“Welcome, Abigail. I’m Sarah. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
Once Abigail entered, seven or eight girls appeared from the rear of the house. They were standing behind Sarah, staring at Abigail, who looked from one face to the next. None of the girls gave away any emotion, except wariness and perhaps hostility. She had the feeling they expected no good would come of her arrival.
She wondered if this small group included everyone who lived in the house, and if so, which of them were planning the welcoming party Niamh had promised.
Ten
Reinhardt was gone again when Nicole opened her eyes. She was getting up when he walked into the bedroom carrying a breakfast tray with a carafe of coffee, two cups, and a plate of the scones they’d picked on their way home from dinner. He put the tray on the bed and handed her the morning papers. After taking off his shoes, he lay down next to her. They spent nearly an hour eating and reading the news before rousing themselves to get dressed and begin the day.
Reinhardt left first. After kissing her goodbye, he explained that he had to go into the office and would meet her back at the flat around 1:00 p.m. When Nicole was ready to leave for the group home where Abigail had been transferred, she got out the candy and book she hadn’t been allowed to give the girl the day before. Maybe the management of this facility would be more accommodating.
The group home was in an area of South East London known as Bexley, a forty-five-minute tube ride from Reinhardt’s Knightsbridge flat. As Nicole neared the place, an attractive, well-dressed couple in their fifties was leaving. She recognized them as Abigail’s parents, the Fletchers. She’d come across their photos while she was doing background checks. Gene Fletcher was better-looking in person. He was tall and fit, his silver hair swooped back in a wave. Serena, his wife, was blond and attractive. She bore a resemblance to Abigail, which was surprising given that Abigail was not her biological child. Perhaps the resemblance had been apparent when Abigail was little. Had that been a factor in their decision to adopt her?
Nicole could tell from their faces that the visit hadn’t gone well. She stepped up as they opened the gate, and introduced herself. They shook hands, both of them reserved and unsmiling. Gene Fletcher got right down to business, no small talk
“This trip has been a waste of time. Abby rejects our attempts to offer support. She’s even accused us of believing she’s guilty when nothing could be further from the truth. She told us she won’t stay with us if she gets bail. She wants to remain with you. We’re counting on you to help out until this situation is resolved.”
Behind him, in the window of the group home, the curtain was pulled aside and someone looked out. The sun’s reflection made it hard to tell if it was Abigail, although Nicole suspected it was.
“You’ll need to talk to my boss if you want me to stay,” Nicole said. “In fact he said he was going to contact you.”
“Yes, yes,” Gene said. “I forwarded his message to my lawyer. He handles that kind of thing.”
Serena Fletcher seemed distracted, gazing into the distance, shielding her eyes from the sun. When her husband stopped talking, she put her arm through his and met Nicole’s eyes.
“We should be going.” Her tone was cool and formal. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Nicole. It seems you’ve succeeded in the impossible and found a way to connect with Abigail. We’ve never been able to do that.”
“I was hoping to talk to you about her,” Nicole said. “Maybe we could—”
“Sorry, but our car will be here any moment.” Serena’s tone had grown even frostier. “We’re late for an engagement. Another time perhaps.”
Nicole considered why she was being put off. Was it that Serena didn’t want to discuss family problems with a stranger? Or had she given up on her daughter? They displayed little parental concern. Most mothers would be shattered if their daughter was accused of murder, even if they thought she might be guilty. But Serena was cool and collected, and it was clear that Gene wanted to wash his hands of the whole business. It was sad to think that everything Abigail had said about her parents might be true. Nicole felt a surge of pity. Maybe Abigail wasn’t the privileged child she appeared to be.
Just then a black limousine pulled up to the curb. The driver got out to open the passenger doors, and the Fletchers climbed in. Nicole watched as the vehicle drove away. When it disappeared around the corner, she knocked on the door of the group home.
A red-haired woman in her early thirties answered the door. She was wearing jeans and a red turtleneck sweater.
She smiled tentatively. “Can I help you?”
Nicole introduced herself and explained that she’d called to arrange a visit with Abigail.
“Of course, of course,” the woman said. “I’m the director here. Sarah Sloan. Come in. I think she’s in the sitting room, watching the telly with the others.”
Nicole held up the bag with her gifts for Abigail. “Is it okay if I give these to her?
Sarah took out the candy and book and inspected them.
“Yes, certainly. Maybe these will cheer her up.”
She led Nicole to a room where Abigail was seated on a chair a short distance from a couch that held three other girls. Nicole glanced at the screen and recognized Freaky Friday, a comedy she’d seen years before.
“Abigail,” the director said. “You have a visitor.”
The girl didn’t move. “I’m busy.” But when she glanced over and saw Nicole, she jumped up and gave her a hug. “Sorry, I thought my parents were back to heap more shame on me.”
“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” Nicole said.
“My room. Come with me.”
They climbed two steep flights of stairs and finally reached the addition at the top of the house. It held three tiny bedrooms. Abigail’s wasn’t much bigger than the one she’d occupied at the dorm, and it held a bunk bed. This meant she was probably sharing the room. They sat on the bottom bunk.
