to stand up and approach again when his door opens once more. Only this time when he emerges, he’s walking backwards, carrying one end of something that looks quite heavy. She covers her chest with one hand as her heart begins to bang alarmingly and stays very still as another person emerges from Lev’s apartment. As the two men work together, shuffling and grunting, Elian strains to see what it is they are carrying between them.
And as the light from the streetlamp encapsulates them in a glow for a mere moment, she realises exactly what the bulky, sheet-covered item is.
She moves her hand from her chest to her mouth, biting down on her fingers, trying to swallow down the scream that threatens to escape.
40
NAOMI
STRANDWEG to OUD SCHEVENINGEN
9.7.15 Late night
Naomi Wilson walks down Strandweg towards the home she shares with Erik in Oud Scheveningen. She has already passed the small, terraced house that they live in on Zeeruststraat, but, for reasons she couldn’t entirely fathom, instead of going inside she kept on walking. The house was in darkness, so Erik probably wasn’t home, but it was a nice, if slightly chilly evening and she moved on down the street, passing the trams on the left, cutting through to the Strandweg, and walking down towards to the pier.
The beachfront bars are still heaving with holiday-goers and every other one seems to be hosting a stag or hen party. Inebriated youths on scooters swerve around her, and when she reaches Scheveningeslag she cuts through and turns right, heading again towards home.
She pauses, as