Lynley said nothing. He merely watched him with an unwavering gaze.
“I know I should have left it. Or at least turned it over to someone. But I couldn’t risk leaving it there.” He had the phone with him, on his person. He took it from his pocket and handed it to Lynley. He said, “Someone might have taken it had I left it.”
“And you couldn’t have that,” Lynley noted.
“I reckoned I’d return it to her when she came out of hospital. And then . . .”
“And then she died and you thought you were safe. Especially since you didn’t know that her death was actually a murder. But once you knew that . . . There’s the rub, DCS Phinney, and I expect you see it. Once you knew she was murdered, you kept the phone. You’re a cop, so I know you see how that looks.”
“It looks like I lied to you when we first met.”
“Did you?”
“She did go her own way when she was on the team.”
“But that’s not why you transferred her, is it? I think the reason might well be more personal. I expect once we get into this phone, we’re going to know that reason.”
Mark had to look away. His mind was shot through with what Lynley was going to see on that phone: the photos taken and exchanged, the innumerable texts, voice messages, one decidedly raw video. He said, returning his gaze to the other man, “What you’ll see is the madness that comes with love, and I expect you’ll recognise it as such. I kept the phone because I didn’t want you to see it. I didn’t want you to know it. No one knew.”
“Your wife?”
“No. No. She couldn’t have known. There was no way.”
“Four,” Lynley said.
“Four what?”
“Four denials.” From the manila envelope, Lynley removed the photographs he’d already shown Mark. He placed them side by side on the table. He said, “Have another look, please.”
“I don’t know either one of them. I don’t even begin to recognise either of them. I don’t—” Abruptly he stopped himself. Three denials, he thought.
Darling to be inside you once more, once more.
“Do you want me to know about anything I’m going to see on this phone?” Lynley asked.
“I was mad for her. I was mad about her. That’s what you’ll see. From me, at least. That’s what you’ll see.”
“And from others?” Lynley asked.
“I don’t know.” Mark recognised that his entire body was going numb. He said again, “I don’t know. Once the phone locked, there was nothing else that I could see.”
The kitchen door opened and both of them looked in its direction. Pete stood there with Lilybet in her wheelchair and Robertson at their daughter’s elbow. Pete said, “We’ve come to kiss our daddy bye-bye.”
Before he could say anything and before he could stop the worst from happening, Pete rolled Lilybet into the room.
LEYTON
NORTH LONDON
Repeatedly, Monifa Bankole had phoned the mobile number given her when she and Simi had first gone to the clinic. Consistently, there had been no reply and, ultimately, there had been no room to leave another message. But the appointment book had been stuffed with names. This being the case, it was inconceivable that the clinic was shut down for good. Indeed, what seemed far more likely was that the operation had merely moved to another area in London. She just had to find out where.
But she’d had no luck, and now she knew she had to take some kind of action. Tani had poured petrol on the fire of her anxiety. Abeo, Tani had informed her, had made the necessary purchases he’d been told to make by Chinara Sani, the Nigerian cutter. Tani had binned them, he’d then shown her the list that the cutter had given to Abeo, and then he’d demanded she hand Simisola over to him so that he could get her to a place of safety because all Abeo had to do was repurchase the items and arrange to have Simi cut in another location. When she’d declared that she wouldn’t hand over Simisola to him, he’d shaken a few papers in front of her face, claiming they constituted a protection order that was going to be handed over to the appropriate authorities if she didn’t cooperate.
It was the word cooperate that did it for her. It was the very idea that she was meant to cooperate with her own son because she was female. She’d said to him, “You do not give me orders.”
His tone altered. “Mum. Please. I want to take her someplace safe.”
But she wouldn’t relent. She knew she was risking Simisola’s going into Care by refusing to hand the little girl over to her brother. If he filed the papers on his own, it was probable that Care would be the outcome. But to Monifa, the fear was losing Simi for months upon months and perhaps even permanently.