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Where was this bookshop? It ought to be here, but she could not see it.
Then she realized she was still a block short of where Aiden had said. She bumped into a young man and apologized. He looked at her too closely and she hurried on.
Elena reached the bookshop at last. It was exactly as Aiden had described it, but he was not there. She felt panic rise inside her and swallowed it down, as if it had been a bolus in her throat threatening to suffocate her. She must look as if she were waiting for someone, not trying to pick up anybody, like some prostitute.
Really! She must get a grip on her imagination!
Still, Aiden was late.
Someone touched her and she turned sharply, ready to strike out if necessary. It was Aiden, laughter in his face.
“Looking for business?” he asked.
She was furious with herself. “No,” she replied. “But if you’ve got the money, I’d consider it.”
“Touché,” he answered, the smile still on his lips. “The man with a mole on his ear followed me, but I lost him. That’s why I was a bit late.” He put his hand on her arm and, holding her firmly, guided her away from the bookshop and back in the direction from which they had come.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “Did you find anything?”
“I started adding things up in my mind,” he replied. “I think I know where Max might have gone, because I have an idea of who he was looking for.”
“Will he be there now?” she asked, with a sudden upsurge of hope. Then, as instantly, it died. Why had he not mentioned it before? She pushed it out of her mind. She could not afford to doubt him, or ask questions.
“Not unless he’s dead,” he answered, without turning to look at her.
She could think of no reply to give, so she stayed silent. She wondered how well Aiden had known Max, and whether they had been friends or merely contacts. Either way, Max was the only person Aiden could trust, which meant he was more than just another acquaintance, someone he had known. She tried to remember other friends he had had in the past, people he had liked, shared jokes or memories with. No one came to mind. Had he deliberately not shared them with her? Had he been protecting her?
It was nearly half an hour before they reached the shed beside the house Aiden was looking for. He stood outside on the narrow pathway, his face somber in the late afternoon light. The sun was just above the rooftops and the shadows were dense. West-facing windows were sheeted in gold with the light on them. It was what Elena would have called a slum. Surely, this was not where Max lived? Maybe it was where he had run to and been cornered.
“Let’s get it over with,” she said, then saw an expression on Aiden’s face that she could not read but made her wish she had not spoken so hastily.
“You can stay out here if you want.” His voice also was unreadable, except that he was not gentle, nor was he afraid. Perhaps Max was not the first contact Aiden had lost.
“I’ll come.” She made the statement and moved forward as she spoke.
He met her eyes briefly. “Right,” he said more gently. He led the way through the shed and down a narrow walkway between the buildings, then into a larger yard. There was timber stored there, and huge rainwater tanks, several bits of wood and coal, and an additional lean-to shed. Aiden stood still, looking around. The dustbins were too small to hold anything the size of a human body. He took the lid off the coal bunker. “Empty,” he said briefly. He looked behind it, against the wall, and finally in the shed. Elena went with him. It was obvious that Max was not there, but somebody had been. There was a straw-stuffed mattress on the floor, torn and spilling pieces of itself. Food wrappers had been half eaten, probably by foraging rats. There was a lingering foul odor. The light was pearlescent, almost luminous, fading the walls’ colors and hiding their ugliness.
“He’s not here,” Aiden said slowly. “But it looks as if someone has been living rough, and probably hiding.” He seemed to struggle for the word he wanted and did not find it in any of the languages he spoke. He turned slowly and his eye caught the water butt, as if he had not seen it before.
Elena said what she most feared. “We didn’t look in the water barrel.”
Aiden stared at her. He understood.
“Help me up,” she said. “I’ll take a quick look. If we don’t, we’ll always wonder.” She met his eyes, dark blue in
the waning brilliance of the air.
Aiden shrugged and moved beside her, next to to the barrel that was sitting on a wooden platform, raising it so that water could be drawn into a bucket from the tap at the bottom. Without speaking, he lifted her until she was head and shoulders above its rim. Carefully, she raised the lid, but she pushed it too far to one side. It fell, clattering to the ground.
She saw it immediately: a man’s head with the strings of hair floating on the surface. The rest of him was a dim and distorted shape impossible to distinguish beneath the dark surface of the water. His limbs had to have been bent or even broken to force him into the barrel. Judging by the shape of the body and the smell of the bloating flesh, he must have been there for a week or more.
She swallowed and felt her eyes blur and her stomach lurch.
“What is it?” Aiden demanded, gripping her harder.
“He’s here,” she gasped.
He let her down gently, then turned her to face him. “Are you sure?”
