Every step you take, p.20
Every Step You Take, page 20
‘But if he didn’t leave this message, then who did?’
Molly blurts out the question before she’s even had time to consider the options. Does he have an accomplice; someone to do his bidding now that he’s been caught? But who? And why? What sick enjoyment does he get out of terrorising someone in this way?
‘The National Academy of Sport has CCTV, right?’ Freeman counters.
‘Only at reception. There are no cameras in the changing rooms for privacy reasons.’
‘But the security team is still there now, right?’
‘Um, yes, well I suppose they must be.’
‘Then I suggest you go and report this incident to them. Maybe they know who else is still inside the building.’
Molly agrees and dresses quickly, but keeps both eyes on the door into the changing rooms throughout. When she’s locked her locker and put her backpack straps over her shoulders she goes to leave, but is stopped by a troubling thought: what if the security guard left the message? If it’s just the two of them left in the building, the last thing she should do is rely on him, or spend any more time than is necessary in his presence. So, as soon as she makes it to the reception desk, she scans her way through the barriers, wishes him good night and runs through the doors, not stopping to look back over her shoulder in case he’s right behind her.
37
NOW
21 April 2024, Mudchute, London – Mile 17
My heart is in my throat and I can’t breathe. I can see the monster who has haunted my dreams and he is staring in my direction. I want to run away – in any direction that will take me away from him – but my fight or flight instinct won’t kick in. I blink several times, thinking my mind is playing tricks on me, but I am almost certain it’s him.
He’s standing behind a group of six who are dressed in navy overalls, and who I’m assuming have just emerged from the gated factory behind them. Is he with them? No, as I stare longer at the group, I see he is a couple of metres behind, using them as some kind of shield.
I don’t think he’s noticed me yet, so I slow, and dart behind a wall that is jutting out. I take several breaths, and attempt to dial Zara, but the line goes to voicemail.
‘He’s here,’ I whisper, though I’m not entirely sure why as he shouldn’t be able to hear me from here. ‘I’m still on Westferry Road, near some kind of furniture manufacturer. I need you here.’
I end the call, but my whole body is shaking, and I don’t think it’s the exhaustion from running. I can’t believe he’s here. This is the one thing I’ve been dreading since opening the door to my hotel room this morning, though deep down I’ve been secretly hoping Zara was right and I have been overreacting.
Wiping the sweat from my temple, I brush stray hairs out of the way, and slowly poke my head back around the edge of the wall. The group is still there and one or two are pointing towards the wall, presumably discussing where I’ve disappeared to. I can’t see Bistras from here, but I dare not move any further forwards. If I can’t see him, then he can’t see me, and that feels like the safest conclusion for now.
But I can’t stay in hiding forever. Finn said I could still catch Kat so long as there are no more unnecessary stops, but I can see the seconds slipping away before my eyes. If I stay here much longer, I will blow my remaining chance of qualification, and he will win. But if I rejoin the race and he sees me, there’s no knowing what he will do, and if he is intending to harm me, he will still win.
I look back along the road from where I’ve just come, but I can’t see any race stewards. I did pass one when I was speaking to Zara, but I can’t remember how far back that was. I’ve no doubt there will be more further ahead, but I’ll need to get past Bistras to reach them.
I try Zara again, without success, so I dial Finn’s number.
‘Hey, I’ve just made it to the water station. Where are you?’ he says excitedly.
‘I’m between the sixteenth- and seventeenth-mile markers.’
There’s a pause. ‘Okay, you’re going to want to up your pace a little more if you can manage.’
‘I can’t,’ I whisper.
‘Okay, well, maybe you just need some more liquid hydration. Is it your knee slowing you down?’
I glance back at the group, but I still can’t see Bistras behind them, so I duck back behind the wall.
‘He’s here, Finn.’
‘Who’s where?’
‘Bistras,’ I grizzle. ‘My stalker. He’s at the side of the road.’
