The black door was impenetrable. She banged on it feverishly until a guy opened up and glared at her without speaking. Her mouth went dry. It wasn’t Solomon she was looking at, but some vicious-looking guy she’d never seen. He was tall and muscular and didn’t flinch from eye contact and silence. For somewhere to look, she’d glanced at his folded arms, loaded with tattoos. His knuckles were marked too. She’d asked him where Solomon was. He’d shrugged. They’d stared at each other for a while. She’d asked him when Solomon would be back. He’d shrugged again. A silent minute followed.
‘Tell him I want him.’
For the first time, he opened his mouth and leaned a little closer. ‘I don’t take orders from no one.’
‘That’s good. Because I’m not no one. So tell him I want to speak to him, very urgently.’
‘You stupid, or what? Did you hear what I said?’ Saliva showered her face. Past being polite, she wiped it off her cheek.
‘You used a double negative, which equals a positive – meaning you do take orders.’ Confusion clouded his face. ‘So pass my message on.’
‘Who the hell do you think you are?’
‘Naomi Hamilton, the girl whose life is being screwed up by you people.’ The muscles in his face tightened now and he fell silent again. ‘So tell your boss to quit hiding from me. Tell him I’m looking for him and that I called round. Again. I’m out of time and patience.’
After that she’d left Rhapsody, with Tattooed Knuckles staring after her as she retraced her steps and got out of there. That last visit was two weeks ago, and still there wasn’t a murmur from Vincent Solomon. But thoughts of interrogating him while beating him senseless had been her reason for leaping into a pair of shoes and running into the night without blinking.
Common sense finally caught up as she let herself back into the house. Those footprints could have been anyone’s.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked herself, as she locked the door with trembling hands. ‘Stupid. Stupid.’
There was something on the doormat that she hadn’t noticed on the way out. She bent down and scooped it up and heard footsteps at the top of the stairs. Then a light went on. She shoved a white envelope down her top just before Henry appeared. He stayed still, peering down at her in his dressing gown.
‘Naomi? Where’ve you been?’ he whispered.
She hesitated, trying to organise her thoughts. ‘Nowhere. I couldn’t sleep.’ She swiped her shoes against the mat to buy some time. ‘It’s snowing, so I went into the garden to look at it. Childish, I know.’
‘It isn’t childish.’ Relief flooded his face and he slumped against the wall. ‘I can’t sleep either.’
Naomi started to climb the stairs toward him. ‘Since when have you ever had trouble sleeping?’ Henry was so different lately. He was slimmer and the features were sharpening on his face. He didn’t smile or laugh as much as he used to and was always on the prowl, guarding, alert to small changes in a way that wasn’t normal for him.
‘For a while now,’ he said, slowly, wearily. But he attempted a smile. He stood to one side as she drew level. ‘Look, Naomi,’ Henry began, waiting until she twisted her neck to face him. ‘I know it’s hard, but you might have to move on with your life without Dan,’ he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder.
‘Move on?’ The term confused her. Her tone was blunter, suddenly. ‘How do you propose I do that?’
Henry shrugged apologetically and rubbed his eyes.
‘I can’t abandon Dan,’ she whispered harshly. ‘I won’t. Did you give up on Mum when she left home?’
‘That was differe –’
‘How?’ Henry’s mouth opened and he groped for a response, but ended up yawning. ‘You loved her so you fought to get her back. You didn’t accept the unacceptable and I won’t either.’
‘Naomi, listen, Dan doesn’t want you putting yourself on the line for him. It isn’t too late to back out.’
‘I won’t rest until I’ve got Dan back, Dad. OK?’ Her voice broke and she fought back tears. ‘There is no backing out.’
Henry sighed. ‘I understand how you feel, I really do,’ Henry’s eyes filled too, ‘but sometimes, circumstances dictate that there’s just nothing we can do.’ His bottom lip quivered. ‘Nothing.’
‘I don’t accept that. There’s always something we can do. There’s always a choice.’
‘Not always.’
