by Fiona Barton
“I’m trying to remember,” he says, his voice unsteady. “Rosie took off the day before I was picked up. She told Mama she was going to Myanmar with some Dutch boys. Jamie was so happy. He thought he would have Alex to himself.”
“Dutch boys?” I say. “Do you mean Lars and Diederik?”
“Yes. How do you know their names?” He raises his head and looks at me hard.
“I’ve talked to Lars, Jake. I’ve been covering the story,” I say. And I try to see his eyes, to see if he’s lying. When he was little, I could always tell. He’d look away first or down at his shoes if he was fibbing. “Freddie did it . . .” As he got older, and the lies became subtler, it got harder. “I tried to ring but my phone ran out of credit . . .” But I could still spot the fake sincerity in his voice. “Honest, Mum . . .”
If I were fronting him up—if he were a story—I’d come straight in with “Rosie didn’t go to Myanmar with the Dutch boys. We know that, don’t we?” But I don’t know what he’ll say. I don’t want him to lie to me. I’m not ready for that.
Don says, “She never left the guesthouse. She was the other body.”
“It’s been a huge story,” I interrupt. “Your face has been on the front of every newspaper in the UK since the fire. The police are looking for you in connection with the deaths, Jake. You are in a world of trouble.”
“Oh God! But why aren’t they looking for Jamie?”
“Because as far as they’re concerned, he’s in prison in Bangkok.”
His head goes down again.
“I—we will get you out of here,” I say. I have no idea how, but I have to give him hope.
“Okay,” he says.
“Hang on in there,” Don says. “We need to sort out a lawyer immediately. I know one who might be able to help. Then we’ll talk to the police about your real identity. Okay?”
Jake nods. He doesn’t look at me. The bell rings and we start our good-byes.
“I’ll come tomorrow,” I say. “I’ve sent some food. KFC,” I add, hopelessly. He’s being hustled out of his seat to make way for the next prisoner.
“I love you, Jake!” I shout through the grille, but he makes no sign that he’s heard me.
SIXTY
The Reporter
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2014
Don and I wait until we are outside before we speak.
“Can we get him out?” I say. It’s all that matters now. I can deal with everything else later. Whatever that is.
“Let’s see,” Don says. “I’ll ring my bloke. And we need to get the British embassy involved. It’s a case of mistaken identity and we can prove who he is. It’s a start, and if we were on home soil I’d be optimistic. But we’re not in Kansas anymore . . .”
* * *
• • •
While he rings his man, I ring mine.
“Steve, I’ve found Jake,” I blurt.
“Have you?” His voice is suddenly loud, spilling out of the phone. “Has he rung you? Where is he? How is he? Can I speak to him?”
“Steve, he’s here. In Bangkok.”
There is a beat of stunned silence as my husband wrestles with the news.
“What?” he shouts. “What is happening?”
And I explain slowly, unpicking the knots in the story for myself as well as my traumatized husband.
* * *
• • •
It’s Don who spots Bob Sparkes and Zara Salmond in the visitors’ queue.
“They must be going in to see Jamie Lawrence,” he says when I try to duck behind a pillar. “We need to tell them what’s happened. They may be able to help spring Jake.”
I’m still not sure, but I cross my fingers.
“Inspector,” Don calls across, and I try to smile.
Bob looks supremely fed up when he sees us. He doesn’t smile back, just rakes his hair with his fingers, leaving sweaty cornrows.
“Have you been in?” he snaps. “I should’ve guessed that’s where you were going.”
I try to look apologetic. I need him onside. “We have, Bob,” I say, but I’m suddenly fighting back tears. I clench my fists against them. Try to straighten my face.
“Kate? What’s the matter? What’s happened?” he asks.
“It’s Jake,” I gulp.
“What about him? Has Jamie told you something?”
I shake my head and Don carries on for me, filing the story in three sentences. “It’s Jake Waters they’ve got in there, not Jamie Lawrence. Jake says he was stitched up by him. His passport was swapped and drugs planted on him so he was arrested.”
“Bloody hell,” DS Salmond says. “So who’s been driving round Surrey in the hire car?”
DI Sparkes looks up at the sky and then at me. “Are you sure it’s him?”
“He’s my son. Of course I’m sure.”
“I’m assuming you weren’t sitting face-to-face and you haven’t seen him for a while. I’m just saying that people can make mistakes.”
“It’s him!” I shout.
“And what did he say? What did he tell you?”
I blow my nose on a tissue DS Salmond has handed me as the queue turns and watches us with naked curiosity before shuffling forward a few steps.
“He said when they first started calling him Jamie, he thought it was a good thing. That he could sort it out and no one would need to know he’d been in trouble. He’s an idiot, Bob. But he was not involved in that fire. He didn’t even know about it until I told him. He was inside Klong Prem, sleeping on the floor of a cell with seventy other prisoners.”
Sparkes doesn’t want to hear Jake’s sob story and waves the Midnight Express details away with his hand. “What about the girls? Does he know anything about what happened to them?”
“He said Rosie left before the fire. To go to Myanmar.”