Nicole handed Abigail the bag with the book and candy. Abigail took the items out, looked at them, and glanced up Nicole, her eyes shining, almost as if she was about to cry.
“This is so nice of you. Thanks. I love chocolate, and I’ve been meaning to read this book.”
“So how’s it going?”
“Okay, I guess. I just got here this morning, but this place doesn’t seem as bad as the last one. The girls aren’t very friendly, but Sarah told me I’d make some friends once they learn they can trust me. They’ve all been bullied like I was.” She gave Nicole a long, searching look. “I thought they were going to let me out on bail so I can stay with you. Now Miss Davies, the solicitor, isn’t sure. We don’t even see the judge who’s supposed to decide, for another four days. She said he might not let me out because of the risk that I’d leave the country before the trial. I guess I would if I thought it would do any good. But Miss Davies said the US would just fly me back here if I was wanted for murder.”
“I hope they do allow bail,” Nicole said. “But this place is a huge improvement over the youth detention center. Be sure to thank Miss Davies for finding you a slot here. They’re just trying out these small group homes, so there are only a few of them. I don’t know what strings she had to pull.”
“My parents probably paid for me to jump the line, like they did with my school.”
Nicole wondered if England’s youth detention system would accept a donation from the Fletchers. She doubted it.
“I wanted to ask you about one of Sami’s friends, Mohammed Antebi. Did you know him?”
“I don’t think so. Was he at King’s?”
“No, he was a friend of Sami’s from East London. They went to school together, but Mohammed didn’t go on to the university.”
“Sami never introduced me to anybody from his neighborhood. I think he was ashamed of his friends and family. You know, because of my so-called brilliant life. What about this Mohammed?”
“He was found dead, floating in the Thame
s.”
Abigail’s eyes grew wide and her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh, my God! He must have been killed by the same person who murdered Sami. Doesn’t this prove I’m innocent? Like, if someone who knew Sami gets murdered a few days later, it has to be connected. And I’ve been locked up, so it couldn’t have been me.”
“That’s a good theory, and your solicitor may be able to use it in your defense if the case goes to trial. But the police still have evidence they think proves you were involved. So this second murder doesn’t automatically clear you.”
The girl looked away, then turned back. “What’s going to happen to me? I mean, they have to prove I did it, don’t they? And I didn’t. I’m innocent. They can’t convict me of something I didn’t do, can they?”
“You were framed, Abigail. You know it, and so do we. But we have to find evidence that someone else is responsible. It’s complicated because whoever killed him did a good job of planting evidence pointing to you. I do have some leads I’m following. You mustn’t give up hope. I ran into your parents outside. They didn’t look too happy. What happened?”
Abigail busied herself picking at the tufts on the white chenille bedspread. She didn’t answer.
“Why did your relationship with them go bad? What happened?”
“Why did it go bad?” Abigail gave a snort of laughter. “It was never good. They kept their distance from the time they brought me home. I begged them to send for my brother and sister. At first they couldn’t understand because I was speaking Ukrainian, so they didn’t know what I was talking about. They hired a woman to teach me English. She knew Ukrainian and told them what I wanted. They had her tell me that the orphanage had closed and no one knew where the children were sent. I’ll bet they never even bothered to ask.”
Abigail got up and poured herself a glass of water from a pitcher on the bureau. She held up an empty glass to Nicole, who shook her head. Abigail sipped some of her water and carried it over to the window, gazing out. Finally she set the glass down and sat on the bed again.
“There’s more,” she said. “When I was little, I used to have tantrums. If my nanny wasn’t there to take me to the park, they’d lock me in my room. I’d lie on the floor, kicking the door with my heels to make as much noise as possible. Finally when I was around eight, they got me a TV set of my own so I’d stop bothering them. It worked. I spent a lot of time in my room, watching old movies. I don’t know why I liked those so much. Maybe they reminded me of Baba. She loved those old black and white ones.”
“Baba?”
“Babushka. You know, grandmother. We had to live with Baba because our parents were hopeless drunks.” She looked up at Nicole and shook her head. “Gene and Serena went to so much trouble to get me, traveling all the way to Ukraine. You’d think they’d have hired a therapist and worked with her to help me adjust. I guess it was easier to believe there was something wrong with me. Like I was defective or something.”
“Do you remember the orphanage at all?”
“Bits and pieces.” Abigail repeated what she remembered about the day the Fletchers came to get her, the last time she saw her siblings. “Serena was always reminding me why they’d picked me instead of one of the other kids. It was my golden curls and angelic face. She said I’d tricked them with my sweet appearance when I was the opposite of sweet. Before the orphanage, when we lived with Baba, Baba would say I was a little devil with the face of an angel, and that would be my undoing. She was right.”
“What was your name before you were adopted?”
“Alina. Alina Halichenko.”
“And your brother and sister?”
“Natalia and Oleksander Halichenko.”
Nicole had pulled out her notebook and was taking down the information. Although tracking people in Eastern Europe was difficult, she decided to make some inquiries. Perhaps Reinhardt would have some suggestions. She didn’t mention any of this to Abigail in case nothing came of it. No sense getting the girl’s hopes up.
