London, present day
They sit in silence for a while, the motorway slowly giving way to a series of roundabouts and junctions as London appears on the horizon.
‘I wonder where the baby is,’ Madeleine says after a while.
‘It’s with her sister,’ Isobel replies, looking out the window. ‘She chose to separate while she is inside.’
Madeleine looks at Isobel sidelong. ‘I’m not going to even ask how you know that.’
Isobel shrugs, a small smile briefly on her lips, and then her forehead furrows again as she moves deeper into thought. ‘Did you mean that, about coming back to speak to her again? Do you really think you can get her out of prison?’
‘I don’t know about that. The next step from here is to refer Eva to the National Referral Mechanism as a potential victim of trafficking. It’s a different department at the NCA, but I’m entitled to assist her self-defence case, if she raises one. She still killed a man, regardless of the reason. But if we can prove she was traumatised and she didn’t mean to kill him, that she was defending herself against the person who had perpetually abused her, who had threatened to take her baby away unless she went back to sex-work, which is her official statement … And if she can help us find the men who trafficked her to the UK … I can’t say anything for sure, but I’m hopeful.’
Isobel says nothing and Madeleine watches her, the resolve coming off her in waves. Isobel’s eyes are fixed on the road but it is clear her mind is simultaneously working on something else.
‘Hey,’ Madeleine says. ‘You know when you found the article in that editor’s office?’
‘Mmm.’
‘You said you were there for a job interview.’
Isobel looks briefly back at her. ‘Yeah, I was.’
‘Did you get it?’
Isobel nods without any hint of celebration. ‘I don’t know if I’ll take it.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m not sure if it’s for me any more. Journalism, it’s … I don’t know. I guess I’m having some sort of early mid-life crisis.’
Madeleine whistles. ‘Pretty bloody early. What are you, fifteen?’
‘Not quite,’ Isobel laughs. ‘It’s been a weird time for me. A friend of mine died a year ago and I had a bit of a breakdown. I’m in Narcotics Anonymous at the moment. Coming off drugs and stopping drinking, all feels like I’m just starting to get my life together, and I guess I feel I’m at a crossroads.’ She makes a face. ‘I realise that sounds melodramatic, but … I don’t know. Journalism just feels so constrained – so tied up in agendas and advertising revenue, and bullshit and more bullshit. I just don’t know if it makes any difference. Any of it.’
Madeleine nods. ‘I know what you mean.’ She pauses, and then clears her throat. ‘If you were looking for a change, the NCA recruits from across a range of backgrounds. I mean, I can’t promise fewer constraints or agendas or less bullshit but … well, if you were looking for a change. We could do with proper investigators rather than more bloody pen-pushers.’
Isobel takes the turn off for Central London.
‘Don’t take me into town,’ Madeleine says. ‘I can make my own way back from yours.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Of course. You don’t want to get stuck in congestion—’
‘I mean about the job.’
Madeleine nods. ‘Abso-fucking-lutely. I happen to know there’s a recruitment drive. With no previous police experience you would likely go in as a basic investigator – a G5, as they’re known – after an initial training programme. You’d get a mentor. There would be a lot of acronyms to learn, lots of dull paperwork between the actual investigating, but the good news is there are plenty of numpties so you’re likely to soar once you’re in.’
She looks at Isobel. ‘Seriously, though, I couldn’t think of a better candidate – and that’s a bigger compliment than I’ve made it sound.’