Stevie drew very slightly closer.
Two narrow, light blue plastic tubes filled the screen; one had a tiny red plastic disc attached and the other a blue disc. They looked to be about thirty centimetres long, with needles at one end, the other ends widening a little. There was what looked like a little dried blood on each.
‘They were hidden under the sofa.’
‘What does it mean?’ asked Stevie.
‘For drugs into the vein, we think.’
‘Not that,’ said Andrea Lopez, with a brisk shake of her head. ‘Please, find out what is in those capsules!’
Callintree seemed to wake with a start from this strange situation he had got himself into. He swiped the screen clear and pocketed his phone. ‘I’ve told you all we know. Please respect my confidence.’ He went on slowly, ‘Mrs Lopez, after the crash, everyone fled pretty quickly. We lost our witnesses. So we arejust following up, and there’s an alert out to the hospitals on anyone who has any sort of problem connected with the crash – they called me to come speak to you, though you found me first.’
Andrea Lopez’s smartwatch buzzed on her wrist, and she touched it to read an alert.
‘I must get your phone,’ said Callintree.
‘I don’t need a phone. I need the truth,’ said Andrea through gritted teeth, tears falling onto the face of the watch. ‘Ah, my husband says the doctor wants to speak to us, I must go.’ Her whole body seemed to be trembling, and she placed a protective arm around her swollen stomach. Without looking back she was gone, whisking through the doors, desperate to return to her daughter’s side.
When Stevie looked back at Jordan, he was staring at his shoes, a deep frown across his forehead.
‘What capsules, Jordan?’ Stevie asked.
He seemed to be shaking his head, resolving something in his own mind. Without looking up or turning his shoulders, he spoke.
‘His name is Lev Malnyk, a Russian name. He dropped or threw something into the pizza place and now we have a very sick child. We are an inch away from Salisbury here.’
‘What do you mean by Salisbury?’
‘You really want me to spell it out? I’m not going to.’
‘You think the biker was trying to kill people?’
‘Stop asking questions, Miss Mason. I’ve said enough.’
Chapter Eighteen
Exhausted, Kim fell asleep on the sofa as soon as she got home. She dreamed of freshly hung wallpaper suddenly catching fire, the flames licking up the walls and melting the pattern: tiny red hearts becoming hot tears. When she woke after a couple of hours, she realized Edward would be on the radio. They wanted him to broadcast until midnight. God, how annoying, she had missed some of it. She touched the TV remote and changed to one of the radio channels. The screen said RTR-92 EAST DEVON in big letters. Below them, the size of a postage stamp, was a thumbnail photo of Edward and the words: SCHEDULE CHANGE.
She hit ‘Start Again’ to go back to the show’s nine p.m. start and was surprised to hear a quiver in Edward’s voice as he told his listeners: ‘Tonight we’re asking questions about the motorbike crash on Sidmouth Promenade. The first one is “who”. Who did it? As we now know from the latest official police statement, the man who sadly died was Ukrainian. But from the Donbas, the part that leans towards Russia. And the bike he was riding had false plates. So we do need to ask who this man was, and why we seem to know so little about him.’
There was some programme music, and then Edward cameback in. ‘The second question is “why”. Why would he do that? What if it wasn’t an accident? What if it was an attack? We don’t want to speculate recklessly, but as long as there are no official answers, I feel we need to. False plates?’
Kim felt herself waking rapidly as she listened.
‘The third question is “what”. What was the motorbike rider doing there? Why have the police not only kept the barriers up but extended them further? What is going on in that pizza parlour that we don’t know about?’
Edward repeated: ‘Who, why, what?’
She snapped herself fully awake. There was an urgent pitch in Edward’s voice. He was a relaxed broadcaster normally, but this did not sound relaxed. This police statement was new information, and Edward was clearly drawing connections between the identity of the rider and the extended police perimeter.
He brought callers into the conversation on the radio. And then he made what sounded like an official appeal – ‘The police have again stated they need to make contact with everyone who was in the pizza parlour when the bike crashed there. Please don’t worry, but do call Devon Police in Sidmouth or Exeter tomorrow at the latest if you were there.’
She went to bed after an hour and woke again with Edward’s body beside her. It was four in the morning. She had almost forgotten he was staying tonight. Agitated, she went downstairs in the dark and put the kettle on. Edward’s offer still made her smile: ‘Come and live with me in a condemned house.’ ‘Why would I live in a dangerous wreck like that?’ ‘Because you sold it to me.’ Maybe she was the dangerous wreck.
At least she had divorced Anthony. But the arrival of Roddy in Stevie’s life was like nature rebalancing, an ancient law proven – vicious men would always find partners. She hated the idea of having to watch Stevie get hitched. She made weak tea and drank it, thinking:Down with Roddies.
Chapter Nineteen