‘Jesus! You’re sure it’s him?’
‘Certain.’
‘Oh, God, can you alert one of the race stewards?’
‘There are none nearby.’
‘What’s he doing? Has he threatened you?’
I bury my face in my hands. ‘I don’t think he’s seen me yet. I’m hiding behind a wall near a shuttered sandwich shop. I’m scared, Finn. I don’t know what to do.’
He doesn’t reply at first, and I hate being this vulnerable in front of him, but I can’t contain the tremors in my hands.
‘Listen, I’m probably about three minutes away from you. I’ll come to you now, but I’ll have to try and navigate around obstacles. Can you stay where you are?’
If I lose another three minutes, I will never recover the time, and so if I wait for Finn I might as well just withdraw from the race.
I blink away the tears as my vision blurs. I’m not prepared to let him beat me.
I tell Finn to stay where he is and end the call. I take a long, deep breath to compose myself, and then sprint out from behind the wall. My eyes immediately dart to the group of workers in their overalls, and I can see the hulking figure of Bistras moving away from them, his back to me. It’s possible I can run past without him noticing, but how long will it be until he comes for me again? I can’t spend the rest of the race jumping at every shadow, fearing the inevitable.
I have to take a stand!
Clamping my jaw tight, I veer to the left, and pump my arms as fast as I can, balling my fists, and focusing my gaze on one thing: the retreating Bistras.
I scream out in a guttural roar when I am only metres from him, and then I leap into the air, just as he starts to turn, but he’s too late, and I land on his back, driving him into the metal struts of the heavy-duty fence enclosing the factory beyond it. We crumple to the floor, but I manage to maintain my advantage, sitting astride his right arm, while he blindly flaps and panics beneath me. His body mass is significantly larger than my own, and I have to battle to keep him on the floor. With my hands still balled, I pummel his chest and back, catching his chin in the process. He yelps in fear, but I don’t relent.
A moment later there are pairs of hands on me, trying to drag me off him, but I shake myself free and continue to hit him wherever I can. Again, the hands come, and this time they do manage to drag me clear and I now see that the two men holding on to me are from the group of factory workers. They’re holding my arms firm as if I’m the villain in this scenario.
I glare at Bistras, as he plants his hands on the pavement, and tries to push himself up.
‘Grab him, not me!’ I tell my captors. ‘He’s a criminal.’
They exchange glances, uncertain what to do, and in their defence, I can see why they would have doubts about him being the aggressor in this situation.
‘Phone the police,’ I yell at one of them, a woman who appears to be recording the whole episode on her phone. ‘His name is Otto Bistras, and he’s the son of a bitch who’s been stalking me for the last five months. Don’t let him escape!’
Bistras is now back on his feet and is brushing dirt and dust from his trousers. He straightens and looks at me, and that’s the moment I realise what a horrendous mistake I’ve made. The man staring back at me looks terrified, and although his hair is parted in the same way as Bistras’s, this man’s hair is white, rather than platinum, and his glasses are bifocals, rather than the square rims I was sure I saw.
How could I have got it so wrong?
Now that I can see the man up close, it’s obvious he isn’t Otto Bistras, but I was so certain that’s who I saw, that I now scan the immediate vicinity in case they somehow switched places, and he’s still lurking nearby, but there’s nobody else around.
‘Do you know this woman?’ the man holding my left arm asks the bewildered man, but he shakes his head earnestly, his bottom lip trembling.
‘I am so sorry,’ I say to him. ‘I thought you were… I made a mistake. I’m sorry.’
He doesn’t acknowledge the apology, instead turning to the two race stewards who have now joined us.
The guy holding my left arm releases it, and he tells the stewards what happened. His shaved head bears a colourful tattoo of a serpent. He must be at least six foot five, and towers a good six inches over Bistras. His chest is broad, but I reckon it’s more muscle than fat.
