Other than get arrested, Bish thought.
“At first I thought he was here out of guilt,” Fionn said. “He didn’t speak to me for most of the trip. Not until the last couple of days. But now he lets me talk and talk. And not once has he pretended that my leg hasn’t been blown off. Because he was there, he was the first person I saw when I opened my eyes afterwards, and he kept saying over and over, ‘It’s okay, Sykes. I’m here. I’m here.’ I was so scared I pissed my pants.” Fionn seemed heartbroken. “Did you know it was me who killed them? I was trying to make room for Lola’s bag and I moved the backpack that had the bomb in it. Put it in Astrid and Michael’s overhead locker. That’s what the French are saying. I read it on a blog.”
Bish put a hand on the boy’s arm. “No one knows what happened, Fionn. Not yet. And even if what you say is true, what would that mean? If the bag had stayed where it was, you and Lola and Manoshi would be dead.”
Fionn was now sobbing. “I just want to get out of here. Sometimes I wake up and I can’t breathe. Can you find a way to get me out of here? Please.”
38
Iqbal Bagchi had volunteered to drop Saffron home on his way back to London. It meant that Bish could take her car, with the hope of making it across to Calais by 7 p.m. with Bee by his side. He suspected that the conversation with Rachel about the proposed interrogation with French intelligence would be tricky and bound to end in either labor or another fainting spell.
“No. And no!” Rachel said. “Just in case you didn’t hear it the first time.”
“We don’t have much of a choice, Rachel.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I know the law. Of course we have a choice.”
She was chopping up onions in a way that had Bish fearing for her fingers. He removed the knife from her hands and found himself making the wife stealer’s dinner.
“They’ve promised me Bee isn’t under suspicion. When Attal’s daughter was interviewed by intelligence, she recalled Violette mentioning an argument with the driver of the French bus. That was reinforced by footage caught on a video of Michael and Astrid.”
“So why involve Bee?”
“Because Marianne Attal claims Bee was there when Violette spoke about the argument. French intelligence believes Bee can shed light on what took place. Not to mention the fact that she shared a room with Violette for a week.”
“I thought Violette wasn’t a suspect.”
“She’s not. She was possibly the target. Could still be if we don’t get her off the streets.”
Rachel was unconvinced. “Why did they interview Attal’s daughter in the first place? They’ve got something on these kids, Bish. There must be more on those campsite security cameras.”
“Worst-case scenario is that Bee and the others were drinking or smoking dope. Better that I take her there with a barrister from Home Office than French intelligence cross the Channel to interview her and it becomes a headline.”
“Do you know what I think?” Rachel said. “That Marianne Attal, or whatever the hell her name is, has something to hide and is trying to drag the British kids down with her.”
“I think French intelligence believes the kids saw something while they were getting up to no good the night before the bombing.”
“Well, if you go I’m coming with you.”
“Well, you’re not,” he said, pointing to her belly. “Bee says you’re having a C-section. Do you honestly think the French will let you do that if you decide to go into labor in Calais? French hospitals weren’t good enough for the anglais—didn’t you read that headline? They’ll send you back in an ambulance and you’ll have the baby in the tunnel, caught between two worlds, and they’ll call him Little Lord Folkestone—”
“Shut up, Bish.” But she was laughing.
“Look, you know I won’t let anything happen to Bee,” he said. “The last thing either of us wants is for The Sun to be running some trashy piece on her.”
Still Rachel was skeptical. “What’s the name of the barrister Home Office is sending?”
“Marie Bonnaire.”
Rachel was at least happy enough with the name. Almost impressed. “You’re going to have to drag Bee there kicking and screaming—you do know that? She won’t go voluntarily. She’s not doing anything much voluntarily these days.”
“What’s going on?” They both swung around to see Bee standing at the door, having just returned from a run.
They hadn’t had time to rehearse what to tell her, and in the awkward silence Bee’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Please don’t tell me you guys are getting back together.”
Bish felt insulted. Wasn’t it every kid’s dream to reunite their parents? Obviously not their daughter’s.
“Just spit it out. The suspense is boring me.”
It was an unspoken certainty that Rachel would handle this better. “The French want to question you again about the night before the bomb, sweetheart. They’re not accusing you of anything; they just want to confirm a few things you might have seen or heard.”