Isla blew her nose. Mopped her eyes. She knew her friend was trying to be upbeat, find something positive, but Isla felt another surge of dread. ‘We should tell BreatheZero.’
Emily remained silent.
‘Shouldn’t we?’ Isla’s voice was small.
Another long silence.
Finally, Emily said quietly, ‘What if we didn’t?’
Isla twisted her tissue between her fingers. The owner of the company had visited her last week. She’d been really nice, and incredibly sympathetic. She’d offered Isla the equivalent of two years’ salary with Egret Air to become the face of the new BreatheZero mask – which apparently caught any toxic fumes so you could breathe safely. She would also receive a percentage of the sales. When Isla heard the sales projections, what she might earn, she’d been stunned. She wouldn’t have to worry about money for a long time.
BreatheZero’s solicitor was meant to be coming to the hospital later in the day so Isla could sign a contract. Emily had said she’d read the whole thing out, even the small print, and guide Isla’s hand to the page to sign if she was happy with it. But now? She licked her lips, suddenly nervous.
‘We can’t do that,’ said Isla. ‘Can we?’
Emily sighed. ‘No, I suppose not.’
Isla nodded decisively. ‘We’ll tell them when they get here.’
‘Yes. We’ll tell them.’
42
Ricky sat slumped on his bed, dejection oozing from every pore.
‘They’re going to convict me.’
‘Not if I have anything to do with it.’ Lucy was brisk. She’d felt her spirits strengthen the second she’d walked into the police station that morning. There was something about carrying on, continuing what she’d been doing before the emotional avalanche had hit, that made her feel anchored.
She still hadn’t processed the fact her father was a ‘person of interest’ to the police. That he appeared to be a criminal. She didn’t want to relive her memories of him yet because she didn’t want them sullied. Nor did she want to look at herself, who she was, where her genes came from. Better not to think about it for a bit and simply do what she was good at.
Catching criminals.
Before she’d set off to see Ricky, she’d gone to a police forensic artist and shown him the photographs of Chris Malone and Helen Flowers. ‘All I want to know,’ Lucy said, ‘is whether they’re the same woman.’
‘Well,’ said the artist, ‘I have to say at first glance, no.’
‘Not even if she’d done the Swan thing?’
‘You mean extreme plastic surgery? Like on the TV?’
‘Yeah.’ She’d watched an episode where a woman who was judged to be ugly was given an ‘extreme makeover’ that included a dual facelift, liposuction, rhinoplasty and breast augmentation. The woman had had her brow and her ears reshaped and £25,000 of dental work. Today, the woman looked nothing like she had before the surgery.
‘There are various things you can’t change,’ the artist told Lucy. ‘Like the size and shape of your eyes. I’m ninety-nine per cent sure they’re different women but I’ll do some measurements and stuff if you like.’
Now, Lucy sank onto the chair opposite Ricky. ‘Sorry I couldn’t bring you a coffee. They’re really strict now.’
He shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘Ricky.’ She waited until he looked at her. ‘In order to get you out of here, I need you to be honest with me.’
A hint of wariness crept into his eyes. ‘Hmm.’ The sound he made was noncommittal.
‘I’ve got some questions to ask, but if you don’t answer them honestly, it’s likely I won’t find Kaitlyn’s killer and that you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison. Is that what you want?’
He shook his head decisively. ‘No.’
‘Okay.’ She took a breath. ‘First, I need to know how Jaya got my father’s telephone number.’
‘From Reg.’ He didn’t hesitate. ‘At the pub.’
‘When I called Reg this morning he told me he never gave my dad’s number to Jaya. He couldn’t because he doesn’t have it.’
Something cautious crept into the back of Ricky’s eyes and sat there, watching her.
‘I’m thinking she got it from you, Ricky. Am I right?’
He sat quite still but his eyes were flickering fast as he thought.
‘Ricky,’ she snapped.
He jumped.
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
He opened and closed his mouth.
‘I’ll take that as a “yes”. Next question, how long have you been my dad’s accountant?’
‘I’m not.’ His voice was weak.
‘Are you sure about that?’
He nodded but it was so irresolute, Lucy didn’t believe him. And although she desperately yearned to grab his throat, demand to know precisely what his relationship with her father was, she didn’t want to go there. She wasn’t ready. Not yet.
‘How come you’re in touch?’
‘We’re not.’
‘So why do you have his phone number?’
He spread his hands, shrugging his shoulders, widening his eyes in a parody of How should I know?
Lucy decided to let it drop for the moment.
‘Okay,’ she said smoothly, ‘let’s move on and talk about Helen Flowers.’
Before, Ricky had looked anxious, now he just looked plain scared.
‘You know who she is?’
He gave a jerky nod. ‘I’ve never met her. Just heard the stories. You can check all my files, my books, a thousand times to see she’s not a client. Never has been.’
‘She’s a criminal,’ Lucy stated.
‘So I’ve heard.’ The fear remained.
‘Do you know what she did?’
He pinched shut his lips. Fixed his gaze to the floor.
‘She sold defective bomb detectors. She put countless soldiers, police and innocent people at risk from Afghanistan to Iran and Indonesia. She sold a consignment to Morocco. Do you know what happened next?’ Lucy leaned forward, waiting until he finally looked at her. She wanted to make sure she had Ricky’s full attention. ‘A bomb was put on flight EG220, out of Marrakech.’
At that, Ricky’s eyes widened.
‘Out of two hundred and fourteen people, only thirteen survived.’
He was staring at her, transfixed.
‘One of them was Kaitlyn Rogers.’
For a moment she wondered if he’d heard her, and then he doubled over, clutching his stomach as though she’d punched him in his midriff. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘No, no…’
‘Kaitlyn was trying to find Flowers,’ Lucy continued. ‘She wanted justice. You
