‘You’re in luck,’ she says. ‘We’ve both been watching Marie Kondo.’
Silas cocks his head quizzically. What are they on about?
‘Netflix?’ she says, turning to open a cupboard behind her. ‘Japanese decluttering expert?’
‘She tells you how to vertically fold your socks,’ ‘Doyle’, the other woman, says. No one can remember who first started calling them Bodie and Doyle. Some of the younger officers must wonder why too. The Professionals was a long time ago. ‘You should try it sometime.’
Silas has enough trouble finding a matching pair of socks let alone folding them.
After searching in the cupboard, Bodie hands a small box over to Silas. ‘Here we go,’ she says. ‘Neatly sorted by date. If you’d come last week, it would have taken me all morning to find it. You can’t take it away though, not unless you want me fired.’
Silas was expecting as much. It’s why he brought down his laptop.
‘Thanks,’ he says, nodding at one of the small interview rooms that adjoin the reception area. ‘I’ll be in there.’
‘Keep only those things that give you the spark of joy,’ Doyle says as Silas walks away with the box.
‘Have gratitude for what you’re discarding,’ Bodie calls out.
Silas shakes his head in disbelief as he closes the door of the airless interview room behind him. Sitting down at the small desk, he starts to work his way through the USB sticks, each one with a month and year written on it. It takes a few moments to find the February file and insert the stick into his laptop but a lot longer to scroll through to 9.30 a.m. on 13 February, when Jake came in to see him. Jake said that he saw Rob after their one-hour meeting, on his way out. He moves forward to 10.25 a.m. and starts to watch the footage in real time. The screen is split into four camera feeds, the top two from the public car park, the bottom left from the adjoining staff car park and the final one from the main entrance.
At 10.32, Silas recognises the bulky figure of Jake walking out of the station entrance, his back to the camera. He leans in closer to the two feeds from the public car park. Jake appears in the bottom left frame, approaching a blue Morris Minor Traveller. He remembers Kate’s car, the mangled wreckage that was taken away on a low-loader. As Jake opens the door, he looks across the car park at something. Silas switches to the other feed and watches. And then he sees it. A Tesla in the far corner, barely visible. It must be the only parking space that’s not covered completely by the cameras. Silas swallows as the driver walks away from the car. He’s wearing a baseball cap, but Silas can just see his face. It’s Rob.
83
Kate
It’s almost forty-five minutes into the CCTV footage when Kate spots him. Rob is wearing a baseball cap pulled over his eyes and has his head down, as if he’s trying to avoid being seen. He’s approaching a ticket barrier at what looks like a London Underground station.
‘There, that’s him,’ she says.
Ajay stops the footage and rewinds a few seconds. His hand is shaking.
Kate watches again as Rob approaches the barrier. ‘Stop,’ she says, pointing at the figure on the screen.
Ajay bows his own head for a moment and then looks up at her, his normally bright brown eyes dulled by a sudden sadness.
‘Am I wrong?’ she asks, disappointed.
He is close to tears. ‘No, you’re not wrong. You’re ready. Rob will be thrilled.’
‘So what’s with the long face?’ she asks, her whole body relaxing after the intensity of the last forty-five minutes. What does Ajay mean by ‘ready’?
The phone starts to ring in the bedroom.
‘Because that’s incredible,’ he says, glancing into the other room. ‘Barely 10 per cent of his face is visible, maybe less. The resolution’s low, the light’s poor, it’s a bad angle. Recognition software would never have identified him.’
Another dirty spot. She must be better.
‘You ought to get that,’ Ajay says, writing something in his notebook. ‘I’ll pack up.’
She walks over to the bedroom, concerned by Ajay’s downbeat demeanour, and answers the phone.
‘How are you feeling? Any better?’
It’s Rob, but her heart doesn’t soar. Not like it used to when he would ring her in Cornwall and she’d lie back on the bed, listening to his plans for her art, a possible solo exhibition in London, his love for her. She can’t trust him any more, can’t be sure that it’s him.
‘OK,’ she says, her voice determinedly neutral. She’d forgotten about the device around her neck, but it starts to feel tight again.
‘How did you get on?’ he asks. ‘With the final test?’
Is it even Rob’s voice? She doesn’t trust herself any more.
‘I’ve just finished,’ she says, suspecting that he already knows the result. She runs her fingers over the neckband, hoping to find a clip so that she can release it. The data from it will already have been downloaded onto Ajay’s laptop.
‘Did you spot him?’ he asks.
Him? Wasn’t it Rob in the footage?
‘What’s going on, Rob? The blinds are still down here.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He pauses. ‘There were problems with the system last night, but it’s all sorted now and you’re right, the blinds should be up.’
‘But they’re not,’ she says, trying again to find a way to release the neckband.
It’s a while before he speaks.
‘I think someone’s still trying to harm you,’ he says, his voice heavy with concern.
She doesn’t believe him. Not after the scribbled note from Ajay. There are too many unanswered questions. Why can’t she make outgoing calls on the landline? And where’s her mobile phone?
‘Who’s trying to harm me?’ she asks.
‘The same as before. People you identified.’
She still doesn’t believe him.
‘I can look after myself, Rob,’ she says, glancing through the door at Ajay, who has finished packing up and is waiting for her. ‘And he’s dead now, the man in Cornwall who tried to kill me.’
‘There are others,’ he says.
She hesitates. Maybe she’s being naive and there are still people out there who want to harm her. She should be grateful that Rob, if it’s him, is being so protective.
‘Am I allowed out of here now?’ she asks. ‘I’ve passed the test.’ You’re ready.
‘You must be patient.’
‘How about the roof terrace?’ She just wants some fresh air. And perhaps the possibility of escape, however high the walls.
‘My car’s waiting for you downstairs,’ Rob says. ‘Same driver as yesterday – you’ll recognise him.’ Putin. ‘You’ve found your passport, I hope? The driver will accompany you.’
‘Rob, this is crazy, I don’t need accompanying—’
‘He’ll bring you to the house in Brittany,’ Rob interrupts. ‘I think you’ll like it. Home from home. I can explain more then.’
‘Do I have a choice?’ she asks. ‘If I don’t want to go with him?’