November
In November you begin to know how long the winter will be. -Martha Gellhorn
Chapter Twelve
“You might not want to hear this and I don’t know what you want to do with the information, but your sister is in trouble. She’s in Riga. I’ll send you the details of the address and the persons I believe to be involved.”
It’s probably the twelfth time I’ve listened to the message and I’ve spent more than a day straight thinking about the implications.
I’ve heard fuck all from Majjie since I last saw her. This isn’t a cause for concern; I can go months without knowing she stillexists or even giving her much thought. Majjie isn’t someone I like.
She saw too much and never tried to stop it. She knew what my aunt did and it never occurred to her to help.
The list of the persons involved is short and concerning. Axel Agot. Mia Fris. Alek Wray.
Axel Agot spent two years in prison and it should’ve been longer for aggravated assault when he was nineteen. He then turned from hired muscle to the hirer. Mia Fris was suspected of some serious hacking but had since gone off everyone’s radar which was almost always more concerning.
Alek Wray was a name I knew. Too well. I killed his brother.
* * *
Riga in November is cold, but then so is Scotland. I have only hand luggage when I get off the plane although I’ve no idea how long I’ll be here for. Riga is currently where the world ends.
The streets are busy but not with the bachelor parties that plague the city in the summer. I fade in with the other tourists; jeans, boots and a thick coat, a beanie hat that’s seen better days. My stubble’s grown thicker and it looks unkempt. Winter’s approaching and I haven’t seen Blair for ten days.
The building I’m looking for sits near the mouth of the river, looking out onto the grey waters. It’s too early for snow or for Christmas decorations and the lack of mild temperatures mean tourists aren’t as commonplace, but it’s still busy. The gothic architecture and winding streets would be worth exploring if I was here for a different reason and in a different mood.
I find the address I’ve discovered – a different one to the one that was given by my source – and head to the entrance. The windows are arched and look too dark to see through. It isn’t the secretive building I’d imagined; it’s out in the open and I have to question what I’m walking into.
There’s a man behind reception in a suit as I enter. He shows no emotion when he sees me, merely raising his brows to question why I’m here.
“I’m looking for Leo Alba.”
No such person exists, although Leo Alba is the CEO for Alba FM, a financial management company that does no such thing.
“Is Mr Alba expecting you?” His English is clipped.
“No. But tell him Benjamin Silkstren needs to see him. He’ll want to see me.” I use the other name I was born with: the part of me I ignore.
“Take a seat. Please.”
I do, checking my phone to see if Majken has responded to anything I’ve sent.
Nothing. Jack shit. Nothing from Blair or Isaac either.
I look out of the window and see a girl walking past, probably no more than about fifteen. She’s crying and she looks cold, lonely. I feel more of a connection to her right now than anyone else.
“Mr Silkstren, Mr Alba said to go straight up. It’s the fourth floor.” The receptionist gestures to the lift.
I give him a nod, leaving my bag next to reception, pretty certain it will be searched, and then press the button to call the lift. I have no idea what I’ll find when I get to the fourth floor. My gun is to hand although I’ve no wish to use it. We’re too close to the city centre – disposing a body when there will be any number of cameras isn’t high on my list of things to experience while I’m in Riga.
The doors open and I’m met with a bright white wall and a heavy duty door. It’s unlocked, which surprises me, so I walk straight through into a long, open plan office with around ten desks, all but two empty.
One desk catches my eye. There’s a computer, a few files and a cactus. It’s a rhipsalis, with trailing stalks and I know immediately whose desk it is.
Majken was fascinated with cacti. My father would create displays out of them and liked them as house plants. A strand of a rhipsalis fell off and for some reason, Majjie was heartbroken. She followed my dad’s instructions and propagated it, growing its roots and reading about the best conditions to keep it healthy and it flourished.
There’s one other person in the office besides me. He’s looking out of the window over the city, a suit clearly tailored draped over his shoulders that are thin and weak.
