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Lilah

“So you think your father was killed by a mysterious contract killer, hired by your fiancé,” said Detective Branston.

“That’s right. His name was S.”

“His name was Ess? Or was it an initial?”

“I think it was an initial.”

“But you’re not certain? And you don’t know what it could be an initial for?”

“No.”

“And you happened to overhear your fiancé talking about it, because he had this conversation within your earshot.”

“Yes.”

“Did he mention any details of the murder in this conversation?”

“No. He just talked about owing the man fifty thousand pounds.”

“Could that have been a gambling debt, or a loan?”

“Zachary didn’t gamble.”

“But he did hire assassins.”

“I think so, yes.”

“Did you hear this Ess’s voice?”

“No,” lied Lilah. She wasn’t a good liar, but she thought maybe she’d get away with it if she stuck to single syllables.

“So we’re looking for a mysterious person named Ess, or something beginning with S , no other identifying characteristics, who you have deduced may be a hitman.”

“Exactly. Also, I think I was followed by a man in a blue baseball cap.”

“When was this?”

“About six weeks after my father was killed.”

“And this was before, or after your fiancé disappeared?”

“Before.”

Branston sighed and sat back in his chair. He’d offered to come to her house in Chislehurst for this interview, but Lilah didn’t dare to go back there, in case S turned up. She was staying in a Premier Inn in Sidcup.

“Your fiancé and your money have both disappeared. This is serious enough, and we’ve got evidence to go on there, so I’ll be passing that on to my colleagues to follow up. It’s unlikely that you’ll get any of your cash back, sadly. The banks are likely to say you gave him access to it out of your own free will, unless you can prove otherwise.”

“Oh, I did,” said Lilah. “I completely trusted him.”

“Right. Well, maybe we can trace him.”

“I hope so,” Lilah lied again. “I don’t care about the money. I’m just worried about Zachary. Whatever he’s done, I don’t want him to be hurt.”

Branston sighed again. He clearly thought she was delusional, but to give him credit, the parts of her story that he found unconvincing were the parts that she was actually lying about.

“I’ve worked quite a few homicide cases,” he told her. “Contract killings don’t tend to look like your father’s death. He had no gang connections and no criminal activity. If the purpose was to collect insurance money, it would have been made to look like an accident, not a murder. However, I can see that you are very worried, and that’s important. I’ll investigate this lead, Miss Nightingale. We’ll make an appointment for you to come in and look at some photographs, to see if you can identify the man who you think was following you. And I’ll pass on your report to the fraud team who will get in contact with you in due course.”

Outside the police station, Lilah paused to look up and down the street, but she didn’t see anyone who looked like the man in the blue baseball cap, and no one seemed to be paying any attention to her.

When she’d left Marina’s house two days ago, she’d been convinced that she was never going to be frightened of anything ever again. The act of firing a pistol in a murderer’s face tended to make you think that you could defend yourself, of course. But more than that, she’d felt as if Marina and Opal had her back. And that gave her courage.

But she didn’t have those friends anymore. And the longer she didn’t, the more she thought about that there was another killer out there, who wanted the money he was owed for murdering her father in cold blood, and who might think that Lilah was his best chance of getting it. The police clearly weren’t going to help. So she had to be cautious, that’s all. She wasn’t a rabbit; she was something more clever, resourceful, and brave, like...

She wished she could talk to Marina and Opal and ask them what kind of animal was clever, resourceful, and brave.

She paused to check her reflection in a window. It had taken her ages this morning to tie her hair up in Marina’s silk scarf, and though she hadn’t got it exactly right, she thought she’d done a pretty good job. As she was tucking a few errant tendrils back into place, her phone buzzed in her fanny pack.

It was a text from an unknown number.

If it was from S, at least she’d have some evidence to show Detective Branston. She opened it.

D PINE IS SERVING A 40-YEAR DRUG TRAFFICKING SENTENCE IN A BANGKOK PRISON. THOUGHT YOU’D WANT TO KNOW. DELETE THIS MESSAGE.

She smiled. And then she deleted the message.