Night Lights (Dreamweaver Book 3)

by Helen Harper

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.

  She points a shaky hand towards the radio. The newscaster, still talking in German, is pretty much incomprehensible to my ears but I do recognise two words. If I thought I was terrified in the French girl’s dream when Dante showed up, then I wasn’t trying hard enough.

  Adam shakes himself and sits up. ‘Did that guy just say your name?’

  I pull into the nearest layby, turn off the engine but keep the radio on and ramp up the sound. However, the newscaster has already moved on to other things.

  ‘Did you understand what he was saying?’ I demand of Rawlins.

  She shakes her head then she nods. She’s as white as a sheet. I resist the urge to shake her. ‘I’m not sure,’ she whispers. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘He did say Zoe Lydon though? I’m not imagining it?’ I feel the old panic setting in. Almost without thinking I start pinching the tips of my fingers, one after the other, in a bid to calm myself.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Yes,’ Adam said. ‘That’s what I heard.’

  ‘Maybe there’s more than one Zoe Lydon.’

  We don’t look at each other. Coming hot on the heels of Dante’s hissed threat about the Department’s plans to bring me in, there’s little doubt that it was me the news was referring to. ‘Maybe I’ve been reported as a missing person.’

  ‘Why would local German news care about a missing English girl?’

  I look at Rawlins. She’s studiously avoiding my gaze but her body is rigid. Her hand snaps forward and she twists the radio dial, looking for another station. ‘World Service,’ she mutters. ‘We must be able to get it here.’

  The radio crackles. It feels like an eternity before Rawlins locates the BBC station and tunes in. I feel my chest constricting but I’m not going to have a panic attack. I’m not. Those days are behind me.

  The BBC anchorman, with his deep Received Pronunciation and slow, sonorous voice, is still on the main news. I hold my breath and move in closer, even though I can already hear him loud and clear.

  ‘There are no specifics being released as yet,’ he intones, ‘but intelligence suggests that British woman, Zoe Lydon, is in Western Europe and is wanted for questioning for alleged terror offences. Anyone who knows of her whereabouts is urged to contact their local police. She was last seen near Marseilles and is believed to be travelling with three other British citizens. Whether they are also involved has not been revealed. There is the possibility that they are being held hostage by Ms Lydon.’

  My mother’s face is a frozen mask. We all stare at the radio as if we’re expecting the anchor to add that he’s only joking. Instead, he moves on to other news.

  Adam presses the heels of his hands against his temples. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God,’ he moans. ‘Terror offences?’ His voice rises. ‘Terror offences?’

  ‘What does that mean?’ my mother demands. ‘What does that even mean?’

  I look at Rawlins. Her jaw is clenched tight. She clutches at the folds of fabric on her legs and answers dully, ‘It means they have evidence that Zoe is plotting to hurt people on a large scale. They wouldn’t have released that statement to the media if they didn’t believe she was a credible threat.’

  ‘So,’ Adam says slowly, ‘like a bomb?’

  ‘Zoe!’ my mother shrieks. ‘What have you done? I know I said we should blow the Department up but I didn’t mean it!’

  ‘Mother!’ I yell back. At least her comment has snapped me out of my growing fear. ‘Obviously I’ve not done anything! I’ve been with you the entire time!’

  Rawlins shakes her head. ‘This is their plan,’ she says, looking sickened. ‘With the world the way it is right now, even the faintest whisper of terrorism will mean that every police force in the land is looking for you. CCTV cameras, border checks…’

  We immediately turn and look back at the Swiss border with wide eyes. It’s a miracle the officers barely looked at our faces. We got lucky but the chances of being able to slide by like that again are virtually non-existent. It’s probably only because everyone thinks we’re still in France that we weren’t looked at more closely.

  I think I’m going to throw up. I push open the car door and lurch out, assailed by a chill wind that does nothing to clear my head. I stagger towards the grassy verge and begin heaving. Nothing’s coming up – it’s only a nervous reaction and I’ve not eaten for a while. My head is pounding with pressure; this is bad, this is very, very bad. When I eventually straighten, I pace up and down, counting my steps out loud. The rhythm soothes me – although I almost leap out of my skin when another car passes by. I shake myself and get back into the vehicle; freaking out will not help.

