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‘Right, of course. To use her ID.’ She smiles. ‘I mean, all you’d need is pair of scissors and a packet of Nice’n Easy. How many movies have you seen where someone does that in the loo? Like in that Bourne film, the first one. I bloody loved that movie.’
Sargent grins. ‘Me too.’
On the screen the door to the booth is pushing open and the woman is coming in.
It’s impossible to tell if she smiles at the teller, or what they say, but all the while she’s shifting from one foot to the other as if that’s the only way to dispel all her nervous energy. But the teller barely even looks at the passport she pushes under the glass, just turns to the drawer and heavily counts out the cash. She watches him do it, as if adding up the notes herself, then folds them, slips them in her holdall and is gone.
Sargent forces a smile. ‘Want to see episode two?’
Somer grins. ‘How could I not, when it ended on such a thrilling cliffhanger?’
Atlanta this time. A bigger and slicker operation that looks more like a bank, and there are several people queuing so they get to see the woman for a lot longer, though much good it does them. She has her head down the whole time, staring at her phone.
‘Have you tried looking at what’s on her screen?’ asks Somer.
Sargent shakes her head. ‘Quality isn’t good enough – it just pixelates.’
And now all at once Somer’s frowning. She turns to Sargent. ‘I know what you said about the resolution, but can you zoom in anyway?’
Sargent taps the screen. The image enlarges.
She stares for a few more moments, as if allowing herself time to decide, then turns slowly to Sargent, who’s looking at her, a frown on her face.
‘What is it?’
Somer takes a long breath. ‘Sorry, I just wanted to be sure. It’s the same woman on all the footage, right?’
Sargent nods. ‘On the four outlets we’ve had so far, yes. Why? Do you know who it is?’
Somer looks back at the screen then turns again to Sargent. ‘Yes. I know who it is.’
***
Adam Fawley
2 August 2024
19.35
I confess to being a bit tetchy when Sargent asks me to go back to the office this late on a Friday. And it isn’t just that. Harrison rang when I was in the middle of cooking Lily’s tea to ask why I missed our ‘scheduled callover’ with Renshaw this afternoon, and to say he’s less than impressed with where we’ve currently got to is the understatement of the year to date. And then I went and compounded it by insisting on returning to Counterterrorism for the rest of my stint. He muttered a bit about the team having ‘gelled’ and contacting my Commander, and then grumbled on about how I had better not be planning to ‘swan off and leave him in the lurch’ if it ‘comes back and bites us on the arse like it did last time’. I think that last bit was meant to be rhetorical.
It does surprise me to see Somer at Sargent’s desk, but before I get a chance to bottom that one out, or even say a proper hello, Sargent’s already talking.
‘It’s about the footage LAPD sent over, sir.’
‘OK –’
‘Erica is convinced it’s Kate.’
I turn to Somer. ‘What makes you so sure? You never met her in 2016, did you?’
Which sounds more aggressive than I meant it to.
She takes a breath. ‘No, I didn’t, but Baxter sent me over some videos before I interviewed Daisy’s friends – ones I hadn’t seen before. One of them was a school event with the kids doing stuff like reciting poems and singing. All three of the girls I interviewed were on that video as well as Daisy, and Kate was on it too, watching from the side of the stage and encouraging them. It went on for at least forty minutes.’
Long enough – evidently – to see something.
‘OK, go on.’