“Zoom in please,” I ask. “Before she puts the sunglasses on.”
Isaac zooms in on the still photo.
“Good god,” I whisper as I take in Olivia with blond hair, wearing Lily’s jumper. “It was Olivia.”
“I believe so, yes. I ran a search, and the car was towed this morning for parking violations.”
Leaning back into the sofa, I run my fingers through my hair as I try to grasp what I just saw. I’m simply stunned. It never entered my mind that O’s disappearance could be linked to Lily’s, but now it seems so obvious. James and Eleanor thought she would do something rash. At a minimum, I’d call transforming herself into Lily’s clone rash.
Little pieces click together that I hadn’t thought of before. The fingers I found in a puddle of blood were perfectly painted. Lily always picked at her polish; her nails never stayed pristine for long. And the shell casings they found… O has a .22. Christ, I’m the one who taught her to shoot the blasted thing. Why would she…
Oh. Dear God. A wave of profound sadness hits me as I realize what O’s intentions must have been that morning. That day was slated for tragedy regardless of who delved it out. James and Eleanor told me over and over that O was slipping away, but I never expected this. She was manic and neurotic, but nothing like Daphney, so I wasn’t really worried. O loves herself far too much to harm herself; the thought never crossed my mind that she could harm anyone else. I never thought she would take her silly obsession over the two of us this far. It’s positively mad.
“As soon as I pieced this together, I sent it over to Leo,” Isaac says, snapping me out of my lurid thoughts. He holds up his mobile. “He just emailed back, letting me know they concur and will ask the medical examiner to run tests to confirm identification. They’re going to contact O’s family this morning.” His mobile dings three more times. “Crikey, this bloke must never sleep.”
“Can you let him know her parents are on holiday? They’ll be difficult to reach, I imagine. I’ll try as well. They may return a call from me.” I glance at my watch. It must be almost four in the morning in Helsinki. James’s getting up, going about his morning. He has no idea that his heart is about to be destroyed. I turn to Isaac. “Thank you for coming to me with this. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go ruin my best friend’s life.”
“Of course, sir,” he says as he stands to leave. “And I’m terribly sorry, sir.”
Once he closes the door behind him, I pull out my mobile and dial. As it rings, I want to hang up. Surely he doesn’t want to be woken like this. Can’t I give him a few more hours before I crush him? As much as I want to dodge this responsibility, I know if it were me, I’d want to know right away. Even if that meant waking me from a dead sleep. James has been my best friend since I was six. I owe this to him.
“What are you doing up?” he answers, far too chipper.
“I just took a meeting. You?”
James has a work schedule similar to mine. When you have clients all over the globe, it’s not uncommon to be up and working at all hours.
“Japanese clients. I swear they plot these conference calls simply to fuck with me. I’ve never had one at a normal time. God forbid we schedule for four o’clock in the afternoon their time so that I can actually get some sleep. I always pay them back when they come to London though. I phone in false wake-up calls to their hotel room for two in the morning.”
He chuckles, and it guts me. It’ll be a long time before he laughs again.
“They’re nice chaps, but perhaps we’re getting too old for these pranks.” His tone softens. “Enough about me. How are you? How’s the investigation going?” He sighs as though it’s just kicked in what I’ve been dealing with.
I drop my head back and close my eyes. How am I going to tell him this? “That’s actually why I’m calling. There’s been a development.” I take a deep breath. “It wasn’t Lily’s body in my flat. She’s still missing, and there’s a chance she may be dead, but it wasn’t her I found.”
“Oh, man. I suppose if there’s a chance she’s still alive, that’s at least a little hope. That’s good, right?”
“It’s not that simple.” I could slowly build up to this, but I think it’s best to just get it out. “They believe the woman found in my flat is Olivia. They’ve uncovered some security footage of her getting out of her car in front of my building then using her key to get in right at the time of the murder.”
