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Walk in Silence

Page 4

by J. G. Sinclair


  ‘I don’t have a street name.’

  ‘It won’t have one. You don’t want to be postman in Albania . . . there are still a lot of roads with no name.’ Pavli sipped some wine before continuing. ‘And you have any idea why all these people they are murdered?’

  ‘The grandparents were murdered to put pressure on my client.’

  ‘Who was your client?’

  ‘The boy’s mother, Kaltrina Dervishi.’

  ‘The girl was your client?’ Pavli sounded surprised. ‘What is your job?’

  ‘I’m a lawyer. Kaltrina was due to give evidence in a trial against a drug dealer and as a result she was marked down for execution – is the short version. The guy ran a prostitution ring, trafficked girls, smuggled drugs . . . multi-talented.’

  ‘The girl was Albanian?’

  ‘And the hit man. And the drug dealer.’

  ‘So you have a good impression of my country, eh? Hopefully today you will see another side, albeit at the funeral of someone who used to be in secret police. Okay! I’m starting to get the picture in my head. This is a little more complicated than first I thought. You are leaving tomorrow, yes . . . you can’t stay any longer?’

  ‘No, I have to get back.’

  ‘I will take some notes before you leave here and do some checking, but I won’t be able to do this now until tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s fine. I appreciate you giving up your time.’

  ‘If I find anything I will call you or email you. You can come back?’

  ‘Yes. Not straight away – the trial is about to start, but if you find anything I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘So, you know the killer’s name?’

  ‘Engjell E Zeze. He was contracted by a guy called Fisnik Abazi.’

  Keira studied Pavli’s expression for any change, assuming he might have heard of them, but if he did recognise the names his face gave no hint of it. Instead he said, ‘My grandfather wanted to be buried, but my grandmother would not grant this wish. She has destroyed all photographs and burned his clothes. It is her belief that – for all the suffering he brought to this world – his time on the earth should have no reminders.’ Pavli turned to Keira and asked. ‘Do you think she is right to do this?’

  ‘It’s sad to lead a life that no one wants to commemorate, but I can understand her logic.’

  ‘This thing you are trying to do for the boy – it is a good thing. You will be remembered for this.’

  ‘I’m not doing it for the boy; I’m doing it for me,’ replied Keira.

  Six

  The idea was to finish packing, head down for a quick swim then take a walk into the market area of Durrës in search of something to eat, but Keira felt tired. She lay on the bed and closed her eyes, then almost immediately sat bolt upright again. One of the french doors leading to the balcony had slammed against its frame with a loud crack and was now knocking against the metal railings.

  The setting sun had given way to a grey blanket of cloud and the room was now in darkness. Feeling the sudden drop in temperature, she hoisted herself up from the bed and secured the door, bolting it top and bottom. Outside, small droplets of rain stained the terracotta floor of the balcony dark grey. Before long there was rainwater cascading from the overhang; the gulleys and downpipes quickly overwhelmed by the sudden rainstorm. Her watch read 21:47: she’d been asleep for nearly four hours. Through the torrents of water that streamed across the glass panels of the french doors she could see the heavy droplets bouncing off the deserted boardwalk.

  Keira made her way over to sit on the edge of the bed. She lifted the receiver from the bedside table and – since it was too late to head out now – dialled room service.

  ‘Hi, is the kitchen still open?’

  ‘Yes! You would like some food?’

  ‘Do you have paçe?’

  The guy at the other end of the line laughed. ‘Zana?’

  ‘Is that you, Xhon? I thought I recognised your voice, but I wasn’t sure.’

  ‘We didn’t feed you well enough today?’

  ‘You did, but I’ve been asleep since I got back and somehow managed to work up an appetite.’

  ‘I told Pavli he shouldn’t have driven us back. He had too much of the wine. But he’s a cop, who’s going to arrest him? No father should have to endure listening to their own flesh and blood being so awkward in the presence of a female. He brings shame on the family.’

  ‘I think your presence made him a little awkward.’