The stewards eye me cautiously.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, pulling my remaining arm free of the restraint. ‘I made a mistake. I thought this man was escaped convict Otto Bistras, and I tried to apprehend him, but I see now he isn’t.’
They look at me like I’ve just tried to argue that the earth is flat.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say again to the man, but my offer of a hand is quickly rebuffed as he cowers behind the race stewards.
I know I should wait until the police arrive so I can make a formal statement, but this stoppage has already cost me too much time, so I tell the race stewards to find me at the end. I need to get on.
I’m mortified that I could have made such a shocking mistake. That poor man. He didn’t deserve the pent-up frustration I unburdened on him, but what it shows me is just how much of an effect Bistras’s escape is having on me.
I hurry along the road where the Thames bends around the Isle of Dogs, past Canary Wharf College, and past Mudchute DLR station. I keep my eyes on the pavement, looking for Bistras, but also conscious that my mind could still be playing tricks on me. I’m still shaking when I make it to the water station where Finn is pacing frantically.
‘What happened?’ he yells, as I stop to accept my bottle from him.
‘I thought I saw my stalker,’ I say, ‘but turns out it wasn’t him. How far behind Thea and Kat am I?’
He checks his watch. ‘I started a timer after they went by. You’re three minutes behind, but I know you can do this. You need splits twenty seconds quicker than theirs for the remaining nine miles, and you’ll be fine. Give it everything you’ve got.’
I take a long drink of water and toss the bottle to him, before starting up again.
As I make my way along East Ferry Road, through the heart of London’s docklands, I can barely feel the ache in my knee and elbow. There are more applauding crowds ahead, and I spot another St Andrew’s flag which has me pumping the air with my fist in solidarity. I also spot one of the motorbikes and a cameraman waiting for me to approach, and I put on a determined and psyched expression for Jamie’s benefit. And speaking of the devil, I’m not too surprised when I see his name appear on my watch as my phone rings. I tap the side of the headband to answer the call, but my blood runs cold when I hear the sound of the robotic laughing monkey.
38
BEFORE
Saturday, 30 March 2024, Brixton, London
Molly takes a deep breath before raising her hand and knocking at the door. The air around her is sweet from the smell of freshly baked cookies in the box she’s carrying, but she still can’t be certain this is the right step. She hears movement beyond the door, and realises it’s too late to back out now.
The door opens a crack, and a half-dressed Kat stares back at her in amazement.
‘What the hell do you want?’
Molly takes another breath, trying to recall the words she practised in the mirror this morning.
‘I know we haven’t seen eye to eye,’ she says, ‘and I wanted to clear the air.’ She extends her arms, offering the box, but the gap in the door doesn’t widen. ‘I bought you some cookies from the Danish patisserie near the track – Thea said they’re you’re favourite. I was hoping maybe you could invite me in and we could have a cookie and a cup of tea?’
Molly hadn’t meant for her tone to sound so needy, but she can’t help feeling intimidated by Kat. They’ve barely exchanged more than two words since Molly began training at the National Academy of Sport, but if looks could kill, Molly would already be dead by now.
Kat looks down at the box. ‘So, they’re for me?’
Molly nods eagerly, and pushes them closer to the door, the gap finally widening enough for Kat to pull the box through. Offering an olive branch was Thea’s idea, and Molly feels sorry for her, being caught in the middle of this pointless feud.
Kat opens the lid of the box and looks inside, the sweet smell getting stronger. Molly is salivating and her stomach gently grumbles.
‘Listen, I’ve got company at the moment,’ Kat begins, glancing back over her shoulder. ‘Can you give me five minutes to get dressed and we can go grab a coffee downstairs?’
Molly nods, her cheeks flushing for not even considering that Kat might have hooked up with someone the night before – or be in some kind of relationship. Molly has become so accustomed to being alone that it never crossed her mind that Kat wouldn’t be.
‘Sure,’ she says, ‘I’ll see you down—’
But the door has already closed.