“O? My Olivia?... no,” he says, his voice shaking. “That doesn’t make sense. It can’t…” He doesn’t finish that thought because he knows it’s possible. He rung me just yesterday about her.
Running my fingers through my hair, I pace the room. “She’d dyed her hair blond and picked up Lily’s clothes from the dry cleaners. James, she had her gun.”
“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs. “I… I… in the state she was in, I can’t say her behavior surprises me but… fuck… I just can’t believe she’s gone!”
The pain in his voice is devastating. I wish he weren’t in a bloody hotel, thousands of kilometers away from home. Maybe I should have waited to tell him until he came home.
He says, “I should have stayed home! I shouldn’t have left on this bloody trip. I should have been with her! If I had just stayed home, I would have stopped her.”
But if he had stopped her, would it have been Lily on that wall? The thought chills me to the bone. I throw another log on the fire. I know it won’t do anything to warm the icy feeling of dread, but I need to do something, even if it only perpetuates a the illusion that I have any control.
“You never could have seen this coming. No matter what state she was in, you couldn’t have predicted this,” I reply. “This isn’t your fault.”
“I knew something was wrong, that she was about to do something stupid and horrible, and I abandoned her. For work? For some stupid project? What kind of bastard does that?”
“James, do you hear me? This is not your fault.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “It doesn’t really matter whose fault it is. She’s dead. No one can bring her back.” I hear muffled movement. Perhaps he’s changing, or maybe throwing his clothes in a bag. “I have to go. I just… I just don’t know what to say right now. I’ll ring you when I’m home.”
“Be safe. I’m here if you need me. For anything,” I reply, but he’s already gone.
I sit and stare at the wall for a while after he clicks off. Never in my life have I felt so feeble. I’ve just crushed my best friend, and I’m completely powerless to help him. He’s going to need time to come to grips with Olivia’s death, if that’s even possible. Sure, I could hover and interject myself into his grieving process, but that won’t help him. Like a selfish wanker, it would only make me feel better because I was doing something. But I know James well enough to know he would prefer to be alone, to have privacy as anguish eats him from the inside out. I wish there were a way for us to be more supportive of each other, but grief is such a solitary journey. The way I can help him is by giving him space.
My mobile dings with an update from Max. Rather than reading it, I ring him.
“Did you find her?” he says upon answering.
“No, but I have new information.” I quickly tell him what Isaac pieced together. Between my conversation with James and retelling it for Max, my sleep-deprived brain throbs. A glass of scotch would ease my screaming nerves, but I need my wits about me if I’m going to help find Lily. Tea is the wiser option, so I pad to the kitchen.
“Fuck,” he says with a sigh. “Never saw that one coming.”
“Neither did I. I knew she was missing and off the rails, but the thought of her being in my flat never crossed my mind. It should have, but she was just the furthest thing from my mind.”
He sighs. “Have you called Em?”
“No. Do you want me to try her?” I put the kettle on then sit at the center island.
“Yeah. We’re not on the best of terms at the moment. As pissed as I am at her, she still
deserves to know. You can call her?”
“Of course.” I look at my watch. “I’ll wait till morning though.”
“That’s fine. In other news, the kidnapping case for Arrow Lambert was closed.”
I search my brain trying to recall whom he’s talking about, but it doesn’t ring a bell. Which is odd—I remember everything. “Who?”
“The kid Ash had with the hooker,” he replies.
“I never knew his name.” The kettle whistles, so I get up and pour a bit of water into the tea pot, replace the lid, and return the kettle to the burner. “Did they finally find him?”
“Not even close. Someone showed up with documentation that he’s living with relatives in Idaho. Department of Children’s Services signed off on it. Sully didn’t buy it, so he called a buddy in the Idaho field office. No records of the relatives. The agent talked to the family at the listed address—it’s an elderly couple that’s never heard of them. Sully brought it to the brass, and they shut him down.”
“Smells dirty,” I reply as I scoop the tea into the pot.
