“Why can’t you tell me now?”
“I’ve got a neighbour at the door.”
“Jeez. OK. Five minutes. If I have to.”
“Thanks.” She hung up.
“Come in,” she said to Susan. “Tell me what’s happened.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Susan perched on a kitchen chair, pulling her dressing gown tighter. She wouldn’t meet Jennifer’s eye.
Jennifer sat opposite her. “What is it?” She tried to sound concerned and gentle, but she was impatient to speak to Lucy.
Susan pursed her lips. “I’m really sorry, Jennifer.”
“Why? What’s up?”
Jennifer glanced up at her then looked down at her hands. Her fingernails had been bitten and there were red blotches on the skin.
“Go on,” said Jennifer. “You can tell me. I won’t judge.”
Susan’s eyes shot up. “He hasn’t been arrested. I’ve already told you that.”
Jennifer held in an exasperated sigh. “What, then? Tell me, and I’ll try to help.”
Susan twisted her hands together on the table. “That woman you brought in here a few days ago. The one you dragged in from your car.”
Jennifer said nothing but felt her chest tighten.
“He told them. Rang the hotline.” She looked up.
Jennifer met her gaze. “Why would he do that?”
Susan bit her lip. “Don’t be like that. He’s only doing as he’s told.”
“Told by you?”
“No.”
There was a moment’s silence. Jennifer stared at Susan, remembering the look on her son’s face on the night she’d come back home. Hard. Distrustful.
“She’s that escaped prisoner, isn’t she?” said Susan. “The one in the crash.”
“No. You’re thinking of Meena. Samir’s girlfriend. She was here for a few days, but she’s gone now.”
“I saw her leave yesterday. That’s not her.”
Jennifer drilled her fingernail into the ball of her thumb. “When did he make the call?”
“Last night.”
She closed her eyes. How long did that give them, before the police arrived? Hours? Minutes?
“Like I say, I’m sorry. I gave him a right bollocking for it.”
Jennifer nodded.
“I know they want us to spy on our neighbours, but I think it’s wrong. Even if she was an escaped prisoner.”
Jennifer heard movement upstairs. Susan followed her gaze.
“It’s not as simple as that, is it?” Susan said.
Jennifer nodded.
“What was it she did? Your friend?’
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Right. Sorry.”
Samir had come home more than once accusing Tom of racism. She’d protested; he couldn’t assume everyone who didn’t like him was racist.
Maybe he’d been right.
She stood up. “OK, well, thanks for letting me know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ll need to tell her.”
It’s not for you to tell me what to do, Jennifer thought.
“Anyway, if you don’t mind…”
Susan stood up and headed for the front door.
As Jennifer was about to put her hand to it, there was a loud knock. Three raps in succession. Urgent.
She felt her heart jump. The police, already?
Susan stared back at her, her eyes wide.
Jennifer took a deep breath and pulled the door open. She plastered on her most innocent smile.
“You!” Susan cried. “I told you to stay home.”
Susan’s son was tall and stockily built, with a mass of curly yellow hair. He glared at Jennifer and muttered something under his breath. She held his gaze.
“Come on, you little bugger,” said Susan. “Stop causing trouble.”
They hurried across the road. Susan darted a look back at Jennifer as she crossed. Jennifer pulled the door closed and leaned against it, her legs weak.
“What’s up? Who was that?”
Yusuf was on the stairs, dressed and ready for work.
“Did you call her?”
She shook her head. “No. Well, yes, but I was interrupted.”
“I heard the door close. Who was it?”
“Can I tell you later, after I’ve called Lucy back?”
“Course.”
She went into the dining room, to her corner desk. She’d lost her advantage now. Lucy would be awake, ready to lie to her.
She realised she’d left her mobile on the kitchen table. She stood and went to fetch it.
As she passed through the hall, she heard cars pull up outside. The blip of a siren.
She turned to the kitchen. “They’re here,” she whispered to Yusuf.
He nodded.
“Susan’s son told them,” she said.
“He did what?”
“He rang the hotline.
“The little bastard.”
“We need to warn Rita. Can you go up?”
Yusuf looked at her pyjamas. “You go. Get dressed. I’ll hold them off.”
She crept up and paused outside Hassan’s door. There was no sound from behind it.
Poor Rita. She’d come here for help and now she’d be going right back where she came from. Would she be in the same place as Meena?
Jennifer doubted it.
Jennifer had failed her. All her experience and access to power counted for nothing.
She pushed Hassan’s door open.
“Rita?” she whispered.
No reply. She pushed the door further.
“Wake up.”
She crossed to the bed. The curtains were closed and the room was in darkness. There was a lump in the bed. She put a hand on it.
“Wake up, we need to get you out of here.”
She looked towards the curtained window. Could she get Rita out safely? Or would they have officers in the garden, ready for them?
She pushed at the bedclothes again. She flicked on the bedside lamp and leaned on the duvet. It collapsed under her weight.
The bed was empty.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The canals were quiet. Rita sped along the towpath, dodging discarded litter: beer cans, sweet wrappers, crisp packets. Above her, the motorway had begun its morning roar, louder than the night she’d slept here.