‘Always,’ she insisted, and Henry looked at her.
‘I’m worried about you. I wish you’d consider booking a visit to see Uncle Jed in Florida. Sometimes it’s best to –’
‘Run away? Hide?’ She swept her hair out of her eyes. ‘Put myself first?’
Henry shook his head. ‘I was going to say sometimes it’s best to accept what you can’t change.’
‘I’m in no mood to be passive, Dad. This is Dan’s life we’re talking about. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. Don’t forget that.’ She paused and Henry nodded reluctantly. ‘When did Dan ever do the easy thing when it came to me? You think I’m going to turn my back on him now?’
‘I can see you’re determined not to.’
‘Too right, because I love him and because he’s innocent and I’m going to fight for him, just like you would for Mum.’
Henry considered this and nodded again. ‘Would you like some support? I could drive you to court in the morning.’
‘Thanks, but no. Annabel and Joel are meeting me there.’ They were travelling from Newcastle. ‘You'd best stay here with Mum. I don’t want her to be any more anxious and angry than she already is.’
‘We’ll all be glad when this is over.’
‘Not if Dan is found guilty we won’t.’
‘No. Well . . . you try and get some sleep now.’
‘You too, Dad. Take your own advice.’ Naomi continued towards her room. That Camilla intended to disown her if she testified was left unsaid, but her dad’s anxiety was palpable. ‘Night.’
Naomi slipped into her room and closed the door. Her pulse was racing. She fished the envelope out of her top. One corner had been digging into her chest. She switched the lamp on and dropped carefully onto her bed, attention fixed on the envelope. The back of it said, in block capitals, NAOMI. Her eyes widened. A note for her? The letters had been carefully formed. They were evenly spaced, bold in size, no degree of slant to the left or right, no defining characteristics at first glance. She couldn’t fault the symmetry and got the impression that it was more an attempt to conceal writing-style than to create perfect letters.
She tore her way inside and withdrew a small sheet of paper folded in half. The message was typed and was only two sentences long.
If you want to corner the king, you have to be in his game. I'll help you.
Her muscles tensed. She examined the paper for more, turning it over in her hands. Was that it, some cryptic message that meant nothing?
If you want to corner the king, you have to be in his game. I'll help you.
She allowed her head to crash onto her pillow and searched the ceiling for answers. It was as blank as she was.
Think, think.
King? Solomon, obviously. Game? Well, life, for want of a better word. System. Everything was a game to Solomon, his entire life – in one way. In another, he took everything shockingly seriously. Other people were what made his life a game. Everyone needed to be won, to be controlled, to be subdued and commanded. Why? So he could have his minions and protect himself. She’d never be one of his subjects. Never.
She substituted the words as she looked at the paper again.
If you want to corner Solomon, you have to be in his life. I'll help you.
Who’d visited her in the night to leave that message? Solomon himself? Surely not. But the thought raised goose-bumps on her arms. She didn’t want to assess why.
She screwed the paper into a tight ball and hurled it across the room. Then she climbed into bed in her clothes, adrenaline surging through her veins.
12
In daylight, the day looked pretty much like any other day in early March might have looked: nature stripped bare, a generous helping of snow, a dazzling blue sky holding the distant sun, and everything beneath it either black or white.
But it didn’t feel like every other March day might have felt. Naomi’s mood didn’t mirror the empty skies, the sunshine and the soft swells of drifted snow. Inside, she felt dark and stormy. Her stomach was restless, her legs shaky, her thoughts chaotic.
When she opened the wardrobe, bright colours made her eyes squint, so she reached for black trousers, black shoes, white blouse and a dark knee-length coat. She dragged a brush through her hair and stuck her face in front of the mirror. A pair of anxious eyes stared back at her, bloodshot and unblinking. The skin around them was dark. Her face was pale. She’d had no patience for applying makeup and she looked ill, she decided. She needed to look good for Dan, so she mustered the energy to return to the bathroom where she raked through her makeup bag for foundation, concealer, mascara, lip colour, anything that would provide a mask.
