Something in the Water(61)

“Now, Erin—” The DCI turns his high beams on me. “We weren’t aware you were filming this morning. I guess Holli didn’t pass that information on to her mother. We’ve been talking to the guys down at Holloway Prison about your interview footage of Holli. Obviously, no one’s seen it yet, but we’d be extremely interested to take a look at it. I think what you have there might be the only up-to-date footage we have of Holli. Aside from CCTV footage, which isn’t any real help to us, if I’m honest. I’ve got a lot of departments that are fairly eager to see what you’ve got. Do you still have the footage?”

I nod. “It’s not edited. It’s just raw footage at the moment. I haven’t gone through it myself yet, so I can’t say if there’s anything that stood out in terms of—”

“That’s not a problem,” he interrupts. He hands me a card. Detective Chief Inspector Andrew Foster. His number and email. “Transfer whatever you’ve got as soon as you can.”

“No problem.” I take the card and make a show of pocketing it safely. Policemen make me nervous. They always have. I feel him searching my face, scanning me for something, anything, a peg to hang guilt on. I struggle to keep my face open, blank.

Andy turns to Phil. “You weren’t present at the interview in Holloway, were you? You never met Holli yourself?”

“No, never met Holli. I’m meeting Alexa tomorrow,” he answers, unfazed. But then, he’s not connected to a plane crash, two murders, theft, fraud, and smuggling. I think the worst Phil’s ever done is smoke the occasional joint. And maybe an illegal download or two.

The DCI’s gaze shifts back to me. “Ah, yes, your documentary.” He smiles. I can’t quite tell the smile’s meaning. “Who else’s in it again?”

He knows. He’s almost certainly checked. I hold his gaze.

“Eddie Bishop at Pentonville, Alexa Fuller at Holloway, and Holli,” I reel off. Everything is on record; I’ve got a paper trail to prove it.

Andy gives a little nod. It’s a good group. I know it’s a good group.

He turns back to Phil.

“Anyway, Phil, you’re actually okay to knock off early if you want. It’s just Erin I need. I don’t want to keep you any longer than I have to. So feel free to scarper.” A flash of that smile again.

Phil eyes me. I nod. I’ll be fine. As he leaves he glances back, eyebrows raised. It’s been a weird morning.

This documentary could be bigger than either of us imagined. I know it. Phil knows it too. He’ll be on his MacBook trawling Holli’s social media platforms as soon as he can find a café with Wi-Fi.

Michelle is sent off by Andy, ostensibly to make more bad coffee. Once she’s gone he leans in toward me, elbows on knees, serious.

“So, Erin, your time with Holli, did you notice anything? Anything at all that might have seemed unusual? That might have struck you as odd? Did she mention anything at all?” He looks older when he’s not smiling. Slacker, beaten down, more like I’d expect a detective to look.

I think back to the interview. Two months ago now. It may as well be a year ago for all that’s happened since. Did I notice anything that might suggest her traveling to the Middle East? Did I?

Amal’s image flashes into my mind. The prison guard that day. Middle Eastern Amal. Amal, meaning “hope” in Arabic. Amal, with the kind eyes.

I instantly feel shame.

I push the thought away. I’m not that sort of person. I refuse to be that sort of person. Amal is just an average Londoner trying to do his job; he just happens to have an Arabic name. Stop it, Erin.

Andy sits waiting for an answer.

“I wouldn’t say anything specific, no. Holli was…she was, you know, slightly unnerving, I’ll admit that. I can’t say there was anything definitive but I did get a general feeling from her.” I stop talking. Shit. I replay my words in my head. I probably should have just said “No, nothing” and left it at that. Idiot. I really don’t need the scrutiny of being part of a police investigation right now. Mark and I can only stand up to so much background-delving before the shit hits the fan. My first retainer payment from my Saudi Arabian shell company will be transferring into my bank account in eight days. Money from the Middle East after a girl goes missing won’t look good to a man like DCI Andy Foster.

“Unnerving? In what way?” He looks worried now. I’ve made him concerned. Yes, I seem to have snagged an invisible trip wire. Damn.

“Just her attitude, you know, in light of her previous crime. The video of her watching things burn. Her attitude the day of the interview. She’s…” Again words fail me. What is she?

“Sorry, Andy. There’s no other way to say it. She’s a very creepy girl. Sorry, but there it is.” In for a penny, in for a pound. And you know what? If I’m a prejudiced witness, then at least I’ll never make it to court.

He chuckles.

Thank God.

His face is light again. I’m just a girl making a documentary.

“Yeah. I’ve seen the bus stuff.” He nods and we’re on the same page again. “Creepy’s the word all right, Erin. Creepy, but not bad, I don’t think, just easily led. I hope she has a change of heart before she crosses that border, because once you cross those sorts of lines there’s no way back. We won’t be able to help her after that. We won’t be looking to bring her back, if you know what I mean.” He keeps his voice low. I can hear Michelle puttering about alone in her kitchen, cigarette smoke trailing through to us. He sighs.