The Passengers(92)

Jude Harrison’s life was never in danger because Jude Harrison had never existed. He was a fictitious character no more real than those in the thriller novels she read. She repeated his words aloud. ‘I would like the opportunity to tell you the truth.’ Nobody knew the truth, not even a version of it. Might this be her only opportunity?

Less than an hour had passed since promising Nia she was going to start erasing Jude from her mind. But she knew that no matter what lip service she paid her friend, she would never truly rest until she had heard from Jude’s own lips the story behind what happened that day.

She replayed the message one last time before making her decision. She had to hear him out in person. If Jude had wanted her dead, it would have happened by now.

‘How do I find you?’ she said aloud. She scanned the tablet again on the off-chance she had missed something. Once assured Jude had left her no way of responding to his request, she moved towards her coffee machine again and picked a capsule with the highest caffeine content. She needed her wits about her. The sound of the tablet vibrating against the table top caught her attention – it had received a message. And it could only have been from Jude. She read it tentatively.

‘There’s a car waiting outside for you. It’ll bring you to me.’

Libby paused to catch her breath. ‘Do you think I’m just going to get into a car that you’ve sent?’ she spoke aloud.

Seconds later, another message appeared on the screen. ‘No,’ it read.

Libby froze. Jude was listening to her through her tablet.

Another message appeared. ‘I have no reason to hurt you.’

‘You had no reason to hurt anyone that day,’ she replied, her voice growing in confidence.

‘It wasn’t my doing,’ Jude texted. ‘Let me tell you everything in person.’

Libby hesitated. It was now or never. If she really wanted to hear the answers she craved, this might be her only opportunity.

She turned to face Jude’s tablet, took a deep breath, pulled her hair back into a ponytail and attached a band to keep it place.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Where am I going?’





Chapter 64





The vehicle Jude sent for Libby was easy to locate; it was the only car parked outside her complex with its headlights on, interior empty and door ajar.

One last time, Libby gave careful consideration before entering. She peered inside; it was a Level Three at least. The dashboard contained a steering wheel and below it, an accelerator and brake pedals. However, they could easily have been tampered with and rendered redundant. But what would be the point? she asked herself. There were much easier ways to kill her than this, if that’s what Jude wanted.

Eventually her all-consuming need for the truth rose above all else and she climbed inside. The door quietly closed without locking.

Libby’s heart pounded inside her chest as the vehicle set itself into drive mode. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as her foot tested the brakes. They were operable. The journey through Birmingham lasted just ten minutes but felt like much longer before it came to a halt by a kerb. Libby recognised the location immediately – Monroe Street, the district where she had witnessed three generations of one family wiped out by a driverless car. She exited the vehicle quickly.

Immediately, she was riled by Jude’s choice of meeting place. He must have known how distressing it had been for her to witness that footage during jury duty. Awaiting further instruction, she held his tablet tightly to her chest until it vibrated. ‘Number 360’ a message read.

Shops, predominantly small independent boutiques, lined the road. As the major High Street stores gradually shut to go online, town centres were becoming desolate. Meanwhile, there had been a resurgence in the popularity of smaller, independent stores. By day, Monroe Street was bustling, but with the time approaching nine o’clock, it was now mostly empty. Libby carefully examined each shop frontage until she found number 360, a former café with white, wipe-off paint smeared across the windows to prevent unwelcome eyes. She switched on her phone’s torch and attempted to look through the glass-pane door, but caught only her own reflection.

You don’t have to do this, she told herself. But as much as the thought of confronting Jude terrified her, it would be too much of a struggle to live the rest of her life having walked away now. Tentatively, she pushed against the door handle and it opened. A bell attached to the top clanged louder than its size, startling her.

‘Hello?’ she asked, her voice tremulous. She shone the phone’s light around the room. She was surrounded by a dozen or so tables and chairs that were caked in dust, along with empty counters and shelving. A ladder, paint pots and dustcovers were scattered across the floor. Any redecoration work that had once begun had long since been abandoned.

‘Close the door, please,’ came a voice from further inside. She recognised it immediately and took a sharp, involuntary breath. With her hand in her pocket, she felt the cool metal blade of the vegetable knife she had pocketed while in her kitchen, and out of sight of the tablet’s lens. She clasped the handle and quietly closed the door.

‘You won’t need the knife,’ Jude continued. ‘But keep it with you if it makes you feel safer.’

As she turned in his direction, he switched on a lamp and Libby’s eyes blinked as they adjusted to the light. Now she could see him clearly. Jude was sitting behind a table, hands flat on the surface, a phone next to him. He was dressed from head to toe in dark colours and fabrics, including a winter coat and thick laced-up boots. His beard was an inch or so thick, his hair short and tousled and he wore glasses. In spite of herself, Libby felt flashes of something for him that she couldn’t put into words.