I was floating now, the codeine dreaming in my blood. Slowly I turned away from the view. I noticed a car parked on the other side of the road. Its lights were dimmed.
Curious, I walked towards it. I thought I could see someone inside, a shape behind the wheel. But as I walked towards the car, it started to reverse.
‘Who are you?’ I called out.
It was moving backwards, silently, its lights still dimmed. I was already too far away from it to make out who the driver was.
I began to shout. ‘Visser? Is that you?’
I was running now, but I couldn’t keep up.
‘Visser?’ I was shouting. ‘What do you want?’
I watched the car withdraw into the darkness further down the hill. I stood on the road, uncertain what to do. A crack opened in my skull. White light poured in, bounced from one curved piece of bone to another. Gasping, I bent down. I clutched my head between my hands. My cane dropped away without a sound.
I tried to count the seconds — one … two … three … four …
Then I could see again. That codeine, it was dying on me. Or maybe I’d taken too much of it.
Walking back to Loots’ car, I didn’t look behind me once. I didn’t even listen for tyres on the road below, an engine firing in the distance.
But there was a fear.
The fear that, any moment now, I’d feel a gentle nudging at my legs and that, when I glanced over my shoulder, the car would be behind me, right behind me, its front bumper touching the back of my knees and no one at the wheel.
I parked Loots’ car outside his apartment and dropped his keys through the letterbox in an envelope. When he rang me later that day I still hadn’t been to bed.
‘You sound upset,’ he said.
I told him I was fine, just tired. There was a deadened area inside my head, like the shape a hare leaves in the grass where it’s been sleeping.
‘How did it go last night?’
I didn’t say anything.
‘She didn’t show up, did she?’
‘Well —’
‘I thought so.’
I asked him what he meant by that.
‘My car,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t look as if it’s moved.’
I stood outside the building where Robert Kolan lived and looked both ways. Rain dripped from the trees on to the paving-stones below. The street was empty. As I paid the taxi-driver, I thought I saw a man in a herring-bone overcoat standing on the corner, but it must have been an illusion, the moon shining through bare branches, a chance pattern of light and shadow.
I’d called Kolan earlier to arrange a meeting. I had to talk to somebody about what Munck had said, and Loots and Gregory were no use to me; they’d just sympathise. I wanted somebody who knew Nina, and Kolan seemed the obvious, almost the only, choice. But when I called him, his first question was: ‘How did you get my number?’
I tried Munck’s theory on him. ‘There are intelligent life-forms out in space,’ I said, ‘and they’re watching you right now.’
‘Don’t give me that shit. I asked you a question.’
I grinned into the phone. ‘What are you so nervous about?’
‘I’m hanging up —’
‘Wait a minute, wait a minute.’ Kolan’s paranoia didn’t bother me; I’d already prepared an answer. ‘Nina gave it to me once,’ I said. ‘She made me memorise it, in case of an emergency. She told me I had to call you first.’
He seemed satisfied with that. (I’d known he would be; it addressed his vanity.) And once that awkwardness was dispensed with, he agreed to see me.
It was an old house, with tall trees in front of it which resembled the trees outside the clinic. Pieces of plaster and roof-tile had fallen into the garden and a sun-dial lay under a bush, its markings cloaked in moss. Kolan had told me there was a flight of stone steps on the right-hand side of the house. His apartment was at the top. Though it was three in the morning, I could hear music. He was still awake.
I found a door at the top of the steps and knocked on it. I had to knock four times before it opened. Kolan stood there, holding a cigarette. ‘I thought you were the police again.’
‘They’ve been here then?’
He looked past me, into the darkness. ‘You’d better come in.’
The lighting was low in his apartment and there was a stick of incense burning. I watched Kolan as he sat on the threadbare carpet and began to roll a joint.
‘Was it Munck?’ I asked him.
‘They didn’t tell me their names.’
‘They always tell you their names.’
‘In that case, I forgot.’
He trickled grass into a cigarette paper that was already filled with a thin roll of tobacco.
‘The police,’ I said. ‘Did one of them chew gum?’
‘Christ, you’re as bad as they are.’
I sat down on a chair by the window. His music reminded me of the music they play when something unpleasant’s about to happen. You hear it in airports and mental homes. You hear it at the dentist as well. Sometimes you hear it as you lift out of an anaesthetic.
‘They told you about the car,’ I said.
‘Yeah.’
‘They’re saying she might’ve been killed.’ I paused. ‘They think I might’ve done it.’
He licked the narrow strip of glue on the cigarette paper and stuck it down, then he ran his finger and thumb along the length of it several times, making sure it was sealed. There was a kind of fussy expertise about the way he built his joints. He should’ve been exhibiting at country fairs, along with the basket-weavers and the ceramicists.
‘I’ve even got a motive,’ I said.
‘What’s that?’
‘She was leaving me. I didn’t want her to.’
‘Do you smoke?’
‘No.’ I reached into my pocket for my bottle of pain-killers. I tipped two pills on to my hand and knocked them back.
‘What’s that you’re taking?’
‘Codeine. For my head.’
‘Yeah, right.’ His joint crackled as he drew on it. He must’ve missed some of the seeds. ‘Her frame of mind,’ he said. ‘I’ve been doing some thinking about it.’
Something had been worrying her. He had the feeling that was why she’d asked him over on Tuesday night. And she’d made a date to see him on the Wednesday, too. He often sat in her apartment while she talked. He never said much. What happened was, she’d launch into a kind of monologue. But he had to be there, otherwise she couldn’t do it. Sometimes there were drugs as well, to help the process. He’d score for her. There was someone in the 15th district, out near the cemetery. He could get them anything they wanted.
‘She won’t do it herself. Thinks it’s squalid.’ Kolan’s voice pinched as he held the smoke inside his lungs. ‘If I’d seen her Wednesday night, that’s what would’ve happened.’
‘You’ve no idea what it was?’
He studied the roach. Then he brought it to his lips, inhaled three times quickly, dropped it on to a saucer. ‘I was thinking about her being worried,’ he said, ‘and it reminded me of something else.’
She’d called him a couple of weeks back. She’d had a strange experience. A man had walked up to her on the street and he’d shown her a picture of herself. She didn’t know the man. She’d never seen him before. He was a complete stranger. But it was definitely a picture of her. It unsettled her. Maybe she’d been living the wrong way, she said. She couldn’t explain it. It was just a feeling. But things had to change. A different job, a different apartment. Maybe even a different country.