Regardless, he wanted nothing more for her than peace. The year before Stevie died she’d become a Queen’s Counsel, and she had a great reputation as a human rights barrister. But after his death she became estranged from her world. All she wanted to do was talk about Stevie, and not many people stayed the distance for that. Except for Saffron and the one man Rachel claimed allowed her to grieve in the way she wanted to: Stevie’s school principal.
Bish had reacted in the opposite way. He relied on silence. He became a workaholic, falling into bed every night from exhaustion. After his ex-wife had told him about her affair with Maynard, they called it quits because Rachel was in love with another man. Perhaps if they’d been younger when everything fell apart, they’d have made a mess handling the divorce, but neither could bear the idea of their daughter’s life being any more miserable. So he let Rachel stay in the house in Ashford and he moved up to London. Bee claimed the Docklands was a soulless place, especially on weekends, when it seemed as if there was no one left in the world to talk to. But it suited Bish. Outside his police work, talking was the last thing he wanted to do.
Rachel handed him a muesli bar from her bag, then retrieved her mobile and started flicking through it.
“I found photos on Bee’s iPad. They’re not on her Instagram account. These four were hidden in a folder marked ‘martial arts.’” She held out her phone.
Bish stumbled to the sink, his stomach churning. He thought of the vulnerable teenage girls he came across at the station, caught up in porn.
He felt Rachel’s hand on his shoulder. “They’re not what you think,” she said.
He splashed his face with cold water and dried it with a tea towel. When he was seated, he took the phone.
The photos were a shock all the same. Bee with her arms around Violette Zidane and Eddie Conlon. An expression on her face that Bish hadn’t seen for three years. Pure happiness. Another shot of Bee rolling her eyes while Eddie’s tongue cheekily hovered near her ear, Violette watching on with a half smile. Then the three of them staring solemnly ahead with eyes so dark and skin so perfectly matched. Another of them laughing. Bee looked gorgeous. They all did.
“She told me she’d had nothing much to do with Noor LeBrac’s daughter, but that’s definitely her, isn’t it?” Rachel pointed to Violette.
“They were forced to be roommates for the entire trip.”
“Who’s the boy, Bish?” she asked quietly, and he knew what she was thinking. Beautiful boys with golden skin belonged to Rachel and Bish.
“Eddie Conlon. He’s the one who’s gone missing with Violette. They’re trying really hard to keep his name out of the papers.”
Bish studied the photos one more time before handing back the phone. “Can you email them to me on that thing?” he asked. “I can print them off here.”
Rachel concentrated on the task of sending the photos and he watched her master something he had no idea about.
“What made you suspicious about the martial arts file?” he asked.
“I bumped into her instructor at the supermarket a couple of weeks ago and he asked after her. Told me how disappointed he was when she dropped out back in May.”
Had they become those type of parents? Who didn’t know where their kids were?
“What could she possibly have been up to on Saturday mornings?” he asked.
“I was going to ask her when she returned from Normandy, but then…” Rachel shrugged.
But then someone blew up their daughter’s bus and it didn’t seem important.
Bish heard a sound at the door and leaned back in his chair to see David Maynard standing in the hallway. Maynard was an unorthodox principal. Every kid at the school had his mobile number. Bee had told Bish the story of his speech to the seniors: not to get into the car of a drunk driver—to ring him instead. Any time of the night. He’d drive them home, no questions asked. The child protection people wouldn’t have been impressed, but the parents were.
“I rang the doorbell but no one answered,” Maynard said.
“It doesn’t always work,” Rachel responded for Bish.
Maynard stepped into the kitchen. “Are you okay?” he asked Rachel. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, you know. The usual.” She was trying to keep her tone light. “Bee’s hanging out with terror suspects.”
Maynard seemed tentative, as if waiting for Bish to invite him to sit down. When he didn’t, Maynard stared over Rachel’s shoulder at the photograph on her phone.
“Bee was friends with Violette Zidane?” he asked. “Who’s the boy?”
“Eddie Conlon,” Rachel said. Her phone rang and she went off to answer it, leaving Bish with Maynard. It wasn’t the most pleasant silence, so Bish decided to break it.
“She thought you were an idiot first time we met you,” he said, because he wanted to destroy something and Maynard was accessible.
Maynard nodded. “Yes, she told me. And that you totally disagreed and said I was the sort of chap you’d enjoy a pint with.”
Bish didn’t go around using the word “chap,” so it rankled even more to be misquoted.