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  she drops to the ground

  holds the phone

  listens to the world

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry but he …”

  “What happens now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is there … there are things that need to be done. There are … what happens now? Who are you? What happens now?”

  The lawyer came.

  “The indemnity has been registered and confirmed. Mr. Arnslade will pay £75,000 to cover the cost of the alleged felony against Mr. Miller and in addition, as a token of commiseration, he’s adding £15,000 without prejudice for the family of Mr. Miller or a named charity without in any way such gesture being an admittance of liability. The discretion clause and mutual agreement between the parties ensures the case will not result in a criminal record and all parties involved are barred from further discussion, dissemination or in any way from referencing the manner of Mr. Miller’s departure.”

  There were nine people at Theo Miller’s funeral, which was held discreetly at a small church in Cumbria, near a stone cottage which the family had liked to holiday at when Theo was a child.

  No one from the university came, apart from the boy.

  He thought perhaps Theo’s stepmother would scream at him, attack him, rage at him, how could you do this how could you let this happen how could you be so …

  … instead she held his hand like she was comforting him, like he was a brother who needed her support, her only surviving son, and Theo’s father gave a short speech about a tragedy that could not be undone, and the next day the two of them left for their apartment in Vienna and never came back.

  Return to Oxford. Exams were done the results came and Theo’s name was still on the list, he’d got a 2.1, all that gin and still got a 2.1 fancy that, and no one seemed to realise that he wasn’t there to collect it; that his name when called would be spoken at an empty seat.

  The discretion clause worked its magic. When you weren’t allowed to talk about a thing, sometimes it was just easier to ignore it, pretend it had never happened. Theo Miller vanished and people wondered where he was, and those who knew …

  … did not answer.

  The boy went back to halls, began to pack, not sure where he was going, not sure what he was meant to do now.

  Realised, as he packed, that Theo Miller’s room was untouched next door. No one had come to take his things, no one had asked him to leave, the rent had left his account automatically, somehow in the notification process his bank hadn’t been informed, the discretion clause had frightened the morgue or the police from doing their thing.

  The boy packed his stuff, went back to Shawford, three trains and a bus, arrived at the station with no one to meet him but …

  “We should go to the beach together. You bring blankets, I’ll bring booze.”

  They lay on the beach together, Dani pressed to his side, and the boy tried to say something, to apologise, to explain that he’d cocked it all up, that his dream was dead too and more, his dream had always been a lie, always, he’d thought perhaps he had a future and it had never been true there was no future there was no dream only guilt and failure and regret and the distant memory of promised light.

  And Dani said:

  “They didn’t extend my contract. No point. They’ve got other kids coming up through the programme now, give the job to some sixteen-year-old, not like they need much training, let them work until they’re twenty-one then give them the shove before they have to pay full wage and you just keep thinking, don’t you, you keep thinking …”

  The next morning there she was, with Andy. She was going to dump him. She knew she would. It was just … really hard. Because once he was dumped, what was she supposed to do?

  What was she supposed to do?

  Their eyes met, and he walked on by and did not look back.

  Went to the train station.

  Threw his phone out of the window.

  Took three trains and a bus.

  Back to Oxford. Back to the safe place that had always been a lie, he never should have been there, he was never going to make it. Some mad fantasy of his patty-line dad, some hilarious criminal’s joke.

  At the careers centre the woman said:

  So maths but no sponsor?

  Internships, perhaps, a couple of years of unpaid internships and you could absolutely … do you have any contacts, or does your family have any contacts who might be …

  and your father is

  I see

  for

  driving the van.

  Well I’m not saying it’s going to affect your career prospects, not at all, it’s just that … well, people might see and be somewhat … you know.

  And most people who do your course have sponsorship

  the banks

  the defence firms

  the Company

  it’s all about derivatives about the way in which money works, about

  well.

  Well.

  It is so good that someone like you thinks of applying.

  The day before he had to go

  Back to Shawford, perhaps. Back dragging his heels, too educated to work down the chippy, too tainted to work in a bank.

  Back to … wherever the hell he was meant to go next, head full of numbers and wallet full of £17.28.

  He used a knife to force the lock to Theo Miller’s room.

  Let himself inside.

  Sat on Theo’s bed.

  Flicked through his clothes.

  Opened the envelope from the university reminding him of his new degree, congratulating him on his success, inviting him to attend the graduation ceremony. Unanswered emails on the laptop, which Theo had never properly password-protected. Interviews. Prospects. Future shimmering like dawn’s first light.

  Ran his fingers down the black gown on the back of Theo’s door, longer sleeves than the boy had ever had, a scholar’s sleeves, indicative of great academic promise, a badge of honour and …

  Picked it up.

  Tried it out for size.

  Swirled, feeling the sleeves flap limply around his body.

  Stared at his face in the mirror.

  Pushed his hair back from his forehead. Wondered how he’d look with a beard.

  Found Theo’s passport in a shoebox at the bottom of the cupboard.

  Sat a while longer on the edge of the bed.

  Put the passport in his pocket and went to the local pharmacy to get some new photos taken.

