Blood Whispers Read online

  *

  Keira paid the taxi driver, then stood for a moment and watched as it drove off, waiting for the street to return to silence. A thin mist had started to form in the cooling autumnal air, giving a hazy definition to the pools of light surrounding the street lamps dotted along the walkway that led to her block of flats. She considered having one more cigarette before going indoors, but she was tired and wanted to get to sleep straight away. The nicotine would probably keep her awake, so she decided not to.

  As she set off, Keira looked up towards her small balcony on the seventh floor and frowned. There was a dim glow emanating from behind the drawn curtains. She wondered if the cleaners might have left the light on by mistake, then remembered that they weren’t due for another few days.

  She counted the floors again: it was definitely her flat.

  Keira started moving towards the building without taking her eyes off the window.

  Suddenly she stopped.

  A shadow passed in front of the curtains.

  Someone was in there.

  Keira rushed inside the building and stood for a few moments hitting the side of her fist against the call button. When the lift failed to arrive, she turned and headed through into the stairwell taking the stairs two at a time.

  When she reached her landing she pulled a small can of pepper spray from her purse and made her way along the corridor until she was standing outside her front door. Pepper spray was illegal, but so was breaking and entering.

  Sliding her key into the lock, Keira opened the door as quietly as possible and slipped cautiously into the darkened hallway of her apartment. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she pushed the door gently shut behind her. She stood for a moment listening, her ears straining for any sounds that didn’t match the familiar creaks and groans of the flat.

  The door to the living room was open, but the light had been switched off. There was a faint odour of sweat and cheap aftershave: a musky scent that didn’t belong.

  As she moved into the lounge Keira felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. The curtains were now open.

  Light from outside lined the edges of every object and piece of furniture in the room with a pale orange glow.

  She slowly scanned the room, but there was no sign of movement.

  Suddenly the sound of the telephone ringing cut through the silence and made her flinch. ‘Holy shit,’ she muttered under her breath.

  Keira didn’t move, but stood waiting for the answering machine to click in.

  ‘Hey, Keira, it’s David. Just checking you got home okay. If you’re not too late getting in, call me back, otherwise I’ll see you in the morning.’ Her assistant’s voice rattled loudly against the stillness. She stepped towards the kitchen worktop and snatched the phone out of its cradle. ‘Hey!’

  ‘You’re there!’

  ‘Are you nearby?’

  ‘I’m at home. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine, but I think someone’s been in my flat,’ she whispered, unaware of the figure moving through the shadows in the hallway behind her.

  ‘I can hardly hear you. Is everything all right?’

  ‘I think I’ve been burgled.’

  ‘No shit! Do you want me to come over?’

  ‘No, but will you stay on the line while I have a look round?’

  ‘First the office and now your apartment . . . Shit. Have they taken anything?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’ve only just come in.’

  ‘Jesus. Keira, hang up and call the cops . . .’

  ‘No, just stay on the phone.’

  Keira flicked the lights on and looked around the lounge. Everything was exactly how she’d left it. Suddenly she felt a cold draught of air as the lounge door swung open and slammed hard against the wall.

  David heard her gasp. ‘Jesus, Keira, what’s going on . . . Keira?’

  Keira couldn’t speak. The front door that she’d closed just minutes earlier was now wide open.

  ‘If I don’t call you back in sixty seconds, call the police.’

  Keira didn’t wait for a response. She hung up then threw the telephone on to the sofa and ran to the front door. The fire door at the far end of the corridor was also wide open, filling the hallway with the sound of wind howling around in the stairwell beyond. Keira sprinted past the lift, on into the stairwell and down the stairs. She was soon on the ground floor. The glass sliding doors at the main entrance were drawing closed as she squeezed between them and emerged into the cool night air, panting for breath.

  She stood for a moment peering into the shadows, but the street was deserted.