“Do you remember the name of the orphanage?”
Abigail shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think they called it the City of Kiev Orphanage. I don’t remember much except we were always hungry and there were no toilets. They gave us pots to put under our beds. You can’t imagine the stink! It was worse than that youth detention center.”
Sarah, the group home’s director, popped her head in.
“Abigail, we’re about to start our art lesson. You said you wanted to join us today.”
“Yes. I want to give it a try.” She turned to Nicole. “Do you have any more questions?”
“No,” Nicole said. “I should be going.”
Both Abigail and Nicole got up and followed Sarah downstairs. Abigail accompanied Nicole to the front door and gave her a hug.
“Thanks for coming. And for the gifts.”
On her way to the tube, Nicole thought about how much Abigail had changed since they’d first met. Even with the threat of a trial weighing on her, the girl had dropped much of her sullen attitude. For the most part, she was polite and cooperative. If only they could clear her of this murder charge.
Nicole returned to Reinhardt’s flat, checking frequently to see if she was being followed. She didn’t spot anyone. Still she used the circuitous route he’d showed her to get into his building without being seen. This involved letting herself into a building several doors down. Reinhardt had introduced her to the doorman, who recognized her. He nodded at her and opened the door as if she were one of the building’s residents. After slipping him a sizable tip, she rode the elevator one floor up, then took the stairs down to the ground floor and exited through a back door to the alley. Once she reached Reinhardt’s building, she used the keycode he’d given her to summon the private elevator that went directly to his flat. He’d given her yet another route for leaving the building. This, he explained, would confuse anyone following her. They’d have no idea which building was hers.
When he’d left that morning, Reinhardt had said he’d be home by 1:00, and they could have lunch at the bistro where they’d eaten the day before. It was now 1:10, and the apartment was empty. She looked around until she found a note on the mantel in the sitting room.
Wonderful time last night and this morning. Sorry to leave without a chance to say goodbye. Hope to be back in a couple days. Good luck on your case.
—Reinhardt
She went to the front hall closet to check. Sure enough his suitcase was gone. She let out a shaky sigh, surprised to find herself on the verge of tears. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. How could she let this upset her when he’d told her he was going to leave? Still she’d hoped they’d have a few more days together.
She went back to the table and re-read the note. Then in a fit of pique, she crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. He wasn’t available. He’d never be available. When would she learn?
She glanced at the clock. She’d promised to be at Sacha’s dorm in an hour and a half. She wasn’t hungry but figured she’d better eat before she made the trip. The refrigerator was predictably empty. She had to do something about that. Checking the map on her phone, she saw that a large supermarket was only a few blocks away. She had just enough time to pick up a few groceries and have a quick snack before she left to see Sacha.
When Nicole reached the market, she noticed tables and chairs set out in a covered courtyard adjacent to the store. She changed plans. She’d grocery shop later. Instead she went to the deli counter and ordered a roast beef and swiss cheese sub and took a bottle of water from the cooler. After going through the checkout line, she brought the food out to the courtyard. The tables were empty. She chose one and sat to eat while she watched the parade of passersby. All at once she noticed a man had just taken a seat at a table near the street. He was wearing a black jacket and a green baseball cap with the visor pulled low, hiding his face. It was the same one she’d spotted several times in East London. Now she was certain he was following her.
>
She left the uneaten half of her sandwich and bottle of water on the table and got up and returned to the store in a leisurely manner, as if she was planning to return. She didn’t look around to see if he was behind her, but strode to the rear of the store and followed one of the stock clerks through a swinging door. This led to a huge open room where the market stored merchandise. A man in a green smock looked up from the carton of apples he was loading onto a dolly.
“You can’t be here, madam,” he said. “It’s staff only.”
Ignoring him, she hurried toward a large platform at the rear that opened onto a side street. It was the dock where trucks delivered goods. She found some stairs that led down to the sidewalk. No one seemed to notice.
On her way to the tube station, she kept looking around to make sure that man wasn’t behind her. She arrived at the dorm fifteen minutes early, so she wasn’t surprised to find Sacha’s door closed. There was no response to her knock. The girl must be out somewhere and would return in time for their appointment. Nicole leaned against the wall to wait. After a few minutes, a young man appeared. He, too, knocked on Sacha’s door.
“She isn’t in,” Nicole said, then recognized him as the lean-faced young man who’d been at the reception desk when she’d first visited the dorm.
He knew Sacha, she remembered, and had been flirting with her on the phone before he told Nicole she could go up to see her.
He looked perturbed. “I wonder where she is. She went somewhere yesterday and hasn’t come back. I’m getting really worried. By the way, I’m Daniel.”
“Nicole.” She put out her hand to shake his. “She told me her parents live in East London. Maybe she stayed over with them.”
“Not a chance. They had a falling out. They’re strict Muslims who think girls should live at home until they’re married. That’s why Sacha has to support herself. They won’t help her. They won’t even speak to her. I say, are you planning to wait?”
“For a while. She called and asked me to meet her here at 2:30.” Nicole checked her watch. It was 2:20. “She should be here soon.”
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