Lucy decided not to beat around the bush. ‘I wanted to know something about your dad. Whether he bought the factory where those fake bomb detectors were made, outside Watford. I’m talking fourteen years ago now. I gather it went for a bit of a song.’
There was a huge silence, but Lucy knew they hadn’t been cut off.
‘Yes, he did.’ Tomas’s tone was cautious. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, just something that popped up in a file I’m reading.’
‘Care to share what file that might be?’
‘I can’t do that, Tomas. Sorry.’
‘Can’t blame me for trying,’ he responded cheerfully.
‘Sure.’ Her voice was dry.
‘Ah, DD,’ Tomas sighed. ‘I didn’t want to leave the pub like that, you know. I like you, and I was rude. I’m not normally rude to people I like.’
‘You were conflicted.’
‘Yeah.’ She heard him sigh. ‘That’s the word. Conflicted. I want Ricky out of jail, right? And I want you to do the best job you can for him. Find the fucker who killed his woman. But there’s other stuff going on that I can’t talk about. And that’s what makes me… conflicted.’
‘Tell me where to find Chris Malone.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Ricky’s going to go to jail,’ she said warningly. ‘Can you imagine what’s going to happen to him? He’s soft, Tomas. He’ll be nothing but bait. You’re going to really love visiting him, witness his destruction. You will visit him, right? Until he either dies or commits suicide?’
Another silence. Then he sighed.
‘Look, if I give you a tip, will you do me a favour some time?’
‘No, Tomas.’ She was firm. ‘I am not open to bribery.’
‘Ah, shit.’
She could practically see him rubbing his forehead in frustration.
‘I really can’t… I mean, I don’t want…’ He was breathing hard into the phone, obviously tormented.
Lucy kept quiet, hoping he’d give her a lead, but if she was honest, she’d didn’t expect anything. He hadn’t helped the last time they’d spoken, so why would he now?
‘Try 22 Hobgate Road,’ he blurted. ‘Wolverhampton. And don’t, for fuck’s sake, tell anyone I gave you this otherwise I will track you down and… oh, fuck it, Lucy.’ He suddenly sounded weary. ‘Everything’s fucked, isn’t it?’
‘It doesn’t have to be.’
‘Ah. Lucy Davies, always the optimist.’ He gave a wry chuckle. ‘Promise not to call me until Ricky’s out?’
‘You know I can’t do that,’ she responded, but her tone was light as a stream of green joined the blue flowing through her mind. Confidence and hope. She had a lead! ‘But thanks, Tomas. I really appreciate it.’
‘I have the feeling I might regret it, but in the meantime, I’ll just say it was my pleasure. Just don’t blame me if it comes back and bites you on the arse.’
It already has, she thought.
After they hung up, Lucy googled Hobgate Road to see the area held several manufacturing companies that produced anything from snacks to soft drinks, carpet tiles and gift cards. Number 22 was also a manufacturing company. With a name she recognised.
BreatheZero.
She clicked on the website.
Immediately a photograph of the beautiful Isla, Dan’s flight attendant who had lost her sight, filled her screen. She was smiling, her vivid blue eyes warm beneath her uniform cap.
Want to fly safely? Want to breathe clean air?
As we now know, aerotoxicity is a real health hazard. Isla lost her sight overnight thanks to an acute poisoning. Her aircrew colleagues also suffered severe symptoms, and are still in hospital suffering from chronic fatigue and a dangerous decrease in lung function. These debilitating symptoms can remain not just for days, but years.
BreatheZero was founded by Professor Gerald Dunsfold, a graduate of Oxford University. After finishing his degree, Gerald moved to Australia, and after falling ill after each long-haul flight from Australia to the UK, he began to realise he wasn’t suffering from jet lag, but aerotoxic syndrome.
Lucy studied the professor’s photograph. He was beaming into the camera, teeth white, eyes shiny. He didn’t look old enough to be a professor. She skimmed the rest of the intro and flicked to the next page.
We use carbon filters, as used by the British military and sewn into the masks, which eliminate 99 per cent of toxins caused by contaminated air in a jet aircraft.
She clicked on the big blue box Buy a Mask. A variety of masks filled her screen. There were red masks and blue, tartan masks, green polka-dot masks, florals and checks. There was even a Hello Kitty mask for girls and one with dinosaurs for boys. Each cost £25 and had names like Commandant, Boss, King and Princess.
A creeping sensation came over her as she explored the remainder of the website. The technology, the blog, the press reports, FAQs, everything fired up warning colours of purple and red in her mind. Was the site legitimate? It appeared to be, but who knew? She looked up Professor Gerald Dunsfold, read his latest social media messages.
The scale of the issue of aerotoxicity, a problem that’s claiming the lives of literally thousands of flyers around the world every year, is horrendous. It is aviation’s darkest secret.
Lucy researched aerotoxic syndrome to see that yes, it really was a problem. She returned to the BreatheZero site. Then she called Dan. Filled him in.
‘I’m going to go to Wolverhampton tomorrow. I want to check out the factory,’ she told him. ‘Make sure it’s above board.’
‘If you do that, then I’ll go and see Isla. See what intel she can give us about the company.’ He paused before adding carefully, ‘Will you be staying tonight?’ He didn’t mention her hangover yesterday, or ask if she’d called Mac. He just waited for her to answer.
‘Would you mind?’
‘Let’s eat out. There’s a great tapas bar around the corner.’
‘Perfect.’
When Lucy arrived at the tube, she picked up a copy of the Evening Standard to see Isla was front-page news. The inside pages were filled with the scandal of aerotoxicity. When she checked the BBC News website, Isla was there too, along with
