As fragile as a dragonfly, a thought flittered in and flittered back out again. It was not the answer I’d sought or expected.
‘Sad, but is it relevant?’
‘I do not know.’ She took a deep swallow of brandy. ‘But I know she hates me.’
I changed position. For me, like most men I’d ever dealt with, relationships and families were minefields, alien territory, not the kind of stuff with which to engage. My own set-up was dysfunctional, and I had no real concept of what counted for normal. The mention of emotions gave me the creeps and made me want to run fast in the opposite direction. I guess it would be fair to say that I’m a fully paid up member of the ‘failure to commit’ club. All this aside, I couldn’t see how Simone’s difficulty with her mother had any bearing on mayhem and murder. Unless …
‘Your mother’s name is Justine, isn’t it?’
She tipped her head to one side, as if bewildered and impressed and confused. ‘Yes.’
‘Justine Franke?’
‘Justine Smart. But she is married now so who knows?’
I drained my cup. Things were getting properly messy. ‘Tell me what happened from the beginning, when you were a kid.’
‘My mother gave me away when I was a baby. There were no papers. It was not a legal adoption.’
‘How old was Justine?’
‘Fifteen. My grandparents organised it, or so she said.’
‘And you were given to a French couple, right?’
She nodded.
‘Why did they do that?’
She gave a weak smile. ‘You’d have to ask her.’
I hiked one shoulder. Maybe I would. ‘Go on.’
‘The Fabrons were already quite old when they took me on. They brought me up as their own.’
‘They loved you?’
‘Of course.’ She put her glass down and reached for the coffee pot, topped up my cup and poured out some for herself. ‘When they died I was still a young woman and, without a family, I decided to look for my blood mother. It took me several years. Life was hard. My adoptive parents were not rich and I was on my own.’
‘You had to fend for yourself?’
Her bottom lip trembled. ‘Yes.’
‘And, eventually, you traced Justine?’
Simone nodded.
‘And she agreed to meet?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘In London.’
‘It’s a big place.’
‘A café in Richmond,’ she said. ‘It did not go well.’
‘I imagine it must have been hard for her. Not that unusual, I guess.’
She leant forward, fixed me with her dark brown eyes. ‘Threatening to kill your firstborn is not unusual?’
I maintained my stare, didn’t so much as flicker. I’d met Justine once by accident. This did not square with my impression of her. But what did I know? ‘What did she say, exactly?’
‘She said I was a mistake from the past, that she had three daughters and a good life and wanted to forget I ever existed.’
‘Hard, but it happens,’ I said.
‘She told me that she was married to the most powerful criminal in Britain and that he had connections. She threatened me.’ Tears sprang to Simone’s eyes. Her hand shook a little. She cleared her throat. ‘She said that if I came anywhere near her or her family, made any contact, she only had to give the word and I’d be killed.’
‘Did you know who she was married to?’
‘I found out.’
‘But you said that you’d never heard of him.’
‘Non,’ she said, fire in her eyes, ‘You asked me if I knew a guy by name and I told you I did not.’
The distinction was so fine I thought it a smokescreen. ‘Did you ever meet her husband?’
‘Aren’t you listening to me?’
‘I am, but there are too many gaps.’
‘I never met him,’ she said emphatically.
‘Then how is it that Franke Holdings is inextricably linked to Simon Faber, and Simon Faber owns the old family home? Your home, your company,’ I reiterated, in case she didn’t get it the first time.
‘How many more times? It is not my company. Your information is false, or faked.’
I sat back, thought about it. I’d no reason to doubt Jat’s technical proficiency, but I supposed it was possible that we’d fallen prey to misinformation. I took out my phone. The way Simone flinched you’d think I’d pulled a gun.
‘It’s okay. I’m not turning you in. I need to check something out.’ I contacted Jat and outlined my thinking.
‘You mean the information is bogus, is that what you’re saying?’ he said.
‘Is it possible?’
‘Well, yeah, I guess.’ He sounded doubtful.
‘Could China have been coerced to enter it and leave a false trail?’
‘He could, but there’s a simpler solution.’
Inspiration struck. ‘Someone hijacked the email address and sent phoney information?’
‘Backdoor technology,’ Jat said. ‘It’s a means to access information on a computer and bypass the normal security systems. Once in, you can take control.’
‘So, for example, an email may look as if it’s come from someone, but it hasn’t.’
‘That’s the gist of it.’
‘And those emails would go to the recipient, in this case Simone Fabron?’
‘Yes. They either went direct to her or they could have gone straight into her spam folder, in which case she wouldn’t necessarily receive them.’
‘Okay. And the company?’
‘Nothing fake about it.’
‘I take your point, but is the name the only thing that ties it to Fabron?’
‘That’s all I have right now.’
‘Can you see if there’s a connection between Faber and Justine Smart or Justine Franke? Better still, is Justine Franke part of the umbrella organisation, Franke Holdings?’
‘Jesus, Hex, I’m not MI5.’
‘You’re right, scrap it.’ I signed off, looked directly at Simone and brightened. ‘Looks like I’ve been cherchez-ing the wrong femme.’