First Born(40)

Maybe the simplest explanation is the most plausible one? Shawn had a key, or at least had access to a key. He could have monitored KT’s comings and goings. He could have let himself in. Bagby knows the building layout, and the times when the only other resident, his mother, would be out at one of her meetings.

I re-read the emails from KT’s FortressMail account. Nobody mentions names, but judging from the way the emails are written, and by the fact that well over half of the mails come from two accounts, it’s obvious she used this account as her primary way of communicating with those two people. KT gave her secure address to them. It’s not clear from the evidence whether the two individuals knew each other, or of each other. [email protected] writes very short messages that are unashamedly flirtatious. Asking how she feels. How she felt the night before. Asking for photos. Asking her to do things. That one’s Groot. Emails from the other account are even more succinct. Numbers and street intersections. Co-ordinates. Telephone numbers and postal codes. Times and dates. Bank account details. Other numeric codes.

The flirtatious emailer, Groot, sent one message ten days ago which reads Can’t. Family stuff. Wait until after Thanksgiving.

Mum and Dad appear at the window and they don’t look as devastated as they have of late. Mum’s eyes are still miserable but her mouth is smiling. Dad’s wearing his hood tight around his face. They gesture for me to come out and then the waiter asks them to come in out of the rain and they look apologetic and Mum taps her watch.

The wind has intensified. A copy of the New York Post flaps around in the gutter before it’s pushed flat against a mailbox.

‘Chinatown is this way,’ says Dad.

I know which way it is. I’ve acquainted myself with the map of Manhattan, at least from Central Park down to Wall Street. We walk past the Harvard Club with its doorman, who ignores me, if he even recognises me, and head down Fifth Avenue.

‘Storm’s brewing,’ says Mum.

‘We’ll fly out before it reaches here,’ says Dad. ‘That’s what the BBC says.’

We hail a cab for the rest of the journey to Chinatown. We’re all drenched and cold. Dad finds a noodle place with a sign in the window saying it was reviewed or featured in Time Out. ‘Katie would have loved it here,’ says Mum, making a heroic effort to be positive.

‘She’d have asked the chef to choose for her,’ I say.

‘She was an adventurer,’ says Dad.

They order beer and I order water. We eat noodle dishes and the food is incredible. Fresh herbs. Deep, rich stock. Velvety noodles.

‘Are you going to be OK tomorrow at the service?’ asks Mum. ‘It’s not the way we wanted, not really, but we get to fly back together and that’s the main thing.’

‘She loved this country,’ says Dad. ‘I don’t think she would have minded. In a strange kind of way I think she’d have approved.’ He smiles and then laughs. ‘She’d have thought a funeral in our sleepy little village would be too boring for her.’

‘True,’ I say. ‘This is more KT.’

‘She always asked about you,’ says Mum. ‘Even when you weren’t talking properly these past months, she asked about you every day. Wanted to know about your job and how you were doing in London.’

‘I know, Mum.’

‘Until you were both about four I couldn’t tell you apart,’ says Dad. ‘Most of the time I just guessed.’

We all smile and Dad sips his beer to hide the emotion on his face. This is one of the things he always says, one of his stories.

‘Remember that time, just after your grandma died, when Grandad bought you a pair of ice-skates to use in Nottingham ice-rink, one pair between you. Do you remember that, Moll?’

I smile and nod. ‘I remember, Dad. I was seven.’

‘You two were both so angry. It was the first time you’d both realised there was a down side to being an identical twin.’

‘He never made that mistake again,’ says Mum.

We finish our noodles. The broth is spicy and my tongue is tingling but it’s a pleasant sensation.

‘Are you all packed yet, sweetie?’ asks Mum. ‘I’ve got some space if you need to put anything in my case. You can borrow Dad’s case scales if you need to weigh.’

‘I’ll pack later,’ I say. ‘I need to research more.’

‘You should rest as well, Moll,’ says Dad. ‘Big day tomorrow. Think we’ll all need our strength. Need to be at the chapel by two-thirty sharp. And then we fly just after nine.’

‘I know, Dad.’

‘Your mum thinks we should take a cab to the crematorium with our luggage and ask them to store it there, and then go straight on to JFK airport.’

‘It makes sense,’ says Mum. ‘We’ll already be halfway there.’

‘I say we leave our bags at the hotel.’ He still calls it a hotel. ‘And then come back and pick them up. Yellow cabs aren’t too expensive, fixed price to JFK, and I don’t want to arrive at Katie’s . . . you know, I don’t want to turn up with all our suitcases. It doesn’t seem proper.’

‘Saves money, though. I don’t see how we can afford . . .’

‘We can manage it,’ says Dad, sternly. ‘For God’s sake, I’ll work three jobs when we get back if I need to. Tomorrow has to be done right.’