85

WE LEFT THE HOTEL THE NEXT MORNING. I’D WANTED to leave immediately; Joesbury had insisted we stay the rest of the night. There was nothing in London that Dana and her team couldn’t do without us, he’d argued, and another night of no sleep would render both of us useless. As we approached the Severn Bridge his phone rang and he gestured for me to take it.

‘Lacey, it’s Dana.’

‘We’re just over two hours away,’ I said. ‘Depending on traffic. Is there any news?’

‘None of it good,’ she said. ‘Joanna Groves hasn’t been seen by her flatmate for two days. She assumed she’d gone away for the weekend, but she can’t be found anywhere.’

I turned to Joesbury and shook my head. He swore under his breath.

‘Lacey, I know what you told Mark last night,’ said Tulloch. ‘Now, listen to me, I don’t want you to worry about anything except helping us catch her. When this is all over, whatever happens, I’ll support you, I promise. So will Mark.’

‘Thank you,’ I managed.

‘Now you are our best chance,’ said Tulloch. ‘You know this woman. You’ll have a better idea than anyone what she’ll do next. It’s all up to you now. I’ll see you when you get back.’

She hung up and I replaced the phone in its holder. Tulloch was right, it was all up to me now. But she was wrong about seeing me. I wasn’t going back.

We reached London just before eleven. At Earls Court we dropped south towards the river. As we approached Vauxhall Bridge, my heartbeat started to race. Now or never.

‘Sir,’ I said, as we reached the summit, ‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to be sick. I think there are public loos at the Tube station. Can you stop?’

He glanced over, saw me sitting upright, one arm around my waist, the other hand at my mouth. He indicated and pulled over just before we left the bridge. I muttered thanks, grabbed my bag and jumped out of the car. Using my Oyster card to get past the ticket barrier, I turned the corner and was out of sight.

There are no public lavatories at Vauxhall Tube station. I jogged to the platform, praying there’d be a train going south before Joesbury realized I wasn’t coming back. The overhead indicator told me the next train was due in one minute.

Every second seemed to stretch, but at last I heard the rumble of the train’s engines and felt the rush of wind that always precedes them into stations. I travelled one stop to Stockwell and ran the few hundred metres to my flat. Fewer than ten minutes had passed since I’d left the car.

As I opened the door, I told myself that before I counted to a hundred I’d be out again. I raced round, grabbing my bag from the top of the wardrobe, gathering what else I’d need. Behind the door, there was the usual Saturday-morning delivery of mail-order flyers and official-looking envelopes. And a long, thin box, wrapped in brown paper. I didn’t have time to open it, but I tore the paper apart all the same.

Seeing what was inside cost me a few seconds. Then I left my flat for what would surely be the last time, grabbed my bike from its lock-up and set off.