  ‘You think if I hadn’t been there he would be up in your room with you now?’

  ‘I’m here to find a boy, Xhon, that’s all. Pavli’s a nice guy, but that’s it.’

  ‘I hear what you are saying. We don’t do paçe in this hotel. Only sandwiches available now: with the ham or cheese. You would like this with some chips?’

  ‘That’s fine; anything, really. How long will it be?’

  ‘Ten–fifteen minutes. I’ll make them fresh. Is okay?’

  ‘Could I get a large whisky sour as well?’

  ‘Of course! I will bring this up as quick as possible.’

  ‘Xhon, I need to be at the airport for about six a.m. tomorrow. What time should I leave?’

  ‘You will not get much sleep tonight. The traffic will not be bad, but you will still have to be on the road maybe 5 a.m. You want I should give you lift?’

  ‘Thanks, but I have the rental car. I need to take it back.’

  ‘Okay. I will now go to kitchen.’

  Keira slipped the phone back into its cradle and headed into the bathroom. She’d slept for too long. A quick bath and a night in seemed like the only option now.

  Keira twisted the mixer tap, held her fingers under the stream of water until it was warm, then left the bath to fill while she picked through the small bottles by the sink in search of some bubble bath. The shampoo, conditioner and shower gel all smelled the same so she emptied each of the bottles into the flow from the tap and watched as folds of bubbles started to appear.

  Keira undid the top two buttons on her blouse then pulled it up and over her head. She took off her bra, then unzipped her jeans, hooked her thumbs in the waistband and pulled them down over her hips, dragging her panties along with them.

  Standing naked in front of the mirror, she slowly raised her arms to the side so that her body made the shape of a crucifix, then closed her eyes and let her head fall forward until she could feel the muscles in her neck stretch and tighten.

  A draught of cold air swept into the bathroom, then a noise from the bedroom made her turn.

  She listened for a moment, before calling, ‘Xhon!’

  The bedroom was shielded from view by the bathroom door. A step sideways and she was peering through into the darkness.

  ‘Xhon, is that you?’

  There was no answer.

  Keira figured the sound must have come from the room next door and was about resume her meditation when she heard it again. There was no mistaking this time. The noise had come from somewhere in the bedroom.

  With the bath still running, Keira stepped out into the darkness, heading for the main light switch by the bedroom door. The french door opened a fraction then slammed shut, letting cold air blow in through the gap. ‘Shit,’ said Keira to herself, ‘I thought I’d closed you already.’ She bent down and pressed the bolt at the bottom of the door firmly into place, then stood to fasten the top bolt. As she reached to the top of the door frame Keira caught a movement: something darker than the shadows approaching from the side.

  She turned too late to avoid the blow. A gloved fist slammed into the side of her face, the force of the impact causing her to stumble sideways and crash against the wall. Before she had time to react to the first punch, there came a second, then a third in rapid succession. Keira tried to raise her arms to protect her face but the damage was done. A roundhouse to the stomach and she was down.

  Keira dropped heavily onto her knees, gulping at the air as she struggled to fill her lungs
again. The figure loomed out of the darkness with both fists clenched together and struck Keira full in the face, spraying blood up the wall as she fell unconscious to the floor.

  Half an hour later reception got a call from the room below, the guy screaming down the phone, ‘There’s water pouring from the light fitting. It is all over my bed and my clothes!’

  Xhon was the first to arrive.

  *

  Keira lay on her back, strapped to a trolley in the back of an ambulance on the way to hospital. The area around her right eye was dark and swollen. Two lines of dried blood extended from her nostrils out along her top lip and down the side of her cheek. There was blood seeping from a row of puncture wounds where her front teeth had penetrated her bottom lip due to the force of the blow. The paramedic had just given her a shot of morphine, which was already starting to take effect. Keira could sense a warm familiar feeling starting in her toes and spreading up along her legs, over her thighs and across her chest till it finally reached her head and the sharp, stabbing pain eased a little.