“Like a stripper after a long night in the VIP room, but we’re up against a wall. I just wish I knew how these fuckers have penetrated the system.”
“Figure out who it is. If it’s money, I’ll pay double. Triple. Whatever it takes.” I fill the rest of the pot with water.
“I think it’s got to be more than money. I just wish I knew what. But something tells me I’ll never figure it out. If people are sacrificing their integrity, the cartel must really have them by the balls. Secrets like that don’t come out until after everyone’s dead. Even then, there’s no guarantee.” He growls. “The whole mess is fucking frustrating. I’m not sure how much more I can do from here. I’d hoped this whole ordeal would have opened some eyes, but it’s the same damn roadblocks.”
“You can always come back to London,” I say as I pour my tea.
“I might.” He clears his throat. “Look, man, I’m going to get back to it. I’m going through old boxes of evidence, hoping there’s something in here that we missed.”
“Good luck,” I say before hanging up.
I share Max’s frustration. It feels as though we’re stuck in a holding pattern that I can’t figure out how to break free of. Too agitated for tea, I race up the stairs and root through my drawers until I find a pair of workout clothes and trainers, then I hit the home gym. If I don’t find a way to release this festering anger and thirst for violence, I won’t do Lily any good. This pervasive fury, the kind that consumes every thought and blocks rationality will get us all killed. The cartel is ten steps ahead of me, and I need to keep a level head if I want any chance of catching up. I crank up the treadmill speed and incline as high as they’ll go and run until my knees feel as if they’ll give out. Then I work the heavy bag until I can’t lift my arms. Once I’ve pulverized my body to the brink of exhaustion, I drag myself to the shower.
A mountain of work awaits me in the study after I’ve showered and changed. My obligation to the employees of Edwards has always been a responsibility I take seriously, but today, it means nothing to me. As I look through these documents about upcoming deals, research on new products, product testing results, I’m apathetic. Lily is the only thing in my life that matters.
Roger knocks on the door and pokes in his head. “Nigel’s got something.”
Dropping the folder I was reading, I follow Roger to the theatre room. Nigel’s face is on the projection screen.
“We’re here, Nige,” Roger says.
“I got a personal call from Adnan Brahmani first thing this morning,” Nigel starts.
“Well, that doesn’t happen every day, does it?” Roger retorts.
Adnan Brahmani controls ninety percent of the heroin in the UK, so if something’s happening in his city, like a cartel hit, he’ll probably know about it. If he wasn’t shown the respect he feels entitled to, there will be hell to pay.
“He said a Spanish-speaking chap has been nosing around his club for the last few days, talking about cheap heroin he can bring in from Mexico,” Nigel continues. “The bloke showed up last night looking for an off-the-books physician. Brahmani said his guys wouldn’t give him any help, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the guy got a tip from someone.”
“If this is our guy, he’d only go looking for a doctor if he was desperate. If there’s any way they could stick a bandage on it and hope for the best, they would. So either his partner is dying or…”
“If Lily’s wounded, that could explain why Gavin hasn’t gotten a ransom call yet,” Nigel replies.
“Nah,” Isla says, entering the room. “They’d bluff and say she was fine. I think you’re wasting your time there.”
“No,” I shout. “You have to check it out. Two sets of Mexican cartel guys in town with heroin to peddle? Not bloody likely. It has to be them!”
“Relax, we’re checking him out. I’m on my way to talk to the doctors on our list right now to see if they’ve seen anyone matching the description. Isla, what did your sources tell you?” Nigel asks.
She takes her jacket off and slings it over the back of the sofa. “Jose Luis Soto has been MIA for a week. As you all know, Morelia went on a bit of a killing rampage last week, but everyone else has been spotted back in Morelia. None of my contacts have heard where Soto is or what his assignment was. No one has reported a new girl being brought in, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. They change houses for hostages all the time. He could just as easily be here as in Ixtapa, drinking margaritas.”
