I find the note. The highlighted section.

‘Shit,’ I say.

‘What?’

I turn off speaker mode and turn the phone to my ear.

‘Hans Wimmer,’ I say. ‘The Visberg watchmaker, clockmaker, whatever he calls himself. He lived in Estonia for four years.’

48

‘You saying Wimmer is a grave robber?’

‘I don’t know what I’m saying. You find more on Wimmer’s history. Cross-reference with Estonia and that missing Dutch blogger, the one who visited the clock shop and then disappeared. Call me back as soon as you find something.’

He rings off and then my phone rings again.

‘What is it?’

‘Tuva?’

A woman’s voice.

‘Sorry, yes. Who is this?’

‘It’s Daniel’s mamma.’

I think of the gamer-café twin.

‘Okay?’

‘I got your number from the internet. Could you babysit Dan tonight, just for an hour?’

Wrong Daniel.

‘Can’t tonight, sorry. Could you use a service?’

She goes quiet.

‘What time?’ I ask.

‘Seven to eight. I promise I won’t be late this time. I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choices. He’s so happy with you.’

I get butterflies at that comment. He’s happy with me.

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘I can do seven till eight.’

I see Luka Kodro walk to the back entrance of the Hive without his daughter. He moves toward the door leading up to the premium first floor. And then a dark van pulls up. Four men step out, all with shaved heads, one of them holding a pair of pliers with rubber grips. They follow Luka into the building.

The air cools. There is no fog today, the square is crystal clear and the benches are clean. But it is cold. Feels like it could snow.

An old man with a long, leather jacket walks past me toward the Grill, dragging a broad snow shovel behind him, the sharp edge scraping the pavement.

I step into Mind Games.

Black curtains. The light falling away with every metre, every turn.

The place is full of young adults. It smells like takeout pizza. Faces glow in the screen glare. A guy in the corner gives military commands to his teammate in a controlled tone. The teammate yells back, ‘I don’t got a grenade!’

I find a twin. No idea which one it is.

‘Daniel?’

The guy keeps playing his game, his headset on at a jaunty angle.

‘Incorrect.’

‘David, sorry.’

He looks up. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

His T-shirt says ‘Eat the Rich’.

‘We’re full right now. The new game, you see. Come back in half an hour, maybe an hour to be on the safe side.’

‘I don’t need a computer.’

He frowns at me and stands up. Someone brushes past him and trips and stumbles into me.

‘What do you need then?’

‘I’m writing a story for the paper. On job opportunities and young entrepreneurs in rural communities.’

His frown intensifies.