Exhaling a sigh, Molly turns and heads back along the corridor, stopping to knock at Thea’s door to provide an update. But if Thea is inside, she doesn’t come to the door, probably already at the track, so Molly continues on and back into the warm, muggy air. A blanket of light grey cloud hangs over the area; it’s surprisingly humid for the time of year, though the predicted thunderstorm this evening should ease the atmospheric pressure.
Outside the front door, Molly stops. There are a couple of cafés that she walked past on the way to the building, and she can’t be certain which one Kat meant.
She pulls out her phone so she’ll look like less of an oddball standing there waiting. She rereads the message from Detective Freeman, once again assuring her that fake-Oppenheimer – or Otto Bistras to use his actual name – is sitting inside a German prison, but Molly can’t escape the feeling that she’s still being watched. And despite Freeman’s assurances to the contrary, they haven’t actually proved he was the one who sent all those abusive messages, or that he was the one who paid for someone to deliver the trainers to her dressing room. And they probably never will.
What if they’re wrong and the real culprit is still at large?
The stress is causing her to lose sleep and she needs as much rest as possible between track days. The marathon is three weeks tomorrow, and while the rest of the team is getting closer to the qualifying time, Molly is only just completing twenty-six-mile stints, and isn’t anywhere near the time. Finn assures her she is on course, but she sees the uncertainty in his eyes whenever he says this.
She’s spiralling again, and the stress of trying to clear the air with Kat isn’t helping. She’ll be glad when it’s all over.
Ten minutes pass, and Molly is just starting to think Kat has stood her up, when she appears at the door, dressed in her Olympic team tracksuit, almost as if she’s trying to make a statement. Molly notices she hasn’t brought the box of cookies with her, but hopes that isn’t a bad sign.
They walk in silence, Molly unable to think of anything to say – she’s never been comfortable with small talk – until they arrive at one of the cafés. Kat suggests they sit at one of the outside tables, and as soon as she’s sitting, she tells Molly she’ll have an Americano. Midway through sitting down, Molly straightens again and heads inside to place the order, a little put out, but she tries not to let it bother her. The important thing is she’s managed to get Kat to the table to speak; now is the time to strive for peace.
Collecting their order, she carries the two paper cups outside, and places Kat’s before her, before sitting, and removing the lid of her tea so it can cool.
‘Thanks,’ Kat says. ‘So what is it you want to talk to me about?’
Molly can’t be sure if the slightly aggressive tone is because of her, or if it’s just Kat’s natural manner.
‘As I said upstairs, I don’t want there to be any animosity between us. We’re both professional athletes, right? We both have the same dream: standing on the podium in Paris. But competitors on the track don’t need to be competitors off the track as well. You know?’
When rehearsing last night, she’d decided to play up to Kat’s ego a little, and now she hopes it pays off. She can’t see the two of them becoming best friends, but she just wants to put an end to all the bitterness in the air.
‘Go on,’ Kat says, taking a sip from the steaming cup.
Molly hadn’t really prepared much more, hoping to break down the barrier with that one line.
‘Um, well, I know that you feel threatened by my presence, and I understand—’
‘I don’t feel threatened by no one,’ Kat snaps back.
Molly can’t remember the exact conversation she had with Thea, but she’s sure that’s how she had described the cause of the hostility.
‘Sorry, I… um, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I understand why you might worry that your place on the team is at stake, but I just—’
‘You think I’m worried about your privileged arse keeping me out of the team?’ she scoffs. ‘You really do have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you, princess? I’ve seen the times you’re putting in right now, and you’re so far off the pace all you’ll see in the race is me miles ahead of you.’
Molly can feel the conversation slipping away; this isn’t how it went in her imagination.
‘Please, Kat, all I’m trying to say is—’
Kat stands suddenly, the table shaking in her wake. ‘You think you can buy my friendship with some cookies and a coffee? How out of touch are you?’
