The Passengers(91)
Now she accepted that she had no more control over Nicky’s actions than she had over the Hacker’s. His room remained untouched not because their parents hadn’t come to terms with his death. It was the opposite. In accepting his decision they’d found the closure Libby couldn’t. By the time she eventually left that house and returned to Birmingham, she had reconnected with the parents and brother she’d lost.
Libby reached her gated community before she knew it and placed her head in front of a biometric facial recognition scanner until it recognised her and opened the door. She was unsure if it was the alcohol making her smile or her conversation with Nia. It didn’t matter, she was suffused with optimism. It was unlikely her life was ever going to be the same as it was before jury duty, but she was gradually accepting that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
She unzipped her bag to locate the key fob to her front door when she felt a smooth, flat object inside. Libby pulled it out – it was an electronic tablet. She stared at it, puzzled as to how it might be in her possession. She hadn’t brought it with her and Nia always kept her tablet in a bejewelled pink case. Had she absentmindedly taken somebody else’s from the bar on the train assuming it was her own?
She closed and locked the front door behind her as the lights automatically switched on, and made her way to the kitchen diner. She glanced to the corner of the room where she once kept the house rabbits Michael and Jackson’s cage. When her media career soared, she spent too much time away from home to keep them. The neighbour’s daughter who she offered them to promised Libby could visit them whenever she liked.
Pouring herself a mug of coffee, she sat at the table and felt for the tablet’s on button. It immediately sprang to life but there were no security clearances required such as iris or facial recognition scans. The home screen contained no apps or saved pages. There was just one icon, a symbol for a video clip.
Libby’s finger hovered over it, deliberating whether she was invading the owner’s privacy by pressing play. Curiosity won over and with one touch, the video icon quadrupled in size. A man’s face appeared in a frame. There was something familiar about him but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. He sported a thick, dark-brown beard, black-rimmed glasses and a beanie hat covered his head. Then she recognised him as the scruffy man who’d collided with her on the train earlier that night.
‘Libby,’ he began. His voice gave her body chills.
It was Jude Harrison.
‘I apologise for approaching you like this,’ he continued. ‘But I had to find a way of reaching you and it’s not like I can just turn up on your doorstep. Firstly, I need you to know that not everything I told you was a lie when we met in person a year ago or while you were at the inquest. What happened that day isn’t as black and white as it seems. And I would like the opportunity to tell you the truth because it’s what you deserve. But I’m not going to explain it now or through a videocall. I want to do it in person. I’m in the city, Libby. I’m in Birmingham and I need to see you tonight.’
Chapter 63
Libby released her grip on the tablet like it was burning her hands. Then she stared at the device in disbelief, trying to make sense of what she had just seen and heard.
Jude Harrison had returned. And he wanted to see her again.
When the shock passed, anger began to rise inside her and she wanted to hurl the tablet against the wall until it shattered, then forget she had ever found it. But it wasn’t an option. She couldn’t unsee or ignore that Jude had broken cover to make contact.
She had to call the police. Her hands shook as she reached for her phone and asked her virtual assistant to find the electronic business card she had stored with the details of a Chief Inspector who was heading one of the many investigations into Jude’s disappearance. They had met on several occasions to discuss her first encounter with Jude. Then together, they’d watched and listened to recordings of conversations in the inquest room, trying to pick out and piece together clues as to his potential identity.
‘Would you like me to call the number you have requested?’ asked the VA.
Libby opened her mouth but no reply came out. Instead, she kept replaying the moment on the train when Jude had bumped into her, angry with herself for having drunk too much and let her guard down. Perhaps if she had been sober, she’d have immediately identified him, then called for help. There would have been no shortage of vigilantes on that train willing to apprehend the world’s most wanted man until the police arrived.
‘Would you like me to call the number you have requested?’ the VA repeated.
Libby considered how long Jude might have been following her. Had it only been on the London to Birmingham train or had he been watching her all day? All week perhaps? Longer? She felt sick at the thought of his proximity.
‘Would you like me to call—’
‘No,’ Libby interrupted.
Her focus returned to the tablet, a part of her eager to watch the video for a second time but too afraid to press play. Eventually, she summoned up the courage and Jude came back to life. ‘What happened that day isn’t as black and white as it seems,’ he said. ‘I would like the opportunity to tell you the truth.’
Of course your guilt is black and white! she thought. Forensics proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that you had never been a Passenger in the car we’d been watching you in. There was no DNA, no empty food cartons or rucksack scattered across the rear seats like we’d seen earlier.