Something was wrong.

‘Moisie!’ she called. ‘Dinnertime.’

And then she suddenly felt him by her legs, snaking around her ankles.

‘Gee, you scared me,’ she said, reaching down to stroke his back. ‘What you’ve been up to?’ She listened as he pushed the morsels of dried food around his plate with his nose. ‘You not hungry? Well try and make an effort. I haven’t got time to hang around.’

She grabbed her keys from the bowl in the kitchen, her purse and her white stick. She made certain she double-locked the door from the outside and pressed the button for the elevator. As she waited, she heard another door opening, somebody stepping out.

‘Hi, Cassie, you going out for the night?’ It was Ron from next door.

‘Yeah, just over to Kate’s house. But I’ll be back later.’

‘You need any help getting down?’

‘No, I’ll be fine.’

‘And how’s my man? Hope I didn’t turn him queer.’

Cassie laughed. ‘I always suspected he was a bit gay anyway,’ she said.

Just then the bell for the elevator rang and the doors opened. Ron guided her inside, pressed the ground floor button for her and said goodnight. He was such a lovely neighbour, she thought. Who else would have taken in a cat for over five weeks? And he refused to take money for food. In fact, she suspected that he fed Moisie on leftovers. And not just any old leftovers. Leftovers that included prime cuts of beef and chicken from the deli round the corner and good quality yellow fin tuna steak he kept in his freezer compartment.

As the doors opened she heard a cacophony of sounds from the boardwalk. The glide of rollerskates on the promenade. A couple of children squealing in delight. The hiss of a coffee machine. And in the distance there was LA’s eternal base note – the constant hum of traffic.

Then footsteps.

‘Can I help you?’

It was a man. In his thirties, Cassie thought. A voice, deep and gravelly, not unlike one she had heard once before. Where was it?

‘I’m – I’m waiting for a cab.’

‘Courtesy cars. I’m just out front. Do you need any help?’

‘No, if you just walk ahead I can follow your footsteps.’

‘Okay. Will do. But just ask if you need my arm or whatever.’

Cassie used her stick to guide her through the lobby to outside. He’d left his motor running. Must be because of the air con inside the car. It was still quite humid, even at this time of day.

She heard a door open and with the edge of her stick caught the bottom of the tyre.

‘Just a little towards the right and you’re all set,’ he said.

She felt his hand on the back of her shoulder.

‘There you go,’ he said, as she climbed into the back of the cab. He slammed the door and got in the front.

‘Where you going?’

‘Beverly Hills. Just off Tower Grove Drive.’

‘No problem.’

They drove in silence on the freeway, the journey punctuated by frequent stops and starts as the traffic ebbed and flowed.

‘Fuck, I’m way out of gas,’ said the driver after about fifteen minutes. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear. Would you mind if I just pulled off the freeway?’

‘No problem,’ said Cassie, even though she did feel a little uncomfortable. Yet Kate had booked the cab. It was a company she trusted. Would could go wrong?

She felt the car swerve as it took the next exit. As she opened her window a little to get a breath of fresh air she heard the sound of passing traffic and the pungent smell of fumes. The driver must have seen her because he started to talk.

‘I’d close that if I were you,’ he said. ‘Smog. Even worse this year than last, I reckon.’

‘I was just trying to tell which neighbourhood I was in,’ said Cassie, closing the window.

Nothing.

‘I said I was just trying to find out where we were?’ There was a pause. ‘Where are we exactly?’

The car braked quickly, forcing her forwards. The seat belt dug sharply into her shoulder. As she reached out to steady herself she heard the central locking system click into action. Then there was the noise of some kind of carport door opening. Then – even worse – the sound of it closing behind her.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Just pulling in,’ he said.

It was then she realised. It was the voice. She knew there was something familiar. It reminded her of Gleason’s.

‘No, no,’ she said, now nearly paralysed with fear. She tried to reach into her bag for her cell phone, but she was too slow. In an instant, the driver had switched off the engine. She heard his door opening, closing. Now he was opening her door.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ he said.

Cassie fumbled with the phone. The ridges that marked out the numbers seemed to melt beneath her fingers.

‘It’s useless anyway,’ he said. ‘There’s no reception. I made sure of that.’

‘Who – who are you?’ she said, the words catching in her throat.

‘Don’t I look familiar? Oh, sorry about that. I forgot you can’t see.’

She automatically moved further away from the voice, further along the back seat towards the other door, the one that was not open. She found the handle and with her shaking hands managed to pull it towards her.

‘You can get out that side if you prefer,’ he said. She heard footsteps walking around the car. ‘Here, let me help.’

As he opened the door she moved back towards the middle.

‘I get the impression you don’t want to get out. Come on, don’t be rude.’

He reached into the car and tried to grab her. With all her force she dug her nails into his skin. But he quickly bent back her hand so it almost seemed parallel with her arm. It felt as though her wrist was going to splinter, as though her bones were about to pierce her skin.

‘Come on, bitch,’ he said, pulling her out of the car. She struggled, flipping and flexing every muscle in her body, a caught fish suddenly wrenched on to land.

He tried to clamp a hand over her mouth, but she bit him hard. As she breathed in, the smell of the place attacked the back of her throat. Car oil, burnt car rubber, machinery grease. Was she in a workshop, a car repair garage? But there was something else that lingered in the stagnant air. What was it? It was something putrid, something rank.