coming to meet me,’ she said.
‘I told my boss you needed a police escort, and he agreed with me.’
She gave a dry laugh that had no mirth in it. ‘Good line.’
Nick stretched his face in a grimace. ‘It’s not just a line, Steph. There’s a media mob out there with your name on it. No reason why you would know, but Jimmy’s abduction has been the only show in town for the last three news cycles. And everybody wants your story on how it happened. So I’m here to take you out the back way.’
She groaned and leaned her head against his chest again. ‘I suppose that means I can’t go home either?’
‘Not unless you want to be doorstepped from dawn till dusk.’ He half-turned his head as if he didn’t want to meet her eyes. ‘You could stay at my flat. You’d be very welcome. And if you wanted to be alone, I could bunk down with a mate.’
This time there was warmth in her smile. Nick’s bachelor flat was far from ideal for two, but that was the least of her worries. ‘There’s nowhere I’d rather be. And I don’t want to be alone, thanks all the same. I’ve had enough of feeling isolated these last three days to last me a lifetime.’
‘Sorted, then. Come on, time to get moving. We can talk in the car.’
Ten minutes later, they were heading for London without any discernible tail. ‘I bet it’s been like a rat’s nest over there, everybody looking for somebody else to bite,’ Nick said.
‘I think part of the problem is that there isn’t anybody to bite. It was nobody’s fault, not really. Just a bizarre coincidence.’ So bizarre it had taken hours to sort out. Hours of Pete screaming that he wasn’t a paedophile, that the kid was not his son, that he was just a fucking babysitter. Even though he was at the other end of the hallway in the FBI Detroit office, she could hear him bellowing like a baited bull.
The story, when it emerged finally, was stupidly straightforward. While he’d been in Detroit, Pete had taken up with Maribel, the day receptionist at South Detroit Sounds. When they spent the night together it was usually at her place because it was easier for her than finding overnight care for her six-year-old son Luis. But her mother up in Traverse City had been rushed into hospital with a suspected stroke and Maribel had turned to Pete for help. She hadn’t given him the chance to say no, simply handed him the kid and the keys. Pete had decided to go back to his own place, which had a better TV and music system and where he could bed Luis down in the spare room. Hence the report of a crying child and the two bodies on the thermal image screen.
The following day had consisted of an endless rehash of what had gone wrong. And of course the media got hold of the abortive raid and ran it as the day’s bleakly comic item. In the midst of it all, Stephanie kept telling anyone who would listen that they needed to redouble their efforts to find Jimmy. When Vivian managed to escape the inquest, she assured Stephanie that efforts were continuing but that they had no leads.
‘We now know the kidnapper flew to O’Hare from Atlanta. But that’s another major hub airport. He could have come from anywhere. And if he doesn’t try to take the kid out of the US, they can just disappear.’ Vivian looked harried and haunted. Probably by the ghost of her career, Stephanie thought.
They’d sat down to look at the CCTV footage that had been isolated of the bearded man who had become the fake TSA officer. Stephanie had no idea who he might be. ‘He could be anybody behind that beard,’ she complained.
‘What about the way he walks? It looks like he has a limp to me.’
Stephanie shook her head. She’d spent months in physiotherapy after her accident, trying to walk properly again. She knew the difference between real and fake when it came to leg injury. ‘He’s putting that on to hide his own gait. It’s not consistent. See, there? Look, he dodges out of the way of that little girl running down the concourse and he forgets himself. He recovers almost immediately, but I think he’s only pretending to have a limp.’
And that was how they’d left it. No further forward, waiting to see if any of the calls to the Amber Alert hotline panned out. They hadn’t wanted her to leave the US, but Vivian told her how Nick had fought Steph’s corner with her boss. The bottom line he kept returning to was that Stephanie was a victim first and foremost. That she was a respectable citizen who would happily return to a US court to testify in any future trial. When the chips were down, they had no reason to hold her, and unless they were going to send her to Guantanamo Bay, they’d better put her on a plane home. There had been impish pleasure in Vivian’s eyes when she mentioned Nick playing the Guantanamo card. Stephanie formed the distinct impression Vivian wasn’t in love with the concept of legally questionable detention.
So here she was, feeling curiously bereft in spite of the fact that she’d only had Jimmy in her care for nine months. Not even long enough to complete the adoption process. Her next interview with the social worker would be interesting. ‘Sorry, I seem to have mislaid the kid . . . ’
‘There is one silver lining,’ Stephanie said.
‘Really? I’m impressed that even an optimist like you can find anything good in this mess,’ Nick said.
‘I think Pete’s finally decided chasing me is more trouble than it’s worth.’
Even in profile he looked sceptical. ‘I hope you can still say that in six months’ time.’
Nick had filled his fridge with fruit, salads, cheese and cold meat. The bread bin was stacked with ciabatta rolls, bagels and croissants. And Stephanie knew there would be as much good coffee as she could possibly want. Food and drink were, apart from guitars and gigs, his only extravagances. But what she wanted more than brunch was a long hot shower. The FBI had installed her in a safe house that Stephanie reckoned was as much about keeping her under surveillance as protection. It wasn’t conducive to anything other than quick showers hunched over like a self-conscious teenager after school swimming class.
When she emerged, she felt almost normal. Nick had set out a selection of food and she made herself a ciabatta sandwich with hummus, corn salad and sun-dried tomatoes. Armed with food and coffee, they sat on opposite sides of the breakfast bar. There wasn’t anywhere else to eat in the flat; the living room, with its stunning view over Paddington Basin and west London, was only comfortable if you were a guitar. Or a guitarist.
‘What’s happening now? Are you still working with the FBI?’
Nick blew out a stream of coffee-scented air. ‘In theory, yes. But they’re not very impressed with the standard of our intel.’ His smile was wry.
‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘No, but we’re far enough away to be a useful scapegoat. They’re not sharing much with us except outcomes. So, all the tips to the hotline that don’t pan out – they tell us about those. Active leads, nada.’
‘Maybe they don’t have any active leads. Without communication from the kidnappers, they wouldn’t have much to go on.’ Her own words struck cold in her heart. She pushed her sandwich away, no longer hungry.
‘I did get a message from Vivian, asking if we could check our databases for the name he flew under. He used the alias William Jacobs, but they don’t have any record of the ID he used to travel. The name doesn’t ring any bells with them or with us. Which means it’s another dead end.’ Nick took a bite of a bagel with peanut butter and cream cheese and chewed so hard she could see the muscles in his jaw working.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘Technically, there’s nothing any of us over here can do, unless we’re asked directly for international cooperation.’
‘Even though Jimmy’s a British citizen?’ With Nick, Stephanie didn’t have to hold back on letting her indignation show.
‘It’s a difficult one. We can offer support, which we have done, but unless they ask us, we can’t interfere in somebody else’s jurisdiction.’
‘If it was your case, what would you do?’
Nick pushed his hair back from his forehead and thought for a moment. ‘I’d go back to the crime itself and strip away all the externals and ask myself what actually happened.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Leave aside all the emotional stuff that a child abduction generates. Disregard everything except the offence itself.’
‘I’m still not sure I understand.’
Nick looked over her head while he figured out how to explain himself. She remembered that one of the things she really liked about him was that he didn’t use his intelligence to browbeat her or make her feel stupid. He wanted to share. Not to dominate. ‘Maybe it’s best if I talk you through the process. What happened here? A child
