He’d left the gun loaded.
His boss’s face had fallen. He’d had no choice but to hit Matteo with what he’d been dreading. I’m suspending you from duty with immediate effect.
It had been a long night and Matteo desperately needed sleep, but Lieutenant Baroni was looking fresh and determined. He wondered if she knew about his mistake with the gun.
‘So you’ve been suspended?’ she said, with what he thought was a strong note of disapproval.
He refused to rise to the bait. So she knew. Had to, really, seeing as she was in charge of this investigation.
‘Where are Abby’s letters?’ he asked, pouring himself a coffee. Stupid, really, if he wanted to go to sleep soon, but he felt as if he needed to sharpen his mind for whatever might be coming next.
‘We’ll return them to you as soon as we can,’ she said, and Matteo felt himself get irritated by the stock phrases. He knew he was being fobbed off, damn it. Worse, she knew he knew. He met her cool eyes. She was treating him like a member of the public.
Santini, who had been silent until now, spoke. ‘He hasn’t answered the question.’
Matteo stiffened. He looked at Santini, saw an expression in his eyes that he didn’t like. This was a man who enjoyed his position of authority, who likely abused it. Matteo tried to remember what the question was but was too tired, and anyway, this Santini was winding him up.
‘You understand,’ said Santini, in a patronizing tone, ‘that you need to tell us if Abby calls you.’
Who is this total idiot? thought Matteo. He was about to retort when Susanna came into the room.
‘I thought I heard voices,’ she said urgently. ‘What’s going on? Have you found them?’
‘Signora Spencer, we have some news of your daughters,’ said Lieutenant Colonel Baroni. ‘We know they stayed in a pensione in Barga last night. This is a small town in central Tuscany,’ she explained. ‘However, they left very early this morning.’
Susanna clutched her chest in relief. ‘Oh my God. So they’re OK? Ellie’s OK?’
‘They appear to be.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘We don’t know. Your daughters stayed at the pensione under false names, which of course meant their identification was delayed and consequently gave them time to get away. But we know what vehicle they are driving and we are looking for them.’
Susanna’s earlier relief evaporated. ‘So they could be anywhere.’
‘How are they surviving?’ Matteo asked the lieutenant coolly.
‘Abby withdrew a significant amount of money yesterday. Ten thousand euros.’
Susanna’s eyes widened. ‘She always was Miss Moneybags.’
‘Which makes it all the more concerning that she didn’t pay the pensione owner for the night’s stay. In fact, both she and Ellie ran out on him this morning, not even stopping when he chased them.’
‘Why would they do that?’ asked Matteo.
‘We don’t know for certain. It’s possible they thought they had been recognized. They were clearly in a hurry to get away.’
‘We know they don’t have their mobiles with them as we were able to track these to a street bin near the bank where Abby withdrew the cash. I would like to reassure you that we’re very concerned for the safety of your daughters and we’re doing everything we can to find them.’
The Carabinieri left soon after and, feeling utterly exhausted, Matteo went outside to the terrace and collapsed into a chair. He couldn’t understand what was happening, how his wife whom he loved had suddenly become a person he didn’t recognize. Hearing a sound behind him, he looked up. Susanna was standing in the patio doorway, staying in the safety of the shade.
‘I know it’s hard,’ she said, ‘to hear these terrible things about Abby. Trust me, as a mother it’s hard to hear them too, but I have had a little longer to get used to it.’
She paused, waiting to see if he was going to speak, but he didn’t know what to say.
‘I just wanted to say how very sorry I am,’ she said softly, before turning to go back inside.
Matteo stayed on the terrace, staring up at the sky, knowing he should go to bed, knowing sleep would be impossible.
Susanna watched Matteo from the shelter of the living room and knew he’d be struggling to take everything in. It was hard to learn that the person you fell in love with was in actual fact going to let you down. Become someone who would lie to you and betray you. She knew this from personal experience. Susanna shook her head in sympathy, then moved out of the room and went upstairs. She closed her bedroom door softly behind her and went over to the window that looked out over the terrace. Matteo was still there, sitting in the chair. Making sure her window was shut, Susanna picked her phone up from the bedside table.
TWENTY-EIGHT
It was easy to allow herself to become preoccupied with the task of driving. When Abby had to keep her eyes fixed on the road, slow at tight bends, change gear, check mirrors, she didn’t have time to think about anything else. All she had to do was keep moving ahead.
Abby had followed the curve of Italy’s coastline, heading west. They had long since left behind the Tuscan hills and the road signs had been changing for a while. New cities were posted: Genoa, Sanremo, Monaco, Nice. They’d deliberately stuck to the smaller roads and Abby knew that when she got to France there was no real border control; she would be able to drive through.
Except she also knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid cameras. There may not be passport checks, but automatic number plate recognition for every vehicle that went across the border would be routine. And there was nothing she could do about it.
Ellie had been silent for much of the journey. Abby had glanced over every now and then and seen she was just watching the landscape slide by, not really paying any attention. As they got to the French border, however, Ellie sat up in shock as she realized where they were.