It was cold, an icy chill rising from the grey water. She wished she’d stopped to borrow a coat. Jennifer wouldn’t have minded.
Even so, she’d appeared in Jennifer’s street, ousted her son from his bedroom and stolen a rucksack full of food. Then she’d left with no word. Jennifer may have been acting too slowly, but she was her friend. She’d promised to help her.
Had she done the right thing?
She felt her stomach gurgle and reached into the rucksack for a chocolate-covered cereal bar. The smooth sweetness coated her mouth, feeling luxurious. She swallowed the rest and pocketed the wrapper. Destitute or not, she wasn’t about to add to the piles of litter.
She was only planning to run for a day. But hunger was clawing at her every minute, making her dream of chocolates, and doughnuts, and fish and chips.
Fish and chips. She would kill for a bag of that. But she had no money. She’d opened Jennifer’s bag on the hall floor and considered taking just a fiver, or maybe a tenner, but decided against it. Food and clothes were one thing; Jennifer had offered those to her. But money was quite another.
Maybe where she was going she’d be able to get something greasy, something satisfying. Yusuf had heated up a curry for her the previous evening and it had been a feast for her senses, spices balanced perfectly, the fluffy naan bread making her mouth water.
She’d have to make do with cereal bars and crisps for today. She’d left a couple behind, assuming they were for Hassan’s packed lunch. Maybe there’d be a curry where she was going. She knew the name of the
place, and its general location, but would have to ask directions when she got there. She hoped she’d find someone willing to help. At least she didn’t smell anymore.
Chapter Forty-Nine
“Do you have a warrant?”
Yusuf was standing in the doorway, barring their way. Jennifer looked at him, worried he’d make them suspicious.
She put a hand on his back and grabbed the door, pulling it open wider. Two men stood in their driveway. The senior was a couple of steps away from Yusuf, facing him down. The other, younger with red marks on his neck where he’d caught himself shaving, stood behind, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Both were in plain clothes.
“Good morning, officers,” she said. She glanced across the road to see Susan’s house in darkness. A curtain twitched in the neighbouring house. “How can we help you?”
She felt Yusuf stiffen beside her.
“Good morning, Ms Sinclair,” the senior detective said. His name was Detective Inspector Tom Gordon; she recognised him. They’d shared a platform at an event raising awareness of domestic violence. Only a year ago, she realised, surprised.
“We have reason to believe that—” he cleared his throat, “—that an escaped prisoner has been to this house. A Rita Gurumurthy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tom,” she said.
Yusuf put a hand on her arm. DI Gordon stiffened; she’d gone too far, using his first name.
“We have video footage of you carrying her into the house.” He glanced at Yusuf. “You and Mr Hussain.”
She shook her head. “You’ve got it wrong. The woman you’re talking about is Meena Ashgar. My son’s friend. She wasn’t well, so we had to help her inside.”
Yusuf’s grip on her arm tightened.
“Can we come in please?”
“Of course.” She stepped back and the two men clattered inside. The younger man at the back nodded at her. She looked into the street to see two cars outside. The first, dark grey and polished, sat across their drive. The second was a marked police car. A woman and a man sat inside it, looking around at the street. The neighbours would be watching them in return.
As they stepped back to let the police in, Yusuf shot her a look. She gave him a tight nod in return. He shrugged, puzzled.
“So,” she said, closing the front door. She needed to get this over with, get back on the phone. “There seems to have been a misunderstanding.”
The detective inspector smiled at her. “I don’t think so.”
She frowned.
“She was a fellow inmate of yours, we believe.”
She thought of the documentary. Rita hardly breathing while Catherine lied to camera. She looked up the stairs, hoping she was right in assuming that Rita had run. If she came out of the bathroom now…
“Meena? No, she was a counsellor. Still is, I believe. She came for a few days, then returned yesterday.”
“I’m talking about Miss Gurumurthy. She escaped while being transferred to another facility.”
She took a breath. “Ah. I remember her now. Rita. She was there at the same time as me, but I only met her a couple of times. She was being held in another part of the centre.”
“So did she come here?”
“Why would you think she’d do that?”
“Maybe she believed you could help her.”
Ice slipped down her back. “I’m not an MP anymore. That wouldn’t be something I’d expect anyone to believe.”
The DI grunted and turned to Yusuf. “Do you know anything about this, sir?”
“Only what my wife’s told you.”
The junior detective nudged his boss and muttered in his ear. The DI nodded and looked at Jennifer.
“We’re going to need to search your house.”
“I already told you that—”
“We have reason to believe that Miss Gurumurthy is here. I’m sure you won’t mind us looking for her, if you say you don’t know her.”
“Dad? Dad, what’s going on?”
They all looked up. Hassan was standing at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes. Jennifer looked at her watch: seven thirty. She’d forgotten to wake him.
“Nothing, sweetie,” she said. “Can you get your school uniform on for us?”
Hassan ignored her. “Dad?”
