I wait for Nicole’s red beret to disappear from view as she and Adam leave the restaurant. They have taken their time, sitting there, all evening, while I’m out here, looking in. I walk back along Old Compton Street until I reach the door of the apartment building. I put out my finger to touch the buttons, then retreat again. There may be a crime within. I look in my pocket for a tissue, but there are none. I open my backpack and tear out a leaf from my notebook, dipping my head as someone walks by. Then I lay the paper over the keypad and touch in the numbers. There is a click as the door releases. My memory, on this point, has triumphed.
As I ascend the stairs, I wonder if I want Ally to be alive. It would make things simpler for retrieving the jacket were she not. But then Luke would be a murderer. That would be my research, and I’d have to use it again. If she is alive, how will she respond to me being here? I reach the door of her apartment. If I were her, alive, inside that flat, I would want revenge.
I eye up the lock. I don’t really know what to do with it. I take out my keys and prod at it, being sure to hold the doorknob with my piece of paper. Nothing. I take out my notebook again, and unweave the spiral metal binding enough to have a few inches to insert into the lock. I stick it in and twist and turn but get no positive reaction.
There must be a way in. I think about Ally, about how easy it was to get her drunk, to get into her. She must have a way of getting into her flat when she’s left her bag in a bar, or forgotten her keys altogether. There is a mat. I lift it. Keys, on a little heart key-ring. Cute. I snatch them up.
I realise I am touching them with my bare hands. Never mind. I shall have to keep them.
I insert a key into the lock. The key turns and I push the door open, pocketing the keys.
I pause for a moment and listen.
Nothing.
I open the door further and peer into the flat. All is dark. No – not quite. There is a faint glow coming from the main room. Alive, then? I think of what weapons I have. Only my fists. I clench them and push inside.
There is a bundle on the bed. I cannot see whether it’s a body or a sleeping person or a duvet. I walk towards it. It does not move. Should I just move closer to see, to know? There is an arm there, hanging, I think. I could go further, grab the wrist, take the pulse. But what if the hand grabs me back?
I must focus on the jacket. The jacket. The jacket. Where would she put the jacket? It can’t be on the bed. Unless of course she has got up, since I left her there. It’s not on the sofa. I pick up the remaining lit candle and look about me. No jacket. Wardrobe? I see a hessian-covered stand in the corner of the room. Is that a wardrobe? I take the candle over to it and lift up the covering. A tumble of cloth falls out on me. She must have heard that! I blow out the candle and keep quiet. I don’t move. There is no sound from the bed. Is she playing dead, or is it real? Or perhaps she’s just a deep sleeper, drugged to forget, like other people I could name. I could take the risk, switch on the light, look at her, look for the jacket properly. But no – outside they would see. Why is the light on? they would ask. I move over to bed. I stand staring at her, moving closer and closer. I try to detect REM beneath the blindfold. Nothing. I wonder if I should try to frame her, make it look like she killed herself. Rig up a noose from the ceiling. Leave some paracetamol by the bed. Smooth down her insides. Take off the blindfold.
But I find I cannot touch her.
I have what I need for Luke. Her body is nothing to me.
I just need to get the jacket. Or it will be something to me. In the darkness, I can’t see any fresh avenue in the main room. Does she have a coat rack in the entrance hall? I head back there, hands outstretched in front of me. Then I lower them. Better to hit my face against something than leave a print.
In the dark I make out a coat stand. And the grey sheen of my jacket. I need not have gone in there at all.
I check the pockets for the lipstick note. Yes, there it is. I drop it on the floor. If I can’t frame Ally, I can frame Luke. Dan was never here. I can leave.
It is only when I have my bit of paper on the door handle that I hear the creak behind me.