Page 99

It sounded like it came from a teenager.

She pressed against the door harder, extending her reach, lifting her body so only her upper back was in contact with the corner, and then it hit her.

“You’re my half brother.” She whispered it, but he heard, and he narrowed his eyes. “Why are you trying to kill me?”

“Because if you die, then all our problems go away.”

chapter

thirty-nine

“You’re done, Robby.” James leaned back against the hard wooden chair on his side of the interview table, and threaded his fingers behind his head. “The evidence is overwhelming.”

Robby Jameson’s lips turned down, and he raised his eyes to glare at James, flinched away when their gazes met, and looked down at the table again.

“There’s only one thing that will help you now to soften the sentence you’re definitely facing, and that’s telling us where to find Ted Jackman.” James saw Robby’s lips tighten. Sarah Bicton was right about there being some bad blood between the men. “Jackman’s not at the last known address we have for him, which means he could be in the wind, or hunkered down someplace, but you can bet wherever he is, he’s laughing at having gotten away with the money and that you’re going to face the judge.”

“He hasn’t gotten all the money,” Robby said, and James almost laughed out loud at how incriminating that statement was. He wished he always had Robbys in the interview room.

“No. He tried to grab the bag before he headed out the back door, but apparently it was too heavy and he gave it up for a quick getaway.”

Robby gave a vicious little smile at that information. “Guess those counterfeit plates were too much for him.”

Again, James smiled.

“Maybe so. Still, he’s got his share, and Sarah tells me he has a list of heists her father planned out, which he got her to explain when he walked her up to where you were keeping her in the attic.” Sarah told him that she’d only given Jackman a few options, but that she’d hinted to Robby that Jackman had insisted she give him more than that, and James didn’t think it would hurt to use that information now.

“He can’t read the code,” Robby said.

“No. That’s why he got Sarah to tell him what it said.” James sighed, as if he was explaining the obvious, and Hartridge shifted behind him.

A tape recorder sat on the table between them, so Hartridge didn’t need to take notes. He was fully focused on the interview, and now he leaned forward.

“If Pete Harris talks before you do, he gets the sweeter deal,” Hartridge said, sounding like a chiding adult to a child. “Of course, given he’s the one accused of murder, he’s got more of an incentive to sing, so I suppose it might be too late for you, anyway.”

Robby clearly hadn’t thought about that, and James gave a small smile of approval at Hartridge’s tactic.

Someone knocked on the interview room door, the force and speed of it giving the impression of urgency.

Hartridge leapt to his feet and opened it, stepping out into the corridor to have a murmured conversation with someone outside.

“For the record,” James said, looking at the tape recorder, “Detective Constable Hartridge has stepped out of the room at 11.05am.”

Hartridge leaned back into the room. “You need to come,” he said. “It’s urgent.” He disappeared back into the corridor.

James scraped back his chair. “Well, it looks like you missed the window, Robby.”

Robby Jameson’s face changed to one of panic. “No, no. I’ll tell you. Pete might have got it wrong.” He rattled off an address. “That’s where Jackman was last time I saw him, and Pete wasn’t with me.”

James gave a nod. “I’ll send someone to take you back to the cell. Interview concluded at 11.06am.”

He switched off the recorder and stepped out, and the moment he did, Hartridge grabbed his arm and began hurrying him down the corridor.

“What is it?”

“Miss Farnsworth is being held at knifepoint in a telephone box near Holland Park,” he said. “Her lawyer just called it in. She was speaking on the phone to him when it happened.”

James felt as if the world fell away for a moment. “Exact address?”