Famie stirred. ‘Who rang you, Andrew?’ she said. ‘Who called? There barely seems time for the identification process to have concluded. Next of kin located. Death message delivered. This is fast.’
He cleared his throat. ‘It’s certainly accelerated. It was the Met Assistant Commissioner. She rang me.’
Famie’s eyes widened. ‘So she’s made the connection too then! Like I said—’
Lewis held up his hands. ‘My caution is her caution. I’m merely reporting to you what she reported to me. I’m sure she’d be interested in what Tommi was working on.’
‘OK, I’ll tell her,’ said Famie. ‘Give me her out-of-hours number and I’ll call her now.’
‘You know I can’t do that.’
‘Tell her I want to talk to her.’
‘Yes, I can do that.’
‘When?’
‘First thing tomorrow.’
‘So today then,’ said Famie. ‘In a few hours.’
Lewis nodded. ‘Right. So. Yes. I’d best be going. Taxi’s waiting. Charlie. Famie.’ He nodded at them both.
Famie followed him down the stairs.
‘Have you spoken to his mother?’ she asked.
‘Not yet. As soon as the police have visited. Which will also be in a few hours. Goodnight, Famie. I’m sorry for your troubles. I’m sorry for our troubles.’
She watched him climb into the taxi, locked and chained the door, then slumped on to the bottom step. Head in her hands, she burst into tears. Yet more grief. None of this was over. She wiped her eyes with her shirtsleeve. ‘Oh Tommi. You poor bastard. I’m so sorry. So sorry.’
Charlie appeared, put her arm around her. They sat without speaking. Eventually Famie noticed the rucksack in her daughter’s arm.
‘Going somewhere?’ she asked.
‘We both are,’ said Charlie. ‘We have to leave. I’m packing you a bag.’
‘OK, wait up,’ said Famie, pushing past her. ‘If we’re not going to bed, I need coffee.’
Kettle on, they sat at the table. Famie put her head in her hands. ‘Christ Almighty, what a terrible, terrifying, god-awful fucking shit show this is.’
Charlie tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Tell me what you didn’t tell Lewis. I’ll make the coffee, then we go.’
Famie looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Tommi was following a hunch – you said it, I heard it. Then, when you were getting mad, you said more people might have died on the twenty-second. I thought you needed to shut up a bit, like you were overstepping your own lines, so I walked in. To change the subject.’
‘You should be a cop,’ said Famie.
‘Or a journalist,’ said Charlie.
‘No, absolutely not. I forbid it,’ said Famie with a rueful smile. ‘Yes, Tommi’s idea was that more people might have died on the twenty-second. Turns out a student called Toby Howells was killed then as well. And that he was a wannabe reporter, same as Hari. Tommi copied us in on all his ideas and the conversation he had with Carol Leven, the IPS crime reporter.’
‘Then he was killed,’ said Charlie.
‘Then he was killed,’ said Famie.
Charlie put her hand over her mother’s. ‘So we need to leave, Mum. Tommi is dead, someone who looks like me is dead. This is getting way too close. Here’s the truth. We’re not safe here. Not any more. I don’t know what we’re still doing here. Do you think this is anything like the end of it? Because if you don’t, we need to go.’
The kettle boiled, and Famie got up to make the coffees. She needed to think straight. How many scoops to cancel half a bottle of Jack? She went back to the packet, spooned in some more grains.
‘Mum, focus, please! Follow the logic. Are we safe here?’
Charlie had upped the volume. Famie felt a headache coming.
‘I am focusing, Charlie,’ she said. ‘I am following the logic. If “they”, whoever “they” are, have targeted you, and you’re here, then no, we are not safe.’
‘You want me to go?’
‘Wait! No! Obviously not.’ Famie sighed. ‘So. If they targeted Tommi because of his questioning about the facts of May twenty-two and Sam and I have been on the same investigation, then again, no, we are not safe.’
She plunged and poured.
‘So?’ said Charlie.
‘So,’ said Famie. ‘We are not safe. But we are also drunk.’
‘Speak for yourself.’
‘Charlie, we demolished half a bottle of JD. And you had wine on the train. At the very least we’re over the limit.’
Charlie leant across the table. ‘This is risk management, Mum. We need to disappear. Or at least not make it easy for whoever is out there. Anywhere else is better than here where two of their targets are waiting for them.’
Famie swallowed some coffee and winced from the burning in her throat. Charlie’s relentless logic was sobering her up faster than the caffeine.
‘We were about to call the DC. Hunter. I should talk to her.’
‘Sure,’ said Charlie. ‘When we’re not here. We move, then call.’
‘Where would we go?’
‘Anywhere,’ said Charlie. ‘Anywhere that isn’t here.’
‘What about Sam? He must be in danger too.’
‘Can you trust him?’
Famie was aghast. ‘Sam? Of course I trust him.’ She stared at Charlie. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I’m bloody serious!’ said Charlie. ‘It must be what nearly getting killed does to you. He’s married, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, to Jo.’
‘Trust her?’
‘Yes! I … I suppose so.’ Famie’s headache was strengthening. She downed more coffee. ‘She’s a copper. Christ, I don’t know, Charlie! She’s always been lovely to me. She’s from Zimbabwe.’
‘Is that relevant?’
‘Who knows, Charlie? Probably not.’
‘Fine, well, you should tell Sam then.’
‘And Sophie. And, yes, I trust her too.’
Charlie poured the last centimetre of coffee. ‘But that’s it. Not Lewis. No one else.’ She found the paracetamol in the table drawer, put two in Famie’s hand. ‘Take these, Mum. I’ll finish packing the rucksack, you check I’ve got the right stuff, then we’re gone.’
48
3.15 a.m.
THERE WAS NO phone signal till they arrived at the concourse, then Famie’s phone went straight to five bars. Full strength. They had had the escalator to themselves but the station itself was humming. The Euston departure and arrival boards showed nothing for
