Without the stamps, though, he would have nothing to substantiate his story. And meanwhile she would have the money safely tucked away, hidden by a firewall of nominee trustees in a bank in Panama, a tax haven that did not cooperate with authorities in other countries.
In any case, possession was nine-tenths of the law.
It had been a mistake to wait. She should have sold them as soon as she arrived in England, or in New York. But Dave had wanted to wait until they were sure Ricky had no idea where she was. Now that strategy had backfired badly.
Suddenly Hegarty’s phone rang. ‘Hello?’ he answered. Then his voice suddenly sounded stiff and a little awkward. He shot a glance at Abby, then said, ‘Just hold on a sec, would you? I’m going to take this in another room.’
Glenn Branson was sitting at his desk, phone to his ear, waiting for Hugo Hegarty to come back on the line.
‘Sorry about that, Sergeant,’ Hegarty said after what felt like a couple of minutes. ‘The young lady was in my office. I presume this is about her?’
‘It could be, yes. I just happened to be checking this morning’s serials – the log of everything that’s reported – and I’ve come across something that might be significant. Of course it might be nothing at all. You gave us a name yesterday, sir – a Mr Chad Skeggs.’
Wondering what was coming next, Hegarty responded with a hesitant, ‘Yes.’
‘Well, we’ve just had a report that a vehicle rented by someone of this name, an Australian from Melbourne, has been seen opposite the flat where Katherine Jennings lives.’
‘Oh, really? How very interesting. How very interesting indeed!’
‘Do you think there’s a possible connection, sir?’
‘I would certainly say so, Sergeant, in the way that you might connect a rotting fish with a bad smell.’
102
Some time during the early hours of the morning, as Lorraine lay awake, listening to Ronnie snoring, her joy and relief that he was alive started turning to anger.
Later, when he was awake, insisting on keeping the curtains drawn in the bedroom and the blinds down in the kitchen, she rounded on him at the breakfast table. Why had he put her through all this suffering? Surely he could have made one quick phone call, explaining everything, and then she wouldn’t have been to hell and back for almost two months.
Then she began crying.
‘I couldn’t take the risk,’ he said, cradling her face in his arms. ‘You’ve got to understand that, babe. Just one call from New York showing up on your bill could have created questions. Insurance investigators are all ex-cops – they’re no fools. And I had to know you were acting the grieving widow.’
‘Yeah, I sodding acted that all right,’ she said, dabbing her eyes. Then she took out a cigarette. ‘I should get a bloody Oscar.’
‘You’re going to deserve one by the time we’re through.’
She gripped his strong, hairy wrist, pulled it tightly against her face. ‘I feel so safe with you, Ronnie. Please don’t go. You could hide here.’
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘You
He shook his head.
‘Can’t we do anything so we don’t lose this place? Tell me again, what money’s going to come in?’ She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply.
‘I’ve got a life insurance policy, with Norwich Union, for one and a half million pounds. You’ll find the policy in a deposit box at the bank. The key’s in my bureau. Sounds like there’s going to be special dispensation for 9/11 victims. The insurance companies are going to pay out on the policies, even where bodies haven’t been found, instead of the statutory seven-year wait.’
‘One and a half million! I could take the policy to the bank manager. He’d let me stay on!’
‘You can try, but I know what that bastard’ll say. He’ll tell you there’s no certainty they’ll pay out, or when, and that insurance companies always wriggle.’
‘So this one might wriggle?’
‘Nah, it’ll be OK, I reckon. Too emotive, this situation. But they’ll give you a good grilling, for sure. So make sure you stick to your story. Appear helpful, but say the minimum you have to. Then there’s going to be the 9/11 compensation fund. I’m told we could be looking at two and a half million dollars.’
‘
He nodded excitedly.
She stared at him, doing a quick calculation in her head. ‘That would be about one and three-quarter million pounds? So we’re talking about three and a quarter million quid, give or take?’
‘Give or take, yeah. And tax-free. For one year of pain.’
She sat still for some moments. When she finally spoke there was a tinge of awe in her voice. ‘You’re unbelievable.’
‘I’m a survivor.’
‘That’s why I love you. Why I’ve always believed in you. I have, you know, haven’t I?’
He kissed her. ‘You have.’
‘We’re rich!’
‘Nearly. We will be. Gently, gently catchee monkey…’
‘You look strange with a beard.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Sort of younger.’
‘And less dead than old Ronnie?’
She grinned. ‘You were a lot less dead last night.’
‘I waited a long time for that.’
‘And now you’re talking about waiting a year? Maybe longer?’
‘The compensation fund will pay out fast to hardship cases. You’re a hardship case.’
‘They’ll prioritize Americans before foreigners.’
He shook his head. ‘Not what I’ve heard.’
‘Three and a quarter million quid!’ she said again dreamily and rolled the ash off her cigarette into the saucer.
‘That’ll buy you a lot of new frocks.’
‘We’d need to invest it.’
‘I’ve got plans. The first thing we have to do is get it out of the country – and you.’
He jumped up, went into the hall and returned with a small knapsack. From it he removed a brown envelope, which he put on the table and pushed towards her.
‘I’m not Ronnie Wilson any more. You’re going to have to get used to that. I’m now David Nelson. And in a year’s time you won’t be Lorraine Wilson any more.’
Inside the envelope were two passports. One was Australian. The photograph was a barely recognizable one of herself. Her hair had been changed to dark brown, cut short, and she’d been given a pair of glasses. The name inside said
‘There’s a visa stamp in there for permanent residence in Australia. Valid for five years.’
‘
‘Or Maggie!’
She shook her head. ‘I have to be Margaret – Maggie?’
‘Yes.’
‘For how long?’
‘For ever.’
‘Great,’ she said. ‘I don’t even get a choice in my own name?’
‘You didn’t when you was born, you stupid cow!’
She said the name aloud, dubiously, ‘Margaret Nelson.’
‘Nelson’s a good name, classy!’
She shook a second passport out of the bag. ‘What’s this?’
‘It’s for when you leave England.’
Inside was a photograph of her again, but in this one she had grey hair and looked twenty years older. The name said Anita Marsh.
She looked at him in bewilderment.
‘I worked it out. The best way to disappear. People remember good-looking women, blokes in particular. They don’t remember little old ladies, they’re almost invisible. When the time comes you’re going to buy two tickets in advance on the Newhaven- Dieppe ferry for a night-time crossing. One ticket in your name, one in Anita Marsh’s name. And you’re going to book a cabin in Anita Marsh’s name. OK?’
‘Want me to write this down?’
‘No. You’re going to have to memorize it. I’ll be contacting you. I’ll go through it all plenty of times more with you before then. What you’re going to do is leave a suicide note – you’re going to write that you can’t bear life without me, you’re miserable being back at work at Gatwick, life sucks – and the doctor’ll be able to back it up that you were on antidepressants, all that stuff.’
‘Yeah, well, he won’t be lying about that.’
‘So you get on the ferry as Lorraine Wilson, looking as beautiful as you can, and make sure plenty of people see you. You dump your bag, with a change of clothes, in the cabin booked in Anita Marsh’s name. Then you go to the bar and you start giving the impression that you are sad, and drinking heavily, and not in any mood to talk to anyone. The crossing’s four and a quarter hours, so you have plenty of time. When you are out in mid-Channel, leave the bar and tell the barman that you are going out on the deck. Instead, you go down to the cabin and transform yourself into Anita Marsh,
