‘Surprised to see me?’ Olivier leaned against the door frame and pushed the hood off his head.
‘I… er… what the…’ Blaine was in shock. He looked past Olivier to see if there was anyone in the hallway. ‘How did you get into the block?’ he asked. He turned off the light in his flat, hopeful that might just make the man standing in front of him… disappear.
‘The security in this building is lax. Any ol’ Tom, Dick or Harry could walk in off the street.’ Quick as a flash, Olivier pushed past Blaine and entered the flat, turning the light back on.
‘I told you that the police have already been to see me,’ Blaine said. He followed Olivier but hesitated in the doorway, reluctant to be in the same room as him. ‘They’ve been calling me, checking up on me. They could have someone watching me right now, you don’t—’
‘Calm. The. Fuck. Down,’ Olivier said. He opened the fridge, took out a can of beer and opened it. ‘You’re giving me a headache.’
‘You shouldn’t be here.’
Olivier eyed him over the can. ‘I’m not staying. I just need something from you.’
Blaine couldn’t think what Olivier could possibly want from him when the police already had their eyes on him. ‘Like what?’ he finally asked. Olivier stepped forward quickly, causing Blaine to jump back.
‘Why so jumpy?’ he laughed. ‘You had no problem with me when you were coming to see me inside. Look,’ – Olivier held up his hands – ‘no handcuffs this time.’
Blaine finally mustered up the courage to turn his back on Olivier. He walked into his small living room and checked that the curtains were tightly closed. Olivier sat down and stretched out on the sofa. Blaine stood by the window, unsure what to do.
‘Everyone’s looking for you.’ Blaine moved across the room and sat down in his armchair, as far away from Olivier as he could get.
‘I’m aware of that,’ said Olivier. ‘But one thing I’ve learnt is that the police never look in the most obvious places.’
‘What do you want from me?’ Blaine couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice.
Olivier sighed heavily and dropped his head back onto the cushions. ‘Have you got a decent Indian round here?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘Indian. Food. Takeaway. A little man on a moped who will deliver it to your house.’
‘Yeah, there is, but—’
Olivier jumped to his feet, took hold of Blaine’s neck and pushed him hard against the wall.
‘You’re probably thinking that you should have left,’ Olivier whispered into Blaine’s ear and squeezed his fingers around his throat. ‘You should have packed your little wheelie bag and disappeared the second you heard I was out.’
Olivier released his grip. Blaine coughed, the sharp intake of air rattling his chest.
‘They’re going to think I helped,’ Blaine said weakly as he slid to the floor. ‘I can’t go back inside.’
‘I don’t think you have much of a choice. They’ll pin something on you.’ Olivier walked over to the sofa and picked up a laptop. ‘How do you think this copycat feels about me being out? Will he be pleased, or will he be pissing his pants like you? It might even turn him on.’
‘I don’t… I have no idea,’ Blaine said. He coughed again and touched his bruised neck gingerly.
‘My original case files, your notes from my trial. The papers from your own trial. Are they here? You said you kept everything,’ asked Olivier.
Blaine nodded and pointed at the files and folders held together by elastic bands on the bottom shelf of his bookcase.
‘All of them?’
‘Everything,’ Blaine replied, his voice hoarse.
‘Good.’ Olivier opened the laptop and pressed a button. ‘Password please. Hurry up, I won’t bite.’
Blaine hesitantly stood up, walked over and entered his password.
‘Thank you kindly.’
‘What are you doing?’ Blaine asked.
Olivier didn’t answer. He continued to type away and drink his beer. After a couple of minutes, he looked Blaine square in the eye and said, ‘I am helping the police with their enquiries.’