‘I’m trying something new,’ Elijah began and passed Flick a pair of Perspex goggles. She slipped them on and he handed her a chisel, beckoning her to follow him towards a slab of marble on a table in the centre of the room. It was the shape of a head, but its features had been drawn on with chalk. ‘Now, hold the pointed chisel in that spot while I find the mallet,’ he continued, moving her hands and the tool in the direction of the crown. Flick’s pulse raced at his touch.
On his return, he remained behind her and she instinctively gripped the chisel tighter, in case she had to use it as a weapon. Her body tensed as he gently tapped at it with the mallet. Shards of marble fired in all directions like shrapnel. Flick felt the warmth of his skin against her neck and cheek. She was sure he was doing it deliberately, but she didn’t care.
‘What are you making?’ she asked, trying to distract herself from her arousal.
‘What arewemaking?’ he corrected her. ‘It’s a sculpture.’
‘I might not know much about art but I know what a sculpture is. Who is it of?’
Elijah adjusted her chisel again and she felt the firmness of his chest as it pressed against her back.
‘It’s of everyone so it’s going to be made by everyone. It’ll be made up of different parts of faces of people I know.’
Flick was momentarily disappointed that others would be contributing. ‘But you’re the first,’ he continued, his lips brushing against her ear.
‘And what’s the thinking behind it?’
‘It’s about our community and how we’re all made up of the people we surround ourselves with. None of us is an island, no matter how much water there is between us. Even you.’
‘Me?’
‘You.’
‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
‘Yes, you do. I get you.’
‘You “get me”?’ she repeated, irked by his implication. ‘You hardly know me.’
‘I know enough to think we’re alike. We give out just enough of ourselves to make everyone around us feel like we’re their best friends, but hold enough back to stop from committing completely.’
‘You make a lot of assumptions, Elijah.’
‘But I don’t hear you telling me I’m wrong.’
Flick was prepared to explain how she didn’t need anyone; how she was perfectly fine on her own. But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned into him and placed her lips on his. As they kissed, an energy rushed through her that she hadn’t felt in an age. And moments later, she was pressing Elijah’s naked body against the cool of the marble sculpture – an image of the town that made him, and that was chipping away at her too.
Chapter 40
EMILIA
Emilia screamed for help but there was no one in sight apart from the killer. The bitter tang of death cut through Lake Geneva’s salty air. It was a harsh, metallic aroma that once caught on the back of the tongue, stubbornly remained, like freshly set amalgam fillings. Each new breath became a battle to hold back waves of nausea, but such high levels of anxiety couldn’t be suppressed for long. It found an alternative release through trembling limbs and beads of sweat. She had been set up. Ted had been murdered and it was all her fault.
Then without warning, four figures – two male and two female – hurried forward and passed the woman and child who were now walking in the opposite direction. The casual attire of labelled baseball caps, T-shirts and jeans were at odds with their purposeful pace and deadpan expressions. And against the backdrop of the gentle waves lapping at the lake’s shore, the clean-up operation began.
One spoke in German into an earpiece and looked across the bay. A white speedboat, indistinguishable from others using the water for pleasure, appeared silently and pulled up close to the lighthouse at the end of the jetty where his colleagues waited in silence. Two more people exited it,jumping into the lake and landing knee deep: another remained at the wheel.
With the speed and precision of a Formula One pit stop, they lifted the body onto the boarding deck, boarded it again, reversed the boat and took off as quickly and as unassumingly as when they had arrived. Moments later, it was heading towards the white-capped Swiss Alps; the only trace that it had ever been there were the wide ripples left in its wake.
With a sharp turn of her head Emilia caught the remaining two figures pouring bottles of something across the ground to dissolve the blood into nothing. Another reconnected wires attached to a lamppost-mounted security camera.
Suddenly two pairs of hands tightly gripped her upper arms, hurrying her away from the murder scene and back towards the main road. Ahead, two four-by-four vehicles were parked by the side of the road, their windows as dark as their bodywork.
They’re going to kill me next, she thought.
It was enough to send a sudden jolt of adrenaline coursing through her body, bringing with it a fight-or-flight instinct. Drawing deep from a long-forgotten existence, her arms were the first to shake free before landing a punch square in the throat of the shorter of the two captors. As he gasped for air, both hands were wrapped around his neck and his head drawn downward, where a knee collided with his stomach. Preparing for the second assailant’s attack, the hunted was now the hunter. She dropped to the ground as the man lurched forward and thrust out a leg until her heel connected with his kneecap. It was swiftly followed by an agonising crack and a scream.
After scrambling back to her feet, Emilia ran at breakneck speed towards the two cars, now only about a hundred metres ahead. Another rapid decision had to be made –which direction to go in? Right would take her out of town but give more options for an escape further afield; left meant heading towards the centre of town where there was a higher density of people and more witnesses. There was also a better chance of locating a bolthole in which to lie low while figuring out what to do next. But the decision was snatched away when the doors of both vehicles opened.
