Bish wondered how long they’d spent getting their story right. “Let me see the security cameras,” he said. “I’m sure it’s all there in black and white.”
“We’ve already looked,” Cook said. “The images aren’t clear enough to make confirmation.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
Cook already had the footage downloaded to her computer. He stared at the screen where Bilal Lelouche and the children were visible. The girl was wearing a hijab and the boy an Arsenal beanie. They were quite obviously avoiding the security camera.
“It’s them,” Bish said.
“How can you be sure?” Cook asked.
“Because I’ve met them,” Bish said. “My question is, how did this happen? Two kids of Middle Eastern appearance wander into the visitors’ center, and no one takes the time to check them out?”
“So now we’re going to intimidate every single teenager of Middle Eastern appearance who walks through those gates?” Cook demanded.
“No,” Bish said with forced patience. “You’re going to interview every single teenager of Middle Eastern appearance who visits Noor LeBrac.”
“The girl offered to take off her hijab for security,” said Farrington, who was clearly keen to avoid taking any blame. “But Lorna said we wouldn’t want any trouble from the bleeding hearts who think they have a right to be covered.”
Vasquez shot Farrington a dark look, but Bish was unimpressed with all of them. “Can I see you in private?” he asked the acting governor.
Cook dismissed the others and Bish waited until the door had closed behind them. “Gray’s lying. He let this happen and you’re protecting him. You’ve done Noor LeBrac a favor and that’s not going to look good for you.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she snapped. “Gray is merely backing his two officers. He wasn’t there when Lelouche came through with the kids. Farrington is less experienced and Lorna doesn’t even handle visits. It’s mayhem here in the mornings.”
Bish wasn’t buying any of it. “You’re lying too, for Noor LeBrac.”
“I don’t give a damn about Noor LeBrac! As far as I’ve heard, there’s no love lost between her and Gray either. She’s complained about him in the past and he’s been known to use a choice word or two about her. I can assure you no one’s done anyone a favor here, Chief Inspector Ortley. It was a mistake for us not to have interviewed Bilal Lelouche and those kids, but that’s all it was—a mistake. Not a conspiracy.”
Bish didn’t believe for a moment that the guards hadn’t bothered to question the teenage visitors. Whatever else they were, Holloway’s guards had never struck him as incompetent. “I want to see her,” he said.
“No.” Now Eleanor Cook’s voice was cool. “A visit hasn’t been sanctioned by the Home Office, so you’ll have to organize it like everyone else. You’re not calling on a neighbor for afternoon tea, Chief Inspector. There’s a number you can call to get a visitor’s pass.”
“Well, how about you let it slide that there’s no paperwork sanctioned by the Home Office, and I won’t mention the fact that your guards think that all people of Middle Eastern appearance look the same, and have let two at-risk teenagers walk out of your prison?”
Noor was waiting for him. He could tell the difference in her instantly, after having seen her children. A hint of happiness still lingered.
“Where are they?” he asked, his voice even.
She didn’t respond.
“I made it possible for you to see your brother. I brought him here so he could find your kids!”
“What is it you want?” she asked. “Gratitude?”
Yes he did. The realization hit him in the gut and made him feel like a pathetic needy kid. He was furious at being left out. Left behind. A boy in the playground crying, “I thought you were both my friends.”
“Do you want me on my knees?” she asked. “Are you like those arsehole screws from the last place I was in who wouldn’t give me my daughter’s letters unless I gave them something in return?”
He felt as if she’d slapped him. “Damn you for saying that.”
“As if you care what I think of you.”
“Why can’t you fucking trust me?” he shouted.
“Because you think I’m a monster!” she shouted back.
And regardless of his anger, all Bish wanted was not to ruin the beauty of her day with the son and daughter she hadn’t seen for thirteen years.
There was silence between them, until he sat down opposite her.
“I know who the Conlons are,” he said quietly. “I know about their son. James Edward Conlon. Eighteen years old. He’d been in London for a couple of months, working on a construction site around the corner from Brackenham Street.”
Bish had spent the previous night trying to fathom the mentality of the people on both sides of the Brackenham tragedy. “Why would you give Eddie to people who could so easily have hated him?”