‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Great. If I can just get a signature. I was going to leave this here,’ he says, taking another form out of his pocket, neatly folded into four, ‘or email it, but you didn’t leave me an email address … Is it just you staying?’
‘Yes,’ she says, wondering if this is another stupid lie, but it’s what Lucy put on the web form. Lucy is right out the front and Moody will see her, or already has, but they said one person, and now Simone is doing a fake scrawl that disguises the fact that she doesn’t know which name Lucy put on the website. Panic and survival have made them disorganized.
‘Just ID to go,’ he says, and Simone’s stomach plummets down a lift shaft right to the basement. ‘Sorry – I usually do this all remotely, but no email …’ he says again.
‘Must’ve left it off the form.’
‘Right.’
‘It’s been … a horrible afternoon,’ Simone says. And, God, she wants Lucy here, the trained actor. She’s surprised, though, seconds later, when real, genuine tears spring up in her eyes. For Simone, today, this afternoon, it isn’t hard to cry. The reasons are just not the same. ‘I know you need to tick your boxes,’ she says, ‘but it’s been a crappy day, to be honest.’ The accent isn’t holding, feels flimsy, the use of the American wordcrappythe only saving grace.
‘Oh,’ Moody says, tilting his head slightly to one side. He’s wearing glasses with large fashionable frames. They catch the light from outside and blanch to white periodically.
He seems to study her for just a beat or two. And then hisentire body goes still. It’s infinitesimal. He covers it up quickly, a trained lawyer, but Simone sees it. He clears his throat.
And there is the moment. Eyes locked. His face becomes expressionless, like a shutter closing on it. The only thing he does is run a hand through his hair.
And then it’s gone, the moment stopped abruptly like his record player.
‘I’m not the box-ticking type,’ he answers, his tone mild.
‘No?’ she says.
‘No.’
As they move towards the front door, she raises her voice, hoping Lucy will hear. ‘Anyway, I’ll be in touch.’
They step out on to the porch. Lucy is nowhere to be seen, and Simone at first relaxes, thinking she must have heard them and hidden, but then tenses, thinking she has been taken, or found.
Moody looks at her. ‘Enjoy your stay, and swing by any time to the firm.’ Tone light.
Oh, he definitely knows.
‘I will,’ she says, her voice strained, thinking of the things she was looking forward to. The beds. The showers. And thinking that they will have to make a run for it, from here, tomorrow. Because Terlingua is far too small, but also because she thinks Moody is far too smart. And, after all their plans, she thinks she’s too scared to confess to anybody at all.
‘Hope you like the house,’ he tells her. ‘It’s good for relaxing and hibernating.’
And something about this exchange brings more tears to her eyes.
Is she ever going to have a normal conversation again? She doesn’t think so. How can she? She can’t quite pull at the thread of these thoughts. The thread of what the future may hold. For the medium term. For the long term.
‘See you soon,’ Moody says. He jerks a thumb behind him, as he steps off the porch and heads behind the house. ‘I’m your neighbour, live just over there,’ he says, pointing behind their house. ‘Don’t be a stranger.’
Simone watches him go, brown hills in the deep background, and waits for Lucy, wherever she is. Luckily, Moody’s house does not directly overlook theirs. It’s surrounded by tall trees and some stone structures. They still have their privacy, if you can call it that.
She opens the flip phone.
Lucy’s been googling, the history not deleted this time. She’s been searching for kidnaps in the local area, people convicted for drugs offences – there are thousands – but she hasn’t googled herself. Her search terms are littered with typos as per Lucy, who acts and types fast:pr8vate investigtors, Terlingua, kidnappers in tx, British kidnappers, victims of kjdnap tx, convicted drugs offendrs, Fort Davs.
Simone sighs.
And then she sees it, another search.Torture kidnapper.
Simone blinks, wondering if she’s misread it in the fierce sun. Hoping she has.Torture kidnapper …?Did Lucy want to torture the kidnapper? Did the kidnapper tortureher?
CHAPTER 46
