Douglas Kennedy - Woman in the Fifth

He motioned to Mr Tough Guy, who tapped me on the shoulder and pointed toward the door. I exited through it and down the stairs. Though part of me wanted to hurry across the courtyard, out the door and down to the commissariat , I knew I’d just be playing into everybody’s hands if I did that. Sezer would find some way of providing definitive evidence that I murdered Omar, and the cops would happily buy it. As far as they were concerned, this case needed a denouement — and my conclusive guilt was it.

Think, think.

But all I could do right now was think about how tired I was, and how bed was the only logical place for me right now.

So I went to my room and drugged myself, as I knew sleep wouldn’t arrive without massive chemical help. I didn’t set the alarm. The next thing I knew there was a loud banging on my door.

‘American! … American!’ a familiar voice shouted.

It took me several moments to work out where I was, and to squint at my watch. Four thirty. Shit, shit, shit. I was due at Margit’s in thirty minutes.

‘American! … American!’

More banging.

I staggered out of bed, my head still fogged in, and opened the door. Mr Beard was standing outside, looking pissed off.

‘Where the fuck were you?’

‘What?’ I asked.

‘You always pick up your money at two thirty p.m. Today you’re not there …’

‘Overslept.’

‘You no oversleep again,’ he said, tossing my pay envelope on the floor. Then he turned and left.

I picked up the envelope. I went back inside. My grogginess had suddenly vanished, replaced by a deeper, unnerving realization: They really are following me now. Any moves out of the ordinary will be jumped upon in a nanosecond.

I forced myself into the shower. I was dressed and heading out the door ten minutes later. I turned around three times as I hurried toward the metro . No one there. But they were there. They knew my every move.

I was back on the street by five fifteen, hurrying down the rue de Paradis. I passed the joint which Yanna co-owned. I made the mistake of glancing in as I passed by. Yanna was behind the bar. Our eyes met — and immediately I could tell that something was very wrong. Within moments, she was out on the street, screaming at me. With good reason. Her face looked like it had come under extended assault. Both eyes were blackened, her lip had been split open in two places, there were gashes above her eyebrows, and her right cheek had turned an inky purple.

‘You stupid bastard,’ she shouted. ‘I follow your advice, I tell him what Omar did, and look what he does to me.

Starts telling me someone informed him you’d been fucking me too.’

‘I’m so sorry—’

‘ Sorry? ‘ she shouted. ‘The bastard nearly killed me … and now he’s going to kill you. So much for your brilliant “plan”—’

‘You have to go to the police—’

‘And really end up dead? You understand nothing, American. Nothing . You better run away now. Far away. Otherwise you’ll end up dead. Like Omar.’

‘He killed Omar?’

‘Impossible. I didn’t tell him until the morning he got in. Omar was dead by then. But he knew about Omar’s death by the time he walked in here. Just as he also knew I’d been stupid enough to fuck you. That’s the part I can’t figure out … how he found out about us …’

Because Sezer must have called him in Turkey before his departure and told him. Maybe he also threw Omar into the mix, and Yanna’s husband made a phone call before boarding the plane and Omar received his mid-bowel movement tracheotomy that night.

‘… and why he hasn’t killed you yet.’

‘I’ll make myself scarce,’ I said.

‘Shit really follows you around, doesn’t it?’

I couldn’t argue with that.

‘I’m sorry you’re in such bad shape,’ I said.

‘As soon as I feel better, I’m planning to beat him to death.’

It was five forty by the time I reached Margit’s apartment. She was not pleased.

‘You cannot be late like this,’ she said as soon as she opened the door. She was wearing a black silk robe. It was half-open.

‘I can explain.’

‘Don’t explain,’ she said, pulling me inside. ‘Fuck me.’

‘I can’t do that,’ I said, dodging her grasp.

‘Playing hard to get?’ she said, reaching for me and thrusting her crotch against mine.

‘It’s not that …’

‘Shut up then,’ she said, pulling her head toward mine and trying to kiss me. But I broke free.

‘I just can’t,’ I said.

‘Yes, you can,’ she said, reaching for my crotch.

‘Will you stop!’

My tone made her freeze. Then she shrugged and walked away from me, past her bed and on to the sofa in her living room. She lit up a cigarette and said, ‘Let me guess: you’re in love …’

‘I have a sexually transmitted disease.’

She considered that for a moment, puffing away on her cigarette.

‘The fatal kind?’ she finally asked.

‘Chlamydia.’

‘Just that?’

‘I’m sorry …’

‘For what?’

‘I might have infected you.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because … I just doubt it. Anyway, chlamydia is not the end of civilization as we know it.’

‘I’m aware of that. Still …’

‘Ah yes. Guilt, guilt and more guilt. It’s nothing, Harry.’

‘How can you say that?’

‘Because I’ve had chlamydia myself. Courtesy of my husband. He gave it to me around a week before he was killed. Picked it up from some Sorbonne hottie he was fucking. I was rather aggrieved at the time — mainly because it hurt like hell every time I peed. In fact, on the night he and Judit were killed, our fight started with me telling him I now understood why he wasn’t that interested in sex with me … courtesy of his little girlfriend. He became outraged that I would mention this in front of Judit. He stormed out with her. And that’s the last time I ever saw them alive …’

She poured herself a whisky and sipped it.

‘So, to tell the truth,’ she said, ‘chlamydia is no big deal for me.’

‘That’s a terrible story,’ I said.

‘All stories are fundamentally terrible,’ she said. ‘But you’re not just worried about a sexually transmitted disease, Harry. It’s more than that, isn’t it?’

‘I’m in a lot of trouble,’ I said, and the entire story came pouring out. When I finished she was stubbing out her second cigarette.

‘This Monsieur Sezer … you think he set you up?’

‘ Think? I’m sure of it.’

‘So he murdered Omar?’

‘Sezer would never grubby his hands like that. But he does have this resident thug who probably does all his dirty work for him.’

‘Any thoughts on why he wanted Omar dead?’

‘Everyone hated Omar.’

‘You especially.’

‘I didn’t want him dead.’

‘True. But you did intimate you wanted him out of your life. Now he’s out of your life. The problem is, Sezer is now in your life …’

‘Not just that — he’s having me tailed everywhere.’

‘I think he wants you to think that.’

‘If he knows where I eat lunch, if he knows I come here every three days …’

‘True, maybe he has a couple of flunkies who have tailed you. But all the time? That’s a bit labor-intensive, don’t you think? He’s relying on his powers of intimidation to keep you in place. Anyway, if he wanted you dead … you’d probably be dead by now.’

‘It’s Yanna’s husband who will probably beat me to death with a hammer if Sezer gives him the go-ahead.’

‘But Sezer evidently wants you alive …’