  Twelve

  Keira sat upright and swung her bare feet off the sofa. The telephone was ringing on the coffee table next to her. Half awake, she quickly scanned the room to reassure herself that she was on her own before lifting the receiver.

  She didn’t want to admit it, but the day’s events had definitely rattled her.

  Keira glanced at her wristwatch.

  It was just after midnight.

  ‘Hey?’ Her voice sounded hoarse.

  ‘Did I wake you? I’m sorry!’

  ‘No, it’s all right, Ma. I’d nodded off on the sofa; you’re doing me a favour. Is everything okay? I’m sorry, I meant to call earlier. It’s all going off at work. I had to go through to Stirling and, well, it’s just the usual . . . shit . . . really.’

  ‘Don’t worry. What were you doing in Stirling?’

  ‘Cornton Vale; I’ve got a client on remand there . . . How’s Gran?’ she asked quickly, changing the subject.

  ‘Not great, I’m afraid.’ There was a short silence before her mother carried on. ‘I don’t think they expect her to last long . . . I was struggling to make out what the doctor was saying; he was speaking so fast, but the official line is, she’s “very poorly”.’

  Keira sighed heavily. ‘Have they taken her in?’

  ‘Sure, they wanted to, but she insisted on staying at home.’

  ‘You can hardly blame her.’

  ‘She keeps asking for you. Every time someone walks into the room she says your name, then shakes her head when she realizes it’s not you.’

  ‘Stop it, Ma,’ said Keira, rubbing her hand along the frown on her forehead.

  ‘I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I’m just telling you how it is. I know you’ve a lot going on, I’m not trying to make things harder for you, I’m just saying. And I can handle everything down here, you know that, it’s fine.’

  Keira stood up and started pacing round the room.

  ‘There’s something she wants to tell you,’ continued her mother.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’ve no idea; she won’t say – not to me, anyway. I don’t know if it’s the drugs they’re giving her or what, but she’s repeating it, over and over. Mumbling to herself, you know.’

  ‘Repeating what?’

  ‘Your name.’

  ‘I’ll leave work early and drive down tomorrow. I’ve already booked the afternoon off.’

  ‘No, listen, that’s not why I was calling,’ insisted her mother. ‘It was just to tell you what was happening and make sure you were okay. It’s unlike you, not to call.’

  ‘I know, sorry! It’s been a bit of a day, and then I fell asleep on the sofa. You’ve saved me from a sore neck and an imprinted face that says flock cushions. Drugs or no drugs, if Gran says there’s something she wants to tell me then there’s something she wants to tell me. I want to see her, too.’

  ‘I’m not going to lie to you, Keira; I don’t know how long she’ll last.’

  Keira stood frozen for a moment. It may just have been her imagination, but she was sure she’d picked up the scent of the guy’s aftershave lingering in the air: just a trace, but enough to give her a kick of adrenaline.

  ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered distractedly.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound like yourself.’

  ‘I’m fine . .
. It’s just . . . When I got home from work tonight I think I disturbed a burglar or something . . . someone in the apartment.’

  ‘Dear God, Keira, are you serious? Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘I’m saying now.’

  ‘Did you call the police?’

  ‘I did, but there was nothing taken, so there’s not much they can do. They came round, and were very nice, but as I say – what could they do?’

  ‘Was he inside?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure he was still inside the apartment when I got home. I could see the light on from the street when I got out of the taxi.’

  ‘Jesus, Keira, that’s awful!’

  ‘I ran up the stairs, but when I got here the light was off and the flat appeared to be empty. I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me, but I keep catching a smell of the guy’s aftershave . . . it’s weird. Unless, of course, your mind can play tricks on your nose . . . I suppose that’s a possibility.’

  ‘Why don’t you call David and ask him to come over and stay? I don’t think you should be in there on your own.’

  ‘I spoke to him, and he offered, but if there was a burglar, I doubt they’ll be coming back. I’ll be fine. David’s not really the guard-dog type. He’d scream louder than me. He can stop a person dead in their tracks with a bitchy comment, but I’m not sure that would work on your average criminal. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Tell Gran I’ll be really pissed off if she dies before I get there.’

