‘How do you know that?’
‘Look out for a dark grey Mercedes.’
Charlie’s mind raced. He was adept at escaping but not when the whole country was searching for him. How long could he continue alone?
‘Charlie,’ the voice continued. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes, I am,’ he replied.
‘Wait where you are.’
‘Not a chance,’ he said and hurled his phone at the wall. Then he grabbed a dirty discarded coat from the floor, opened the warehouse door and ran for his life.
Chapter 78
FLICK, BIRMINGHAM
Flick scanned Birmingham’s skyline until she located the silver dome of the Bullring Shopping Centre.
Once she reached it, she would head to the locker where a basic wardrobe of practical clothing she’d secretly ordered online yesterday from Grace’s account should have been delivered. A five-minute walk would take her to New Street station where she could catch a train south to Gloucester, then a coach to Bristol. Another train would carry her to Trowbridge where she planned to buy a car and make her way to the coastal county of Cornwall. A popular part of the country for holidaymakers and surfers, there was an abundance of holiday accommodation that would enable her to lie low until she decided on her next course of action.
‘Flick, hey, wait up!’ Elijah’s voice came from behind, catching her off-guard. She continued walking without turning around. ‘What’s wrong?’
She wasn’t ready to hear anything he had to say. She had informed him many times that she valued her privacy but he had broken her trust in the most public way possible. He had also put her life, and their baby’s, in danger.
‘Please,’ he shouted again. ‘Just stop.’ Flick knew he wasn’t going to give up until he’d been heard.
‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ she began as she turned. Her lips were pursed, steam almost rising from her head. ‘Who gave you the right to turn me into a piece of art?’
‘I thought you’d like it. Everyone in the gallery is blown away by it.’
‘I’m not everyone! If you had any idea who I am you’d know this is the last thing I’d want. Go back to your party and leave me alone.’
As Flick turned, Elijah’s hand reached out and brushed her arm. Before she had time to process her actions, she had him pinned up against a bus shelter, one arm pressed against his throat and the other drawn back, ready to strike him. She let go just as quickly, ashamed and flustered.
‘Who the hell are you?’ he asked, his disbelieving eyes glaring into hers.
And for the briefest of moments, Flick desperately wanted to answer. But for the safety of all three of them, she held back.
‘You’ve ruined everything,’ she snapped. ‘Why couldn’t you have used someone else’s face? Grace, or one of the countless other women who’d be desperate to sit for you?’
‘Because they don’t possess your depth. This installation represents all the versions of you, the ones I witness every day and the ones you hide.’
‘Elijah, you shouldn’t have left me so vulnerable.’
‘Then tell me who you are and stop keeping secrets from me.’
Flick let out a sharp laugh. ‘Secrets? Let’s talk about secrets, shall we? Tell me how much money you earned off the back of the London murder victims?’ Elijah’s mouth opened but no words followed. ‘I know that you’re the artist responsible. I saw the early paintings hidden in your storeroom. You must have known what you did was wrong because you didn’t put your name to them. You didn’t evenexhibit in Aldeburgh – isn’t that where all your work debuts? You exploited those poor women for financial gain. Haven’t their families been through enough without you piling on the misery?’
Elijah’s face reddened as he shook his head. ‘The point was to separate the victims from the crime. And I didn’t put my name to it because this was about those women, not some celebrity artist who decided to paint them.’
‘Why not paint them as they were before they were killed? Not afterwards, all tortured and bloody.’
‘I’m aware it was a polarising subject matter but art is supposed to be provocative. And for the record, I didn’t earn a penny from it. The profits raised more than half a million pounds for a woman’s refuge charity in Sussex. My mum and I spent a year living in a shelter when I was a kid, trying to escape my violent dad. It made me feel like I was giving something back.’
Now it was Flick’s turn to lose her footing. She hesitated, but was unwilling to back down. ‘I just think there are better ways to make your point without glorifying what he did. We’re over, Elijah.’
‘So, what, that’s it? You’re going to use this as an excuse to walk away from us, just like that? It feels like you’re looking for a reason and this is a convenient one.’
