‘How d’you think?’
Franks didn’t respond.
‘But she’s one of the team,’ Anni said. ‘One of our own. Maybe she’ll come back.’
‘You think it’s likely?’ asked Franks.
‘I’m going after her,’ said Mickey. ‘I just called in here to see if there was anything she’d left that I could pick up. But there isn’t.’
‘And she hasn’t contacted either of you?’
They both shook their heads.
‘There was one other thing,’ said Mickey.
The other two waited.
‘An eyewitness at Aldeburgh. The guy who stopped Marina going back inside the cottage. DS James from Suffolk said he told her that when Marina was trying to get back to the cottage, she started shouting, “What have I done?”’
Silence. Franks looked at him long and hard.
‘“What have I done?” You sure of that?’
Mickey nodded.
‘It could mean anything,’ said Anni. ‘Perhaps she blamed herself, thought she’d, I don’t know, left the gas on or something.’
‘Did she mention that to you?’
‘No,’ said Anni. ‘Nothing like that.’
‘“What have I done?” … ’ Franks was again lost in thought. He looked up, back at his two junior officers. ‘You’ve both worked with her longer than me. What d’you think?’
‘You mean you suspect her?’ said Anni. ‘You think she’d deliberately blow her own family up?’
Franks shrugged. ‘Would she?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Definitely not.’
Mickey agreed.
Franks nodded. ‘Running always means guilt.’
‘Not always, sir, just usually,’ said Mickey.
‘Ninety nine per cent of the time,’ said Franks. ‘In this case, it’s the only thing we have to go on. And since she’s not around, we can’t ask her.’ He looked up and down the hall. Mickey watched his eyes, his face. Got the impression that Franks shared his feelings about waiting in hospitals.
‘Right. This is still Suffolk’s call and we can’t be seen to be treading on their toes. They’re looking into what happened at the cottage, they’re looking for the daughter. But … ’ Franks pointed at Mickey, ‘I want you looking for Marina. And even though it pains us to admit it, with no one else in the picture and her doing a runner, it looks like she’s got some serious questions to answer.’ He turned to Anni. ‘Stay here for now. See what you can get from Phil Brennan or his mother when they come round.’
The three of them fell silent. No one daring to substitute ‘if’ for ‘when’.
‘I’ll call this … DS James?’
Mickey nodded.
‘James, right. See if he can question the witness again. Find out anything else.’
‘She,’ said Mickey.
‘What?’ said Franks.
‘She,’ said Mickey again, swallowing. ‘DS James is a woman.’
He was aware of Anni’s eyes on him. He didn’t dare look at her.
‘She it is,’ said Franks.
He looked off down the corridor, then back to them. ‘Somewhere down there,’ he said, his voice rumbling, ‘is an operating theatre. And in that theatre, surgeons are trying to save the life of one of my best officers. I haven’t been here long, but that doesn’t mean I don’t recognise good coppers when I see them. That’s what you all are. Bloody good coppers. And I can’t afford to lose any of you.’
Mickey and Anni said nothing.
‘So get out there and find out who did this. That explosion was deliberate. We’re looking for a murderer. And I’m going to make sure that whoever they are — and I mean whoever — is caught and punished. They made a mistake. They targeted one of our own.’ He placed his hands on both of their shoulders. ‘
He didn’t have to say any more.
They turned and went.
17
With its pitched roof, bland colour and rows and rows of tiny, barely opening windows, the hotel looked like a prison. All it needed was brick walls and razor-wire-topped fences surrounding it.
The female voice of the sat nav, calm, clear and unruffled, announced that Marina had reached her destination. She pulled the car into the car park, turned off the ignition. Waited.
While she was driving, she had started to entertain the hope that her journey would lead to something different. An end. Being reunited with her daughter. Going home once more. She knew this hope was forlorn, that there was no real chance of it happening. Whoever was doing this wouldn’t let it happen yet. But once the idea had started to form, the rational part of her mind hadn’t been able to stop it. It had grown and grown until, following instructions, she had pulled off the A120 into the car park of the anonymous chain hotel. And then realised that she wasn’t going to be reunited with her daughter. Not now.
Not ever.
That thought struck her almost physically. Razor-sharp knives plunged right through her flesh, scraping bone. No. She couldn’t think that. Wouldn’t allow herself to think that. If she did …
No. Don’t.
And then there was Phil, lying unconscious in a hospital bed. She yearned to be near him. To hold him, hear his voice. Something else she might never do again.
She thought of phoning the hospital, finding out how he was. Her fingers even made it to the keypad. But she stopped herself. They might trace the call. And she would never see her daughter again. They might still be watching. And she would never see her daughter again. So she didn’t do it.
She checked the sat nav. Hoped — that word again — that she had entered the postcode wrongly. Taken a wrong turn, made a mistake. No mistake. This was where she was supposed to be.
The hotel had been well chosen. At the intersection between the A120 linking Essex to Hertfordshire and the Braintree turnoff, it sat by itself, the surrounding area undeveloped. A beacon of blandness in a desert of nothing.
But, from the road above, easy to spy on. Easy to watch.
She looked out of the window, scanned the car park for anyone suspicious, anyone she could claim as her nemesis, her reason for her being there. It was virtually empty. The hotel was mainly used by business travellers stopping over. Tourists would never venture there. Especially not on a Good Friday evening.
Sodium lamps were coming on, giving the car park a hazy, crepuscular feel. The cars were dark, shiny blobs against the encroaching darkness, insects gathered together to sleep.
She sighed. Thought of her husband. Her daughter. Felt like her insides had been scooped out, burned hollow by acid.
She quickly grabbed the phone. ‘Yes?’
‘You got here all right? Traffic was good?’
In such a short space of time she had come to hate that voice. Mocking. Laughing. Toying with her. Her hand began to shake as she gripped the phone. ‘Where is she? Where’s my daughter?’
