“I’m not into euphemisms,” she said bluntly. “It’s called being sacked.”
“Well, I got sent home from work a month ago,” he said. “Do you think that’s a euphemism for the Met sacking me?”
After an internal war that played out in her expression, she stepped aside and let him in. He’d forgotten how small the place was, especially now that the entire living room floor was carpeted with files. He noticed a map of Yorkshire among them.
“How can I help?” he asked.
“I don’t need your help.”
“You have a Yorkshire map, Layla. Noor and Jamal believe Violette is heading that way. So that tells me I can help out here.”
“This isn’t about Violette and Eddie.”
He couldn’t hide his frustration. “We’re on the same side, Layla. What else can I say to convince you?”
She looked tired. Defeated. Perhaps that was due to spending two days living with her past in the form of Jimmy Sarraf.
“Ask me again what my theory about Brackenham is,” he said.
She shook her head. “Go home, Ortley.”
“Do it. Ask me.”
She sighed. “Okay, so what’s your theory about the Brackenham bombing?”
“That Louis Sarraf acted on his own.”
They were the magic words she seemed to want to hear. After a moment’s consideration she crouched on the floor by her layout.
“I got sacked because I sent an email to the Yorkshire police asking questions about Etienne’s death,” she said. “I used my company email signature so I’d be sure to get answers.”
“Why investigate Etienne’s death now?” he asked. “In the middle of everything that’s happening.”
“Because of you,” she said. “When you accused Etienne of not being there for his daughter. In all this, I’d forgotten him. He met Noor when Jimmy and I were five years old. They were twenty. We all adored him because he was such an idiot. So much fun.” She laughed for a moment. “Not ambitious. Not like Noor. And years later, when they had Violette, he was a fantastic father. Noor and Jimmy had done whatever they wanted all their lives, made up the rules along the way, but not Etienne. The LeBracs had a strong work ethic, and they were strict. It’s how they raised Etienne. Family and responsibility were everything. Etienne would never have left Violette up there on that cove alone. Never. What have I been fucking doing all these years not challenging that? I was too busy making money for the firm, watching couples who used to call each other ‘poppet’ quibble over their Pomeranian. What kid says, ‘When I grow up I want to be a divorce lawyer’?”
She swallowed hard. “That pile is Etienne,” she said, pointing. “That pile is Noor. I’m trying to prioritize.”
“Why Noor?”
“Violette hasn’t come here just to take Eddie on a history tour of their lives. She’s here to continue what her father started all those years ago. Getting her mother out of jail.”
Rachel’s theory again.
“And she wants you to help her?” he asked.
Layla nodded. “She says it’s what Etienne would have wanted. But finding out what happened to him is probably a thousand times easier than working out a case for Noor.”
Bish crouched down beside her. “What have you got?”
She picked up the map of Yorkshire and laid it out on the coffee table. “I drew a radius of twenty miles around Malham Cove on all sides,” she told him, “and contacted every police station within that area, asking for every crime committed the week of Etienne’s death. In Skipton, on the day after he died, three teens were arrested. In the pub the night before, one of them was heard saying, ‘We saw that Aussie. The terrorist’s husband.’”
Bish stared at one of the front-page articles Layla had printed. A photo of Etienne LeBrac. Laughter in his eyes, a quirk to his lips. An older version of Eddie.
“Someone in the pub was disturbed by their words and called the cops the next day,” Layla continued. “It was dismissed as drunken talk, and the three kids were charged with loitering and underage drinking, as well as being in possession of stolen goods.”
“Not Etienne’s watch?” Bish asked.
“Not Etienne’s watch. But the police found souvenirs from the gift shop at Malham Cove. Those thugs were there that night. Now I’m trying to work out how to take this further.” She pointed to the Noor pile. “That’s the ‘too hard’ basket. I literally don’t know where to start. The 2005 appeal didn’t get off the ground because of the London bombings. The 2010 appeal didn’t because there was a general election that year, and then a hung parliament. Bad timing. The legal world was being cautious. There really wasn’t much work done to make these appeals happen. I’m going to have to start from scratch.”
“Where’s scratch?” he asked.
“Noor’s confession. Jimmy told me how they got it, but there’s only Noor’s word for it. For now, that’s all I have.”
Bish thought of Noor’s explanation for Violette’s postcard. Tell truth and shame the devil.
“What if I had a witness to the confession?” he asked.