Banks answered his phone on the second ring.
‘Sorry it’s so late, sir, but it’s urgent.’
‘I’ll call you straight back.’
This was normal procedure. It meant Banks could get out of bed and stumble around trying not to wake up the household while he got his head together. Her phone rang barely a minute later.
‘Go ahead.’ He was crisp.
Quickly, Lucy filled him in. His calm demeanour steadied her. Her heartbeat began to settle.
‘I’ll get a team together,’ he told her briskly. ‘See you at the station.’
Yanking on some clothes she tore around the house, grabbing her handbag, her phone.
‘Lucy.’ It was her mother, standing at the top of the stairs in her dressing gown, hair awry, expression taut.
‘It’s Dan. He’s been kidnapped. They want to swap him for Dad.’
‘Oh God…’
‘I’m on it. I’ll keep in touch.’
On the street it was raining but she didn’t notice. It was quiet. Nobody was about. She ran to Marshalsea Road, looking for a cab, but couldn’t see any. Belatedly, she checked the time: 2am. The night tube didn’t run from here. She’d have to jog to Waterloo Station and hope she’d find a taxi en route. Waterloo wasn’t that far. A mile maybe?
Lucy settled into a steady run, her handbag slung across her body and thumping against her hip. She decided to go via the Cut – there had to be a taxi there, surely – and as she ran, she thought about what Amari had said, and what she hadn’t.
What did Amari mean when she said her father had gone rogue? What had Dad done? Perhaps Amari had discovered her father used to be an undercover cop and she wanted to swap Dan for him so she could… what? Kill him? And what about Kaitlyn? Was Amari telling the truth that she hadn’t killed her? Was Amari so accomplished that she could lie spontaneously like that?
She’d been jogging along the Cut for what felt like half a lifetime when she saw the bright yellow light of a vacant taxi. She flagged it down. Told the driver where to go. Told him to step on it.
They were barrelling along Grosvenor Road, the River Thames oozing inky black alongside, when her phone rang.
‘Lucy. What is it?’
A rush of relief. ‘Dad, oh thank God. They’ve kidnapped Dan. He’s my best friend… I’m godmother to his baby son – that’s how much he means to me. Amina Amari has him. He sounds awful. I think he’s being tortured. She wants to swap him for you.’
Silence.
‘Dad? Dad?!’
‘Quiet,’ he snapped. ‘I’m thinking.’
She had to swallow the scream that wanted to emerge. ‘Think fast,’ she hissed.
The taxi passed Chelsea Bridge, yellow lights twinkling against the dark and glimmeringly reflected in the black river.
‘Where’s the swap?’ he asked.
‘She’s going to ring on the hour and tell us.’
‘Where are you?’
‘On my way to the Kensington cop shop.’
‘Pick me up on the way?’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Rockington Street.’
‘You’re in Southwark?’ She couldn’t believe it.
‘I’m staying with Stan,’ he added.
Teflon Tomas’s dad. Jesus.
‘I’m in a taxi. On my way.’
57
Lucy got the taxi to wait outside Stan’s block of flats while she went to press the buzzer. She’d barely said her name before she was buzzed inside. Stan was on the top floor but she didn’t take the lift – she didn’t trust it not to break down halfway and royally fuck everything up – but ran up the stairs. Eight floors.
She was panting when she arrived but she didn’t slow down. She jogged along the exterior balcony. Banged on the second-to-last door. Waited. Banged again. Open it, for Chrissake!
Finally, the door swung open. Stan was there, hair sticking up, faded dressing gown belted around an expansive middle.
‘Sorry, love. I was on the bog.’
‘Where’s Dad?’
‘He’s gone to see your mum.’
‘What the–’
‘Said he’d see you there.’
‘Fuuuuck!’ Briefly she clutched her head. ‘Why the hell did he lie about where he wanted to be picked up?!’
‘He’s buying time, love. But trust me, he’ll be with your mum.’
‘When did he go?’
‘Straight after you called. Look, if you need a hand–’
‘No. Absolutely not.’
She didn’t want Stan involved. It was bad enough knowing her father was a criminal without adding more dodgy characters to the mix. She spun on her heel and tore back down the balcony, down the stairs. Leaped into the taxi. Gave him her mother’s address. En route she called the SIO, filled him in. No holds barred. She didn’t want to be seen giving her father any special treatment. She would bring him in like she would any other cunning, conniving fraudster.
They were turning into her mother’s street when Amari called, bang on the hour.
‘You have him?’ she demanded.
‘Not yet. But I know where he is. I’m going to get him.’
‘How long?’
‘An hour and a quarter or so,’ Lucy lied. She wanted to keep a time buffer in place.
‘You wouldn’t be bluffing would you? Your friend’s in such a lot of pain…’
‘No. No, no, I swear it.’ Panic edged Lucy’s tone. ‘Please don’t hurt him any more. Please.’
‘I’ll ring you in an hour,’ Amari purred, obviously satisfied that Lucy was dancing to her tune.
Her mother’s house was ablaze with lights. With the taxi sitting outside on a meter, she ran up the path, her hands already holding the house keys. She let herself inside, bracing herself for shouts, screams, accusations, pots and pans flying, but it was utterly silent.
‘Mum?’ she called.
Nothing.
‘Dad?’
Nerves prickling, she tiptoed down the corridor. Glanced into the kitchen. Empty. She eased her head around the corner of the living room. Her heart caught. Standing in the middle of the room were her parents. Her father was holding her mother, rocking her gently in his arms. His head was against hers. His eyes were closed. He had tears pouring down his face. Mum was clutching Lucy’s dad as if her life depended on it and sobbing quietly.
‘Ahem,’ Lucy coughed.
Slowly, they raised their heads. They didn’t look at
