‘Not the right answer, Mr Travis.’ The man leaned over him and began binding his hands and legs together with a roll of packaging tape until he was immobile. ‘There. That’s better. Now, where is the other man?’
‘I told you—’
Another body punch, this one to the chest, followed by a roundhouse slam to his ribs that nearly lifted him off the bed. He heard something crack and felt his stomach rebel as the pain lanced through him like a bolt of fire. There were other blows, but not nearly so hard, merely a relentless repetition, spaced out around his body, the fists sending waves of pain through him until he nearly passed out.
Eventually the beating stopped. ‘I’ll ask you another question, to see how we get on. Where are you going after here? What address have you been given?’
‘I haven’t been told that.’ Travis braced himself for another blow, knowing that he couldn’t sustain this level of systematic damage for long without something going badly wrong.
But the man didn’t hit him. Instead he leaned closer and whispered in his ear. ‘Your friend, the old man? The one whose car you were in?’
Travis coughed. The movement produced a renewed burst of agony and he wanted to be sick but didn’t dare in case he choked to death. ‘What … what about him?’ This thug evidently knew about Denys, there was no point denying it. Maybe he could delay things in the hope that one of the other guests would alert the management about the noise.
‘He’s dead. See this?’ The man produced a long, slim knife with a sharp point. ‘I asked him the same questions. But he refused to talk so I provided him with an incentive. You know about incentives, Mr Travis?’
Travis couldn’t speak, he was so horrified. Instead he nodded, not wanting to hear more.
‘Good.’ The man smiled. ‘I made a large hole in his side.’ He sighed dramatically, his breath hot and stale on Travis’s face. ‘He was a foolish old man, but a brave one. He had guts — and I saw some of them. But in the end he told me where you were.’ He giggled and placed the knife blade on Travis’s cheek, close to his eye. ‘Now then, where shall we begin, Mr Travis? You like reading? Watching TV? Looking at your pretty wife as she takes off her clothes and gets naked for you, huh?’ He pressed down on the blade without breaking the skin. ‘How would you be able to do that without your eyes, do you think?’
The man suddenly moved away. He picked up the roll of tape and tore off a strip, slapping it across Travis’s mouth. Then he bent and ripped out the phone wires from the handset. ‘I’ll give you a couple of minutes to think it over. Don’t think about running anywhere, will you?’
The man left the room and closed the door and Travis felt himself losing consciousness. Oh, God, he thought, don’t let it end here like this …
THIRTY-ONE
I woke at six with a stiff neck and the feeling that I’d missed something. I checked the hotel. All the curtains were drawn tight and the Polo was still in the car park. A delivery truck was dropping off laundry and supplies to one side, but other than a sleepy-looking driver and a woman with a clipboard and the sullen manner of an afternoon person, the place was quiet.
I left the car and walked a short distance until I found a café with a number of workmen getting ready for the day. Or maybe they were night workers stopping on their way home for coffee and what looked like brandy or white spirit — horilka — locally brewed and flavoured with fruit. I avoided the alcohol and settled for fried potatoes and eggs, which seemed the staple breakfast diet. The nods I got from the other customers, who shifted over to allow me to sit, told me I seemed OK.
Blending in.
I finished eating and paid up, leaving an acceptable tip, then walked back to the hotel. Most of the room curtains were now pulled back. The Polo hadn’t moved. Travis had to come out sooner or later and be on his way. Unless he was waiting for the next cut-out to show up and collect him.
I waited until eight, then decided to take the initiative. The hand-over was taking too long. The more time Travis spent here the more exposed he would become and the greater was the risk he ran of being noticed.
At eight-ten I walked across the road and approached the reception desk. The clerk was male, impressively tall and snappily dressed, with four pens in his breast pocket and the manner of someone who knew what was what in the hospitality industry.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ He looked ready to vault the desk and do a polka. In the background I could hear the clatter of dishes and cutlery.
‘I need to speak with one of your guests,’ I explained again. ‘The driver of a black Polo.’
He thought about it and nodded. ‘Of course, sir. Is there a problem?’
I told the story again about scraping the Polo with my car.
‘I see. One moment, please.’ He checked his computer screen, tapped several keys, then picked up a phone and dialled a number. He waited and pulled a regretful face.
‘I am sorry, sir. There’s no answer. He must have stepped out early.’
‘Might he be in the restaurant?’
‘No, sir. I would have his meal tab. His is not one of them. Can I take a message?’
‘No. Could you try his extension again? He might be in the bathroom.’
‘Of course.’ He went through the dialling routine again, and I watched the numbers to see which room he was calling. Twenty-eight.
Still no answer.
Alarm bells were now ringing big time. Travis had no reason to go off the plan like this. Maybe he’d taken a walk like the clerk suggested. Stress needs a form of release and he would have been feeling under plenty of that in the past few days. But sightseeing was the last thing Travis would have wanted to do — he was too keen on getting home to his family.
I thanked the clerk for his help and walked outside and round to the rear of the hotel. I hadn’t seen any CCTV cameras in evidence, so I figured it was safe to take a little snoop. I found a newspaper tucked inside the pannier of a moped and grabbed it, and walked in through a back door as if I owned the place.
The stairs to the second floor were deserted, and I got to room twenty-eight without seeing anyone. The place sounded quiet save for the distant hum of a vacuum cleaner.
I tapped on the door. It opened a fraction.
I rolled the newspaper as tight as I could, with the spine edges out where the paper was thickest. As a make-do weapon at close quarters, it wasn’t great but would do. I wasn’t expecting Travis to go all physical at me, but the atmosphere here was wrong enough to make me think something bad had happened.
I pushed the door back until it bumped against the wall. The room was standard design, with a bed, armchair, night table, a line of hangers and a waste bin. The bed was undisturbed. As I was about to go in, I heard a clank and a maid appeared wheeling a small service trolley. She peered past me and saw the undisturbed bed, then walked away with a shrug of her shoulders, waving a hand and muttering about guests who never turned up.
I stepped inside the room and walked across to the window. The air smelled sour and stuffy, as if the heating had been turned up too high, and there was another aroma, too. Somehow gamey, like blocked pipes. I checked the car park. The black Polo was still there.
So where was 24d?
I turned to leave, and that’s when I saw him. He was in the corner, behind the armchair.
Even without checking I knew he was dead.
THIRTY-TWO
By the position of his body it was evident that his neck had broken. Whoever had killed him had curled him up tight, forcing his thin legs in against his chest and wedging them in place with the armchair. He didn’t take up much space and looked even skinnier dead than alive. Killing him must have been a simple task.