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sharpened, his heart beating harder, the air sweeter than it had been before. He grinned at the powderstreaked face in the glass. His phone chimed, and somewhere inside himself, he thought he might have sensed the coming call seconds before it sounded. Some might dismiss that as nonsense, but Arturas Strazdas was not an ordinary man. He was a great man. He could do anything.
    Or perhaps that was the cocaine talking.
    He sniffed hard and wiped his nose before crossing back to the desk and lifting his mobile. His soul withered a little when he saw the name on the display.
    “Yes, Mother,” he answered.
    “You didn’t call,” she said, her voice jagged like broken slate. “You said you’d call when you landed, and you didn’t. Why not?”
    “I’ve been busy,” Strazdas said.
    “Not so busy you couldn’t call your mother, let her know you got there safe.”
    “No.”
    “And how is Tomas?” she asked.
    Strazdas closed his eyes. “Why are you up so late? It’s the middle of the night. You should be sleeping.”
    “And so should you,” she said. “You didn’t answer my question. How is Tomas? I haven’t seen him since he went to that awful place.”
    Strazdas had never been able to lie to his mother. “I haven’t spoken with him,” he said.
    “Why not?” she asked, no attempt to disguise the worry in her voice. “Have you phoned him?”
    He took a breath. “Yes. He didn’t answer.”
    “But Tomas always answers his phone.”
    “I know.”
    “Even when he’s with one of his women, he answers his phone. There’ve been times I wish he hadn’t, but he always does.”
    “I know.”
    “Then find him,” she said. “Don’t dare talk to me again until you’ve found him.”
    The phone died in his hand.
    “I won’t,” he said.

8
    G ALYA DIDN’T KNOW how long she’d hidden in the shadows before making her way through the fenced-off yards to the rubble and steel of this building site. She had spared one glance over her shoulder to see the big Lithuanian slam his huge fist into the policeman’s head. She had heard the sickly slapping of fist on flesh as she ran, and for a short while, the policeman’s cries.
    Lorries and cargo containers stood sentry outside a warehouse, along with piles of rusting machinery and giant sacks of concrete. She found the dark pools between them, immersed herself there where the orange streetlights couldn’t touch her.
    Soon she heard the BMW’s engine rumble as it advanced along the road, nearing her hiding place. It came into view, only meters away. It stopped, a door opened, and the big Lithuanian climbed out. His breath plumed around him.
    Galya clasped a hand over her mouth in case he saw the warm air seeping from her lungs.
    He stood staring into the blackness. For a moment, she was certain he looked directly into her eyes. His body leaned forward as if he were about to take a step closer to her hiding place, but Sam called from inside the car, “We have to go.”
    “She here,” the Lithuanian said.
    “There’s no time. The cops will be on their way. They’ll be here any second. For fuck’s sake, come on.”
    The Lithuanian turned to face him. “You no say me what do.”
    “What?” Sam peered out at him, his face slack with disbelief. “I’m not having this out with you now, for Christ’s sake. Get in the car or I’m leaving you here.”
    The Lithuanian’s shoulders slumped. He returned his gaze to the shadows. “I know you here,” he said. “I know you speak English. I not stupid like this man. You stay in dark. I find you, you dead. Tomas brother find you, you dead. Police find you, you dead.”
    Galya shrank further into the black. The Lithuanian took one more step forward.
    “Yes,” he said. “Arturas own police. Police give you to him. Then you dead. Arturas hurt you bad, hurt you long time. Then you dead.”
    He drew a finger across his throat and grinned.
    “Come on,” Sam said. “I’m not asking again.”
    The Lithuanian climbed