  Chapter 35

  A few days after Dani died, Theo returned to work.

  His grandmother’s funeral had been very sad very sad indeed but also it was her time and he didn’t really want to talk about it …

  Which was a relief, as no one wanted to talk to him about it either.

  A few good cases had come through. A wealthy landlord had burned alive a former tenant who was harassing him for the return of his deposit. The case was especially lovely because it turned out the tenant was a trustee for a charity that helped terminally ill children visit petting zoos and all in all …

  … £600,000, maybe even £700,000 for the murder?

  The accused’s lawyer would probably barter it down to £590,000, but even so, it was an open-and-shut case and best of all, the killer could pay, it was bonus time at the Criminal Audit Office.

  “My grandmother died last month,” mused Charlotte Burgess as they stood in the food queue together at lunch. “Her last words were ‘I should never have kept that damn cat.’”

  The two of them considered this in silence, and Theo ordered the jacket potato with cheese and beans.

  £6700 for the investigation costs because they had to do a test on the knife after the coppers decided that the

  yes well the thing is she had two kids and also helped at the local community centre so that’s an extra £15,000 for the

  you robbed a man with insurance the policy covers a minimum indemnity of £20,000 well that’s ju
st how it works with

  knock off ten grand because actually the guy was asking for it and

  He submitted the Cumali case in the afternoon. After due consideration, charges were dropped to manslaughter, and the indemnity set at £84,000. If Edward was pleased, he didn’t show it, and Mala Choudhary sent Theo an email congratulating him on his good sense.

  Theo cycled home faster than he’d ever ridden before, swerving through London streets, a driver opened her door to shout at him you stupid bloody wanker what the hell do you think …

  He was gone before she could get to the juicy bits.

  He picked up Dani’s phone from its hiding place above the spice cupboard in Mrs. Italiaander’s kitchen—the phone she’d thrown from the window, the one the police hadn’t found and lost—and cycled to Streatham Hill. The sun was already down, the air cold enough to make the grass crackle beneath his feet.

  Found a bench.

  Sat in darkness.

  Turned the phone on.

  There were three numbers called—his and two he didn’t recognise.

  He dialled the first unknown number.

  The phone was answered after two rings.

  “Heya honey, what can we do for you tonight?” A voice trying hard, a little too hard, to exude sultry allure.

  “Uh … I don’t really know. Who am I speaking to?”

  “It’s Salome. Can I take your name?”

  “Salome … who?”

  A switch, a drop from sultry to something altogether more regularly seen down the pub. “Do you want me to get the missus?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what number I’ve called.”

  “Wivelsfield.”

  “Wivelsfield?”

  “You seriously don’t know?”

  “No.”

  “We’re a massage parlour and luxury club experience, mister.”

  “Right.”

  “Luxury club experience. For men, yeah? With massage? Jesus.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  A slight shuffle on the other end of the line, an attempt to reassert a certain sensual musicality to the whole conversation, failing. “So you uh … interested?”

  “I don’t think I am right now, thank you. Do you know a woman called Dani Cumali?”

  “She’s not one of ours. Look, I’ve got to go, there are other callers, the lines are like, you know …”

  “I just need to know if—”

  “If you’re not buying then …”

  “Can I ask—”

  “Bye!”

  The woman hung up.

  For a while Theo sat, holding the phone, bewildered. Thought about calling back. Wasn’t sure what he could possibly say.

  He dialled the second unknown number.

  Waited.

  Waited.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, who am I speaking to?”

  Silence.

  A rustling, a motion, a beep.

  “Hello? Hello? Is anyone …”

  The line was dead.

  He called back.

  The phone rang, then stopped immediately.

  Rang again.

  Didn’t get past the first ring, before it was silenced.

  Texted instead, went through various drafts, threats and challenges, wheedles and appeals to a better nature. Chose the least offensive of them all.

  I knew Dani Cumali.

  Hit send.

  Counted to thirty.

  Rang.

  The phone rang a very long time. One ring before it was going to go to answerphone, a man answered.

  “Yes.” He sounded tired, resigned, old.

  “Who am I speaking to?”

  “You first.”

  “My name is Theo.”

  “Theo what?”

  “Just Theo. You?”

  “Faris.”

  “Is that …”

  “Just Faris.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I can’t help you.”

  “I just need to ask a few questions about—”

  “Don’t call me again.”

  A sudden blurt; a desperate burble of words before he could be cut off. “Dani Cumali was murdered by a professional hit woman. A firm called Faircloud Associates have bought a discretion clause to close the case. Dani’s phone, the one that was registered to her, has been lost by the police. You were one of three people called from this device, which neither the killer nor the police found. One was a brothel. I am the other. I think it would be in both our interests to meet.”

  time is

  flying when you’re having fun

  takes for ever when you’re about to have a needle shoved in your arm, it’s just one of those things

  The man called Faris thinks a very long time, then says, “I can meet you in an hour.”

  They met at a café near Vauxhall Bridge. The café was inside a licensed area. The bouncers checked Theo’s ID and credit rating, waved him in.