“With the Dutch boys . . .” Don adds quietly.
Bob Sparkes raises an eyebrow. “Except, of course, she didn’t . . .”
“He was told that by the woman who owned the guesthouse—Mama. Have you talked to her yet?” And I hurry on to Jamie past the questions about Jake.
“Jake says Jamie was a strange lad who followed Alex around and was trying to pressure her into traveling with him instead of Rosie.”
“Does he think Jamie killed them?”
“He doesn’t know. But he said Jamie was very happy when Rosie disappeared.”
Salmond got her notebook out.
“So she disappeared on August the thirteenth?” she asks, pen poised.
“I think that’s right. It was difficult to talk through two grilles with everyone else shouting around us.”
“I imagine it was,” Sparkes says. “I need to talk to Jake myself. He’s a person of interest in our investigation until we rule him out, and I need to be absolutely clear about his identity myself. Before I contact the Thai police and my lot.”
“I’m not sure prisoners can have more than one visit a day,” I say. I’m not sure I want my son interrogated by DI Bob Sparkes. “They’ve got a million rules.”
“Leave that with us. Zara’s made a friend in the prison service and they’ve smoothed our way. Now tell me some family secrets I can test Jake with.”
I run through pets’ names, Jake’s school, teachers’ names, his A Level results, his first girlfriend. But all the time I keep running our conversation in the prison through my head.
“Two?” he’d shouted. As if he was expecting only one body. He hadn’t known about Alex. But Rosie? What will he tell Bob Sparkes?
* * *
• • •
“What are you going to do with this, Kate?” Bob is asking. “Are you telling your newspaper about this?”
For a moment, I feel as if I don’t know. But I do. If I don’t do it, Don will.
�
��Yes. Of course I am. I need to get him released. Don’s getting him a lawyer and I’m going straight to the embassy to tell them. They’ve got the wrong person in prison. That must count for something with the Thai authorities.”
“Right, well, good luck with that,” Sparkes says. “I’d better give our press office the heads-up—what time is it there?”
“Early yet, sir,” Salmond says.
“But I’m not confirming your story, Kate. Not until I’ve seen him and am sure.”
“Be gentle with him, Bob,” I say. “He’s been through hell.”
SIXTY-ONE
The Detective
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2014
When he came out, Sparkes was reenergized. It was Jake Waters. They were doing a blood test in the prison infirmary to set the seal on it, but it was definitely him.
“Come on, Zara—keep up,” he said, striding back to the taxi rank and turning his phone on again. “We need to tell HQ immediately and put Jamie Lawrence’s photo out officially.”
“I’m pretty sure that Kate Waters has released the story, sir. I’ve got loads of missed calls on my phone.”
“Yeah, me, too.” There was one from Eileen, but Sparkes was dialing DCI Wellington as he got into the taxi. He would ring Eileen as soon as he’d got rid of the business end. He couldn’t wait to tell her the latest twist in the tale. She’d love it.
* * *
• • •
He talked to his boss in short bursts as they careered through the traffic. She knew everything already. The Post had been onto them before publishing Kate’s account while he was inside the prison, but she’d fended off inquiries until she could speak to him.
“Say that blood tests are being done to confirm the identity of the man in Bangkok,” Sparkes said. “Why haven’t we got Jake Waters’s DNA results from Rosie’s body? We need to put a rocket under the lab boys. And, most importantly, put out the message that we want to talk to Jamie Lawrence urgently. The Post has got his photo from the Dutch boy, Lars. Let’s get it blown up and out there.”
* * *
• • •
Up in his room, he took off his sweat-sodden shirt and stood under the air-conditioning unit to dry off. He felt as if his brain were boiling inside his skull.
He sat on the bed with a towel round his shoulders and rang Eileen back.
Sam answered the home phone.
“Hello, love,” he said, still buzzing. “I’ve missed a call from Mum. Put her on. She won’t believe what’s happened here.”
“I can’t, Dad. She’s not well.”
The towel slipped off as he braced himself against what was coming.
“What’s happened?”
“She lost consciousness in the night. I’m so sorry, Dad. Can you come home?”
He was fighting one arm into the sleeve of his damp shirt already, adrenaline coursing through his body.
“I’m coming. What is the doctor saying, Sam?”
His daughter’s voice faltered. She was being so brave it broke his heart.
“That it could be a matter of hours, Dad.”
He wouldn’t be there. He knew that.
“Were you with her, love?”
“No, Helen was. She just slipped into a coma during the night and Helen rang me as soon as she realized. Why did you go to Bangkok, Dad? Why aren’t you here?”
He couldn’t speak for a moment. The guilt and grief flooded his head, washing out every other thought.
“Dad? Are you there?” Sam’s voice was his life belt, dragging him back to shore.
“I’ll find out about a flight now, love. Kiss your mum for me. Tell her to hold on until I’m there. Tell her I love her.
“Oh Christ,” he told his knees when it was over. He found himself on the carpet. Had he fainted? He didn’t want to get up. He wanted to lie there. But someone was knocking on the door. He struggled to his feet and opened it a crack.