She’d been coached for today, carefully interviewed, prepped on questions, procedures, court etiquette, how to present herself, and so on. And yet she was filled with the sense that nothing could prepare her for what lay ahead. Her mind was cluttered with information, all floating around.
Before the day was up, she’d be answering questions in front of a courtroom full of people and a judge and jury. She’d be called to give evidence as a witness for Dan’s defence lawyer. Then she’d be cross-examined by the prosecuting lawyer who would try to pick holes in her testimony and unravel it thread by thread and make fiction of her statement. She’d been warned. The message from Dan via his lawyer had been this: don’t testify. He didn’t want her to be involved. He wanted her to stay far away and forget about him and move on. How could she? She was a key witness. The key witness. Putting her on the stand was a risk, she’d been told that too. She might just be the difference, the difference between Dan walking free or being thrown in a cell for a very long time. Get it right, and she could maybe tip the case in Dan’s favour. Get it wrong . . .
She closed her eyes. A risk indeed, but she couldn’t not take it. Even though her legs would barely carry her weight and she felt sick with nerves, she had to do this for Dan.
Too nauseous to eat or drink, Naomi put on a heavy wool coat and a black scarf and gloves. Then she picked up her handbag and wondered if she’d be able to dig her car out of the snow and get herself to the crown court in central Manchester.
***
It was forty-five minutes later that Naomi managed to find somewhere to park. It was a quiet street. Narrow, with tall buildings either side. A woman called Debbie who’d been prepping her for the case, was meeting her at ten. She texted the woman to let her know she’d arrived in central Manchester and would be with her very shortly.
Her legs felt weak as she climbed out of the car and poured a lot of change into a nearby parking meter. Enough to last several hours. She dumped the ticket on the dashboard, locked the car, glanced around her and began picking her way up the snow-lined street in her heels.
She was feeling distinctly alone and vulnerable even before she heard footsteps in the snow behind her. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She decided she was taking no chances at all. If her instincts were working overtime and adding two and two to make five, she’d live with it. Better to duck into a nearby office and let the guy in dark clothes pass by than to regret it.
But the footsteps disappeared and she relaxed. Her first mistake. Exactly two and a half minutes later, she was in the back of a van thinking vividly about that error and how it had led to all the others. She’d been enticed. And walked right into a trap all by herself, like a dumb animal.
***
Annabel whispered to Joel, ‘Something’s wrong.’
They were sitting in the public gallery in court room number 4. The room was full and was humming with quiet conversations against the backdrop of a road digger drilling concrete in the distance outside, a cacophony of sound. Dan Stone’s parents were sitting two rows in front. Valerie Stone had her head bowed. Her husband had his arm around her shoulder. They weren’t speaking. For the previous twenty minutes or so, Annabel had been sitting, watching them. She couldn’t not. And as she stroked the swell of her belly, she could begin to imagine the horror of losing a child. Annabel had never really considered Nathan Stone’s death to be a loss until she’d sat behind his mother and seen how she could barely raise her head off her chest. And now the poor woman was facing the prospect of losing a second son to prison for the murder of the first. A pitiful sight.
Joel leant into Annabel’s ear. ‘Where’s Naomi?’
‘That’s what I mean,’ Annabel said. ‘She hasn’t been responding to my texts. I told her she shouldn’t travel alone. She had the offer of being collected and wouldn’t take it. She was determined to get here on her own.’
‘She’ll be in a room or something, getting ready to be called. She won’t be able to reply right now.’
‘No.’ Annabel stood up. ‘Something’s not right, I can tell. The judge should have been in by now and there’s no sign of him. I’m going to see if I can find that Debbie woman who’s been interviewing Naomi. Give me a couple of minutes.’
‘Shall I come with you?’ Joel offered.
‘No. Mind my seat.’
