thirty-three
The man who answered the door was in his mid-twenties, lean but muscular, with gelled hair. He wore tracksuit pants and a T-shirt, and was walking with difficulty. One of his hands was heavily taped with a splint across two of the fingers.
“Andrew?”
“Who wants him?” He gave Ruth a quick body scan, eyes hovering for a moment on her chest. If this was him, she decided, being beaten up by a woman hadn’t exactly put a crease in his libido.
She introduced herself and explained why she was there.
He held the door open. “Great. So now the whole world knows. You’d better come in.” He led her into a cluttered sitting room and said, “Sorry for the mess. I’ve got a mate crashing in here for a few days.” He lowered himself into an armchair with a grunt. “Excuse me if I don’t stand—my knee’s killing me.” He lifted one trouser leg to reveal a heavy bandage around his knee, then sat back with a groan.
“Just the knee?”
“I wish. I’ve got two busted fingers and a stack of bruising.” He indicated his stomach. “Why do you want to know?”
“Let’s say the woman who attacked you has form. I’d like to find her.” She showed him the print of Clarisse. “Is this her?”
He gave it a quick look. “Yeah, that’s Helen—mad bitch. Sorry … not PC, but I think I’ve got good reason, don’t you?”
“You wouldn’t know her address, I suppose?”
“No chance. I hear she’s bunked off. If you do find her, give her a kick for me, would you? Only be careful, she’s vicious.”
Ruth sat down in another chair. “Your receptionist friend said something about her knowing some awesome stuff. What does that mean?”
He shifted in his chair and winced. “You talked to Laura.”
“Yes. She’s concerned about you.”
He smiled. “She’s a nice kid. Have you ever heard of Krav Maga?”
“Isn’t that an Israeli army martial art?”
“Yeah. I started learning it a few years ago. It’s a mix of styles but I recognised some of the moves. It’s based on going in with maximum force and neutralising an attacker. She took me down with a kick to the side of my knee and some other strikes … I don’t remember the rest.” He sounded almost in awe. “Man, she was so fast. Like a tornado.”
“Sounds like she was angry.”
“Yes—but I never laid a finger on her. If she says different, she’s lying.” He looked resentful and defensive. “I tried a couple of cheesy lines on her, that’s all. It was nothing to go all ballistic over.”
“That’s it? Are you sure? You didn’t touch her at all?”
He hesitated, then confessed, “I might have touched her arm. To be honest, I don’t remember much about it.”
“Only touched her arm? And you teach self-defence?”
“OK, stroked her arm. Maybe. I don’t remember. It was stupid, I know … but she seemed friendly, even a bit flirty, asking me to help find her way round the centre and point out who some of the clients were. I made a mistake.” He scowled like a little boy robbed of his lunch money.
“Some mistake. Did she ask about anybody in particular?”
He frowned. “I don’t think so. Women, mostly, like she might have been looking for gym buddies. But I honestly don’t remember.”
“And that was it? She didn’t say anything before or after?” She felt frustrated; this was going nowhere fast.
He shrugged. “I guess. I mean, there was something she said just before she started in on me.” Another frown, this time in concentration. “But I don’t remember what it was. What exactly has this chick done?”
Ruth ignored the question and took out a card printed with her cell phone number. “If what she said comes back, give me a call. It might be important.”
He studied the card and gave her a crooked smile, suddenly all buoyed up, his ego bouncing to the fore. “Sure will. It’s Ruth, right? Ruth what?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t let your libido carry you away or I’ll come back and finish what she started. My advice is, stick closer to home—like Laura, for instance. She’s much more your style.”
He looked hurt. “Hey, touchy. I get the message.”
Ruth stood up. “Good. And next time don’t let them get in so close—especially women; we fight dirty.”
He scowled. “You know martial arts, right?” This time his assessment was more professional, less lascivious. “Yeah, you look like |you do.”
“You better believe it.”
She let herself out.
As she got back to the car, her phone buzzed. She didn’t recognise the number.
It was Aron, Tiggi’s landlord. He sounded worried, even sad.
“You should come here now,” he said. “I think maybe Tiggi is not coming back.”
Aron was waiting for her at the front door, hopping from foot to foot. He smelled of onions and tomatoes. There was no sign of the men from their previous visit.
“What’s happened?” Ruth asked.
“Come.” He turned and led her up to Tiggi’s room.
It was empty.
Ruth checked the wardrobe. A row of empty wire hangers clinked together in a sing-song. “She came back for her stuff?”
“No. Not her. Another woman. She say Tiggi is back home for family business and she is here to pay back rent and collect all her things. I didn’t believe her but she pay me and show me a note from Tiggi to say is all right.”
Ruth held her breath. This was too convenient. “Where is this note?”
He looked crestfallen. “I’m sorry. Too late after the woman is gone I realise she has taken it with her. But I know it is from Tiggi—I recognise her writing. Also she say something that I know is her.” He smiled sadly at the memory.
“What was it?”
“She say, “I will miss your meatballs, the best in London.” Tiggi loved my meatballs—she would eat them every day if she could.”
So, it sounded genuine. But it still didn’t tell her where Tiggi was.
“I don’t suppose you have a home address?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. She never say and I don’t ask. Is private.” He frowned. “Actually, I have to say something, but I hope it does not get her in trouble.”
“Go on.”
“In this house we speak English nearly all the time. Is my one rule because I don’t want these people coming through here and never learning nothing, you understand?”
Ruth nodded. A man with community spirit. Pity there weren’t more like him.
“Too many Polish kids come here and never learn the language properly,” he explained. “Anyway, all the time we speak English and Tiggi is most happy. Trouble is, one time a new arrival speaks to her in Polish, and I overheard her reply.”
“In Polish?”
“Sure. But it strange Polish, you know? It’s good—I mean, perfect—but perfect like you learn from a professor. No lazy words, no short cuts.”
“Too perfect—is that what you’re saying?”
“Exact. Too perfect.” He smiled a little sadly. “Is not a bad thing, speaking properly, don’t get me wrong. But the way she talk, maybe she spend her life in a convent or something.”
Ruth turned and walked downstairs. As she went to open the front door, she asked, “This woman who collected Tiggi’s stuff—what did she look like?”
Aron pursed his lips. “Ordinary. But not very … woman, you know? She like someone who is athletic, do too much exercise.” He went on to detail her clothing, in particular her headgear, and Ruth felt a cold line trickle down her back as she recognised the description.
Just to be certain, she showed him the photo she had shown Andrew.
Aron looked surprised. “That is her, yes. You know this person?”
“Not yet,” she told him. “But I will soon enough.”