Ella was irritated by Al Brown, but at least he was upfront. She despised Scarlett and all the others because they made a less than convincing show of being tactful and supportive, and all the while, she knew they were talking about her, had heard them whispering outside her door or been met by a sudden silence as she entered the kitchen.
Back in her room, she made sandwiches and wondered what she had to do to get her life back. She had to leave college, that was a given, and to accept that she could never go back to being the person she was before. Whatever life she fashioned for herself, it would have to be one that incorporated the baggage of the last three months.
Maybe she also needed to take things into her own hands. It had been an easy escape, shirking her responsibility by convincing herself that other people were looking into the murders. But the resulting guilt and frustration had almost certainly played a crucial role in bringing her down, and were no doubt key ingredients in the anger she felt constantly bubbling beneath the surface.
She looked at the clock. It was nearly five-thirty. She reached into the drawer for a piece of paper and rang the number on it. The answer came so quickly that she was thrown for a moment, the reason for her call not yet fully worked out.
‘Hi, Vicky. It’s Ella Hatto here. You said I could call you.’ There was a pause. Vicky Welsh had probably dealt with a hundred crimes since their meeting and it seemed to take her a second or two to place Ella.
When she spoke, though, it was with an urgency, as if she feared Ella might hang up, ‘Ella, how have you been? What can I do for you?’
‘I just wanted to know if there’s been any progress.’
‘Uh, we are still exploring some lines of inquiry, but I have to be honest, we don’t have anything concrete.’ There was another pause before she proceeded gingerly. ‘And of course, you’re not really helping yourself, Ella.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean. The clues to your family’s killers have got to be hidden somewhere within your dad’s business dealings. Now I know that some of his business in the past was a little colorful, but I promise you, that’s not what we want to investigate. We don’t want to tarnish your dad’s name, just to find evidence that might point to his murderer.’
‘I can’t.’ She wanted to, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to betray Simon, and she was fearful that, despite Vicky Welsh’s promises, her dad’s name would be tarnished one way or another, with revelations this time, not just innuendo.
‘Would you at least talk about it with your uncle? Maybe ask him why he’s so determined on being uncooperative?’
‘You don’t understand. I . . .’
‘Don’t decide now. Think about it and we’ll speak again.’
‘Okay.’
‘We’re still on your side, you know.’
‘I know. Thanks.’
She hung up the phone and thought back over their brief, unsatisfactory conversation—she wasn’t helping herself, she was hindering their search for the killers. She was convinced that if her dad were with her now, he’d tell her not to fall for it, to listen to Simon.
Maybe he’d also tell her that the time had come to call Lucas. She could imagine her dad talking to her now, using the tone he reserved for fundamental truths about how life should be lived—always ask for an upgrade, always ask for a discount, never leave a drink unattended, buy property, don’t rent it, trust Lucas, never trust the police.
She wouldn’t betray Simon or allow them to dismantle the business her dad had built, certainly not for the kind of justice they’d hand down if they ever did find the killers. At least if Lucas found them, he’d have no qualms about delivering the punishment they deserved.
She took the copy of The Nibelungenlied off the shelf, the bookmark still in place at the point she’d reached when Lucas had broken the news. Before meeting him she’d never seen a gun, never seen someone killed, never seen a dead person; his entire world had been alien to her, and she knew that if she took up his offer of help she’d be embracing it and becoming a part of it. But it was a compact she was willing to make if it helped her achieve this one thing.
She turned to the page where he’d written and without hesitating, she dialed the number. It took a while to connect and then rang for a long time before the phone picked up. There was silence and Ella waited for the answering machine to kick in before realizing that there wasn’t one, that Lucas had picked up the phone but remained silent.
It seemed typical of him and she smiled as she said, ‘It’s Ella Hatto here.’
‘Are you in trouble?’
‘No, no.’
‘That’s good.’ There was a pause. She could sense him struggling to think of something to say, something other than asking her why she was calling. ‘So how have you been?’
‘Okay. I’m back at college.’
‘Good.’
‘Actually, not okay. I thought I could get back to normal but I can’t, not until the people who did this are caught, and that’s not looking likely any time soon.’
‘Why did you call me?’ The question was okay now, loaded, a suggestion in the tone of his voice that he knew but wanted confirmation.