‘Just relax and don’t say anything stupid,’ said Abby anxiously as they slowed to the speed limit. Up ahead was a police station. Armed officials stood on either side of the road, patrolling the vehicles that drove past. Would their number plate ping on the system? Would one of the officers raise a hand and force them to stop? Sweat beaded on her upper lip but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself by wiping it away.
Abby tried to look nonchalant as she passed the police officers. A few seconds later they crossed into France. Abby realized she’d been holding her breath and exhaled loudly.
‘Can I speak now?’ asked Ellie, through gritted teeth.
Abby glanced behind in her mirror, saw the police station receding into the distance. ‘Sure.’
‘Where are we going? I mean, we can’t just keep on driving.’
Abby didn’t need to look at her sister to know she was about to kick off. It seemed safer not to answer.
‘What next? Spain? Portugal? We keep on going until we fall off the edge of Europe into the Atlantic?’
Again, Abby didn’t answer.
‘We need to stop!’ Ellie smacked her hand on the dashboard for emphasis.
‘And do what?’ said Abby.
‘I don’t know. Something! Anything!’
‘Neither of those suggestions are particularly detailed, or helpful.’
‘You always were patronizing.’
Abby looked taken aback. ‘Who, me?’
‘Yes, you! Always thinking you’re better.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Could have fooled me.’
Abby was trying to keep her patience. ‘Look, I don’t know what to do for the best. I’ve never been in this . . . situation before.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘What?’
‘Situation.’
‘You know.’
‘I want you to say it.’
‘Seriously?’ asked Abby, exasperated.
‘Yes. Go on, say it.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. Where my sister has killed my mother!’
Ellie took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Well, thanks very much. You . . . you’re so heartless. Always were. Got no feeling.’
‘Maybe I had it squeezed out of me as a child by a mother who didn’t care.’
Abby suddenly took a left turn, heading south towards the French coast. Somehow she felt better about changing the road she was on every now and then. She looked up in her mirrors, just to check she was alone, but instead of the reassurance of an empty road, her heart began to race.
‘Shit!’ she said, swiftly followed by an urgent, ‘Don’t look behind.’
Ellie, who had half turned her head, stopped in alarm. ‘What is it?’
‘Police. Behind us.’
‘Oh my God! Are they here for us?’
‘I don’t know. Shit.’ They were nearing a roundabout where there were three other exits – a two in three chance of losing them. Abby slowed and did a perfect manoeuvre at the first exit, heading for a small town. Then she surreptitiously checked her mirrors again.
‘Have they gone?’ asked Ellie nervously.
‘No.’
‘But they’re French police, right? Not Italian?’
‘Jesus, Ellie, you think they’ll forget about us? You think they don’t have translators?’
‘All right, no need to be so bloody superior.’
They were nearing the town now and Abby did her best to keep calm. Just a little further. Don’t look suspicious. She continued until she came to the town centre, and then casually turned down a side street.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she said.
Ellie glanced in her side mirror, started at what she saw. ‘They’re still following us, Abby. What do we do?’
‘It’s OK. Keep calm.’ She could feel the sweat pooling on her back. Her palms were slippery on the steering wheel as she turned again. Please don’t let them follow, she prayed, and as her eyes flicked to the mirror she almost cried with relief when she saw them drive on.
‘Have they gone?’ asked Ellie.
Abby pulled over. She lifted herself from her seat and peered out the back of the car, just to be sure. ‘Thank God.’ She turned back around and saw Ellie was slumped in her seat, her forehead resting against the dashboard, her hands protectively over her head. After a moment, Abby saw her sister’s shoulders heaving. Then the sounds came and Ellie was openly weeping – deep, inconsolable sobs that caught in her throat.
Abby tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s OK. They’ve gone now.’
But Ellie kept on crying. Abby tightened her grip, turned it into an awkward one-armed hug. To her surprise, Ellie lifted her face from the dashboard, her eyes red and streaming with tears, and in them Abby caught a raw, unrestrained grief. Ellie put her arms around Abby’s neck, clung to her.
‘I miss her, Abby, I miss her so much.’
A bolt of realization froze Abby for a moment. Susanna. Then she held her little sister, feeling the shuddering, great rifts of grief escaping from her body. They stayed there a while, parked up on the edge of a small square, neither of them noticing the man watching from the bench by the fountain.
Crying was normal, it was acceptable, especially after everything Ellie had gone through, but there was a limit, thought Abby, and just as she was starting to think that it had been going on long enough, and she was mentally phrasing a pep talk, Ellie peeled herself away and apologized.
Abby handed her a tissue. ‘Don’t be silly. There’s nothing to be sorry for.’
‘I think it’s all been a lot to contend with . . .’
Ellie looked so down, Abby squeezed her hand. She glanced up the street, saw a boulangerie.
‘I think we could both do with a strong coffee, don’t you?’
Ellie nodded and Abby jumped out of the car. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said, and crossed the road into the little shop.
Ellie watched her sister disappear into the boulangerie and suddenly felt a desperate need to stretch her own legs. She’d been in the car for hours and, tugging at the door handle, she stepped out with a sense of freedom and relief. It felt good to walk, as she headed over to the little square, where she dipped her hands in the fountain and looked up at a cherub above her head, who poured water from his stone urn.
