Cursing their lack of success and his own inability to come up with any better ideas, Banks made his way to the backstage area, where Tracy and Mark were already waiting for him with Brian and the rest of the band. The dressing room was crowded with lucky fans, hangers-on, and a few journalists. After all, the demise of the band was a major event. There were two more dates left on the ‘farewell’ tour before the absolute final performance, back in London again, but this one was close enough to home ground to make the news.
Banks managed a few brief words with Brian, who regretted being unable to come and spend the night at Newhope Cottage because the tight schedule called for an early start to Edinburgh the following morning. It was a pity, as Banks had looked forward to spending some time alone with him, listening to old blues and Bob Dylan and talking about everything under the sun. Banks would have driven him to Edinburgh in the morning under normal circumstances, but he couldn’t take the time off, either. After London, Brian said, when the tour was over, he would have some time off before starting a trainee sound-recording job he had set up at a studio down there, so he would come up for a few days then. Banks was no lover of big noisy parties, no matter what their purpose, so he said his goodbyes to the other band members and made his way towards the exit. Tracy and Mark said they would stay on just a little longer and take a taxi home. They had just got back from Tenerife that day and were feeling tired.
In the afterglow of ‘Visions of Johanna,’ Banks played Blonde on Blonde on the way home, arriving in the middle of ‘Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands.’ He felt lonely when he pulled up outside his dark cottage. Normally, living alone never bothered him much, but spending even a little time with Brian and seeing Tracy so happy with her new husband reminded him of when he had a family, when home was a place of love and comfort, where there would always be someone waiting for him. These days, his life seemed to lack purpose — or at least any purpose other than putting bad guys away. Zelda haunted him, too. Not only what might be happening to her now, but what the future might hold. Not very much, he suspected, and none of it pleasant. They had to find her.
The outside light usually came on automatically when he approached the front door, but tonight it didn’t. He made a mental note to replace the bulb tomorrow. He used the light from his mobile, managed to get his key in the lock, and open the door. He stepped over the threshold, looking forward to a quick nightcap, but before he could shut the door behind him, he sensed a sudden movement, then felt something hard hit the back of his head. He pitched forward into the cottage, and after that, he felt nothing.
12
Banks first became aware of a throbbing pain in his head. When he opened his eyes, he saw he was in semi-darkness. It was a blessing. Bright light would have hurt. He also realised that he was tied up. He wasn’t sure how, or how securely, only that when he moved his legs to try to straighten them out, something tightened around his neck like a noose. Trussed was the word that came to mind. Trussed like a Christmas turkey. Hog-tied.
He didn’t know how long he had been like that before he heard a door open and someone placed a portable work light down beside him. He shut his eyes, but not quickly enough to prevent the pain of the light exploding inside his head. He couldn’t even raise a hand to cover his face.
When he did open his eyes again, he could only see the shadowed and hunched profile of the man who stood before him, but that was enough for Banks to recognise him. He was looking older, his hairline had receded and he carried more weight around the middle, but Banks didn’t have to be a super-recogniser to know it was Phil Keane. He also noticed that he was being kept in a cavernous space, an abandoned factory or control centre of some sort, with large rusted wheels, heavy pipes and valves, pumps, storage tanks, hanging wires, and broken consoles.
‘Well, well,’ said Keane. ‘We meet again. You cost me a lot, you know. Because of you I had to leave the country, get a new identity, find a new line of work. But perhaps I should thank you. It’s proven even more profitable than my previous work.’
‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it,’ Banks managed to mumble with a mouth that felt full of treacle. Keane was holding something, and Banks saw it was a large can. The kind you carry petrol in. ‘Where’s Zelda?’ he asked.
‘The girl? She’s nothing to do with me. Petar’s taking care of her. He has a score to settle. He’s made plans for her. Fortunately, he’s agreed to let me settle my old score, too.’
‘If either of you harm her—’
‘Oh, stop it,’ said Keane, unscrewing the can. ‘You don’t know how pathetic you sound. We’re going to do exactly what we want, and you’re not going to be able to stop us. This time I’ll get to finish what I started.’ He shook the can and Banks heard the petrol slosh inside it. Soon he could smell it, too. ‘We’re clearing out of here very soon,’ Keane said. ‘It’s time to move on. A good fire is just the thing we need to make sure we leave no traces.’
Keane splashed the petrol on the floor around Banks’s feet.
When Tadić came into her room again and set the light down on the floor, he came alone. Zelda sensed some new purpose in his visit other than mere torture or gloating.
‘We are leaving soon,’ he said. ‘Mr. Foley has your new passport in the car, along with sufficient funds for the journey. It will be a long and hard one, and perhaps not as comfortable as you would wish.’
‘So let me loose to clean myself up a bit. At least give me a fresh T-shirt.’ Zelda’s top was still crusted with dried vomit from the time Tadić had hit her.
Tadić smiled. ‘Yes. Of course. A good idea. All in good time. We have nice new clothes for you in the car. But you are right about the T-shirt. It is disgusting.’
He knelt before her and took a flick-knife from the pocket of his leather jacket. He held it close to her face and flicked the blade open to make sure she saw it glinting in the light. Then he slid it under the material of her top and started cutting until the T-shirt was in shreds on the floor.
So this is it, Zelda thought. This is when he takes his pleasure. Feeling half-naked and exposed was nothing new to her, but it had been so long that she found herself feeling embarrassed and shy. She wanted to protect herself from his gaze and raised her cuffed hands up to cover her breasts as best she could.
Tadić merely laughed. ‘Very modest for a kurva,’ he said, unfastening his belt and unzipping his trousers. The light cast grotesque shadows of him on the wall. He took off his leather jacket and dropped it on the floor, then grabbed her by the hair. ‘On your knees.’
Zelda had no choice but to submit. But as she did so, an idea formed. When she was kneeling, and Tadić had his trousers down around his ankles, he put the blade of the knife to her neck, right by the jugular vein and carotid artery. It wouldn’t take much to cut them, Zelda thought. Just a slip of the hand, a nervous tic even, and she would be free. Could she do it? She hadn’t been able to swallow her tongue or hold her breath, but perhaps she could accept death this way. She closed her eyes, felt the cold steel on her skin, felt his hand press against the back of her neck, pulling her forward.
‘Open your mouth.’
Zelda opened her mouth and felt him enter her. She almost gagged, but managed to stop herself. Instead, she offered a silent prayer to the God she didn’t believe in and bit down as hard as she could.
In that moment, Banks was certain he was going to die. Then he heard sounds from somewhere deep in the building, upstairs, perhaps. Someone shouting, a banging noise, a chain scraping along a floor.