Something in the Water(73)

When I finish talking he leans back against the sofa, arms folded across his chest. He takes a long beat before speaking.

“All right, here’s how I see it. First of all, that photo is in the study. I scanned it the other day for Mum. So that explains that.”

“Oh my God, Mark! No one took the photo?!”

He gives me an amused grin and I feel my cheeks flush with color. Oh God, how embarrassing. I slump my head down into my hands. What a paranoid idiot. And suddenly I’m not sure how much of this situation is real at all, and how much is just adrenaline-based fabrication.

Mark snorts a chuckle before continuing, “Yeah, the picture is safe! Second, I’m not sure we should read too much into forgetting to lock the back door. You know, the mind does funny stuff when we’re stressed out. But, having said that, I think the guy you met today does sound like he could be a serious issue. I think you’re right to be concerned about that. I mean, my initial thought, obviously, is that Patrick’s connected with DCI Foster and the SO15 investigation into Holli. Don’t you think? I mean, that’s the only logical explanation really. He’s been following you and he’s seen you at Pentonville Prison a day before you should be there for your big interview, so he decides to intervene and ask you some questions. That makes sense. He wouldn’t know Pentonville called you in a day early for that meeting; you only found out last night. I’d say that’s it.”

It makes sense, what he’s saying. But I can’t quite shake the feeling that this is something else entirely.

“But why wouldn’t he introduce himself as police, Mark? And what about the answerphone messages? Do the police leave weird answerphone messages?”

“Listen, I know you think it’s the plane people, but think about it logically, Erin: If it was the plane people, if they knew where you were, do you think we’d still be here? Do you think the stuff in the attic would still be here?” He lets the questions hang in the still air.

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think we would be.” I answer slowly, realizing the truth of it as I say it out loud.

He continues briskly. “I don’t know why he didn’t say. I guess he hoped you’d believe he worked for the prison, like he said, I mean he was undercover, right? And the messages: they could just be a prank. I don’t know, pocket dials. And, I mean, come on, you know that’s not really our newsagent, right? Most of the corner shops in London have that noise. I really don’t think someone is threatening us via door noise. Maybe it’s something to do with one of your interviewees? I mean, that’s definitely a possibility, right?”

I think of Eddie again and the champagne. Yes, it’s definitely a possibility. Maybe Eddie needs to speak to me? But how could he be calling from an unknown number from prison? They wouldn’t agree to let him have his own phone in prison. And then it hits me. Eddie is a criminal. Of course he has a way to call me. I remember reading about the methods gang members use to get burner phones smuggled into prison. It’s certainly not a comfortable process for the smuggler, but they are handsomely rewarded for their troubles, or at the very least not murdered in their beds. It could definitely be Eddie leaving me those messages.

“Erin, you need to focus on the real situation here. The man you spoke to today, Patrick. Let’s say SO15 is doing some checking up on you. Forget the missing photo and our back door. The photo’s fine and as far as the door goes, well, sometimes we just forget to lock things—”

“Mark, I don’t. I don’t forget to lock things,” I interrupt, but I can feel my conviction flagging.

“Er, yeah, you do, Erin.” He studies me for a second, frowning, surprised. “Sorry, honey, but you have definitely done that before. You know that door blows open if it’s not locked properly. Trust me—you’ve forgotten to lock it before.”

Have I? That door does blow open if it’s not locked, he’s right. How would I know that unless I’d seen it do that? I guess I must have left it unlocked at some point. Then I think of our photo. It probably hasn’t been in our room for days; I didn’t notice that it was missing at all, not until now. I hadn’t even checked the answerphone until today. Shit. I am probably not half as observant as I think I am and I have been pretty preoccupied lately. Oh my God, I hope I haven’t been wandering around London making too many mistakes.

“Don’t worry about it, Erin, it’s fine. Just concentrate on the actual person you met today. The facts. This Patrick guy is probably SO15. I don’t know, maybe they think there’s a vague possibility that you’re running information between prisons or something like that. I mean, your dad does live in Saudi, right?”

I give him a hard look. We don’t talk about my family. It’s weird that he’s brought them up now.

“Erin, the police have to follow up on possibilities like that even if they don’t suspect you. They have to at least check. It would be ludicrous for the police not to check up on you. So, in light of that, honey, I think you seriously need to drop the Holli storyline. Just drop it. There’s too much attention on her right now. All it will take is the smallest amount of digging by DCI Foster to bring up some fairly awkward questions about us. To put it mildly.” He holds my gaze expectantly, brows furrowed.

He’s right, of course. They’ll want to know why we traveled to Switzerland last week. And who is suddenly paying me a monthly retainer.