In overdrive, I called McCallen. Never around when I needed her most, her phone went to the answering service. My eyes on Simone, I left a message to the effect that Justine Franke needed to be paid serious attention and an urgent visit in Spain.
A group of walkers came into the bar followed by a woman and a man dressed in business garb. Both wore wedding rings, only the furtive way in which they touched and talked made me think that they were not married to each other. I fleetingly wondered if they had kids. Made me think of Indie. I turned back to Simone.
‘Poor Indie,’ I said. ‘All her illusions will be shattered.’
‘Who?’
‘Your half-sister. She has no idea that your mother is quite so ruthless.’
‘You’re well informed.’
I met her eye. ‘Yes. Maybe you girls should get together. You can fill in the gaps for each other.’
Simone flicked a tight smile and cast around. ‘I need to freshen up.’
I directed her towards the ladies, caught her hand as she made to go. ‘I’m sorry for doubting you.’
She shrugged as if it were of no consequence.
‘You never said where you went after you left Dan’s,’ I said.
‘To the park.’
‘And returned later?’
‘Only to collect my car. Can I go now?’ she said, brittle.
I let her hand drop. ‘Sure.’
I checked my phone for calls – there were none – and warmed myself by the fire, my gaze directed to the window and clear view of the car park. I thought about Justine, the devoted wife and mother, the woman who apparently knew everything there was to know about Billy’s nefarious activities, always had. Together they had built a life on lies. I tried out the scenario for size. It went something like this:
In those weeks on the run, Billy had channelled as much of his capital out of the UK as possible, the company already set up as a method to prevent the Financial Intelligence Unit from getting their claws into his assets. With me on his tail, he’d known that his survival was at risk and all through that torrid time Justine had become increasingly unhappy, worried and vengeful. When it came to it, she had his contacts in her pocket, his know-how and years of experience. How easy to send out a false trail and frame the daughter she never wanted. With that kind of cunning and several major competitors dead, Mrs Franke could be back in business within the year.
‘Excuse me.’
I looked into the eyes of the female half of the business couple. She held out a woman’s red leather glove to me. ‘I think your friend dropped this.’
I took it. ‘Kind of you to pick it up, thanks.’
‘No problem.’
I moved to put it on the table and stopped. A dark stain clung to the fingers. It didn’t look like blood. I lifted the leather to my nose, caught the fragrance of expensive French perfume overlaying the unmistakable smoky tang of something else, and pocketed it. Simone emerged a few moments later.
‘I need to eat. I’m famished.’
‘Suits me.’
We ordered sandwiches and more coffee. Conversation was stilted and unfocused, the magic we once shared gone. Afterwards, I paid and came up with a great idea.
‘How would you like to the see the house you apparently own?’
Simone tipped back her head and laughed. ‘I want nothing to do with it.’
‘Aren’t you a little bit curious? Come on, it might be fun.’
Her face clouded. ‘It might be dangerous. What if my mother is there?’
‘Why would she be? She’s in Spain.’
‘You have spoken to her?’ Did I imagine a catch in her voice?
I shook my head. ‘I heard a rumour. Look,’ I said, taking her hand. ‘You’ll be with me. You’ll be perfectly safe. We can nail this thing together, once and for all. What do you say?’
She thought for a moment, then spoke loud and firm. ‘I say yes.’