Annabel pushed through the giant wooden doors of court four and scanned the hallway. There were people on the move. Then she saw Debbie Edwards in a blue trouser suit, talking to Dan’s defence lawyer in one corner, lost in conversation. Debbie was checking her watch. Annabel dodged moving people and made her way over to them. They stopped talking as she approached.
Annabel said, ‘What’s happening. Where’s Naomi?’
They looked at each other.
‘Is she here?’ Annabel pressed.
‘She should be,’ Debbie said. ‘She texted me twenty-five minutes ago to say she was almost here. And now I can’t get hold of her.’
‘What the hell?’ Annabel said.
Dan’s lawyer said, ‘Look, we have a serious situation here.’
‘Too right we do,’ Annabel said.
‘The judge is pressing to proceed and I don’t have my key witness.’
‘And my sister is missing,’ Annabel said, angry suddenly. ‘What could be more serious than that?’
‘Calm down, please.’
‘Calm down? What about witness protection? Why didn’t someone collect her this morning?’
Dan’s lawyer spoke next. ‘We couldn’t force her to be collected, OK? She didn’t want protection. She refused it.’ He paused. ‘Look, Annabel, there could be any number of reasons why Naomi hasn’t arrived. It isn’t uncommon for a witness not to show. She could have slipped and injured herself. She could simply have changed her mind.’
‘No. I know my twin.’ Tears were gathering in Annabel’s eyes now and a nasty sensation was sweeping around her body. It made her belly feel heavier and her legs less solid. ‘She would have been here early, with time to spare. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for Dan. Nothing.’
He rubbed an eyebrow. ‘We’ve asked the judge for more time.’
‘What about Naomi?’ Annabel pressed. ‘We need to call the police.’
‘Annabel, listen,’ Debbie Edwards shuffled closer. ‘Call home. Speak to your parents and ask them if they know of Naomi’s whereabouts. The police don’t take action when a person has been missing for minutes. Be practical while we try to stall things here.’
Annabel nodded. In truth she felt too choked to speak. She made her way out of the building and stood just outside and began, with trembling fingers, to call home.
‘Henry Hamilton.’
‘Dad, it’s me. Is Naomi at home?’
A pause. ‘Annabel? What’s the matter?’
‘Is Naomi there?’
‘No. She set off for court a good whi
le ago now. Wouldn’t let me come with her. Hasn’t she arrived?’
Annabel closed her eyes. Tears were finding a way out anyway. ‘No, Dad. She texted Debbie Edwards to say she was almost here, and then nothing. That was nearly half an hour ago and no one can get hold of her and I don’t know what to do now.’
Henry was silent on the other end of the phone. Annabel wiped her eyes.
At length, Henry said, ‘Annabel, listen to me carefully. Please come home now and don’t say anything to anyone, OK? Just get home safely. You shouldn’t be upset in your condition. Leave things to me and come back here.’
‘What do you think has happened to her?’
‘Let’s not jump to conclusions. Shall I collect you?’
‘No, Joel’s with me. He’ll drive.’
Henry was silent again. He sighed on the other end of the phone. ‘Very well then. Be careful. Please.’
***
Without a word to Camilla, Henry disappeared out of the house with his mobile phone. He brought up a number that Solomon had given to him. He’d never used it. Henry had given the number a codename, LES, initials for Lying Evil Snake.
The wooden ladders up to the treehouse were wet and slippery, but Henry scrambled up them quickly and called Solomon’s number. He was too pumped with rage to feel the cold or to plan words. His thoughts were stormy.
He might have been anxious to make the call, but for the fury surging through him now. Henry was ready to let go of his words.
Solomon answered after three rings. ‘Henry. You’d better have a good reason for calling me.’
‘Oh I have. I want to know what you’ve done with my daughter.’
A long pause. ‘Which one?’
‘The one who’s missing.’
The line was quiet for a moment. ‘Which daughter, Henry?’ Solomon’s tone was cold and insistent suddenly.
‘Naomi.’ Henry closed his eyes. Everything felt surreal. He experienced a vague notion of hoping to wake up. It soon passed. ‘If I find out you’ve –’
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