Walking in Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page A

their representative.’
    ‘He couldn’t make it, he was taken ill, so he sent me.’ She pulled out of the small cream leather purse she held in one hand a plastic-enclosed security card and showed it to them. The shorter man took it from her; both stared at it.
    ‘You’re supposed to wear this, Miss Narodni.’
    ‘I couldn’t pin it on my dress, it would have ruined the material and it is expensive.’
    Her accent was a little stronger now, perhaps she was more nervous than she seemed? She gestured to her dress and the security men stared at her silk-covered breasts.
    Steve had never liked private security guys; they always ended up trying to hijack police powers, believing themselves to be above the law; they were arrogant, crude-minded sons of bitches. These two were prize specimens.
    Absently, without taking his eyes off her breasts, his lizard tongue flicking out to wet his lips, the taller one said, ‘We should have been notified of the change. Did you show your identification to the man on the door?’
    ‘Of course.’
    They frowned; somebody was going to get into trouble for letting her in without checking her.
    ‘We will have to have proof of your identity, Miss Narodni, and proof of your address, perhaps a letter addressed to you there? Or your driving licence?’
    She went back into the purse and came up with an airmail envelope, which she handed them. They both studied the address, one of them scribbled it into a pad he took from his pocket, murmuring it aloud as he did so. Steve memorised it.
    ‘So you live on the Lower East Side? How long have you been there?’ they asked her as she took the envelope back.
    ‘Not long. I am staying with a friend; she is the tenant of the apartment.’
    ‘Friend’s name?’
    ‘Lilli Janacek.’
    They wrote that down too. Steve was trying to work out exactly what was going on – if she was involved with Gowrie he would know all this stuff, so why were his men asking her these pretty obvious questions?
    ‘What does she do?’ they asked.
    Simon, the producer, had come up, was hovering, curious and at the same time impatient. He asked through his teeth, ‘What’s going on? We’ve been waiting for you. Shall we pack up or do you want to do an intro to camera while we still have the same background?’
    Speaking out of the corner of his mouth, and trying at the same time to hear what was being said by the others, Steve muttered, ‘We could do a piece outside later, with the hotel façade behind me – change of background always makes a piece feel denser, gives it more variety. We might get a couple of talking heads to go with it, get some input on what New York thinks.’
    Sulkily Simon nodded. He was only twenty-five, smooth-skinned, still faintly naive. He had only made producer a few months ago and was still unsure of himself, but he was touchy about his new status. He wanted to be the one who decided when they shot what, but he didn’t dare argue with Steve, who had far more pull with the network.
    ‘See you in the bar,’ Steve told him, and Simon went back into the ballroom.
    ‘You American?’ the taller security guy asked the girl, who shook her head.
    ‘I’m Czech.’
    That excited him. A foreigner, that was something he could get her for. ‘Have you got your visa and passport on you? How long you been in the States?’
    She was still outwardly calm. Her face, her voice, had not altered under the pressure of their questions, their hard, suspicious faces. She showed them her passport, the visa in it. ‘As you see, there is no time-limit on my stay here. I have very good references. The agency will give you my details. You’ll see their address on this envelope. It’s a letter from the head of the agency. Can I have it back, please?’
    The short guy reluctantly handed it back.
    ‘Your friend, this Janacek woman – she here on a visa too?’
    ‘She doesn’t need one – she was born here, in America, right here in New York, in fact. Why are