kicked him savagely in the ribs. Bastard. Who did he think he was, barging in like that?
Hurrying now, he returned to his task. He finished the bindings, then hastily ripped the tape from her mouth. He had to keep checking the man was still out cold, which slowed him up even more. He didn't bother explaining to the bitch why he was making an example of her. She'd fucked up his routine, ruined his pleasure in a job well done, and she didn't deserve to know that there was good reason for what was happening to her.
It pissed him off more than he would have believed possible that he was having to rush things. He managed to do a neat enough job with the scalping, but it wasn't as precise as he liked. Cursing with the vigour of the boatman he was, he finished up in the kitchen, wiping every surface his hands could possibly have touched, and giving the stranger a brutal kick in the kidneys as he passed, just for good measure.
All that was left was the placing of the file. He ran upstairs and started checking the rooms, unwilling to turn on the lights in case it drew more attention to him. The first room was clearly hers, dominated by a king-size bed and a wall of fitted wardrobes. The second looked like a kid's room, with its posters of Werder Bremen footballers and the Playstation on the table by the window.
He struck gold with the back bedroom, which was fitted out as a home office. He dragged open the drawer of the old fashioned wooden filing cabinet and thrust the file into place. He was past caring if it was in the right slot. He just wanted to be done and out of there before things got even worse.
One final check that the stranger was still unconscious, then he warily opened the front door a crack. Nothing moved. He saw a VW Passat parked in front of the house, but thankfully it wasn't blocking the drive. Head down, he hurried out of Margarethe Schilling's house and into the car.
His hands on the wheel were slippery with perspiration, his fingers antsy and trembling. Sweat trickled down his temples and into his hair. He had to force himself to keep his speed down in the quiet suburban streets. His brain kept replaying the terrible sound of the front door opening, and every time his heart constricted in panic again. Fear was staking out its familiar territory inside him, and he struggled against it, moaning as he drove. He was on the dock road before he felt his breathing return to normal. For the first time since he had started his campaign, he had been directly confronted with the dangers of his chosen path. And he didn't like it one bit.
Not that that was any reason to stop, he told himself. What he needed now was to take his mind off his panic. What he needed was a woman. He slowed down as he approached a row of bars, their dim lights yellow against the night. He'd find what he wanted here. He'd take some bitch and fuck her till the light came back.
Tadeusz crossed the pavement and climbed into the back seat of the black Mercedes. If any of his neighbours had seen him, they might have wondered at his appearance. Instead of his usual immaculate and expensive surface, he was dressed in old moleskin trousers, battered work boots, an ex-army parka covering a thick fisherman's sweater. But nobody wore Armani for an afternoon's rough shooting, which was exactly how he planned to spend the rest of the day.
Darko Krasic lounged in the opposite corner of the rear seat. He wore a scarred leather jerkin over a padded plaid shirt whose tails hung over corduroy trousers so old the raised wales were rubbed flat on the surface of the thighs. 'Good day for it,' he said.
'I hope so. I feel like killing someone whose disappearance would make the world a better place,' Tadeusz said. He spoke with the distaste of a man who has bitten into a fruit and found decay at its heart. Apathy and cynicism had been his alternating companions since Katerina's death. Everything he did now was an attempt to break free from their suffocating grip, and everything so far had failed. He had no conviction that this afternoon would bring anything different. 'And since we've no traffic cops to hand,' he continued with a