The morning was dry, but grey clouds still banished the sunshine as Ed and Billie met downstairs for breakfast.
‘There’s economy class and there’s budget,’ Ed observed, pushing his coffee to one side. ‘Then there’s something else… even the orange juice tastes like someone else passed it first. Shall we just skip the preliminaries?’
‘Sorry, Ed. Poor choice, I know. At least it’s got its own car park, and we’re within walking distance of Emma’s place. Should be right across the road.’
‘Hmph,’ his friend grunted. ‘The benefits and perils of Google Earth. Pity they didn’t tell you no one ever stays in this place more than one night. Come on. Let’s see if we can play detective this morning, and if we need another night in Manchester just leave it to me to make the booking.’
They threw their belongings into their bags and took them out to the car, unaware of the interest in their movements from a window three flights above. Then they walked out past the car park barrier and turned right along the street leading to Emma’s apartment block.
‘You sure it’s one of these?’
Billie nodded. ‘I’m sure. Egbert House. That’s it, right in front of us. But I can see a problem straightaway. Security gate and no intercom. Look.’
They were standing opposite a brick and concrete apartment block comprising four floors built over a ground-floor car park and utility area. Its identical twin (Cuthbert House) shared the site behind a six-foot-high metal fence. The gate Billie referred to sat at the base of the first block, a push-button keypad presenting an immediate barrier to their investigation. Ed looked for an alternative solution. It didn’t take long.
‘How about that?’
A hundred metres to their right the roadway turned a bend into a private car park, linking with those underneath the two apartment blocks. They approached the entrance and found the electronic sliding gate was jammed open with a tree branch thrust between the upright bars.
‘Bad news for someone. Good news for us.’
They continued into the car park, following the road past a scattering of vehicles in various states of repair. An elderly Vauxhall had at least a dozen parking fine notices plastered across its windscreen. One more hurdle remained to negotiate: an entrance door to the apartments themselves, but with a keypad and intercom barring them from the lobby and stairs.
‘Okay,’ said Billie. ‘I guess it’s my shout now.’
He looked at Ed and drew a deep breath before pressing two buttons: a green ‘3’ and a yellow one with a bell-shaped image. Several seconds passed.
‘Hey there! What you selling?’ The voice was female, but the accent more Beatles than Morrissey.
‘Emma?’
‘Close but no… this is Emily. Who’s asking?’
‘Emily? Er… I’m sorry. It’s Billie. Er… my name’s Billie. Look, I’m a little confused.’
‘Don’t be! If you’re looking for Emma, you’re in the right place. It’s just you got her sister instead. Come on up.’ A buzzer replaced the sound of the Mersey.
‘Her sister?’ Billie’s eyes met Ed’s as the door clicked open. ‘This is getting weird.’
‘Like it wasn’t before? Come on, let’s try and get some answers.’
The two men entered a small lobby containing little more than mailboxes and dust, passed another fire door and climbed two short flights of stairs to reach apartment number three. A girl stood in the doorway to greet them. Dressed in tight grey leggings and a baggy cream top, she wore her brown hair long, but with bleached blonde tips. The height and build were similar, but one look at the narrower face told Billie this was not the girl he sought.
‘Oh, there’s two of you. I hope you’re friendly and you brought some milk? No? Okay, in that case I’m not putting the kettle on.’ She pushed the heavy apartment door wider and led the way through a hallway into an open-plan kitchen and living area. The place was immaculate.
‘You do look a bit like Emma.’
‘So what’s new? She’s my sister. My twin, although obviously not identical.’
Billie felt a shudder of disappointment pass through his body. The resemblance was superficial, with thinner lips and a slight gap between two of her top teeth. The nose too was a little misshaped, and the jaw line squarer, but still attractive to the eye. The girl acknowledged his appraisal with one of her own, leaning back against the kitchen island and folding her arms defensively across her chest.
‘You the new boyfriend? She not mention me?’
‘Er… no! No, I’m not… But she... she… Ed, help!’
‘Sorry about my friend. I’m Ed Fersen and this is Billie Vane. You say your name is Emily? We were looking for Emma Dearing.’
‘Me too. Got in late last night but there’s no sign of her, as you can see.’ She hesitated, dropping her gaze to the floor while the two men scanned the room in helpless confusion. Their prize had not hidden herself behind the soft furnishings. Billie switched his attention back to the girl in time to see a frown vanish from her face. She replaced it with a question. ‘D’you mind me asking what your connection is? Does Emma owe you money or something?’
‘No,’ Ed responded. ‘She’s… well, if you’re her sister you’ll know about her writing?’
‘Oh, yes. The porno stuff, “Sex lives of the Rich and Famous”. You’re not into all that, are you? Hey, are you famous? Or rich?’
Billie exchanged a look with Ed. ‘Not that sort of thing… and no, neither of us. We’re talking about the Titanic?’
‘Oops! Oh yes, the serious stuff she got from her mum. Our mum. This one?’ She steered past him and pulled a copy of The Tragic Sister off a bookshelf.
‘That’s it. Yes, we’re helping with research for the next book. Only Emma… sort of, lost touch? She’s not answering her phone, emails—or anything.’