  ‘Don’t joke, Keira, she may well.’

  ‘I’m not joking.’

  *

  Engjell E Zeze was lying on the bed in the hotel room, staring at the screen on his laptop. The image was split into four sections, each section covering a different area of Keira Lynch’s apartment. The surveillance cameras had the facility to zoom in and out but they couldn’t pan or tilt, and therefore offered only one perspective. The picture quality, however, was surprisingly clear. Stifling a yawn, Engjell tapped one of the images, which expanded to fill the screen: Keira in her bathroom, starting to undress.

  There were a few things about her that didn’t stack up. She was an attractive woman, but there were no signs of a husband or boyfriend or lover. She was slim, but could do with a bit of toning; the muscles on her arms and legs lacked definition. Her body shape could take anything, although she chose to dress down. Her face reminded Engjell of a photograph that had appeared in Life magazine; a young Sophia Loren lying on her front in a field with her legs bent up behind her. The lawyer’s hair had the same messy look and style, even though it was the wrong colour and she lacked both the make-up and the glamour. Her flat had also felt surprisingly empty. Aside from boxes filled with files and papers relating to work scattered everywhere, there were few possessions: no ornaments or personal mementos. Her walls were bare, except for one framed photograph of David Bowie taken in 1979 and signed by the photographer, Mick Rock. If there were a fire, or she had to leave in a hurry, Keira Lynch could grab the photograph, leave the apartment and no one would know she’d ever lived there. It lacked an identity.

  She’d spent an hour chatting to the cops, answering their questions matter-of-factly, playing it cool. Showing no outward signs that she’d been fazed by the fact that someone had broken in. She’d even refused her assistant’s offer to come and stay the night.

  Suddenly Keira appeared on screen, stripped down to her bra and pants, standing in the middle of the room. But it wasn’t the sight of her near-naked body that caught Engjell’s attention. She’d dipped her fingers in a tub on the side of the sink then gently smoothed it over her wrists before pressing them together, then rubbing them in small circles against each other, over and over again. Next she slowly swept her arms out to the side, her hands trailing in a balletic movement as she arched the small of her back and made the shape of a cross. It was surprisingly graceful, as though she was moving in slow motion. Finally, she let her head drop forward, until her chin was almost touching her chest.

  It looked to Engjell as if she had stopped breathing.

  She stood motionless in this pose for almost half an hour before slowly lowering her arms, raising her head and exiting the bathroom.

  Engjell sighed heavily. ‘Ju jeni një kurvë çuditshëm. Man, in any language, you are one weird bitch.’

  A few seconds later Keira reappeared wearing a T-shirt and stood by the sink to brush her teeth.

  Engjell clicked the small RECORD icon in the top right of the screen and put the laptop on the bedside cabinet: tiredness was kicking in. There was something thrilling about observing people in their unguarded state. Even the mundane held a fascination. But every now and then, in private, when they thought no one was looking, a person would do something extraordinary, just as Keira Lynch had. Standing almost naked, in total silence as though she had been crucified. Engjell E Zeze, the Watcher, wanted to call the lawyer and freak her out; tell her, ‘I’ve been watching you . . .’ Ask her, ‘What have you done to your wrists?’ and ‘Who is crucifying you?’ Leave her in no doubt she’d been observed, then hang up. Sit back and watch her panic.

  Engjell stared distractedly out of the window.

  It felt good knowing that at any time the lawyer could be destroyed. No guns, no weapons, just words! ‘I’ve been watching you.’

  Engjell pulled the computer closer again, tapped at the keyboard and waited for the search engine to come up with the results. ‘Cornton Vale women’s prison, Stirling.’

  It shouldn’t be this easy.

