‘Courtesy Cars.’ The voice of the woman was as smoky as a backroom bar. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Hi, it’s Kate Cramer here. I ordered a cab to pick up from Venice Beach an hour and a half ago and the car hasn’t arrived.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Just off Tower Grove Drive.’

‘Let me check on its current location and get back to you.’

Two minutes later Kate’s phone rang.

‘Hi, it’s Elaine from Courtesy. I’m afraid we’ve got a bit of a problem.’

Kate waited to hear the lame excuse. A bust tyre. A diversion on the freeway. A freak cloudburst over Sunset.

‘The thing is, we can’t contact the driver. I’ve radioed him but he’s not responding. It’s really not like him at all. Jan is one of our most reliable –‘

Kate cut her off. ‘You mean he’s out of range?’

‘Well, no. None of the drivers are ever out of range in LA. Our equipment means that –‘

‘So he’s switched his radio off, is that it?’

‘He could’ve. But none of the drivers are supposed to do that.’

‘When was the last time you heard from him?’

‘I don’t see why it’s necessary to –‘

‘Elaine, trust me on this. Do you have any kind of log?’

‘Sure.’

‘Can you just check. Please.’

There was a pause. ‘Okay. Give me a second. I’m going to put you on hold. If you hear a dead line don’t think I’ve cut you off.’

‘Thanks.’

Kate suddenly felt sick. She walked over to the oven and turned it off. She poured herself a glass of water and drank it down in one. On the first ring she picked up her cell.

‘Okay, this is what I’ve found,’ said Elaine. ‘Jan last called saying he was on his way to pick up your friend in Venice Beach. That was at 17:00.’

‘And nothing since then?’

‘No, but I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this.’

Kate couldn’t think of one.

‘He could’ve had a breakdown and his radio could have malfunctioned or something.’

‘Does he have a cell?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

‘And you’ve tried that, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And?’

‘No answer.’

‘Shit.’

‘But –‘

‘Elaine. I don’t want to be melodramatic, but something’s not right about this.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I can’t go into it now. But just to warn you I’m going to call a friend who’s a cop.’

‘Really, I don’t think it’s necessary at –‘

‘It’s not an argument.’ She heard her voice rise. ‘Sorry to sound brusque. But I’ve got to go. Thanks.’

She cut the connection and quickly dialled Josh’s number. As she tried to explain the situation – Cassie’s no show for supper, the cab, no contact with the driver - her words came tumbling out.

‘Hey – Kate. Slow – slow down,’ he said.

‘I’m scared for her, Josh. I know Walsh is locked up, but I don’t like this.’

‘Okay. I’ll get in touch with the cab company now and see what I can find. I’ll call you back.’

Kate tried to think about normal, banal things and do normal, banal things. She took the chicken out of the oven; they could always eat it cold, she thought. But there was no hope of salvaging the sweet potatoes, which she tipped into the trash. What could they eat with cold chicken? She started to make a salad with lamb’s lettuce, cherry tomatoes, celery, avocado and carrot. But as she grated the carrot her hand slipped. The grater took off a thin slice of her wedding finger. Fuck. She ran it under the tap and watched as the drops of blood disappeared in a spiral down the plug. She dressed it with a Band-Aid and sat down to watch some TV, conscious of the stinging pain in her right hand. Every time she experienced physical discomfort she always reminded herself of the kind of pain some people had been forced to endure. Allie, for instance, the girl who had been stabbed sixty-six times by a stranger, who had still not been caught. She remembered she had been thinking about her that day when she had been taking photographs of the waves. The day she had found the dead baby. The day the nightmare started.

Her phone rang.

‘Kate, it’s Josh.’ His voice was breathy, infused with panic.

‘What is it?’

‘The body of a man has just been discovered in the underpass near the Los Angeles river, the connection of the Golden State freeway and the Glendale Freeway. There was an ID card in his wallet.’

‘And?’

‘His name was Jan Kaplinski. He was a driver employed by Courtesy Cars.’

40

She lay on the floor, eaten up by pain. She tried to ease herself forwards in the direction of the closing door, but it was useless. She felt something wet and slimy on her face. Car oil. Then she heard his footsteps. Soft and slow. Deliberate. She knew that he could see her now. And she could sense his enjoyment. He had successfully caught his prey and he was going to savour every moment.

‘Well, now, what have we got here?’ he said, standing over her. ‘You put up quite a fight for a blind girl.’

As he reached out to touch her hair she started to tremble all over, as if her body had gone into spasm. She was powerless now.

He started to stroke the soft skin at the back of her neck. Then he caressed her cheek.

‘You’ve gotten yourself all dirty. Time we cleaned you up.’

He seized hold of her hands and pulled her up. There was no point in fighting. Not now. He guided her across the workshop until she came to what felt like some kind of wooden bench.

‘Here’s a chair,’ he said. He placed one of her hands on the arms and then pressed on her shoulder. The pain shot through her again.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘About the chain, I mean. But I couldn’t allow you to escape. Not after everything. Now sit.’