‘Yeah… that’s about it. That’s why I came over.’
‘From Liverpool?’
‘What gave me away? Look, have you and him got some ID to prove who you are? You could be anyone.’
‘Er… I’ve got a credit card and… this is my pass for the library, where I work.’
Ed pulled out his wallet. ‘My driver’s license.’
‘Okay. So, you’re a librarian. And you? A New York cop? You look like one!’
‘That’s right,’ said Ed. ‘How’d you guess? Look, Emily, it’d be good if we could see some ID too?’
‘Suspicious bugger, aren’t you? Okay, but you’ll have to come down with me to the car. You only just caught me. Is there anything you wanted to check out in here?’ She grabbed a small bunch of keys off the kitchen worktop and led the way back to the door. ‘Looks to me like your bird has flown. No laptop. No phone or knickers, so no change there.’
‘Sorry?’
‘No change. It’s like a joke. Hey! Don’t tell her I said that! Come on if you’re coming.’
Billie made a determined effort not to react, aware his companion was also avoiding eye contact. Passing their hostess in the doorway they made their way down the stairs, but then she stopped them as Ed reached to open the lobby door.
‘Hang on. Might as well check for post.’ She glanced at an envelope left propped on top before sliding a small key into mailbox number three.
Billie had spotted something. ‘Hey, that’s my name! 30 James Street? Ed—look!’ He snatched the envelope and passed it to Ed. It had been franked about a month earlier and re-sealed with sticky tape, then an old address had been covered over with a gummed label. Written in block capitals: MR W VANE, 30 JAMES STREET, LIVERPOOL.
‘Well, well… she’s full of surprises, that one. Looks like she was expecting you after all.’
Neither of the men noticed the expression on Emily’s face. They were preoccupied with the envelope in Ed’s hands. He passed it back to Billie.
‘Open it.’
Billie’s fingers tore at the edge and withdrew a single sheet of paper, folded in half. Emily barely glanced at the circulars and bills she had retrieved from the mailbox. Aware of the men’s excitement she peered past Billie’s shoulder at the wording on the page: 401Dox@PROV427
‘Cryptic?’ She was the first one to speak.
‘What the hell does that mean?’ Billie asked nobody in particular.
Ed shook his head. ‘Not what I expected.’
‘What were you expecting?’
‘Excuse me,’ said Emily. ‘While you figure it out, I’ll just get my bag. Back in a minute.’ She slipped out of the lobby while Ed and Billie took it in turns to examine both paper and envelope in the vain hope they’d missed something.
‘Best I can offer is a private email address, but without a dot com?’
Billie’s frown deepened. ‘Grant you, the @ symbol would indicate that. But why not give the full address? If she wants me to contact her in a safe way, then why not just leave a contact number? I don’t get it.’
‘I’m with you, kid. Too weird for me. Anyhow, leastways she left you something, so it proves my theory in part.’
‘What?’
‘That email to your boss was purely to force you into getting the time off. It could have been Emma herself who drafted it, even if her agent actually sent it. If she’d been serious about lodging an assault charge, she’d have used a lawyer. No question. She was expecting you to come to Manchester. I’d even say she was banking on it. Listen, remember what I said yesterday? Emma’s running scared but she needs you to do something to help her. If all this stuff about secret agents and politics is for real then she could be in deep shit. She’s trying to tell you something with this, and she went to great lengths to hide it in plain sight. 30 James Street? The Titanic Hotel in Liverpool? That’s brilliant! Who else passing through this lobby is going to make that connection? Even her own sister didn’t notice.’
Billie stared at Ed as both men recognised what was now missing. ‘Emily. Did she say she was just going to her car? Come on!’
They turned right out of the door and entered the car park, relieved to spot a familiar and distinctive feminine hairstyle only yards away. She had her back to them and appeared to be speaking to someone in a dark blue Mercedes SUV. Positioned halfway along under the apartment block, Billie’s view of the driver was obscured by the girl. He saw her head turn, and then low-profile tyres were screeching in protest as the driver floored the accelerator. The girl stayed where she was. It was Ed who reacted first, running to his right as fast as he could towards the open gate.
Billie glanced at the girl, then chased after his friend. Ed was a head taller and several pounds heavier, but unlike his English partner he had history on the wing of a football pitch. He was already fifty yards in front. By contrast the Mercedes had the longest route to take and no opportunity for a shortcut.
Ed sprinted harder in a last effort to reach the entrance to the car park. He heard the Mercedes accelerate after rounding the building, and knew there was no chance of closing the gate in time. With heart and head pounding, he reacted by instinct. As he ran into the roadway by the entrance, his feet and legs did what they could to break his momentum. Ed tried to turn on the spot and stretch out his arms as a barrier to the vehicle’s path. It was a forlorn hope. Even Ed’s large frame did little to block the roadway as it curved behind him towards the gate. His vision reported the danger to his brain but the warning went unheeded. The car braked just enough to take the bend.
Then came the impact.
‘Nooo-o-o!’
Billie cried out as he saw his friend fall to the ground, and the Mercedes sped away towards the Quays.