Elizabeth George - Just One Evil Act

He said, “You’ve taken the job? That’s brilliant, Daidre.”

“They’ve a silverback gorilla that’s quite won my heart,” she said. “It’s love on my part, but I can’t say how he feels just yet.”

“Time will tell.”

“It always does, doesn’t it?”

They met in Marylebone High Street, where he found her waiting inside a tiny restaurant at a very small table tucked into a corner. He knew his face lit up when she raised her head from studying the menu and saw him. She smiled in return and lifted a hand in hello.

He kissed her and thought how completely normal it felt to be doing so. He said, “Have Boadicea’s Broads gone into permanent mourning?”

She said, “Let’s say that my stock isn’t very high with them at the moment.”

“The Electric Magic, on the other hand, must be breaking out the bubbly.”

“One can only hope.”

He sat and gazed at her. “It’s very good to see you. I needed a tonic, and it seems you’re it.”

She cocked her head, examined him, and said, “I must say it. You’re a tonic as well.”

“For . . . ?”

“The grim process of looking at flats. Until I sell up in Bristol, I’m beginning to think I’ll be sleeping upright in someone’s broom closet.”

“There are solutions to that,” he told her.

“I wasn’t hinting at your spare room.”

“Ah. My loss.”

“Not entirely, Tommy.”

At that, he felt his heart pound harder a few times, but he said nothing. Instead he smiled, took up the menu, asked what she was having, and gave their orders to a waiter hovering nearby expectantly. He asked her how long she was in town. She said four days and this was the third. He asked her why she hadn’t phoned sooner. She said the business of finding a flat, of meeting people at the zoo, of seeing what was needed to organise her offices and labs, of speaking with the various keepers about problems they were encountering with the animals . . . It had all taken up so much of her time. But how lovely it was to see him now.

This, he thought, would have to suffice. Perhaps it was enough to feel how engaged he became in her presence, as the rest of the day faded into insignificance.

Unfortunately, that engagement in her presence did not last long. As their starters were set before them, his mobile rang. He glanced at it and saw, heart sinking, that it was Havers. He said to Daidre, “I’m sorry. I’ll have to take this call.”

“I need your help” was Havers’s first remark.

“You need more than what I can provide. Isabelle’s had a meeting with two blokes from CIB.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Have you entirely lost your mind?”

“I know you’re cheesed off. But Salvatore and I are onto something over here, and what I need from you is a piece of information. One little piece of information, Inspector.”

“Coming from which side of the law?”

“It’s completely legitimate.”

“Unlike virtually everything else you’ve done.”

“All right. Agreed. I get it, sir. You need to scourge me and the only thing wanting is a pillar. We c’n see to that when I get back. Meantime, like I said, I just need one piece of information.”

“Which is what, exactly?” He glanced at Daidre. She’d tucked into her starter. He rolled his eyes expressively.

“The Upmans are on their way to Italy. They’re coming to fetch Hadiyyah. I need to prevent that. If they get their mitts on her, they’ll keep her from Azhar.”

“Barbara, if you’re heading in the direction of my intercepting—”

“I know you can’t stop them, sir. I just need to know if they’re on their way now to fetch Hadiyyah. I need to know what flight they’re on and which of them is coming. It would also help to know the airport. It might be the parents coming—they’re called Ruth-Jane and Humphrey—or it might be Bathsheba Ward, the sister. If you ring the airlines and check the flight manifests . . . You know you can do this. Or you can get SO12 to do it. That’s it. That’s all I need. And it’s not for my own sake. It’s not even for Azhar’s. It’s for Hadiyyah’s sake. Please.”

He sighed. He knew Havers would not relent. He said, “Winston’s checking into everyone here associated with Angelina Upman, Barbara. He’s looking for any connection that might point from here to Italy among people she knew. So far, there’s nothing.”

“And there won’t be, sir. Mura’s our man. He intended Azhar to ingest the E. coli . Salvatore and I are heading to a place called DARBA Italia to prove it.”

“That’s the incubator company from Azhar’s lab, Barbara. Surely, you can see how this points to—”

“Right. I can see it. And for the record, Salvatore’s made the same point.”

“Salvatore? How exactly are you managing to communicate with him?”

“Lots of hand gestures. Plus he smokes, so I think we’ve bonded. Look, sir, will you sort out the Upmans-on-their-way-to-Italy situation? Will you have SO12 do it? One piece of information. That’s it. Full stop. And it’s not for me. It’s for—”

“Hadiyyah. Yes, yes. I’ve received your point.”

“So . . . ?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He rang off then and looked for a moment not at Daidre but at the wall, where a stylish photograph of cliffs and the sea put him in mind of Cornwall. Daidre, apparently seeing the direction of his gaze, said, “Considering an escape?”

He glanced back at her and thought about the question. He finally said, “From some things, yes. From others, no.” And he reached across the small table for her hand.

LUCCA

TUSCANY

In the best of all worlds, Barbara thought, Lynley would somehow manage to stop the Upmans before they reached the airport or, at least, before they boarded the plane to Italy. But she didn’t live in the best of all worlds, so she reckoned they were on their way, whoever was coming. What was available to her was the knowledge of their whereabouts and her ability to dodge them when they reached Lucca. They would go first to Fattoria di Santa Zita, where they would presume Hadiyyah was still in residence with Lorenzo Mura. He would tell them she’d been fetched by Barbara. He might reckon Barbara was staying where Azhar had stayed. But he might not.

In any case, she had only a limited amount of time to get Hadiyyah out of the Pensione Giardino and into a hideaway somewhere. And before she did that, she needed to see what Salvatore managed to uncover at DARBA Italia.

It didn’t take long to reach the manufacturing concern. They did a quarter’s circumnavigation along the boulevard that skirted Lucca’s wall, and then they took a sharp right and headed out of the town. DARBA Italia was some three miles along the road, tucked off a neatly paved driveway and posted with an elaborate metal sign above double glass doors. There were very few trees in the immediate vicinity and lots of asphalt in the car park, so the heat was intense and it rose in visible waves from the ground. Barbara hustled after Salvatore to get inside the place, praying for air conditioning.

Naturally, she couldn’t follow a word of the Italian that passed between Salvatore and the receptionist, who was a gloriously handsome Mediterranean youth of about twenty-two: olive skin, masses of wavy hair, lips like a Renaissance putto, and teeth so white they looked painted. Salvatore showed his police ID, gestured to Barbara, and spoke at great length. The receptionist listened, shot a glance at Barbara that dismissed her as quickly as it acknowledged her presence, nodded, said sì and no and forse and un attimo , of which only sì and no were remotely recognisable. Then he picked up his phone and punched in a number. He turned his back, spoke in a hushed voice, and made some sort of arrangement, since his next action was to rise from his chair and tell them they were to follow him. At least, that was what Barbara worked out from his words since Salvatore trailed him into the bowels of the building.