“You know what I can’t understand about her theory, though?” Bish said. “If someone murdered Violette’s father, why didn’t they go after her too? Just in case she had seen something she shouldn’t have.”
Frank’s wife was looking at them from the front window. Bish stepped a little closer. “I think that in all the madness up on that rock, there was a voice of reason. I think Etienne LeBrac was supposed to get the bashing of his life. Maybe for his watch. Maybe because he’d been recognized. But somebody went too far. Perhaps Keith Hugh. In jail now for glassing his girlfriend? Or perhaps Alan, who had to prove himself to the younger lads.”
Frank Gilbert’s eyes were glued to the window now, where his family stared back at him. It was Bish’s experience that not many people managed to turn their lives around, but Frank seemed to have done so.
“What do you think happened to a father who didn’t return to his daughter, Frank?”
“I think…I think he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” And Frank Gilbert walked into his home. A home, Bish knew, he would never let the truth take away from him.
As Bish was about to board the plane back to London, Elliot rang.
“A Violette and Eddie sighting down south reported on Twitter. Grazier wants you on it sooner rather than later.”
“Tell Grazier it’s probably a false alarm. She’s seen her mother, her uncle, and she’s now with her brother. She’s done everything she set out to do except go to Malham Cove, which she’ll do when she deems it safe. I say Grazier contacts the local police up here, gets them to be on the lookout.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about Malham Cove being the only destination. I know this kid—”
“You know Violette well, do you?” Bish asked, then checked himself. He couldn’t afford to lose it while surrounded by airport security.
“I’m the one spending time in her home at the moment, Ortley. Me. Did you know that before they moved back to the Sarraf family home, Noor, Etienne, and Violette lived in Cambridge? Or that the locals ransacked Joseph Sarraf’s home in Manchester all those years ago? The family memorabilia is scattered far and wide and Violette’s always said that she’ll go searching for it one day. And guess where the LeBracs spent their honeymoon? Edinburgh. All north. So I wouldn’t put all your eggs in the Malham Cove basket.”
“I’m in Manchester now,” Bish said, “so if she’s close by according to the ever reliable Twitter, let me know where. But do you know what I’d bet my life on? That nothing and no one is getting that kid out of hiding for the time being.”
“Not even someone who lives in Margate, Kent?”
Charlie bloody Crombie.
“Ring Grazier when you get to London,” Elliot said, sounding smug. “One of our drivers will pick you up from the airport and drive you to Margate. Grazier mentioned you had a fainting spell.”
A fainting spell? That’s how it was being described to the home secretary? As if Bish were someone out of a Regency romance.
“Dehydration and low iron,” he corrected. “I’m perfectly fine now. My car’s parked at Gatwick so I’ll go straight from there.”
“Well, if Violette is with Crombie, tell her I’m spending a couple of days in the outback with her grandparents.”
“They live in the country, Elliot. Not the outback.”
“Tell her that Nasrene and Christophe have taken a great liking to me, and if she doesn’t come back I’m moving into her room. I’m seriously thinking of migrating.”
“With your skin you’ll be dead within the year.”
When Bish switched his phone back on at Gatwick he saw that Bee had rung. He was about to return her call when his phone rang. A blocked number.
“This is Holloway Prison,” a voice said. “Will you take a call?”
Had the acting governor worked out that one of her officers had let Violette and Eddie through to visit Noor? Bish didn’t want to be the one responsible for Lorna Vasquez losing her job.
He reluctantly agreed and heard a click.
“Did you find out anything?” Noor asked, sounding even more cool and clipped over the phone. Bish was taken aback to hear her voice.
“Through Bilal?” she asked when he didn’t respond.
He was sort of flattered that someone who had such limited use of phone time would call him.
“Jamal’s phone is turned off,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “Your mother suggested I call.”
“My mother?”
“On Friday she gave me her number. We’ve been chatting for the past two days.”
“You and my mother?”
“Yes, Bashir,” she said.
“I’m trying to imagine what you and my mother could have in common,” he said.
“You mean apart from her father and mine coming from the same city in Egypt?”
“I’m just surprised,” he said, suddenly on the defensive. “That’s all.”
“Well, I find it therapeutic speaking to Saffron,” Noor said.
“What do you talk about?”
She hesitated. “About how much we love our children. How much we miss our husbands and our mothers and our brothers…and our fathers. How she regrets never going to university. How one day she hopes she’ll have the courage to ask you to come along to an AA meeting with her.”