  Rawlins turns to me and places her hand over mine. ‘I know you’re not going to want to hear this,’ she says, ‘but the best thing we can do right now is turn ourselves in. If you run, it’s only going to look like an admission of guilt. The fact that no one knows where you are means it probably already looks that way.’

  I draw in a deep breath. She knows how this works better than any of us, even though she was only a small-town policewoman. I have to trust her judgement. ‘Okay,’ I nod. ‘Okay.’

  ‘This is what the Department want,’ Adam argues. ‘This is how they’ll flush her out. This is how they will catch Zoe and use her!’

  ‘We don’t have a choice,’ Rawlins snaps. ‘Don’t you see that? Zoe’s picture is probably being circulated around every European country. Her image will be plastered all over the place! You can’t hide from this sort of thing.’

  I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. The Department are far, far smarter than I gave them credit for. It should have occurred to me they might try something like this. I’d been told they were wealthy and powerful people in the real world; I should have realised they’d have the wherewithal to pull off such a stunt.

  ‘Adam’s right,’ I begin.

  Rawlins opens her mouth to disagree but I hold up my hand. ‘So are you,’ I tell her. ‘I’m going to have to hand myself in. The good thing is that you three can attest to the fact that you’re not my hostages. That will work in my favour. The Department also don’t know that we’re here in Switzerland. I need to turn myself in with the absolute minimum of fuss and hope it can get sorted out before the Department get to me.’ I meet Rawlins’ eyes. ‘You’re the expert here. What’s the best way to manage this?’

  ‘You can’t lie. Any whiff of an untruth when they question you and you’ll be locked up for days.’

  I consider this. ‘I can tell the truth. I’m running away from a crazy man who I had a brief relationship with because he’s been threatening me. That’s no lie. I can even give them Dante’s name and turn all this back on him.’

  Adam smacks his hand into his fist. ‘Yes! Show that bastard that he can’t beat us. He’ll change his tune when he’s the one being locked up.’

  I glance at him over my shoulder. All this being-on-the-run business is bringing out an entirely new side to him that I never saw when we were going out. Of course, the most dramatic thing that ever happened to us back then was when the Chairman went missing for two nights because he’d decided the tuna they were serving at a house a few streets away was nicer than my offerings.

  ‘Will that work?’ I ask.

  Rawlins shrugs. ‘It might. But if the Department have any kind of nous, they’ll have already covered that eventuality.’

  ‘Not if they don’t trust Dante,’ I say slowly. ‘He says he’s working against them. Maybe they want the finger pointed at him.’

  ‘That could work out well for us.’

  I nod, logic and rationality finally beginning to assert themselves in my messed-up brain. ‘Okay.’

  ‘The Swiss police won’t be expecting you. We can’t just show up on their doorstep because they might react without thinking.’ Rawlins thinks hard, scratching her head. ‘We give them advance warning. Call them up, confirm that you’re wanted for questioning and say that you’re on yo
ur way in. You don’t fit the profile of a terrorist…’

  ‘Except for the fact that I locked myself away in my own house like a lunatic for two years, once turned myself in to the Scottish police and confessed to murder, and last night apparently tried to attack an eight-year-old girl,’ I point out.

  My mother shakes her head. ‘You were such a sweet child,’ she says sadly. ‘I never thought I’d turn out to be the mother of one of those terrible criminals you see on TV.’

  Strangling her right now won’t help. ‘You don’t fit the profile,’ Rawlins repeats calmly, ‘so we might be able to convince the Swiss police that this is all a mistake. They might let you go before the Department can do anything else.’ It seems like a long shot; their slimy tentacles are into everything.

  ‘The media,’ Adam says. ‘We tell the media too.’

  ‘Then everyone will know where I am!’

  ‘Exactly.’ He folds his arms and leans back, satisfied. ‘They can’t spirit you away or do whatever nefarious shit they’re planning if the world knows where you are.’

  I ignore my fluttering heartbeat and consider his plan. ‘Good point.’ I pretend not to see the pleased blush spread across his cheeks.

