Hard Landing

CHAPTER SEVEN

  Gary took a few deep breaths and told himself to calm down. Think, think. He could wait for the cops and tell them he was an innocent bystander. They might believe him, but probably not, because cops don't believe in that concept. The first person to report a body is usually their first suspect. So he had to get out of the apartment fast. As he left the balcony, he noticed the cat was gone. Must have disappeared back inside.

  He wanted to remove any fingerprints or DNA he left on the front-door handle. So he strode into the kitchen and found a dirty bench wiper, which he carefully wet under the tap. He used it to wipe the handle. Then he closed the front door behind him and stuffed the wiper into his pocket.

  It was bad enough that a CCTV camera in the lobby would have filmed him enter the building. He didn't want to descend in the lift and get filmed again. Nor did he want to run into any police or ambulance officers entering the building.

  Instead, he scuttled into the fire escape and descended twenty flights of stairs, reaching the bottom out of breath and light-headed. He put the wet cloth over the handle of the exit door, pulled the door open and peered out into the grey light. When his eyes had adjusted, he saw a driveway and low fence between him and the next apartment building. The siren had stopped, but there was no sign of a police car or ambulance. He looked around for a CCTV camera and saw none.

  He scuttled across the driveway, hurdled the fence and landed in a clump of bushes. After looking around to confirm nobody saw him, he strolled along a path that circled behind the apartment building and went up the other side. When he reached the pavement, he saw two police cars with flashing lights parked about fifty metres away, outside the apartment building he had just fled. Neither vehicle was occupied. The officers must have gone around to the pool to see the body. Half-a-dozen local residents had already gathered on the nature strip to observe the commotion. Fortunately, Gary had parked his car about a hundred metres away in the other direction. He strolled over to it and slowly - ever so slowly - drove off.

  As he turned onto Victoria Road and headed towards the city centre, he finally had time to ponder recent events. He was obviously not the only person searching for Arnott. Two thugs were also in pursuit. Did they catch up with Arnott at the apartment and throw him off the balcony? Was his body face-down on the floor of the pool?

  No, it wasn't Arnott, because Hatchet-face said to Gary: "Where is Arnott?" Hatchet-face wouldn't have asked that if he and his mate threw Arnott off the balcony. They obviously threw someone else off it. Who? Gary was clueless.

  Shit. What on earth was going on? He took a simple assignment to find a missing accountant. Now it was spiralling out of control. Questions crowded into his mind. Who were the thugs? Why were they hunting for Arnott? Who did they throw off the balcony? What was that person doing in Arnott's apartment? Gary didn't bother searching for answers, because he would just be chasing his own tail.

  He didn't like drinking booze in his apartment. But that night, when he got home, he downed two beers before getting into bed. To his surprise, he soon fell asleep. He dreamed about falling off a building and woke screaming just before he hit the ground.