by Amy Cross
Just wanted to give you another chance to comment on my story. Had to delay it to cover recent events. Have included the truth about your friend Ophelia. Planning to run the story in Sunday's paper. If you want to give me an exclusive interview, call before Saturday. Otherwise, the story goes out in its current form. It'd definitely be in your best interests to get in touch as soon as possible.
Sighing, I glance through the print-out. Nothing really stands out, and although I hate the idea of some low-life parasite journalist trying to turn me into a news story, I'm at least relieved that he's had to mention my success in the Nat and George Longhouse case. If this piece had come out earlier, it would have focused exclusively on my failure to get Daniel Gregory convicted, but Lewis has had to mention the Longhouse investigation. After a moment, however, I find the beginning of the section about Ophelia:
As part of her investigation, Detective Foster acquired the assistance of a young homeless woman who goes by the name of Ophelia. Despite bringing Ophelia into the heart of the case, however, Detective Foster appears to have made little or no attempt to uncover any details about the woman's past. The result is, at best, a serious security risk, and at worst a brazen disregard for the most basic procedures.
However, after an extensive search, this reporter can reveal that the mysterious Ophelia is in fact a Romanian gypsy named Carmella T. Sinensis, who came to this country as part of a traveling circus before running away to live on the streets. Her parents and siblings are one of the world's most popular performing families, but their apparent willingness to abandon their youngest daughter in London must call into question their approach to family matters.
Pausing for a moment, I can't help but smile as I realize that Joe Lewis has fallen hook, line and sinker for Ophelia's trick with the website. She told me that she'd planted this false information about herself as a kind of personal firewall, and as I scan the rest of the article I find that Lewis has pretty much included the entire lie. He's even identified Ophelia's supposed parents by name and repeated the lies that Ophelia wrote about them, which means that once his story has been published, he and his editor are highly likely to get a visit from the Sinensis family's lawyers. This 'career-defining' exclusive is more likely to be a career-ender. I could get in touch and warn him, of course, but he probably wouldn't believe me and, besides, I quite like the idea that he's going to get his wings clipped.
"Good luck with that," I mutter as I set the print-out down.
"Is your friend coming to visit again?" my mother asks suddenly, turning to me with a more alert gaze than usual.
"Ophelia?" I pause for a moment. "You remember her?"
"She seemed very nice," she replies. "You should have her over more often. I've always thought you should have more friends, Laura. It's normal to have friends."
"Maybe," I reply, surprised that while she usually doesn't remember a damn thing about recent events, she seems to have somehow latched on to this one particular memory. If I didn't know better, I'd be tempted to wonder if Mum might be getting a little better.
Grabbing my phone, I head back through to the kitchen and bring up Ophelia's number, but when I try to call I'm put straight through to voice-mail. I quickly bring up the number for the ward, and at least this time I get a dial-tone. I know it's probably crazy to call her, and I need to be very careful not to crowd her, but at the same time I also want to reach out and at least let her know that I care. Although I know nothing about her background, I figure she might at least like to know that I'm not just going to abandon her now that I no longer need her for a case.
"Hi," I say when the nurse answers, "this is Laura Foster. Is it possible to speak to one of your patients? Her name's Ophelia."
"I'm sorry," the nurse replies, "but Ophelia checked herself out about two hours ago."
I pause for moment, feeling a cold shiver pass through my chest.
"It was quite against the doctor's orders," she continues, "but I'm afraid she insisted. As soon as the woman from the housing charity left, Ophelia got out of bed and disconnected herself from the machines. It was all very quick, really. She said she had things to do, and that she'd been sitting around in bed for too long already."
"And you just let her walk out of there?" I ask, starting to panic.
"We had no authority to stop her," the nurse replies. "She's not in any kind of physical danger. The doctor said that as long as she's careful, her wounds should heal with no further complications."
"You still can't just let her walk out of there," I reply, trying not to panic. "She's homeless, for God's sake. She's got nowhere to go! She's sick! She's..." Pausing, I realize that it doesn't matter what I say. Ophelia has made her decision, and I should have guessed that she'd refuse any offer of help. Sure, I could call Jackie and ask if Ophelia's taken up the offer of a place at the shelter, but I'm pretty sure I know the answer already.
"I'm sorry I can't be of more assistance," the nurse says after a moment. "She refused to leave any kind of forwarding address."
"So she just walked out the door?" I ask.
"I'm afraid so," she continues. "Well, she walked out twice, actually. A few minutes after the first time, she popped back in to fetch something she'd left in her room."
"Fetch what?" I ask.
"I think it was a mobile phone," she explains. "I think she'd left it on purpose, but then she changed her mind. She's a very strange girl. I could never quite figure out how her mind works."
"That's okay," I reply. "Thank you anyway."
Once I've cut the call, I stare at my phone for a moment. Finally, I realize that I might not have heard the last of Ophelia after all. The first time she left, when she broke her ankle monitor and took off from the police station, she left the phone behind as a clear sign that she wouldn't be coming back; this time, she seems to have made a conscious decision to take the phone with her, which I can only assume means that she wants to at least have the option to get back in touch. I could order a trace, of course, and try to track her down, but something tells me that she trusts me not to do that.
"I'll make dinner," I call out to my mother.
"Lovely," she replies. "I'll do it tomorrow!"
"Sure you will," I mutter, heading over to the fridge and taking a look inside to see if there's anything edible. There's a part of me that wishes I could have found a way to help Ophelia, but maybe I'm thinking too short-term. She's out there, doing whatever she wants, and she'll get in touch when she's ready. Until then, all I can do is wait.
ALSO AVAILABLE
The Dead City
(Ophelia book 2)
Fallen Heroes
(Ophelia book 3)
