Splinter

41

‘We’ve got to get out of here!’

Panic-stricken, Emma was tugging at the front door, which Benny had locked before they went into the living room. Something must have scared her so much she hadn’t even noticed the key in the deadlock with the massive bolt running right across the door.

‘What’s the matter?’ Marc demanded.

‘Let me out!’ she cried shrilly, tears trickling down her red-veined cheeks. She kicked the door with each foot in turn.

‘Hey, take it easy,’ said Marc, but when he touched her shoulder she swung round with unexpected violence and dealt his jaw an inadvertent karate chop with the heel of her hand.

‘What’s the matter, for Christ’s sake?’ He was now shouting as loudly as Emma, who appeared to have choked on her own saliva, because she started coughing violently.

‘She’s…’ she gasped between two paroxysms ‘…dead.’

She’s dead?

‘Who’s dead? What’s she talking about?’

Marc looked at Benny, who was standing in the passage a couple of metres behind him, roughly on a level with the bathroom door. Benny just shrugged, so he read-dressed himself to Emma, who was being shaken by another fit of coughing. Her breath started to rattle in her throat. He tried to open her quilted jacket but couldn’t because she had slid to the floor with her back against the wall and was cowering beside the door like a beaten dog.

‘Don’t touch me,’ she whimpered, fending off imaginary blows with both hands, and started to hyperventilate.

‘Dead…’ she repeated, gasping like a drowning woman who’d surfaced in the nick of time. Although her massive bosom heaved at every breath, her oxygen intake seemed to be steadily diminishing. Eventually, after a last, desperate gasp, her eyes rolled upwards and she passed out.

‘Jesus,’ said Benny, ‘she belongs in a funny farm.’

‘That’s where she’s come from.’ Marc bent down and checked Emma’s pulse, though her double chin made it hard to find the jugular.

‘She’s okay. Passed out, that’s all.’ Marc looked helplessly at Benny. ‘What now?’

‘Search me. She can’t stay here, anyway.’ Benny quickly released the deadlock that had just defeated Emma and opened the door. He pressed a switch on the landing and the stairwell was bathed in yellowish, energy-saving twilight. ‘Come on, we’d better take her to A and E.’

They lugged Emma outside, each with an arm around her shoulders. Marc could hardly support her weight. The last few hours had weakened his already debilitated body, and he wondered if it was wise to manhandle an overweight woman down five flights of stairs with a splinter in his neck. Constantin had even forbidden him to tote boxes around when he was moving house.

‘I’ll help you get her to the car,’ Benny said when they reached the third floor. ‘After that, you’ll have to manage by yourself.’

‘Where are you off to so late?’ Marc panted. He would have liked to take a breather, but Benny seemed to be in a hurry and even put on speed.

‘Sorry, I can’t tell you.’

‘Look, you can’t just run off. You owe me.’

They had to pause briefly between the third and second floors because Emma’s feet had caught in the banisters. She uttered a groan but seemed unaware of the brothers’ exertions.

‘What gives you that idea?’ Benny demanded.

‘I saved your life.’

‘Yet another reason for steering clear of you.’

‘I know you hate me, but do you think I’d be here if I had any choice?’

They had at last reached the heavy, wrought-iron front door. Marc, who was bathed in sweat, had to support Emma on his own. Cold air streamed into the already chilly passage as Benny opened the door. Then he came back and they lugged Emma outside.

‘Do me one last favour, Benny, please. Call a friend – you’ve got your contacts, after all. Check that number plate and get the owner’s address for me, and you’ll never see me again.’

‘No.’

They sat Emma down on a graffiti-daubed ledge beside the entrance. Marc satisfied himself that she was safely propped against the wall. Then he went over to his brother, who was standing in the middle of the forecourt, feeling in his pockets for his car key.

‘Why not, you bastard?’ His breath emerged in dense clouds as he barred Benny’s path.

Benny’s block of flats was situated in a cobbled, traffic-becalmed street where the parking slots were arranged so as to slow the traffic. The numerous shops whose windows illuminated the district at night were in keeping with its character. Anyone who moved to Prenzlberg was hip, modern, eco-friendly, liberal-minded and fond of children. The residents tended not to be Berliners, so the local businesses were predominantly Spanish delicatessens, English-speaking kitas, Indian teahouses and offbeat designer boutiques. The area around Kollwitzplatz was one of Europe’s most child-abundant neighbourhoods, so it was no wonder the street felt as if it were in a city of the dead. Working parents still had two hours before their alarm clocks went off. As for the artists and students, they were either asleep or making a night of it two streets away, where there were bars and pubs still open.

‘Hey, I’m talking to you. Why can’t you do me one last favour before I get out of your life for good?’

‘Because the number plate won’t get you anywhere.’ Benny screwed up his eyes and stared past Marc at the street behind him. Scenting a trap, Marc suppressed an urge to turn round.

‘How do you know?’

‘I already checked it.’

‘How? You didn’t call anyone.’

Or had he? Had he texted someone unobserved, and had the message just been answered? Marc wasn’t sure. Far too many inexplicable things had happened in the last few hours.

‘I didn’t have to call anyone,’ Benny said, pointing across the street. Marc turned to look and his heart stood still.

The ambulance was parked in the goods entrance beside a café on the opposite side of the street. As though in response to a word of command, the driver started the engine and inched out into the road.

The occupants behind the tinted windscreen were invisible this time, but not the illuminated licence plate: B – Q 1371.

‘What on earth’s going on here?’ Marc demanded, swinging round. The ledge was deserted. Emma wasn’t sitting on it any more; she was standing close behind them with the muzzle of Benny’s automatic pointing straight at his head.