‘Where are you, Katie, my love?’ Bex says, leaning in towards the phone. ‘Why are you whispering?’
They both strain to hear what Kate says next. Maybe something about Rob’s flat. It’s hard to tell.
The line drops.
71
Silas
It’s late and Silas is driving Strover home through the deserted streets of Swindon. A light rain has rinsed the roads, leaving them black and shiny. They were the last two in the Parade Room tonight, going through automatic-number-plate-recognition records from six months ago, grateful that they’re kept for one year at the National ANPR Data Centre. Conor’s revelation that the car at the scene of Kate’s crash was a Tesla has changed everything. Silas can’t be certain that it was Rob at the wheel, but it’s beginning to make sense, at least to him.
‘Remember when we showed Kate a still from the CCTV footage at the pub?’ he asks.
‘And Kate recognised the barman,’ Strover says, tired, unimpressed.
‘When we asked her how,’ Silas continues, ‘she said that the same barman had spiked her coffee in the harbour café the day before.’
‘So she never forgets a face.’ Strover is still sceptical. ‘At least, she never used to.’
‘Exactly. But she didn’t just say that she recognised him. She said that he’d spiked her coffee. That’s quite a specific charge to level at someone.’
It’s been bothering Silas ever since Kate told them in Cornwall. He steers the car across Swindon’s infamous magic roundabout, five small ones linked in a circle.
‘I still don’t get how this relates to Rob,’ she says, staring out of the window into the Swindon night.
‘Because I think it was Rob who suggested to Kate that her coffee had been spiked.’
‘Rob?’ She looks across at him.
‘He’d seen it happen before – six months earlier in the Bluebell.’
‘How could Rob have seen it happen?’ Strover asks, more engaged now. ‘He wasn’t at the Bluebell that night.’
‘What if he was?’ Silas says as they approach Strover’s road, a row of mid-Victorian terraced houses close to Swindon station. ‘According to the barman, a Tesla was at the scene of Kate’s crash. And he thinks he spotted the same vehicle in the pub car park earlier.’
‘That still doesn’t put Rob in the pub,’ Strover says.
‘It does if he was sitting in the corner, watching her.’ Silas parks up and turns off the engine. ‘He sees the barman do something suspicious with her drink. When she leaves, he follows Kate home in his Tesla.’
‘You make it sound like he was stalking Kate,’ Strover says, struggling to hide her frustration.
‘Or protecting her,’ Silas says. ‘Unfortunately, Kate’s success as a super recogniser was all over the press.’
It’s still just a hunch. Silas can’t prove that Rob was in the pub – most CCTV cameras only keep footage for up to a month before they start to overwrite.
‘All we know is that someone who drives a Tesla was definitely looking out for Kate that night,’ he continues, checking his own enthusiasm. ‘Keen to keep her alive after she crashed.’
As if on cue, an ambulance appears from a side street, lights flashing, and pulls onto the main road, heading back towards the nearby Great Western Hospital in eerie silence. No need for a siren tonight.
‘Six months later, someone seems to be protecting her again,’ Silas continues. ‘And we have to consider that it might be Rob. Her guardian angel. A man tries to spike Kate’s coffee and then attempts to run her down in the street. Now that man’s dead.’
Strover sits back, blowing out her cheeks. Silas is happy to wait, let it all sink in. There’s no proof that Rob has taken the law into his own hands. Not yet.
‘What about Gilmour Martin?’ she asks. ‘It could have been him. I mean, why would Rob be keen to protect Kate before he’d even met her?’
‘We know nothing about the man except that he happens to look like Rob,’ he says.
‘And he was seen driving around Cornwall in a Tesla when the barman was shot dead – by an unusual gun fired in Thailand, where Gilmour was last seen. Kate said Rob was worried about having a double.’
Silas glances at Strover. Her interest in Gilmour is starting to niggle like a sore tooth. They need to talk to Kate again, Rob too. Ask them about his weird fears, why he thinks he’s in danger from his doppelgänger. Wouldn’t he have alerted the police if he was really worried? Asked for protection?
‘You saw the security at Rob’s house in Cornwall,’ he says. ‘Cameras everywhere. I think Rob has always feared that Kate has been at risk from the people she identified. And perhaps from other people too.’
72
Kate
There’s a person standing in the main room of the apartment, Kate’s sure of it. She slips the phone into her dressing-gown pocket. It was good to hear Jake’s voice again, even if his words were barely audible.
Making her way out of the bathroom, she peers towards the front door, her body trembling beneath the thin dressing gown.
‘Hello?’ she calls out.
Rob would have said something by now.
A faint light from the candles in the bedroom is slowly taking the edge off the darkness in the main room. She strains to see who it is. Someone definitely came in through the front door – she heard the telltale click – but there’s only silence.
‘Rob?’ she calls out again. ‘Is that you?’
Why isn’t he saying anything? She starts to retreat towards the bathroom, barely daring to breathe. Could it be a burglar? An intruder? Rob is always going on about the dangers of London. And then the person speaks. The familiar trace of Rob’s southern Irish accent is reassuring, but the absence of all empathy is not.
‘Who were you calling?’ he asks.
‘Thank God it’s you,’ she says, trying to ignore his question, the cold, accusatory tone. The only other time she’s heard him speak like this was during a work call, when he was ordering someone to ‘boil the ocean’ for new customers. ‘I thought it might have been… Where are you?’ she asks. ‘Why didn’t you say something sooner? I can’t see you.’
She takes a few steps forward, in the direction of the door, where she can now make out the faintest outline of Rob. Even though he’s to her right, she has no wish to see him more clearly.
‘I heard you talking to someone,’ he continues.
Her fear turns to anger. She’s just been through hell because of Rob’s bloody apartment and all he can do is stand there asking questions.
‘Rob, the landline’s down, there’s no power, I couldn’t even get out the fucking front door tonight. Where are you? I can’t see you. I’ve been scared stiff.’
‘You should have called me,’ he says, his coldness starting to thaw.
He’s right. She knows she should. Instead, in her moment of crisis, she tried to ring Jake. Why didn’t she call Rob back again? They’d been talking on and off all evening until the landline dropped.