  Thirteen

  ‘Can you make out what they are saying? The sound’s not great.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s pretty obvious from the state of the guy to her left – who we presume to be Kaltrina’s father – that they’re not sitting there having a cosy about the weather,’ said David, screwing his face into a frown. ‘Whatever they did to him, these guys weren’t messing around: what a state!’

  Keira turned her face to Janica Ahmeti. ‘We need to know what the mother is saying.’

  ‘The girl has seen this?’ asked Janica.

  ‘Not yet. She’s being transported from Stirling to the police headquarters in Pitt Street; we’ll meet her there in about an hour. D’you need to watch it again?’

  ‘No, I got it.’ Janica then repeated the message back. First in Albanian: ‘Stop çfarë jeni duke bërë, Kaltrina. Nëse ju nuk e bëni . . . ata do të vrasin babait tuaj. Pastaj – në qoftë se ju ende vazhdojnë të tregoni gënjeshtra – Ata do të më vrasë.’ – then in English – ‘Stop what you are doing, Kaltrina. If you don’t they will kill your father. If you still continue to tell the lies – they will also kill me.’ ‘The next bit sounds like, “Ai është në rregull” – “He’s okay”, but it could be just, “Be okay”. There’s a noise on the first consonant. It’s either, “Ai është në rregull” or “Te jetë në rregull”, I’m not sure.’

  Janica and Keira were standing around David’s computer, watching a grainy, blown-up version of the video that had been recorded on the phone left on Keira’s desk.

  Even with the windows fully open and a fan blowing in the corner the office was too warm. The fan only circulated the hot air to other parts of the room.

  Keira pushed back from the desk and headed over to stand in front of it.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked David.

  ‘It’s going to thunder,’ replied Keira distractedly.

  David looked to Janica, then back at Keira. ‘You still got the heebies about last night? Forget it, nothing was stolen.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Janica.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I’d say it was a pretty big “something”,’ continued David. ‘Some freak broke into her apartment and sprayed eau de BO everywhere, then left without so much as one stolen object. He was still in the apartment when she got home.’

  ‘My God! Did you see who it was?’

  ‘No. I’m not even sure it happened. It was a long day yesterday . . . I was tired . . .
’

  ‘What did he spray?’

  ‘He didn’t spray anything. Not only does David’s mouth run away with him sometimes, but he’s prone to exaggeration.’

  ‘You said this morning that you could still catch the guy’s scent.’

  ‘I didn’t say he’d sprayed anything.’

  ‘Could have been a cat burglar,’ said David with a grin wider than the lame gag warranted.

  But Keira wasn’t in the mood. ‘Copy the video and send it over to Patrick Sellar’s office. Recorded delivery so that he can’t deny having received it. Then make another copy and take it there yourself as back-up.’

  David got up from behind his desk and headed for the door. He was used to Keira covering all the angles. If she wanted Sellar to have a copy of the tape then there had to be a good reason.

  ‘Sure. I’ll sort that out.’

  After David had left the room Janica looked over at Keira. ‘He is studying to be a lawyer?’

  ‘He probably has a better grasp of the law, and – more importantly – how to apply it, than anyone in this practice, but he’d rather spend his time ordering at the bar than studying for it.’

  *

  David drew the back of his hand across his brow and stared off down the length of the stuffy, windowless corridor. ‘Dark blue carpet tiles with khaki walls: whoever came up with that combo should be put away.’

  He was sitting between Keira and Janica outside an interview room at Strathclyde Police HQ in the centre of town, waiting for Kaltrina Dervishi to arrive. Keira was struggling with how best to help the girl. She’d tried asking for the charges to be dropped and for the girl to be taken into a witness protection programme, but Sellar wasn’t playing the game. It was increasingly likely that Kaltrina would have to face the son-of-a-bitch in court. In order to help the girl fully, Keira needed to know everything. There could be no secrets: no surprises when she got to court.

  Up to this point her client had been communicative, but Keira got the impression she was holding something back.