CHAPTER NINETEEN

 

Alone for the night in the Ingram building, Carla didn’t want to leave Will’s desk, didn’t want to relinquish her position in front of the computer for a minute. She knew the security guard downstairs was monitoring her dashes to the bathroom and that the staff handling the Remada op would be reconvening early. But, for now, the deserted office floor compounded her sense of isolation.

She kept herself busy, tracking Amberson and his business dealings, but she couldn’t pinpoint a tangible connection to Ingram or any of Will’s associates. She switched between US news channels, but there were no further details of the murders in Kissimmee or any mention of the family in Ellicott City.

Time dragged and then jumped indiscernibly and Carla knew she fell asleep for brief seconds because she thought she heard Libby’s voice in reception.

All the time she used her activity to keep what could be happening to her daughter from the threshold of her thoughts. She only succumbed when she registered the lights of the skyline being extinguished by the morning’s citrus glow.

She watched her own pale reflection in the smoked glass brighten as a cloud shifted and sunshine suddenly flooded the room. Usually when it happened, Carla liked to believe it was because something positive had occurred somewhere in the world. She fought the muscles that hardened around her lips. The light wasn’t warming, but bathed her with a cruel new reality. She’d been in the office for nearly twenty-four hours. What had happened to Libby in that time?

She recalled Libby’s most traumatic episode to date and how petrified she’d been when she’d run into the kitchen having been chased by Farmer Sloman’s wild pig. She’d told them the animal had escaped, but Carla was sure her daughter had been trespassing on his neighbouring land. She hadn’t voiced her scepticism though; thought that Libby had learnt her lesson.

She never ventured far from home on her own after that and it was an event Libby still couldn’t laugh about. Will had fallen out with Sloman over the incident, even though he’d paid him for the escaped pig. If only this could be so quickly remedied. She imagined Libby trembling as she had then, waiting for them to chase her terror away.

The sense of darkness moved in on her, the same darkness that had come at her from all sides when she’d lain on the bed in her auntie and uncle’s spare room with the realisation that her parents were gone. They’d turned out the lights and the night had become a solid maze with her at the centre. The room had felt and smelt so strange and she’d known that nothing would be familiar to her again.

It was Carla’s unique claustrophobia. She hated enclosed spaces, but this was a sensation that could crush her wherever uncertainty allowed it to. She stood shakily and paced, needing to hear Will’s voice again and desperate to call Anwar.

Anwar Imam was Ingram International’s cross-cultural management consultant and had been a family friend since before Libby was born. Will had given him the responsibility of briefing company executives and in turn establishing diplomatic foundations for their worldwide pipe ops. Anwar hadn’t allowed Will to coax him into the lucrative, full-time position he created for him and preferred to maintain his global consultancy a stone’s throw from Ingram HQ.

Today was Sunday. He’d think it unusual to receive a call from her on the weekend let alone so early in the morning. She couldn’t let him suspect anything was wrong. Picking his brain would be an invitation, however. Anwar always answered questions with twice as many of his own. Carla knew she’d have to tread carefully. She’d grown accustomed to handling him though and had been deft with his over-familiarity in the past.

She waited as long as she could, but failed to reach him at any of the three numbers she had. She left messages and hoped he hadn’t gone away.

Will nudged his cursor over the next house in the row as he had done every minute since he’d entered the hotel room. Still no red outline. The cut-out was of a white and powder blue wood-panelled home. Circular windows punctuated three gables and a triple garage at the front telegraphed the obvious wealth of its owners.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood up, his spine aching, the skewer of abdominal pain reinvigorated with the sudden movement. No new developments about the Amberson family. CNN were running the same footage and summary.

He walked to the bathroom and flicked the light switch. Sprawled around the furniture were the two sightless families, the gaping caverns of their faces unwavering.

The sound of buzzing flies vibrated in his head and he felt their tiny legs on the backs of his wrists again.

A naked and blue figure stood over the sink, shivering and panting. He knew before she turned that it was Libby, could see the lotus tattoo at the base of her spine and her hands taped to her face. She pivoted, breasts grubby and bruised, wrists pumping either side of her head to try and free herself. Behind him he felt a presence, somebody breathing there and waiting for him to look over his shoulder. But he couldn’t, he had to see Libby’s eyes even though they wouldn’t be there. Her palms came away.