forty-six

Ruth charged up the stairs with Vaslik and Gina close on her heels. This had gone far enough; she’d had it with all the twists and turns and—what was it some politician had once said about being economic with the truth? How about plain bloody lies and evasions? As far as she could tell, that was all Nancy had done so far. She had no solid proof yet, but somehow the shocked mother act was looking just a little shy of the genuine article.

Now this.

She twisted the handle and pushed at Nancy’s door. It didn’t give. Damn, she hadn’t given a thought to a lock before; there had been no need.

“Slik.” She stood aside. There was no time for niceties; this needed a fast entry.

Vaslik pushed the door with his hand to test it, then threw his shoulder against the centre of the panel close to the lock. It burst open with a shriek of wood, and a long splinter came away from the jamb, carrying the metal strike plate with it.

There was a sharp cry of alarm inside the room and Ruth saw Nancy on her bed. She was dressed in a T-shirt top, her legs bare. A dressing gown lay across her feet.

She was thrusting her hand beneath the pillow.

“What are you doing?” she protested. “You have no right!”

“Tough,” said Ruth. “Give me the phone.” She held out her hand, although she guessed it was too late. “Now.”

But Nancy shook her head like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, denying all responsibility.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, unnaturally calm and leaning back against the pillow. “I don’t have a phone—you kept mine downstairs, remember?” Her eyes were wide and she was almost smiling, as if innocent denial would be enough. She eyed Vaslik, standing by the door, watching silently. “Has he come to watch the fun or are you two dykes going to gang up on me?” She gave Vaslik a coy look and deliberately parted her legs, the cotton T-shirt shifting up her thighs. “What do you think, Andy? The charity widow needs a bit of action, is that it?”

“Stop that!” Gina stepped forward, eyes blazing with anger. “What the hell are you doing?” She grabbed the end of the pillow and ripped it from under Nancy and hurled it across the room, then dragged the dressing gown over her bare legs.

As she did do, a slim, black cell phone slid off the bed and bounced to the floor.

Ruth picked it up. She checked the log, listing calls missed, received and dialled. Empty. She checked the messages log. The same.

Nancy had beaten them to it.

When she looked up, Nancy was staring at her defiantly. She looked angry, but there was something else lurking in her eyes, too.

Was it an expression of triumph? Christ, how could she?

“Who are you in contact with, Nancy? Is it Michael?” Ruth tossed the phone to Vaslik, who caught it and dropped it into his pocket. “Never mind, we’ll have our techs look at it and they’ll know exactly who you’ve been talking to. Trust me.”

Nancy remained silent. She tucked the dressing gown around her in a belated show of modesty and stared at the floor.

Ruth sat on the bed. “Nancy, I don’t know what you’re doing—or what you think you’re doing. But this isn’t going to help us find Beth. You do want her back, don’t you?”

“Of course.” The answer was a whisper. If she had any fight or resistance left, she had pushed it down deep inside where they couldn’t get at it.

“So what’s the thing with the secret messaging? Did Michael arrange for the phone? How did he get it inside? Was it hidden here in your room?”

Nancy’s head jerked up in surprise.

Ruth continued, “What—you think we couldn’t tell when you began communicating with him? You really think we haven’t had this place locked down ever since we arrived?” She pointed towards the window, hoping the fabrication didn’t show in her voice. “There’s a unit out there can tell when you call or send a text message … and when you receive one. It also has the capability of back-tracking on Michael’s texts and pinning down his location each time. Sooner or later, we’ll know where he is to within a few metres. Is that how you want this to end? Because we’re not the only ones who can do this, you know. There are others—and they’re not so forgiving.”

A double blink of the eyes. Nancy whispered, “I don’t believe you.”

“Tell her, Slik.” She reckoned it would sound scarier coming from Vaslik, and hoped he would pick up the baton and run with it. They had to do something to shake her composure otherwise this could go on forever.

“Cell phones use microwaves,” he said easily. “When you talk, your voice is encoded into signals which are transmitted to the nearest tower, which bounces them on to the destination device in what’s called a pathway or control channel. The nearest tower then tells the device to ring and that’s how you get contact. When you send or receive a text message, it’s pretty much the same; the signal goes over the pathway in a small packet of data. Darned thing is, Nancy, people think text messaging is easier to hide because it’s smaller and faster … the signal doesn’t last long enough for anybody to fasten on to it.” He smiled coolly. “Fact is, your cell phone is constantly active, exchanging data with the nearest tower, or if you’re moving, checking to find the next tower and so on. Cell phones are like little lost dogs—they hate being out of contact. Didn’t Michael tell you that?”

She said nothing, eyes dulled by the shock of what she was hearing.

Vaslik gave a snort of disgust and said, “Over to you two. I’m done here.” He turned and left the room and went downstairs, his footsteps soft on the carpet.

“Where is he, Nancy?” Ruth asked softly. Hard soft, hard soft; it was a common enough technique to wear away at a person withholding information. Hit them with something that would frighten them, then soften them up to coax them into talking. It was a variation on the good cop, bad cop approach. But like many such techniques, it wasn’t guaranteed to work every time.

And bad cop had just walked out.