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reservations I might have, I couldn’t escape the feeling that if this was a trap, it was one I had to at least dip my toe into.
    Pressing the little green button with my gloved thumb, I raised the handset to my ear and listened to the tinny bleat of the Italian ringtone. I heard it only once before my call was answered.
    ‘You are late.’
    The voice was female.
    ‘Who is this?’ I asked.
    Stupid question. In my mind’s eye, I was picturing the shapely blonde who’d broken into my apartment. Even as I spoke, my brain was reassembling her image and trying it alongside the voice I’d heard. The two seemed to fit. Her English was good, if studied, marked with a strong Italian accent and a notable flourish.
    ‘You know who I am,’ she told me, in a hurried tone. ‘We have met. You have pretty underwear, I think.’
    I covered my face with my hand and did my best not to groan. ‘I don’t know your name,’ I told her. ‘And I have no idea what you want from me.’
    ‘My name is not important.’
    Strange, it seemed mighty important to me.
    ‘You would like your book back, yes?’ she asked.
    ‘That would be nice,’ I agreed.
    ‘Perfetto , ’ she purred. ‘Then you will do as I say.’
    Didn’t I tell you it was a bad idea to make the phone call? I already didn’t like the way the conversation was going, and I was pretty sure it had the potential to get an awful lot worse.
    ‘How about I don’t?’ I said. ‘How about I hang up and walk away right now?’
    ‘Then, I am sorry, but you will never see your book again.’
    ‘And?’
    She paused for a moment, and I could sense doubt building on the other end of the line. ‘And I think that is enough.’ Her tone suggested she wasn’t as confident as she’d like to be. ‘I know this book. I know its value. To you, especially, yes?’
    I didn’t respond. It would have been nice to think that I could have stayed in the darkened shop in silence and never said anything more. It would have been even nicer to think that I could have gone home, climbed into bed and forgotten that any of this had ever happened. In fact, it wouldn’t have been at all hard for me to invent a whole other life for myself – one where I didn’t have to listen to my short-tempered new friend on the other end of the line.
    ‘You will follow my instructions?’ she asked.
    ‘That really depends on what your instructions are.’
    She tutted, and made a huffing noise, then proceeded to outline what she expected from me. ‘ Allora … You will go to Calle Cavalli. It is in San Polo, near Campo di San Polo. There is a building there – number 1952. Let yourself in. The locks are not so hard – even for someone slow, like you.’
    ‘Hey!’
    ‘There is an apartment on the first floor. The door, it will be open. You will meet me there. Capito? ’
    ‘Then what?’
    She hesitated. ‘Then we will talk about what I need you to do.’
    Boy, didn’t this sound like a golden opportunity? If I did as she said, I had absolutely no control over what might happen to me, and no idea of what I might find inside the apartment she wanted me to access. There could be a group of thugs awaiting my arrival, with detailed plans about the specific pain and discomfort they wished to cause me. Or the place could have been ransacked, and my tormentor might have designs on setting me up for the crime. Or … Hell, what was the point in torturing myself with worse-case scenarios?
    ‘This is crazy,’ I told her. ‘I’d have to be an idiot to do what you’re asking. I can’t think of one good reason why I should.’
    ‘There is your book …’
    ‘That’s a half-reason, at best.’
    ‘I do not believe it.’
    ‘Believe what you like. I’m beginning to think we’ve chatted enough for one night.’ I stood from my hiding place and moved to the door. Craning my neck, I peered up at the decrepit buildings, trying to identify where she was watching me from. I supposed it was possible that she had