First Born(28)

‘We don’t even know all the details yet. Mum thinks she was drugged or poisoned.’

She looks pale. ‘My God.’

We walk on.

‘This is me,’ I say, pointing at the Bedfordshire Midtown Hostel sign.

‘Take good care of yourself, Molly. I loved your sister very much, I want you to know that.’ She doesn’t cry, but there’s a tremble in her lower lip. ‘And I’m so sorry she’s gone.’

‘Me too. Can I call you if I have more questions before I go?’

‘You can call me any time day or night, sweetheart.’

I go upstairs. Mum and Dad are out. I find Detective Martinez’s card and email asking him to look into Professor Eugene Groot and Shawn Bagby. I explain why. Then I find Bogart DeLuca’s card and call him.

‘DeLuca Investigations.’

‘I need you to look into Professor Groot some more.’

‘Hey, Molly. I was gonna call you. He’s on my radar already, on the wall chart. I’m looking at it right now. You got specifics? Anything new or actionable?’

‘Just that he may have had an inappropriate relationship with KT. Can you find out what he was doing the day she died? Where he was? Alibis and that kind of thing?’

‘Already on my list but I’ll bump it to the top. Leave it with me. You OK?’

‘I’m OK.’

‘You ever feel uncomfortable or followed, call the police. Do not hesitate. Don’t call me, even. I’ll help you if I can, always, but if you’re worried go straight to the cops.’

‘OK.’

‘Call you back.’

He ends the call and I hear noises coming from next door. ‘Mum,’ I say, opening the door. She doesn’t say anything back; she just hugs me and I feel her shoulders through her coat. She needs to eat more. She needs to rest.

Mum takes a deep breath in and says, ‘We need to talk about your sister’s body.’





Chapter 15


We huddle outside the doors to our respective rooms because there isn’t enough space in either one of them for all three of us to stand together. The carpet tiles are stained pale pink from the bleach.

‘They told you how she died? What happened?’ I look at Mum and then at Dad.

‘They can’t tell us more yet, Moll.’

‘Why not?’

‘The autopsy results. They’ll let us know as soon as they can. Your father pressed them on it.’

‘Said they have some DNA samples they’re working on,’ says Dad. ‘Working through fingerprints and CCTV from the area. And they’re investigating her electronic footprint.’

Mum clamps her wrist to her mouth for a while, and when she removes it I can see the finger marks left on her skin.

‘Sweetie, all we know is, they’re treating it as murder. They have their reasons and we’ll find out more tomorrow. Listen, we talked to a funeral director. We’ve been to talk with three of them.’

‘OK.’

‘About how to get Katie back to England.’

I look at Dad but he just shakes his head and looks down at the floor.

‘You know I wanted us to all fly back home together,’ says Mum, her voice cracking. ‘When they release her to us. Wanted to fly home as a family.’ Tears in her eyes. ‘With the coffin. But, apparently, it’s not that simple.’

‘Why not? And why are we even talking about all this when her killer is still free?’

‘Because she’s our daughter,’ says Dad sternly. ‘We want to get her back home.’

‘The problem is the cost,’ says Mum. ‘The cost of flying Katie back with us. It’s a lot more than we can afford. Out credit cards are maxed out, they’ve all been understanding what with our horrendous experience this week, but we can’t get her home with us that way.’

‘So you do it by boat?’ I say. ‘By ship? I looked into travelling here by ship, remember? Maybe that’s cheaper. Slower, but cheaper. I think it would be. I could ask for an advance from my boss.’

Mum shakes her head. ‘It isn’t cheap enough.’ She looks up at Dad and says, ‘God, I hate that a decision this important and personal comes down to money. We don’t have friends or relatives we can ask. Most of them are worse off than we are. Why the hell . . . what’s wrong with . . .?’

He looks down at the floor again. ‘So – what? We just leave her here?’

‘No, my love,’ says Mum, swallowing hard. ‘We can have a kind of a service here in New York.’

‘We can’t bury KT here, Mum. We can’t leave her here on her own forever.’

‘It’s a crematorium service, Moll,’ says Dad, putting his arm on Mum’s shoulder. ‘A cremation close to here near Brooklyn. Beautiful place called Fresh Pond – they explained it all to us. It’s like a chapel. We can do things the right way, and then fly back with Katie, with the urn, her ashes. All four of us together, just like we wanted.’

‘Cremation?’

‘It’s not what we talked about, I know that,’ says Dad. ‘We’ve always been buried in this family, on your mum’s side and mine. But it’s the only way.’

‘Her ashes?’