Moody holds a hand up. ‘Let me …’ he says. ‘Let me think this through. Properly.’ Simone is glad of this, his thoughtfulness. Of theInnocentbook on his shelves. They have to trust him.
He says nothing for several moments, occasionally jotting things down on the notepad. ‘You’ve no idea on name. Just basic looks, accent, that he was from Manchester.’
‘Yes.’
‘How curious. And you have no idea if this might be someone back home? A disgruntled someone, anyone?’
‘No, really, no idea. Neither of us recognize him.’
‘And as to the police – they’re not wrong that duress is a common defence, but kidnappings aren’t usually mentioned,’ Moody continues.
‘Huh.’
He settles his gaze on Lucy. ‘On this pad, write down absolutely everything you know and remember from the kidnapping. No detail too small.’
Lucy takes it and begins scribbling, the scratch of the pen the only noise other than the fan. ‘Why do you believe us?’ Simone asks him.
‘No previous, here for a vacation. A rest stop is not where one would usually do a drug deal, if it were a simple cash/cocaine deal. Anyone could see. They could see a kidnapping, too, but they’re usually so eager for a quick getaway with unpredictable hostages that they are prepared to sacrifice visibility for convenience. I can’t see why you’d do that for a straight drug drop. You do not have –’ a small exhale that sounds half amused – ‘the typical profile of drug traffickers. So what I’m most focused on is getting rid of the doubt that there was a kidnapping – that is, the cop’s evidence, at the lodge, and the person on the coach who says they saw you together. If we can find the kidnapper, even better.’ He slides a new notebook over to Simone. ‘Please make a list of everyone on that coach for me. Anything you recall about him that you haven’t said, too. Or anybody else you may suspect.’
‘I will,’ Simone says, taking a pen. On it, she begins to write down anybody she suspects. The cop who she lied to. Lucy’s taxi driver.
‘I assume this is a business model where people who are likely to be searched at border crossings choose people whoare not, to transport their drugs,’ Moody remarks, as they’re writing. ‘It surprises me that the kidnapper would therefore get on the coach.’
‘That is such a good point,’ Simone says, getting a feeling, one that says this is the wrong direction, that they’re not looking for the right person.
‘Do you think a jury would believe us?’ Lucy asks. ‘If we can’t find him?’
‘That’s a hell of a question.’
‘Care to provide a hell of an answer?’ Lucy says lightly, which Simone both winces and smiles at.
Moody’s eyes go to Lucy. ‘With a normal lawyer, fifty-fifty. With me, better. But we should be able to find someone who was on a very specific coach.’
Lucy gasps at his odds. She looks at Simone. But they simply can’t spin the roulette wheel on this, can they? Simone would if it were just her, but it’s Lucy, too.
‘But the thing is,’ Simone says, ‘even if we find him … what are we going to do? Hope he does it again? I can’t imagine there will be proof of Lucy’s kidnap. Every ransom instruction was destroyed. The only evidence is a call from a number that was blocked. He was careful not to even speak to Lucy.’
Moody gives her a look that Simone can’t easily decipher. The understanding of the risk, maybe. Or is it something else? He lets his face drop again after a couple of seconds, back to expressionless, and she thinks of the magnitude of the trust they’ve placed in him.
Sunlight winks its way around the shutters. Moody holds her gaze.
‘Those odds are not good enough,’ she says.
‘More than fifty-fifty and we’d be free,’ Lucy says, but she doesn’t know what she’d get, Simone is thinking. Shedesperately wants to ask Moody what Lucy, specifically, would be looking at, but can’t.
‘Let me investigate it, properly,’ Moody tells them. ‘Let me think about what you’ve told me, and the evidence, and let me try.’
‘Why do you want to help us?’ Simone asks.
He gazes at her. His stare is almost hypnotic. ‘I like to help the innocent.’
‘And, presumably, the guilty.’
‘OK, if we’re going to talk about the rule of law.’ He rolls his eyes, then stops himself. ‘Anyway,’ he adds, ‘you don’t get many interesting cases in a place like this, and I’m bored.’
‘Bored?’
‘You don’t become a lawyer to do paddock ownership land transactions all the time. Give me a few days.’ Moody runs a palm over his mouth. ‘And lie low – while you’re here. It’s a small place. I had already worked it out. Don’t try your accent on anyone else. OK?’