Yusuf pushed past the two policemen and went up to Hassan. “Don’t worry. They just want to talk to me about work. That happens sometimes, doesn’t it?’
Hassan shrugged.
“Go and get dressed for me, will you? I’ll get you some breakfast.”
Hassan looked at the policemen again. DI Gordon smiled up at him while his colleague’s neck turned red. Then Hassan sniffed and retreated to his room. Jennifer wondered if she’d missed anything of Rita’s.
No. It had been empty. Hassan would probably forget she’d been there.
But he might not.
“Yusuf love, can you help him find his school uniform? I didn’t put it away.”
Yusuf gave her a puzzled look; they both knew he’d put it away on Monday. She frowned at him, hoping he’d understand her. Then he gave her a brusque nod.
“So,” she said, turning back to the policemen. “Sorry about that.”
“We need to search your house.”
Yusuf appeared again at the top of the stairs. “Do you have a warrant? You can’t search the house without a search warrant.”
“We don’t, but I’m sure we won’t have any trouble getting one within the next few hours.”
“Then go and get it.”
She looked up at him. Was Rita up there, after all? Did Yusuf think she was hiding somewhere else in the house?
“We can do that. But we will leave a car outside, and an officer at the back.”
“You can’t do that,” she said.
“We can. We’re looking for someone who has absconded from a sentence handed down under the Prevention of Terrorism Act. You know that we can.”
She screwed up her nose. “Alright then.”
“Alright what?”
“Search the house. Go ahead. Search it now.”
Chapter Fifty
“Why did you do that?”
Jennifer and Yusuf were in the kitchen, whispering. Hassan was tying up his shoelaces.
Jennifer looked towards the hall. One of the uniformed officers was standing there, her back to the front door.
“What if she’s hiding somewhere?” Yusuf asked.
“She’s not. She’s gone.”
“We can’t know that,” he said.
“All her stuff’s gone. The clothes I lent her. And she’s taken food, too.”
She went to the drawer where they kept snacks. “Was this almost empty last night?”
“No. I couldn’t get it shut.”
“Well, at least we know she won’t starve.”
“What are you going to do? Did you speak to Lucy?”
She sighed. “Not properly. I was interrupted by Susan.”
Bangs came from upstairs; furniture being moved.
“How do we get into the loft?” a voice called down. Jennifer felt her chest tighten. Yusuf looked at her, his face pale.
“If they find her, they’ll take you back,” he said. “Maybe worse.”
“They won’t find her. I know Rita.”
She stepped into the hall. “There’s a pole, behind the curtain!”
She listened to the loft hatch being opened, her heart pounding.
“You’ve got to make that call,” said Yusuf. “You can’t let this distract you.”
“I can’t do it with them here.”
“Go out then.”
She turned to the policewoman.
“Sorry, but I can’t let anyone out until the search is complete.”
The loft hatch slammed shut and DI Gordon appeared at the top of the stairs.
“There’s no one here.”
“That’s what we told you,” Jennifer said, trying to hide her relief.
<
br /> He reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to Yusuf. “Is there anywhere else you might have taken her?”
Yusuf shook his head. “No.”
“Am I right in thinking you’re the manager of the HomePoint homeless shelter?”
“Yes.”
“Could you have taken her there, perhaps?”
“I haven’t taken anybody anywhere.”
“Well. We’ll see. I’ll expect to see you there this evening.”
“You can’t just—”
“If we believe an escaped prisoner is hiding out in your shelter, Mr Hussain, we can.”
“You’ll need a warrant. I’m not subjecting our service users to—”
“We’ll get one.”
Jennifer could see the tension in Yusuf’s body. He stared at the detective.
“Very well then.” He held open the door.
“Thank you.” DI Gordon turned to Jennifer. “Ms Sinclair, good to have you back.”
She said nothing and closed the door after them. Yusuf’s face was red.
“Good to have you back, Ms Sinclair. She’s your friend, so why is it me he’s treating with suspicion?”
“Don’t be like that. It’s not my fault.”
“It’s because I’m Muslim.”
“No, it’s—”
He tightened his jaw. “Don’t defend them, Jen. None of them. Just stop them. Tell them the truth about your precious Catherine and put an end to it.”
She grabbed her phone from the hall table. Yusuf stormed into the kitchen, snapping at Hassan to find his bag. She dialled Lucy.
It rang out. She looked at her watch: eight fifteen already. Where had the last two hours gone?
After four rings, it switched to voicemail. She hung up and tried again.
Voicemail again. Lucy would be on the Tube, on her way to the office. Either that, or she’d decided it wasn’t worth speaking to her.
“Lucy,” she said to the voicemail. This was her third attempt. “It’s Jennifer Sinclair. I’m sorry about earlier. But I’ve got something for you. It’s big, I promise. Exclusive. Call me as soon as you can.”
She went upstairs, taking her phone with her. She needed to get dressed.
Ten minutes later, she was in the shower when she heard it ring out. She turned off the water and grabbed the phone from where she’d perched it on the side of the bath.
The Division Bell Trilogy Page 69
