56

WE DIDN’T MAKE IT TO THE STEAM ROOM. WE TOOK THE three immigrants back to Wapping police station, from where, over the next couple of days, they’d get a crash course in the English legal system. I showered, changed into yet another orange boiler suit, drank several mugs of scalding hot tea and gave a statement. I also got a thorough ticking-off from Uncle Fred on the subject of stupid and irresponsible behaviour that put the lives of his officers at risk and was completely unacceptable on any boat he was master of. I told him he was absolutely right, I hadn’t been thinking and I was terribly sorry. By the time he finished, I’d decided I rather liked Uncle Fred.

While all this was happening, Joesbury retrieved his car from Southwark and, when the Marine Unit were done with me, he was waiting to take me home. He still hadn’t spoken to me and I had no idea what was going through his head. We drove in silence and it was after midnight when we arrived.

‘Can I tell Dana to expect you tomorrow?’ he asked, when he pulled over outside my flat. He hadn’t switched off the engine.

‘Of course,’ I said, looking him directly in the eyes. I picked up my bag, realizing then that Joesbury had been alone with it for a couple of hours while I’d been in Wapping station. He might know exactly what was inside. As I turned away from him I caught sight of the clock on the dashboard. The early trains to Portsmouth would start in just over three hours.

I said goodnight and heard him drive away as I was going down the steps. Inside the flat I turned the electric heater up to maximum and thought about running a bath. I decided against it. My body was perfectly warm. The cold was in my head. Besides, a bath would make me sluggish, even sleepy, and I needed to stay awake.

I’d already planned my escape route. I knew I couldn’t leave by the front door, there would be somebody in the street watching me. From the conservatory, though, I could sidle along the back of the house, turn the corner and creep very close to the alley wall. Joesbury’s cameras wouldn’t spot me. I could climb the wall, cross the park and make my way to the main road. The Tubes had long since stopped but Waterloo Station wasn’t too far away. I could walk. The trick would be in the timing. Go too soon, and I’d run a greater risk of being spotted by a camera. Leave it too late and I’d be missed before I had chance to board a ferry.

I changed into warmer clothes, found what food I could and walked out into the garden. The night air would keep me awake. Anyone watching would just assume I was having trouble sleeping after the events of the evening. I looked at my watch. Fifty minutes before I had to leave. Stay awake, keep your nerve.

Then, as I closed the door of the conservatory behind me, music started playing. It was coming from somewhere very close, possibly even the garden itself. I stood there, listening to the clear notes of the violins, waiting for the moment when Julie Andrews would sing the first line.

She didn’t. I heard the click of a button being pressed and then the music stopped. In its place was the heavy silence of someone listening. Then, loud enough for me alone to hear, that same someone said my name.