  She was aware of a slight pressure on her right hand and, glancing down, realised that Xhon was sitting beside the stretcher with her hand clasped between his rough palms. She squeezed lightly and saw his big friendly face staring back at her.

  ‘I came up with the tray, but I didn’t want to disturb you . . . I’m sorry. I heard the bath running and when you didn’t come to the door I pushed a note under. I’m very sorry.’

  ‘You got to see me naked before Pavli,’ replied Keira.

  Xhon smiled back at her, but couldn’t think of a comeback.

  Eventually Keira mumbled, ‘Where’s my whisky sour?’

  Seven

  The guy in the white lab coat pushing Keira’s wheelchair along the fluorescent-bright corridor of the American Medical Center in Durrës was talking to her in Albanian. A couple of times Keira tried to cut in, but he wasn’t listening.

  She spotted Pavli Variboba limping along the corridor toward them: he looked very different in his uniform. ‘You decided to stay a little longer?’

  Lifting the cold compress away from her eye, she tried to smile, but the bruising down the left side of her face and swelling around her mouth and cheek meant that nothing moved.

  ‘Can you tell this guy I don’t know what he’s saying. I can’t understand him.’

  ‘He’s not talking to you,’ said Pavli as he reached her. ‘He’s making notes on his phone.’

  Keira tried turning to get a better view, but the movement in her neck and shoulders was limited. ‘When he’s done, can you ask him if I’m in good enough shape to fly?’

  ‘You can ask me yourself,’ replied the doctor in a New England accent as he steered the wheelchair into a private room off the corridor. ‘I’m making notes for my secretary. He’s Albanian.’

  The room was cold and uninviting, lit with the same fluorescents as the corridor and filled with a nondescript modern desk, two chairs and a metal filing cabinet. ‘My advice would be to take it easy for the next day or so,’ continued the doctor, taking his place behind the desk. ‘You have a concussion. It appears to be a mild one, but you need to rest. Keep using the ice compress and I’ll give you some meds to take with you.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be flying back to Glasgow in a few hours.’

  Keira caught the look between Pavli and the doctor.

  ‘It’s almost midday,’ interrupted Pavli. ‘Your flight left five hours ago.’

  The doctor leant forward and placed his elbows on the desk, his face serious. ‘I would advise you not to fly for at least forty-eight hours.’

  ‘I need to get home. I have to be in court on Monday.’

  ‘Ideally I’d keep you in for observation, but you’re probably okay to go back to the hotel and hang there if you’d rather.’

  ‘Can I drive?’

  ‘If you feel up to it, but if anything happens your insurance would be invalid, so you have to weigh up if it’s worth the risk.’ The doctor slid a printed sheet of A4 across the desktop. ‘This is just to say you’re leaving of your own volition. We can’t keep you here if you don’t want to stay: just to cover ourselves.’

  ‘I’ll give you a lift back to the hotel,’ said Pavli, taking hold of the wheelchair. ‘You want to stop in for a coffee somewhere and we can talk some? You feel up to it?’

  ‘Only if the espresso comes with a straw,’ replied Keira.

  *

  The glass-fronted Pelikan café opened onto a narrow pavement at the corner of Rruga Pavaresia and Rruga Bajram Curri. A two-metre-high fibreglass ice-cream cone marked the entrance, which led to rows of enclosed glass display cabinets containing pastries, cakes and a variety of colourfully wrapped sweet treats.

  Keira and Pavli sat in the shade of a palm tree at one of the tables outside, talking above the noise of traffic. The previous night’s storm had rinsed the air clean.

  ‘The view’s not as satisfying as the coffee,’ said Keira, lifting the straw away from her swollen lips and placing it and the double-shot cup back on the table.

  ‘Their pastries are very good too and not expensive. I stop in here in the morning on the way to work . . . the people who work here are friendly.’

  ‘You don’t have to convince me Albania’s a good place . . . I know I’ve just been unlucky.’

  ‘So far you’ve been ripped off and beaten up, robbed . . . you’ve only been here a few days. Just as well you’re not staying for a few weeks.’