“Bob! Are you okay?” Kate said. “You look terrible.”
He let her in. He didn’t have the strength to do anything else.
She led him to a chair and helped him put his arm in the other sleeve of his shirt.
“It’s freezing in here, Bob. You’re shivering. I’ll turn the AC down.”
“I need to get home,” he said. “I need to get a flight.”
“Why? Oh God, is it Eileen? I’ll call the airline for you now. Where’s your ticket and passport?”
He fished them out of his jacket pocket without a word. The ticket was limp with the morning’s perspiration, but Kate took it and sat on the bed with her phone.
He watched her as she tried to persuade the airline to change the flight. This is what she looks like when she is working me.
“Bob,” Kate said, her hand over the phone, “they want to know what sort of emergency it is. We need to say or you’ll have to buy another ticket. It will cost a fortune. You’re on a cheapo fare.”
“Eileen’s dying,” he said. And Kate’s eyes widened.
“My friend’s wife is dying from cancer. He has to get home tonight,” he heard her say. “Is that the earliest flight? Nothing else? What about other airlines?”
She was all business as she finally got off the phone. “Okay. The next direct flight to London leaves at midnight. There are connecting flights that leave a bit earlier but they take much longer and there is the risk of missing your connection. So I’ve changed your ticket to the midnight flight. With the time difference, you’ll be in London at six thirty tomorrow morning.”
He nodded. It was hopeless. He wouldn’t get there in time. His head dropped and Kate took his hand.
“We’ll leave for the airport in four hours, Bob. Do you want me to tell DS Salmond?”
“No, I’ll do it.”
“I’ll get you a brandy,” she said and rummaged in the minibar. “I think I’ll have one, too.”
* * *
• • •
Salmond came immediately. “Oh God, sir, I’m so sorry. What can I do?”
“Nothing, Zara,” he said. “Kate’s sorted out the flight, but I want you to stay and finish off here.”
“Of course. It’ll be all right. You’ll get there.”
Kate passed her a miniature and ripped the plastic bag off the tooth mug in the bathroom.
They all sat in silence, sipping their drinks, each in their own bubble.
Reality punctured the silence when Salmond’s phone went off.
“It’s DCI Wellington,” she said and passed the phone to Sparkes.
The two women retreated into the bathroom, to give him some privacy, while he told his boss his news.
“Zara,” he called after he finished. “You need to speak to the DCI and update her on what’s going on re Jamie Lawrence.”
“Are you going to be all right, sir?” she said, and he nodded.
“I’ll stay,” Kate said. “And I’ll take him to the airport. You get on with the investigation.”
BANGKOK DAY 19
(THURSDAY, AUGUST 14, 2014)
She hadn’t seen Jake for hours. He’d told her he’d be back soon. He’d been all distracted, but he’d stroked her hair as he left. She held on to that.
She didn’t understand what was going on. She hated it when boys did that. Messed with your head. One minute really into you, the next, so not interested.
Anyway, she had other things to think about . . . But her mind kept straying back to Jake and the lovely dip above his top lip. And Rosie.
She took a deep breath and read through her new to-do list again, stumbling at every line. Find Rosie; Phone Mum; Go home?
She’d got her ticket out and laid it out on the bed beside “A & R’s Final Itinerary.” She and Rosie hadn’t moved past page one, but she leafed through the rest of the trip, picking out highlights she’d n
ever see now. Tears fell onto the pages, blotting the damp paper, smudging the details of their adventure. The reality was so grubby and sleazy. She went to screw the pages up and throw them across the room but stopped herself. She needed the airline phone number—she was sure she’d copied and pasted it into the itinerary—and found it in a list of “Useful Contacts.” Just above Rosie’s mobile phone number. Alex grabbed her phone and dialed. The phone went straight to voice mail. Rosie’s chirpy voice filled her head. “Hi, too busy having a great time to take your call. Send me a text if you need me . . .”
She begged Rosie to get in touch. “Please! We can sort things out. I haven’t said anything to our parents yet. But I’ll have to soon. Ring me, Rosie!”
She sat for a while with her phone in her hand. Was Rosie screening her calls? She’d text her as well, to ram the message home. Then she’d go and see Mama.
* * *
• • •
Mama glared at Alex as she approached.
“I need to know why Rosie left, Mama,” Alex said. “It’s very important.”
The landlady’s mouth clamped shut, her purple lipstick almost disappearing.
“I’ll have to go to the police and report her missing if you don’t tell me.” Alex tried to keep her voice strong.
The purple lips reappeared in a ghastly smile.
“That would be a mistake,” Mama said. “That is why Rosie went.” And she told Alex about Rosie crying because she was so ashamed of herself, about begging Mama to lend her money and get her passport back from the scooter man.
“She wanted to run away from all this—and from you.” Mama pointed at Alex.
“Why me?”
“You hated her. We all heard you.” Then she shook her head. “You and Rosie are big trouble.”
Alex stood her ground in front of Mama’s desk.
“Please show me the text messages she sent. I need to see them.”
Mama slid her phone off the desk into her pocket. “Private,” she said.