The Guilty Couple(60)
Chapter 42
OLIVIA
The fire alarm is still ringing, making my head pound, but I’ve made it down five flights of stairs. There are roughly a hundred people between me and freedom. I couldn’t run for it if I tried. We’re all packed into the foyer and we’re shuffling slowly towards the doors at the far end. A security guard is standing in front of the revolving doors, preventing anyone from leaving that way. Instead we’re being directed to exit through two glass doors either side. They were locked when I came in earlier but now they’re wide open with people walking through them, two or three abreast. A couple of feet ahead of me the back of Dominic’s head is visible in a crowd of shorter colleagues. There’s a distinct grey peppering to his hair that wasn’t there five years ago but I’d recognise the shape of his head and the set of his shoulders anywhere. There’s a part of me that’s desperate to see his expression when he returns to his office later and finds his safe empty. The other, more sensible part of me, wants to get as far away as I can. I won’t be able to relax until I get the contents of my pockets into the hands of my lawyer.
Your turn to go to prison now, I silently tell Dominic then swiftly lower my chin to my chest, obscuring my face with the rim of my baseball cap as he turns, sensing he’s being watched.
Shit, that was close.
I continue to keep my head down as we shuffle towards the doors. I feel like I’ve been trapped in the foyer for hours but it can’t be more than a few minutes. Finally, I step outside, peel away from everyone else and take long, deep breaths of cool, city air as I weave through the groups that have formed outside. As I step onto the escalator that leads down to the street a heavy hand on my shoulder makes my blood freeze. I turn slowly and a thin woman with scraped-back hair pulls a face.
‘Smithy! You have to stop doing that! You were supposed to meet me on the street.’
‘Where’s the fun in that? I’m guessing the fire alarm was down to you?’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘Well, did you get the stuff? Your wig’s crooked by the way.’
‘I’ve got it.’ I tug on the rim of my baseball cap, keeping my voice low. ‘I’ve got everything that was in the safe. Come on, let’s move.’
I hurry down the last few steps, take a right and duck into a side street. I check for CCTV then dart into a doorway and gesture for Smithy to do the same. Only when I’m sure that no one can see us do I reach into my pockets.
‘Here.’ I press Dani’s repayment schedule into Smithy’s hand, feeling as though I’m handing her my life. I lost a lot of sleep last night, deliberating whether I could trust her with something so precious after she sold me out to Dani but I know she didn’t do it to be malicious or for the money. She was trying to protect me. If she wanted to screw me over she wouldn’t have confessed everything last night. She wants this to work as much as I do. We spent three years in our cell discussing how I was going to clear my name and get my daughter back. She’s on my side. ‘Don’t get it wet whatever you do.’
She raises an eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t planning on going in the Thames for a dip.’
‘I meant the rain. It’s not in biro, it might smudge.’
‘Righto.’ She tucks it into the front pocket of her rucksack. ‘What else have we got?’
‘This phone.’ I press the button on the side of the white iPhone but nothing happens; whatever charge it may once have held is long gone. I pop it into the pocket of her rucksack but keep the second phone in my hand. ‘This one belongs to Grace. And this stuff …’ I hold up the clear bag holding two SIM cards, ‘… I’ve got no idea what’s on these. Is there a laptop where you’re staying?’
‘My mate’s got a PC. Will that do?’
‘It should, if it’s not too old. I’ll buy a converter for the SIM cards just in case. Can you ask your friend for the log-in details?’
‘Sure.’ Smithy tucks the plastic bag into the rucksack, zips it up and swings it onto her back. ‘Bring it round to mine later and we’ll find out exactly what your bastard ex has been up to.’
‘Too right.’ I give her a quick hug and turn to go. ‘I’ll see you later. Look after that stuff.’
‘Will do.’ She gives me a jokey salute.
*
‘Table for two in the name of Ayesha Okoye.’
I nearly add, ‘Sorry I’m late,’ then stop myself. If I do end up being arrested I don’t want any of the staff in the restaurant to remember that I turned up late. Our table is for 11 a.m. and that’s what the police will see if they look at the bookings.
The bored-looking maître d’ standing behind the counter glances at the clipboard in his hands. ‘You’re the first of your party to arrive. Follow me.’
‘Sorry?’ The word leaves my mouth before I can stop it but the maître d’ is out of earshot, already halfway across the restaurant. I follow him, scanning the room for Ayesha’s face. She was supposed to get here at 11 a.m. That was the plan.
‘Your table.’ The maître d’ draws to a halt and gestures at a table in a dark corner of the restaurant. The cutlery is laid out and shining, the wine glasses are clean and sparkling, but there’s no sign of Aysh.