The water was cool and clear and Ellie felt a strong urge to splash some on her face and neck. She scooped up the water and sighed as it soothed her hot, reddened eyes.
‘It’s meant to have healing properties.’
Ellie swung round, wiping away the water dripping from her face. A man, dressed in Lycra, was sitting on the bench, his forearms resting on his thighs as he watched her. A bike was propped against the side of the seat.
Her first thought was whether or not he was talking to her, but a quick glance around confirmed that he was.
‘Healing in what way?’
The man held up his phone. ‘Anyway you like, according to this website. Flu, sprained ankle . . . broken heart.’
Ellie was distracted from trying to place his accent (Norwegian? Swedish?) by his last comment. Had he seen her crying? Probably. Was that what he thought was wrong with her? Broken heart? She was too drained to care. She looked a little closer at him; he was young, younger than her, she thought, although not by much. She noticed his biceps and quads. He was fit.
She nodded at his bike. ‘You on a trip?’
‘Pilgrimage.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Of sorts. I’ve cycled down from Oslo.’ (So, Norwegian then, thought Ellie.) ‘I’m following the Méditerranée a Vélo cycle route across southern France.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s so scenic. And safer than the motorway.’
‘No, I mean, why are you crossing southern France? What’s the pilgrimage?’
He smiled at her then, a fleeting, sad smile, she thought, before it vanished.
‘That’s not the pilgrimage.’
‘I’m confused.’
‘That’s just a cool cycle ride. The pilgrimage is across northern Spain. The Camino de Santiago. I get a train to the start of the trail.’
‘Oh right,’ said Ellie, not really following.
The man moved up on the bench and patted the space next to him. ‘I’m Fredrik.’
Ellie hesitated, but then thought, Might as well be friendly. ‘Ellie,’ she replied, as she sat next to him. He really was extremely good-looking. Even though he was sitting down she could tell by the length of his legs that he was tall. There was a clear tan line where his shorts had ridden up – from all those days of cycling, she thought. And his blue eyes shone in creases that went from tan to white, depending on whether or not he was smiling.
‘So, what’s your story?’ he asked.
Ellie pondered. ‘Just on a little road trip.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. Thought I’d explore a bit of southern France.’
‘Which bits?’
Suddenly she couldn’t think. She smiled blankly at him while she tried to remember some place, any place – good God, she was a teacher! She shrugged. ‘Any bits.’
He was amused. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘none of my business.’
‘No,’ said Ellie.
‘You don’t have to tell me if you’re an international bank robber.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Or a spy.’
‘As then I’d have to kill you.’
He laughed. ‘So let’s just say you wanted to get out and about for the hell of it. Take in the scenery.’
‘Exactly.’
He was smiling in a way that told Ellie he was deeply intrigued by her story.
‘Seems like we’re both on a pilgrimage,’ he said.
Ellie opened her mouth to correct him but then decided against it.
‘I’m hoping mine helps me get a little perspective. Kind of handy when life throws some curveballs at you.’ He paused, searched her face. ‘You know what I mean?’
Ellie nodded. He was curious, maybe even
suspected that something was up, but he wasn’t going to ask and she was relieved. And his words were kind, but he had no idea of the extent of the mess she was in. She was unable to see how she might ever be able to come to terms with what had happened to her over the last twenty-four hours.
‘Which way are you headed?’ asked Fredrik.
Ellie pointed in the direction the car was facing. ‘That way.’
‘West?’
She looked at him, impressed. How could he tell so quickly?
He held up his phone in confession. ‘Compass app. Been checking my route.’
‘Cheat. So, what about you? Where’s next?’
He leaned closer to her and pointed across the square, where a road ran off. ‘That way. Two hours and forty kilometres later I’ll be in Antibes.’
‘Antibes,’ sighed Ellie. ‘Impressionist heaven.’
Fredrik looked at his bike. ‘If only it were a tandem . . .’
She laughed.
‘There’s a lady over there who looks quite fierce,’ said Fredrik, nudging her shoulder.
She turned to see Abby had just come out of the boulangerie, two coffees in her hands, and was looking over at them suspiciously.
‘My sister,’ she said, and was suddenly aware that the lightness she’d briefly felt was rapidly evaporating. She had an urge to do something reckless, just get on the back of this man’s bike and disappear to Antibes, but of course this was a fantasy.
‘If you give me your number, I could send you a picture? Picasso Museum by the sea?’
Ellie turned to face him, taken aback.
He held up an apologetic hand. ‘Or not. Didn’t mean to step out of line.’
She could sense Abby approaching, and her sister’s encroaching presence was overbearing. In a matter of minutes they’d be back in the car going who knew where with Abby calling all the shots, and Ellie wanted to grab hold of a lifeline. She rattled off her number, and watched as Fredrik typed it into his phone, just as Abby arrived.
‘One cappuccino,’ she said, handing over one of the drinks.
‘Thanks,’ said Ellie.
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