  ‘I’m a lawyer. I see the consequences of crime all the time. Violence is not part of my everyday experience, but dealing with its aftermath is. It’s not pleasant, but I can rationalise it. I’m not going to write off an entire country because of a few unfortunate incidents. Only civilised people can make coffee this good . . . Relax.’

  ‘That’s nice of you to say, but none of the news I have is good.’ Pavli glanced down at his notebook. ‘The security cameras at the hotel were not working so we have no way of knowing who attacked you. It is most likely to be this Daud Pasha – or someone working for him – but we can’t be sure. His name doesn’t check out; unless he’s the same Daud Pasha that was the grand vizier to the sultan.’

  ‘You still have a sultan?’

  ‘Not since the fifteenth century. Pasha – or whoever he is – probably gave himself the name from a book. If you are not so ill, I thought you could come down to the station and maybe check out some ID shots. See if anything comes up and maybe give us more of a description.’

  ‘That bit of shell you get in your last mouthful of boiled egg. He was like that.’

  ‘Might need a bit more than that to go on,’ replied Pavli. ‘I can show you what we have. Not today: tomorrow morning maybe, if you feel up to it.’

  ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘No. I probably have enough. If all that was in the safe in your room was the money – then chances are you were just unlucky.’

  ‘My passport too.’

  ‘Your passport was also in the safe?’

  ‘Yes. I told one of the cops at the hospital.’

  Pavli frowned. ‘This I didn’t see on the report. It may cause you more of a delay getting home, but I will talk to some people and see if we can rush through a new one. You will need to talk to your embassy as soon as possible.’ Pavli took a sip of coffee and continued. ‘Every so often there is a spate of robberies from the hotels. I’ll check around and see if any others happened at the same time. It’s just as likely to be this. We checked out Pasha’s phone too – the mobile number you gave us. It’s just as temporary as his name and no one is picking up now . . . so, I’m sorry, but my news, it’s not so good.’

  ‘What about the boy? The Dervishi family? The unnamed road in Dushk?’

  Pavli shook his head. ‘I checked the records: everything over the past few years. The girl’s family the Dervishis are definitely registered there, but there is no record of the boy. There is also nothing about any murders. If we drove up there just now we’d probably f
ind the grandparents sitting out in the garden enjoying the sun. Your client, the girl Kaltrina, maybe she was lying?’

  Keira shook her head. ‘No. They sent a video of the mother and father telling her to stop. Under duress . . . to scare her: trying to make her think twice about giving evidence.’

  ‘Could have been a fake?’

  ‘I watched it. They knew they were going to die.’

  ‘That look you get when you realise it’s not the dying, but the length of time it takes to get over it?’

  ‘Yeah, “eternity fear”. If you’ve ever woken up in the middle of the night and felt the dread you know what I’m talking about. It wasn’t a fake.’

  ‘There’s only two other scenarios I can think of. One is best option but unlikely, the other is more likely, but worst option.’

  Keira lifted her coffee, took another sip from the straw and waited for Pavli to continue.

  ‘There’s the possibility the murder did happen, but not in their home. So far I’ve only looked in the location of Dushk. I can check the national database – widen the search. But my feeling is this would be a waste of time.’

  ‘The worst-case scenario?’

  ‘Not every crime that’s committed in Albania is reported. There are a lot of very dangerous people with a lot of influence whose best interests are not served by reporting or recording crimes. Judges, politicians, police officers are paid to look the other way. These organisations are run like the Mafia. They are families, with strong ties and little humanity. If they are the ones that murdered the girl’s parents then no one will speak out against them. Even if the police have been to visit the scene of the crime they may not have filed a report or even opened an investigation. If the Clan is involved in these murders I would advise you to rest as much as you can in the next few days, then travel to the airport and get the first plane out of here. Forget the boy, forget trying to be his guardian angel, forget your guilty conscience. Get on the plane and go home. My grandfather’s funeral was fun . . . Yours wouldn’t be.’

 

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