“Nigel, tell me you can find him,” I plead.
“We’re on it.”
The screen goes black, and Roger goes back to work on his computer. Isla pulls out her iPad and casually scrolls about. They both look so nonchalant, as though Nigel’s doing something completely pedestrian, like stopping at the post. As if my whole existence isn’t hanging in the balance. I’ve raked my fingers through my hair so many times, I’m probably giving myself a receding hairline.
“Mate, if you’re just going to pendulum back and forth like a caged tiger, you’re going to wear a hole in your carpet and drive me batty,” Roger says without looking up from his computer.
Isla grabs her jacket from the back of the sofa. “Come on, twitchy. Let’s take a walk.”
“No, I’m staying right here until Nigel checks in.”
“A watched kettle never boils.” She grabs my elbow. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Reluctantly I concede and follow her outside. She pulls a pack of Sorbraine’s out of her pocket and lights up.
“Those things will kill you, you know?”
She blows the smoke in my face. “So does fighting cartels. I don’t intimidate easily. If cancer’s going to come after me, I say, ‘Bring it, bitch.’ Bigger boogeymen than cancer have tried to take me out and failed miserably.”
“Speaking of fighting cartels… it’s quite a strange specialty for a woman your age.”
She flicks ash from the tip of her fag. “I sort of fell into it.”
I shove my hands into my pockets. “It’s not really the type of job you fall into,” I reply.
She cocks an eyebrow. “Are we sharing stories now? Want me to cry on your shoulder? Sorry, dearie. I don’t do that.”
“No.” I point at the house. “I want to go back inside and wait for Nigel to ring. You drug me out here. You might as well tell me something interesting to keep me from going mad.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’ll talk, but don’t go all emo on me. Deal?” She holds out her hand.
“Fair enough,” I say as we shake on it. She doesn’t offer the killer grip she did when we first met. Perhaps she’s loosening up.
She brings the cigarette to her lips and inhales deeply. “You may have already heard this story. You know my father.”
“Who’s your father?” I ask.
She picks a dead leaf off a tree and tears it apart, letting the pieces drift into the wind. “Alfie McGregor.”
He used to be Minister for the State until he retired. Now he works for another defense contractor. We’re not exactly competitors, as we sell different products, but I am relieved his daughter is here instead of at my office. I’d best make sure my study is locked from now on. “Wow, I didn’t make the connection.”
“Well, when I was younger, he traveled constantly. He’d always turn a business trip into a family vacation. When I was fourteen, he had to go to Mexico City, so we first went to Playa del Carmen for a few weeks. My mother and two sisters and I were going to fly back to London directly from there, but Laire, my eldest sister, wanted to see Mexico City, so she and I stayed with my father. He dropped us at the hotel and went to his meeting whilst we hung out at the pool.
“Around lunch time, we decided to find some place in the city to eat and left the hotel. We weren’t more than one hundred yards from the hotel when we were thrown into the back of a van. Middle of the day on a busy street. No one even tried to stop them.
“They kept us in a basement for days, weeks. We lost track. Eventually they pulled me out and told me if I didn’t do exactly what they said, they’d kill my sister. For three years, I was sent in and out of countries to smuggle drugs. Cocaine in, heroine out. Pills in, pills out. I was good at it, so they treated me well. At least as well as could be expected. I became the pet, of sorts, of the leader of Morelia. His name was Jesus, but he went by Arma Grande—the big gun. I believe your girlfriend knew his brother Carlos.
“I had just gotten out of Thailand when my plane had a mechanical failure. We had to land in Singapore and board a new plane. When we changed planes, the luggage was searched, and they found the drugs.”
I sell software to the Singapore government that was designed to better spot explosives in luggage, but it’s also exceptional at picking out drugs, and their punishment for drug trafficking is death. They have more executions per capita than any other nation in the world. “That must have been horrifying.”
When Fates Align Page 8