  ‘We don’t want a small local police station, either,’ Rawlins comments. ‘One of the bigger cities is better. They’ll be more equipped to handle this sort of thing.’

  ‘Zurich’s not that far.’

  ‘Perfect.’

  I nibble on my bottom lip. ‘We should get there first and hide out nearby before we alert them otherwise the Department might make a move before we get to a police station.’

  ‘I agree.’ Rawlins squeezes my hand. ‘Maybe this will end up being a good thing. It’ll get everything out in the open, flush out Dante and some of the Department. And if you’re a face that the public recognises, it’ll be hard for the Department to pick you up off the street or kidnap you like they did with Ashley. Besides,’ she shrugs, ‘like you said, you’ve been in a police cell on suspicion of murder before. What’s a little terrorism to add to the mix?’

  I try to smile but it doesn’t quite come off. ‘And to think the highlight of my day used to be data entry,’ I murmur.

  My mother is still in her own world. ‘Goodness only knows what Henry will make of all this,’ she murmurs. ‘Imagine if his wife finds out he had an affair with the mother of an international criminal wanted by Interpol.’ She gestures down at the Chairman, curled up asleep in his carrier. ‘Look. You’re like that Bond villain, Blowjob. He had a cat too.’

  I put my head in my hands. At least I’ll some get peace in prison.

  ***

  The Zurich police headquarters is a far grander building than I imagined. All the same, after staring at it for the last two hours from underneath the peak of my baseball cap – my weak attempt at disguise – I’m getting bored. That’s a good thing. Boredom is my friend.

  Rawlins checks her watch. ‘They’re expecting us at 2pm,’ she says. ‘But I don’t think it would be a bad thing to show up early. It’s a sign of good intent.’

  She’s the boss as far as law enforcement is concerned so I nod my agreement. Despite this being the location for my surrender as an apparently evil would-be terrorist, the place looks benign enough. Not long after Rawlins’ initial phone call, several plain-clothes officers wandered out and took up positions on the road and around the square in front of the main doors. I’m no spy but I have a good eye for details. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that they’re waiting for me.

  We go over the script one last time. ‘I’m scared,’ I repeat. It’s the truth. ‘I’m on the run from my ex. I have never entertained the thought of hurting anyone.’ Every time I say that, my mind flits back to the Mayor dying right in front of me, impaled on Pegasus’s horn. I keep reminding myself that that wasn’t my fault. The Mayor brought it on himself by torturing the night mares. Killing him was never part of my plan.

  ‘Good,’ Rawlins says briskly.

  I twist a length of hair round my index finger, pulling it tighter and tighter until my fingertip goes red through lack of circulation. ‘Are you sure this wouldn’t be better with a lawyer?’

  ‘Under normal circumstances, I’d always advise legal support,’ she answers. ‘But bringing someone else in is only going to muddy the waters. By turning up without one, you’ll appear more innocent and naïve. And how on earth would you manage to keep the Dreamlands concealed with a lawyer involved? Start spouting off about that and they really will think you’re nuts.’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  She smiles humourlessly. ‘Actually, I did. And you didn’t reveal very much to me at the start. With a terrorism charge, you can’t afford to hint that you’re more loopy than you actually are.’

  I frown. ‘I’m not loopy.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  I sigh and push back my hair. My hands are trembling. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself to be brave and not to let my panic overtake me, somehow it’s always still there, lurking like some Badlands creature. I shake my head. The quicker we get this over with, the better.

  ‘There are a lot of cameras,’ my mother says nervously. She pats her hair as if to make sure that she’s looking neat and tidy.

  She’s right. We made three calls to three separate news agencies and word must have travelled fast. The crowd of journalists is growing. Right now, they’re busying themselves with compacts and mirrors and phones and equipment but that won’t last long.

  I steel myself for what’s to come. I can do this. I have to do this.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ Adam says, reassuring my mother even though he looks nervous himself. He didn’t sign up for this – none of us did.

  ‘If there are lots of flashing cameras, it’ll freak out the Chairman. We should leave him here.’

