“In my office, please,” Zawadi said. “We’ll sort through this. You’re safe as long as no one knows you’ve come here.”
Zawadi shepherded the three of them inside, and with little ceremony, she shut the office door. Narissa and Deborah were left in the corridor. Deborah said to Narissa, “What generally happens?”
Narissa said, “Same as for Bolu. She’ll try to find a safe house for her, for him as well.”
“Then what?”
“She’ll make contact with their father ’s soon as the kids are safe. He sounds like a piece of work, though. So if it’s to be face-to-face, with her talking to him, I hope she does the usual and takes a social worker with her. A social worker with big fists. Or one with a cricket bat and the will to use it.”
THE MOTHERS SQUARE
LOWER CLAPTON
NORTH-EAST LONDON
Lynley found Pietra Phinney outside, rolling her daughter along the pavement between a line of parked cars and the wrought-iron railings that fronted the crescent of flats in The Mothers Square. He spied her directly he got out of the Healey Elliott, the manila envelope of photos in his hand. She was at the far end of the ellipse, where a large brass plaque hung at the front of the easternmost building. She appeared to be reading aloud from a book balanced across the top of the wheelchair. She did not see him.
As he walked towards her, she placed the book on her daughter’s lap and turned the chair in order to lower it from the pavement’s kerb. The chair was heavy, and Lynley quickened his pace to assist her as he called out her name. She looked in his direction but did not seem surprised. Doubtless her husband would have rung her to let her know to prepare herself for a visit from the Met.
She was wearing what she’d worn when Lynley had earlier met her: a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and white trainers without socks. Her bow to color was red lipstick. Her black-coffee hair was shoved behind her ears and held in place on either side with tortoiseshell barrettes. Lynley said to her, “Let me help you,” and he handed her the manila envelope as he took charge of the chair.
She said, “We were going to sit in the pergola. We were going to read. That can wait, though. Mark’s phoned. He said you’d be coming to speak with me.”
Lynley wheeled the chair across the narrow driveway that allowed cars access to the flats in The Mothers Square. The central pergola was draped with a mass of wisteria foliage. He ducked beneath an overhanging branch and stopped the wheelchair at the first stone bench.
“What are you two reading?” he asked Pietra. He parked the chair alongside the bench and waited for her to sit before he did likewise, on the bench’s mate directly across from her.
“Matilda,” she said. “We’ve just reached Matilda’s using her power of telekinesis to write on the blackboard. It’s one of Lilybet’s favourite scenes in one of her favourite books. Isn’t it, Lilybet?” She took a tissue from a packet stowed in a side pocket that hung from the arm of the chair. She wiped Lilybet’s mouth—unnecessarily, it seemed to Lynley—and adjusted the shawl that was tucked round her legs. Lilybet cooed and waved her hands, and her mother said, “We will indeed, darling. Once I’ve spoken to this policeman, we’ll fetch Robertson and go to Le Merlin, just as I said. What kind of crêpe do you fancy? Chocolate? Chocolate with bananas? Cream with strawberries? You’ll have to decide, you know. You must think about it so when we arrive, you’ll have made your choice.” She put her hands into the girl’s armpits and lifted her. During their walk, Lilybet had slid to one side and it was clear she could not right herself.
“Now we can talk,” Pietra said to Lynley. She took another tissue and blotted her own face. It was hot, even in the shade, so the tissue made sense.
She’d given the manila envelope back to him before sitting. He opened it now, took out the relevant picture, and handed it across to her. She might have attempted to deny she was the woman in the photo, but she didn’t do that. Instead she handed the picture back to him and said simply, “I did go to see her. But it was only once.”
“Why?”
“Once was sufficient. She gave her word. I took her at her word.”
“I mean why did you go in the first place? I take it you used your husband’s car.”
“We have only one. And yes, I used it.” She looked over his shoulder but seemed not to focus on anything in particular. It was that expression that people had on their faces when they were recalling an incident they’d either seen or been part of. “I wanted to talk to her. I rang the buzzer beneath her name and asked could I come up to her flat, but she said she’d come down. Which was what she did.”