Sunday, 5 a.m. The police had moved the cordon around the pizza parlour three times during the past twenty-four hours. It had started at fifty metres, then moved inwards until it only covered the restaurant itself and two properties either side, with a space for cars to pass single file. That was overnight, but gradually, as if responding to the unseen activities and knowledge of the authorities, the cordon extended again as dawn came. By first light, police tape once again obstructed the whole of the promenade outside the burnt-out husk of the pizza parlour, forcing lone early walkers to take the stone steps down to the narrow strip of beach and walk below the sea wall. Everyone had seen the post by Andrea Lopez with the terrifying six words: PRAY FOR NINA … PIZZA PARLOUR ATTACK.
Fifteen miles away, on the third floor of Exeter Hospital, Andrea Lopez sat by the side of her daughter’s bed. Gabriel was asleep on Nina’s other side, scrunched into a chair which couldn’t contain his long limbs. In repose, his face was still grey, the tension that had aged him two decades overnight never leaving his expression.
Please, Andrea prayed.Please God, save Nina. Save my Nina for me, I cannot live without her.
The machines beeped and whirred, and Nina lay as still as the dead.
Chapter Twenty
Later that morning, Kim drove Edward in the Porsche to her mother’s house. As the crow flew it was barely three miles west, but the River Otter stood in the way with precious few crossings. So she took the road to Bulverton and then up to the Bowd junction, turning onto Four Elms Hill. From there the road led to Newton Poppleford, over the river and then south to Colaton Raleigh.
‘Should we pick up Stevie? Could you call her? She’s close by.’
‘Good idea, if she’s around. The wedding is days away, gulp.’
As if trying to escape the fact of the wedding, Kim put her foot down at that moment and took a left turn a little too fast. Edward ended up leaning right, into her arm. ‘Sorry – hang on—’ She freed herself. ‘Changing gear.’
He did not react, so she said: ‘You really are deep in thought.’
‘This bloody biker story. It’s getting in the way of everything. The false plates are out there now, thanks to last night’s police statement. But they are so bloody cagey on the rest. Ukrainian with a Russian name?’
‘I heard your show. You think there’s more to it, don’t you?’
‘Yes, there must be. The cordon yoyo-ing in and out justdoesn’t make sense if it was just a crash.’ Edward gazed out of the window again. Kim stole another glance at him.
‘But the Russian thing, is that just nonsense?’
‘Probably. “Man with slightly Russian name crashes”, I mean …’
‘With false plates.’
‘True. False plates, Russian name. But still, no one hurt except him, and that poor little girl in Exeter General.’
They parked outside the vicarage. Stevie emerged almost instantly. ‘I’ll go in the back,’ she said. ‘I’m glad I haven’t got child-bearing hips.’ The Porsche was tight. ‘So are we going to meet your mother’s boyfriend, Kim?’
‘All set up for us.’
In the back seat, Stevie groaned. ‘We’re going to have to get a different car if this is for us to do adventures in. My legs have gone to sleep back here.’
‘Unexpected item in the bagging area,’ said Kim.
‘Well exactly.’
Ten minutes later, the car slowed outside Barbara’s. ‘So here we are.’ And there Barbara was, as if by magic, standing at the front door. Kim approached on the garden path, Edward and Stevie following. As Barbara hugged her daughter, Kim heard Stevie say to Edward: ‘I’ve got to tell you about something that happened at the hospital yesterday.’
‘Oh?’ replied Edward, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. ‘Can it wait?’
‘Now, Mum,’ Kim began. ‘This is my best friend. Well, both of them.’ The older woman was obviously delighted to see Edward alongside Kim, and had been ever since she had discovered the relationship was serious. Edward Temmis had been, still was, her radio presenter of choice.
The four sat in the living room. Edward made a show of admiring Barbara’s little wooden models, as he called them – it was Kim who corrected the phrase to ‘automata’, which sheknew her mum would insist on. While Barbara was pouring tea in the kitchen, Kim whispered: ‘And don’t mention Fiona Bruce.Antiques Roadshowcame to Honiton, and Mum couldn’t get her bits seen.’
‘Automata, please, not bits.’
‘One-all.’
Barbara returned. ‘The cameramen spent the whole time focusing on her bottom.’
‘Who, Mum?’
