Hope to Die полностью

He’s already leaving, but I call him back. ‘And that All-Ports Warning – add Sullivan’s name to it.’ He gives me a questioning look. ‘I think she may have given Rowan more than just a car. I think she may have given her a new identity.’

* * *

She used to love driving. Funny how easily it comes back, even after all these years. It’s cold outside, but she winds the window down anyway, just to get the wind in her face. That’s something she hasn’t had for a while. She glances in the rear mirror but the road behind is clear, at least as far as she can see; no one following. She pushes a hand through her hair – Sullivan actually did a reasonable job, given all she had was kitchen scissors. She might even keep it short. But blonde, obviously. There’s no rush though, there’ll be plenty of time to decide on stuff like that. She checks the phone again but there’s nothing since the last message. All this new techy stuff is going to take a bit of getting used to, but Sullivan showed her how to use WhatsApp (‘only use that, nothing else – it’s encrypted’), and set her up with an email address. In fact, she’s done everything she said she would – tankful of gas, bag of food on the back seat, suitcase of clothes in the boot. Everything she needs for now. Certainly enough to get her where she’s going, even if she is being forced to go on fuck-boring routes to stay under the radar. Whatever. She’ll still get there with time to spare, and after that there’ll be no way the plod can track her down, even if they do catch on. And as she’s taken care to ensure, exactly the same applies to Sullivan. She’s been great and all that, and she couldn’t have done this without her, but there’s no way she wants her trailing around after her like a wet weekend; she wasn’t that good a shag. In any case, this needs to be a clean break – the chance to ditch Camilla Rowan for good and be someone else. Lose a few pounds, buy a new passport, get a life. And no risk of the past catching up with her. Not again, not ever.

She’d thought to start with that he was just another chancer, pretending to be her long-lost kid – she’s had more than her fair share of that shit over the years. And let’s face it, what were the odds on that baby ending up in bloody New York, for fuck’s sake? She’d chucked the letter, guessing – wrongly, as it turned out – that he’d just give up. Only he didn’t. He was stubborn, he wouldn’t let it go. Yeah, well, she knows now where he got that from. But even in that last letter, with its barely veiled threat, there was nothing that proved he was legit. So why not offload him on her fucking parents? Let them sort it out. After the way they’ve treated her, they deserve all they get. At least, that’s what she told herself. And if things wound up getting a little heated, well, that was hardly her fault, was it? She never harmed that kid in the first place, and she hadn’t harmed him now.

And now she’s free and clear and not looking back. Sullivan said that with fifteen years done they’d have struggled to send her back anyway. Maybe she’s right. Maybe she’s not. But why the fuck take the risk.

She reaches for the radio and flicks it on. It’s one of those 1980s nostalgia stations. She turns it up and sings along happily to the last few verses of ‘Sisters are Doin’ It for Themselves’, until the next song cues up and she’s suddenly laughing out loud and turning it up as loud as it will go.

There’s a loving in your eyes all the way

If I listened to your lies would you say …

* * *

Adam Fawley

29 October

14.15

‘What’s Sullivan saying?’

There’s a crackling on the other end of the line.

‘Not a lot, surprise, surprise.’

Surrey have clearly escalated this one: the person I’m talking to now is another DI.

‘She can’t produce the passport but claims it must have been mislaid in her house move.’

‘Did she report it as lost?’

‘No,’ he says, ‘but since she still hasn’t unpacked half her boxes it’ll be hard to pin her with that one. And before you ask, I have two uniforms going through those boxes right now, as well as a CSI team on-site. Whose task is being made a sight harder by an irritable old lady badgering them every five minutes about her washing.’

‘So they haven’t found anything?’

‘Nope – at least nothing that ties Sullivan to Rowan. If they’re communicating by text it’s not on her main phone. And if there’s another one we haven’t found yet, we do at least know she isn’t using it where she is right now, i.e. in Elmbridge nick.’

‘Are you checking Sullivan’s finances? If Rowan’s trying to get out of the country –’

‘We’re on it,’ he says, slightly tetchy now. I suppose I can’t blame him. ‘Look, we may not be the Met but we have done this sort of thing before. And rest assured, if we find something, you’ll be the first to know.’

* * *

Importance: High

Sent: Mon 29/10/2018, 16.13

From: NickyBrown@CPS.gov.uk

To: DIAdamFawley@ThamesValley.police.uk

Subject: Camilla Rowan – CONFIDENTIAL