  Thwump thwump thwump the sound of bass. It hurts the ears, it’s in the stomach, the kind of sound that lets you know how much food you’ve eaten lately, or if you had a liquid lunch, because you can feel it all vibrating, the soft inner sea inside your belly bouncing like the surface of the water before an earthquake thwump thwump thwump

  An assault of colour.

  Fuchsia, magenta, pink deepening down to red. Streaks dripping from the ceiling like blood. Across the floor, colder whites and blues, ultraviolet splotches on the floor lighting up the spilt gin and fluorescent paint, spinning green disco lights and sharp-tipped lasers burning on the retina.

  Drugs too.

  Theo looks for a few seconds before seeing the first pills, just there, on the table, a bit of something extra a bit of something to raise the night keep you partying stronger, harder.

  If the cops catch you there’ll be an indemnity of £9150 minimum but actually the girls taking it tonight

  they can pay

  And more importantly the licensed area has its own security, private security on a corporate contract. It’s not that they endorse breaking the law. It’s just that cops don’t have any authority over licensed corporate business, because the law isn’t about removing choice; it’s about protecting it.

  Eyes of bursting red, capillaries popping. Swollen noses, hysterical laughter, a woman sobbing in a corner, dress torn, a group of friends by the toilet door, one of their number bent over double, she didn’t make it to the sink. Let it out, honey, just let it all out.

  Women in patty-line overalls, mopping up noodle-threaded puke. A parade of flesh in bikini and thong, the hottest new commodities, some are from the patty line looking to make a buck. Others too—this is just what they do. They want the money, dream of the money. Money makes the world go round.

  Theo scuttles on as the security guards glower at him and his light wallet, sober face.

  He found Faris in a section designed to resemble an all-American burger bar, complete with alcoholic milkshakes in chilly metal pint jugs that dripped slow condensation onto the tabletop. The sound of music was fainter here, muffled by curtains behind which waitresses in tight yellow tops and frilly white aprons negotiated with clients for more than the usual service, arms poked and scratched, veins like dead silver worms sunk into flesh.

  Faris was tucked into a booth, halfway through a chicken burger with extra chilli, his beard stained with orange sauce, dark brown eyebrows drawn together. He glanced up as Theo approached, scowled, looked down at his plate, carried on with his burger.

  Made a big deal of consuming it, every last bite, licking his lips, wiping his face with a napkin, spreading the detritus, putting the napkin down, picking up a single, skinny dry chip from the basket by him, taking a bite, half a chip gone, chewing with his mouth open, then the other half, licking his fingers, picking up another, watching Theo. His skin was the colour of monsoon earth, his hair was going badger grey at the temples and crown.
His nails were buffed down to tiny, soft stubs. Two tendons stood out below his jaw and down his neck, like the lines of a suspension bridge.

  He ate chips.

  Theo waited.

  Another chip and

  another chip and

  Theo waited.

  Faris took another chip, and didn’t eat it, but held it sticky in one hand and at last met Theo’s eyes.

  “So. Dani.”

  “Yes.”

  “When you rang …”

  “I knew Dani.”

  “That seems …”

  “Yes?”

  “Stupid thing to say to a stranger if you’re …”

  “I figured we’re both …”

  “In it?” Faris’s head turned a little to one side, the chip drooping between pinched fingers. “Shafted?” he added, running through options, tasting the ideas. “Up shit creek?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’d you get my number?”

  “Found Dani’s phone. Her other phone—the one they were looking for the night she died.”

  A shrug. Faris supposed someone had to find it; there are worse people than Theo. “Why’d you get involved?”

  Theo hesitated, eyes drifting up as he ordered his thoughts. “Dani Cumali has a daughter. She hasn’t … hadn’t … seen her for fourteen years. She tried to blackmail me into helping. Blackmailed her boss. He got her work at the Ministry of Civic Responsibility. She stole documents. She’d get into the lift with three bags of trash and leave with only two. In her last message to me she claimed to have found something big—‘They broke the world,’ she said. I think she was looking for something to leverage against her daughter’s freedom, more blackmail. Her boss, he said this thing—‘there’s a market for everything.’ Lucy—that’s her kid—she’s on the patty line. Still a juvenile, it’s all just writing reviews, nothing … but you get stuck—these things—you get stuck and before you know it …”

  Whoomp whoomp whoomp went the music and the security guards looked the other way and money switched hands and no one cared, and none of it mattered.

  Theo looked at the damp bowl of sagging chips in front of Faris, and felt suddenly hungry. “Whatever Dani found in the Ministry killed her. They sent a woman called Seph Atkins. Atkins is being defended by Faircloud Associates. Faircloud Associates works for the Company, and the Company is in part run by a man called Simon Fardell. Simon Fardell is the oldest friend of Philip Arnslade, minister of fiscal efficiency. They have … shared experiences. Dani, when she blackmailed her boss, made him send her to a place called Danesmoor. Danesmoor is the ancestral home of Philip Arnslade. I’m not sure what this means yet, I’m not sure what she found, and I’m not sure I want to find out, given that they killed her for it. But I am sure that if they killed once, they’ll kill again. Before she died, Dani threw a mobile phone away—this phone.”