Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil(74)

“How would he have learnt her identity? No one but Eddie was aware she was traveling to this side of the world.”

“How do you know that?”

“Let’s just say that I worked out the Eddie connection, Grazier. You could have saved me a lot of time if you’d told me sooner. Why didn’t you?”

“What makes you think I knew?”

“You seem to know everything else.”

“Yes, well, I don’t know where those kids are, so my omniscience is a bit flawed at the moment,” Grazier said. “Let’s get back to Khateb. If he discovered Violette was a LeBrac, and she was the target, then he had a couple of days to plan this. So we need LeBrac…Noor to identify this guy.” Grazier put up a hand to stop Bish interrupting. “We’ve said no to the French visiting Holloway because we’ve got you there to talk to her. At the moment, what both sides of the Channel have in common is that Khateb is our chief suspect.”

“What about the security car that was seen being pushed out of the campgrounds the night before?”

“That witness needs to be reinterviewed.”

“No. The parents don’t want that. They’re frightened. None of us want our kids involved.”

Grazier winced. He wasn’t the wincing sort, so Bish was suspicious.

“This is the deal,” Grazier said. “Tomorrow morning I want you to go see LeBrac. Show her the photographs of Khateb. Find out what she knows. Does she recognize him? Could he be connected to any of her neighbors in the Brackenham estate? Elliot’s on his way to the grandparents’ farm to find out if they know Khateb.”

“He’s flying all the way to Australia to see if Nasrene LeBrac knows Khateb because they’re both Algerian? What happened to Skype?”

“Those people are beside themselves, Ortley,” Grazier snapped. “Their son died in this country, and we can’t find their granddaughter—grandchildren. I think we owe them a bit more than a Skype session.”

Bish was getting a lecture in compassion from Grazier? Worse still, Elliot had been sent to the other side of the world for a bit of hand-holding.

“I want you to cross the Channel and speak to your friend Attal,” Grazier said.

“If my friend Attal wanted to speak to me, he would have texted in very bad English and told me what was going on.”

“Your friend Attal isn’t texting you because he’s angry that French intelligence have dragged his daughter into this. Marianne Attal is the one who claimed Violette made mention of Khateb.”

“Then I’ll ring him with a translator and talk to him from here.”

The wince again. It was making Bish twitchy.

“According to Marianne Attal, Bee was present when this conversation took place. French intelligence want to speak to both girls together.”

“Not happening.”

“You’re going to have to make it happen, Bish.”

“My daughter is not returning to France, Grazier. Let’s end this conversation here.”

Grazier was growing exasperated. “Look, Downing Street wants you to take her there. The French are telling us nothing. They’re talking to the Spanish more than to our people. We’re finding out facts through blogs. So if you go in telling them about your meeting with LeBrac, they may give us something in return.” He stood up, and the only relief for Bish was the idea that he was leaving. But instead, the other man had the audacity to put on the kettle in Bish’s kitchen.

“You’re going to be sitting next to Bee. Stopping her from saying anything that may incriminate her.”

“Do you have kids, Grazier?”

Grazier didn’t like the question. “What does that matter? Does it give you a monopoly on caring? I’ve seen dead kids. Isn’t that enough?” Grazier seemed to regret the comment in an instant. Tried to give a compassionate look. It turned out better than Bish thought it would.

“For some reason, people talk to you, Ortley. The chaperones, the kids, the parents, LeBrac, Sarraf. The f*cking French even talk to you. The prime minister’s thinking of sending you to the Middle East to get things sorted out over there.”

“Is that right?”

“No. But the consolation prize is that the home secretary would like you in Calais speaking to the French. Tomorrow, seven p.m.”

“So this was all just a formality? The meeting was going to happen whether I liked it or not?”

“What do you want me to say, Ortley?”

“Her mother will never agree to this,” Bish said. “Bee will never agree to this.”

“They’re not the ones making the decisions.” Grazier was searching through the cupboards now. “Where the f*ck’s your green tea?”





34



Despite himself, Jamal can’t resist Haversham Park. His best memories come from that footy field down on Hoxton Bridge Road. He can see the kids out there training under the floodlights, while the wind carries the old guy’s threats from across the field. Nothing has changed after all.

In the stands he recognizes Robbie Tannous, with a few less pounds on him, and Alfie with a few pounds more. And the rest of the lads. Boys he knew as a kid, now grown men. Davie Kennedy. Charbel Bechara. The Ayoub cousins, whom he could never tell apart. They stand up when he arrives and he realizes they’re here tonight for him.