  ‘No. Slightly unhinged cat lady, remember? Not crazed terrorist.’

  ‘I told you. That Bond villain…’

  ‘We’re not in a movie, Mother. This is real life.’ I suck in a breath. ‘Let’s do this. I can’t wait any longer.’

  Everyone nods but then I don’t move. It’s as if I’m frozen in the front seat of the car. I will my limbs to work but the message doesn’t seem to be getting through.

  ‘Zoe?’ Adam questions.

  I swallow. ‘Yes. I’m going.’ I push down on the handle and step out.

  I estimate it’s about five hundred yards to the entrance of the police station. No one is looking at me; they’re not expecting me for another hour. If I wanted to, I could probably nip inside incognito. It wouldn’t be easy but I reckon it would be do-able. Unfortunately, we need the journalists to see us; it’s part of the plan.

  My mother hands me the Chairman’s carrier. From behind the metal slats, he blinks at me and yawns as if this is nothing more than a day like any other. I smile tremulously at him. If he can cope then so can I, damn it.

  As we’ve arranged, Rawlins and Adam step out in front, leading the way like they’re my own personal bodyguards. My mother falls in beside me but we’ve barely gone three steps before she falters. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t.’ The stark terror on her face is something I’m very familiar with.

  Rawlins turns, her expression suggesting she’s about to argue. I shake my head. I understand what it’s like to feel as if your legs are jelly. If my mother feels she can’t face the gauntlet, I’m certainly not going to force her. ‘It’s okay,’ I say softly. ‘Stay in the car.’

  She presses her hands to her cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’

  I put my hand on her arm. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘We might be in there for days,’ Rawlins warns. ‘They’re going to want to talk to you.’

  My mother nods. ‘I know. Let me work up to it, though. If I go in with you then…’ She swings panicked eyes towards the battery of waiting cameras.

  ‘I told you, it’s fine. We’ll see you in a short whi
le.’ I pass her the Chairman’s carrier. ‘Take the cat. Crazy cat lady image or not, he’ll do better with you than with me in jail.’

  My mother draws in a ragged breath, more of a sob than an actual need for air. She thinks she’s failed me but all she has to do is remember what the last couple of years were like for me and she’ll realise that she could never fail me.

  Not wanting to make her feel guiltier than she already does, I step forward so that I’m flanked by Adam and Rawlins. It may give the appearance that I’m being frogmarched into the station but their presence on either side of me is remarkably comforting.

  We move slowly past the parked cars. I keep my eyes down, using the little badges indicating designated parking spaces to distract me. Cedric Brandeberger: judging from his vehicle, he either has several small children or a penchant for Barbie dolls. Laure Caspari: her spot is empty so maybe she’s off sick. Mika Klauser has a very nice car; it’s very shiny. Markus Ingold: his spot is empty too. Next to his name there’s a little symbol made up of a globe, a set of scales and a sword. Anais Leuthold: her name sounds like a perfume.

  Despite the distraction, I can hear the murmur of voices from the growing crowd. Apparently it’s not only the police and journalists who are interested in seeing this little show unfold. There’s a growing number of ordinary people too.

  ‘Take off your cap,’ Rawlins mutters.

  My spine stiffens. There are still four hundred yards to go to the main doors. I swear I can feel my knees knocking. I tell myself off. Fear is nothing new to me and I should know how to deal with this. I count to ten slowly in my head and then reach up, scooping off the hat and holding it loosely in my hands. There’s a further moment of peace as we continue towards the police building. And then all hell breaks loose.

  The first person to spot me is one of the plain-clothed operatives. Out of the corner of my eye I see him jerk suddenly and start murmuring into a hidden microphone. He strides towards me. Several others do the same. The sudden flurry of movement makes the crowd of journalists react. Three of them break away, running towards me with outstretched microphones. Interestingly enough, the fastest one is a perfectly coiffed blonde woman on impossibly high heels. If this were anywhere else, I’d have stopped to talk to her. I’d love to know her secret; three steps in those shoes and I’d have toppled over. I look at the others who are fast approaching. Not all of them have nice shoes. I glance from one set of feet to another, my focus on the mundane helping to keep me sane.