The car swap involves me driving the Volvo behind Carson into the middle of nowhere. Then I get to hide in the bushes with Dorotea and the backpacks while Carson argues in Russian with the couple of skeevy dudes with the replacement car. I’m not worried for her at all; I am worried she’ll make me help bury their bodies. But everybody goes away alive.
We head back to town in a black Citroen C5 Tourer station wagon with left-hand drive and a Belgian license plate. I surf the news sites with my work phone on our way to the hotel. It doesn’t take long to find what I hoped I wouldn’t. “It’s on the Portsmouth News website.”
Carson’s jaw sets.
I read out loud:
What may have been an elaborate attempt to rob the Mainwaring Gallery in Portsmouth city centre was foiled early this morning by museum guards and the police.
Hampshire Constabulary took two unidentified men into custody on suspicion of attempted burglary at the Gallery premises on 115 Commercial Road.
Museum officials have not yet determined whether any items were taken from the Gallery.
In an official statement, DI Stella Newling said that the suspects were found to be carrying tools and masks. The police are seeking one or two possible accomplices who may have fled the scene.
DI Newling encouraged members of the public to step forward with information that may be of assistance to police enquiries.
Carson says, “Fuck.”
My stomach starts doing weird twisting things. “Are those accomplices their guys… or us?”
It’s almost eight a.m. by the time we work our way back to the hotel. Camera avoidance, of course. I’m in my room just long enough to take off what’s left of the wrinkled, sweaty mess of my dress shirt when Julie taps on my door. Big dark circles around her bloodshot eyes, no makeup, flat and scrubby hair, everything drooping.
She says, “Gillian’s on TV.”
A glossy blonde pops up with the 8:30 BBC South news bulletin on the Breakfast morning show. “Hampshire Constabulary are seeking a person of interest in their expanding enquiry into this morning’s attempted burglary at the Mainwaring Gallery in Portsmouth.” A not-great Identikit sketch of Julie-as-Gillian appears. Julie sounds like she’s choking. “The woman, using the alias Gillian Hardwick, may be associated with two suspects already in custody and possibly two to three more suspects at large. A Hampshire Constabulary spokesperson described the plot as ‘elaborate’ and ‘sophisticated’ and encouraged witnesses to contact South Eastern CID with any information.”
Julie slumps on the end of my bed with her head in her hands. I know how she feels.
Carson sees the same bulletin fifteen minutes later. She stands in front of my TV, arms crossed, and frowns at the screen all the way through. When the Identikit sketch appears, she closes her eyes and shakes her head. What I can see but Julie can’t is the red slowly clawing its way up Carson’s throat. If she was a volcano, geologists would be plastering her with sensors.
At the end, she stands still for what seems like a long time, staring at the carpet. She throws a nasty look over her shoulder at Julie, who hasn’t said a word since Carson walked in. Then she turns so she can look at us both. “We’re done here. Pack.”
“Where are we going?” Julie’s scraped up some strength for her voice from somewhere.
“Not your problem. Pack.”
Julie sits up straight and squares her shoulders. “I should dye my hair. It’s still Gillian’s color.”
I nod. “She’s right, you know. It’s the single biggest change she can make.”
Carson rolls her eyes. “Why don’t you have that already?”
“Because I thought I could keep my new hair. We weren’t supposed to get caught.”
Carson stabs her finger toward Julie. “That happened ‘cause you didn’t do what you were told.”
Julie ought to shrivel up into a little pile of ash, the way Carson’s fuming at her. She doesn’t. She stares back very calmly. “I know, and I’ve already said I’m sorry. But someone needs to get some hair dye for me so I don’t look like Gillian anymore.”
After a few seconds, both women are looking at me. “Whoa, hold on. You know how weird it’ll look for a dude to go shopping for women’s haircolor? They’ll remember.”
In another few seconds, Julie and I are looking at Carson. She tries to hold out, but eventually rolls her eyes. “Whatever. What do you want?”
“John Frieda Precision Foam Color, Medium Chestnut Brown. It’ll cover Gillian’s highlights, and it’s almost my real color. Boots has it.” Julie hikes her eyebrows. “Do you want me to write it down?”
“No. Pack.”
Julie doesn’t move.
“Now.”
Once the door closes behind Julie, Carson sighs and massages her neck. I didn’t realize until now how tired she looks. “We’re splitting up. Can’t have her and the picture in the same place.”
My first thought is, are you nuts? But once my rational brain kicks in, I see her point. We make a big target all in one place. “How does that work?”
“You two take a train to France. I’ll—”
“Wait. Shouldn’t we split up three ways?”
Carson snorts. “Think Princess’ll make it past the city line on her own? Besides, you gotta keep her from turning herself in and ratting us out.”
“She wouldn’t do that.” I don’t think…
That gets me a rude noise. “Fuck yeah, she would, to stay out of jail. She’s your problem—deal with it. I’ll drive the picture to Dover, catch a ferry. You get stopped, I give the picture to Allyson. That a problem?”
I’m not liking the part about you get stopped. Somebody’s got to plan for that, though, and better her than me. “You think the cops are going to find us?”
“I’m betting on it.”