“Yes.”
“Was your phone not Bluetooth-connected to your car? A nice motor like that, I’d have thought it would have been.”
She pauses only momentarily before answering. “That’s because the system in the car’s broken. The Bluetooth connection doesn’t work.”
As we leave, her phone starts ringing. She’s obviously a lady who’s in demand. She answers it in a businesslike way as the door swings shut behind us.
Out in the courtyard, Woodley yawns, feeling the early rise.
“What’s happening about the recording of the 999 call she made?” I ask. “I think we need to hear it as soon as we can.”
“I’ve requested it. I’ll chase it up.” Woodley looks longingly back at the pub as we walk away. “Bit early for a pint, do you think, boss?”
“Can we take a break from the wisecracks, maybe?”
On the way back to HQ, Woodley takes the wheel. I get Emma’s card out of my pocket and examine it. It’s simple and stylish, as I’d expect. There’s no job description, just her name and there’s also a phone number on it.
I’m sure Dr. Manelli would warn me against it in the strongest possible terms, but I know I’m going to call Emma. I want to warn her off interfering in the case and give her a piece of my mind. I’m so cross with her right now that I can’t believe it was only a few hours ago that I sat on my parapet and thought I felt something tender for her. That’s a call I want to make in private, though. There’s no way I’m going to do it with Woodley earwigging.
Instead I phone Fraser from the car, because there’s something I do want her permission for, and I want it this morning.
I request another dive search, focusing on the area of the canal beside the scrapyard, and things have got serious enough for her to authorize it on the spot. I want to find Noah Sadler’s backpack. At this stage, it might be one of our best bets for getting some clues as to what the boys were up to.
Nur takes the taxi back out to look for Abdi, and this time Maryam goes with him.
“You keep phoning everybody,” Nur instructs Sofia before he leaves. “Everybody you can think of. We have to find him.”
She works the phone, contacting everyone she can think of. By now it’s pinging constantly with a series of texts and messages from friends and old schoolmates promising to watch for Abdi and spread the word on social media.
She doesn’t take any calls. She can’t face talking to anybody. She feels the shame of the situation just as her parents do, but they can’t keep this to themselves any longer. Finding Abdi is the most important thing.
When she’s done everything she can think of, she finds herself sitting with her thoughts.
She thinks again about the recording of Abdi and Ed Sadler, and the way it disappeared. She struggles to believe her mother would have purposely deleted it, because she’s not even sure Maryam would know how to, but she can’t help feeling a tiny bit of suspicion that she did.
Whether her mother tampered with the recording or not, she realizes that its existence is enough to convince her that the key to all of this lies in what Abdi’s been doing over the past few days. It’s all she has to go on, anyway.
She feels a twinge of guilt that she’s been so preoccupied with her course that she hasn’t paid much attention to her family in the past few weeks. She wonders where to start. She obviously can’t go to Noah’s school asking questions, but she remembers that Amina mentioned Abdi being at the Welcome Center with Maryam on Friday evening, and that it was an unusual night, because Maryam fainted. Sofia marches over there, looking out for her brother with every step taken.
At the Welcome Center they’re unloading boxes of food at the back entrance.
Somebody’s inside the van, picking over the food surplus items that have been collected from local businesses that morning.
“Got a ton of rice and peppers, tomatoes. There’s chicken! And meringues.”
Chef Sami is standing at the back door, arms folded.
“Hey, Sofia,” he says, “do you think people will like chicken meringue surprise for lunch?”
He can always make her smile, even today.
“Is Amina in?”
“She’s sorting out the donation cupboard.”
Inside, the center is busy, as usual. The English-language teachers are setting out materials in the temporary classrooms, and a solicitor who offers free advice is smoothing plastic tablecloths over the trestle tables to be used at lunch. The kitchen volunteers are setting up tea and coffee urns and unwrapping packets of biscuits. The room’s warm and bright, and Sofia knows that soon it will start to fill with the smell of cooking as the team gets to work making a hot meal out of whatever comes from the van.
She finds Amina on an upstairs landing. She’s sitting beside an empty cupboard and a fusty-smelling pile of clothing.
Amina holds up a stained women’s vest top. “Why do people think that it’s okay to donate things like this?” She shakes her head. “Coats and sweaters are what we need. Warm clothes for grown men.”
Sofia tells her what happened, feeling her composure wobble as tears fill Amina’s eyes. It’s actually a relief to tell somebody outside the family.
“But Abdi’s such a good boy,” Amina says. “He’s the last boy I would think would be in a situation like this.”
“When you saw him here last time, when Mum fainted, did you see what he was doing?”
“You think he fell in with some bad boys?”
“I don’t know what to think. I’m trying to find out anything I can.”
“I probably saw him once or twice that evening, but it was very busy—it was a cold night—and I wasn’t paying attention until your mother fainted. I think Abdi helped with food prep. They had a nice young crowd of volunteers in. He didn’t do serving with us, but I think he was clearing plates from the hatch. When your mum fainted, a few of us helped her to sit down and I sat with her. Abdi disappeared for a bit, but he came back to look after her and . . . and one of the volunteers drove them home early.”
“Do you know why my mother fainted?”
“No. She said the feeling came on suddenly. One minute she felt sick and dizzy and the next she was falling. I’m sorry I’m not being more helpful, darling, it was crazy busy that night. Somebody else might remember more. Why don’t you ask Tim?”
Sofia finds Tim at the entrance desk, signing in the refugees, who are starting to arrive. He has a friendly face and big hands that dwarf his mug of tea.
“Yes, Abdi was here on Friday,” he says. “It was really busy. We saw a lot of new faces.”
“Do you know what he did?” she asks.
“Kitchen, I think. He was buzzing around there for most of the evening. And he was asking around about somebody after your mum fainted.”
Sofia feels her pulse quicken. “Do you know who?”
“It was a Somali man, but that’s all I know.”
He checks the book where the volunteers sign in. “Kate and Jacob were in with him that night. He chats with them a lot. They might know more.”