High Pressure Page 13

  How could they tell him he’d lost a daughter he didn’t know existed?

  On either side of the fireplace were studio photos of Steve and Marissa, casual in jeans and white T-shirts, their feet bare. In another, Marissa wore a bright dress and Steve a navy blazer. They looked happy and affluent.

  Brioni took it all in, in a glance. One of the things she’d got very good at when she was travelling was assessing a bar or a restaurant or a hostel quickly, evaluating how safe it would be and whether she could stay or needed to move very fast in the opposite direction. Here, slate-grey coffee cups and discarded red wine glasses littered the chunky oak coffee table and the glass dining table that connected the living area with the kitchen. Sheaves of printed papers lay on the dining table, jumbled as if they’d been swept together. The whole room was like a painting of anxiety.

  ‘Please sit down – I’m afraid it’s a bit of a mess. Rani the cleaner will be here soon. I think she comes later in the day, something to do with her children. I can’t remember, Mar looks after all that.’

  Before they could sit down, a tanned blond man appeared in the hall doorway behind them. Obviously fit, he was wearing lightweight beige chinos and a blue and white striped shirt. He came into the living area, his hand extended.

  ‘Reiss Chanin. I’m Steve’s head of tech. Seeing what I can do while –’ he grimaced – ‘we wait.’

  Anna shook his hand. ‘Has there been any news? Isolde, the Irish ambassador’s wife, told me last night. And then I realised Steve might not have Brioni’s number. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection when I was talking to you yesterday, Steve. It was only afterwards that the penny dropped.’

  Reiss came into the room properly, his accent rich with southern charm.

  ‘Happens to me all the time. It’s truly a small world. But you Irish seem to make it even smaller.’ He grinned at Steve, his smile perfect, like something from a toothpaste ad. When Steve didn’t respond, he moved straight on, his face clouding. ‘We haven’t heard anything yet. Marissa’s purse and cell were found on the corner of Oxford Street, so we know she was there. It’s really a case of waiting. There have been a lot of casualties. With no ID, they’ll need to check against all the missing persons reports before they realise who she is. Can I get you coffee, iced tea?’

  Brioni watched him coldly. He was far too charming for his own good, was clearly from the same background as Steve, uber-privileged public school. She’d bet he’d been on the football team, had that casual arrogance. His chunky gold Rolex caught the light as he turned towards the kitchen.

  ‘Thank you, coffee would be lovely.’

  Anna smiled warmly, catching Brioni’s eye, sending her a reassuring look.

  She was way better at this diplomatic thing.

  Reiss headed into the kitchen, noisily filling the kettle, looking for cups. Brioni glanced back to see Steve had sat down in an easy chair, was watching him helplessly, sunshine pouring in through the picture window behind him. Reiss opened another cupboard as Anna put her bag down on the end of the sofa.

  ‘Can I help? You look like you’re struggling there.’

  Reiss threw her a smile. ‘Be my guest. The female logic behind cupboard designation isn’t one of my strong points.’

  Feeling awkward and restless, Brioni moved towards the glass-topped dining table that dominated the connecting space between the living room and the kitchen area. This was her sister’s house, for God’s sake; she should be able to relax. She looked around. It was like a show house. She couldn’t see any signs of Marissa, except perhaps in the candles on the bookshelves; even the titles were generic, the spines arranged more for their visual impact than actual usefulness.

  As Anna joined him at the kitchen counter, Reiss closed the third cupboard he’d looked in.

  ‘I know you ladies are probably sweet enough, but where do you think Marissa keeps the sugar?’

  From the other end of the table, Brioni tried not to cringe.

  ‘Please, do sit.’ Steve waved to the chair beside Brioni.

  She pulled it out from the table and, putting her backpack down on the floor beside it, sat down, her phone in her hand. Brioni ran her forefinger nervously over the tattoo on the inside of her wrist.

  She looked at her phone screen, not even seeing it. Ever since Anna had called, she’d been willing Mar to send her a text, a Facebook message – anything to tell her she was all right – but nothing had arrived. Brioni glanced over at Steve. She had no idea what to say to him that didn’t involve her shouting and telling him what a prick he was.

  Or asking if he’d murdered her sister.

  ‘I heard you were travelling … Brioni, is it?’

  Reiss called across to her as he assembled china on a tray on the island in the middle of the kitchen. It had two high stools beside it, very his and hers. Brioni could just imagine Mar and Steve having their muesli and orange juice there on a Sunday morning, looking out at the garden. It was like something out of a Perfect Homes photo shoot.

  Steve stood up, his hands in his pockets, and looked out of the front window as if he was expecting Mar to walk up the drive.

  He was keeping as far away from her as he could get.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been away for just over a year.’

  ‘Anywhere nice?’

  ‘I started in India, did Myanmar, Laos, headed over to Thailand.’

  ‘Myanmar?’

  ‘Used to be Burma.’

  ‘Got it. Enjoy it?’

  The kettle boiled and, behind Reiss, Brioni watched Anna filling the teapot. Anna glanced sideways at her. Her cue to keep talking? Brioni tried her best.

  ‘Loved it – I met some really interesting people. Asia is a different world.’

  ‘What brought you home?’

  Brioni glanced at Steve as she answered. He was still standing with his back to her. ‘I’m starting at Empress College at the end of the summer.’

  ‘Empress, wow, impressive.’ Reiss said it as if he didn’t believe her. ‘Expensive, living here in London.’

  ‘I got a full scholarship that covers my living expenses. Mar made me sit the exam straight after my Leaving Cert. She made me join Mensa, too, like her.’

  ‘Marissa was in Mensa? Really? You never said, Steve.’ Reiss Chanin’s face was as surprised as his tone.

  Steve turned around and went to sit down. He looked up as if he’d only just tuned in; he ran his hand over his face.

  Even to Brioni he looked shell-shocked.

  But what was he shocked by? Marissa disappearing, or being involved in her disappearance?

  In the kitchen, Anna opened the huge American-style fridge, and as the door swung towards her, Brioni could see it was covered in photos and what Brioni could only imagine were Mar’s lists. She’d always made lists, ever since Brioni could remember. Suddenly she wanted to see them, to get a window on Mar’s world. As Anna pulled out the milk, Brioni stood up and walked around the table into the kitchen.

  ‘You’ve a lovely garden.’

  Reiss raised an eyebrow as she passed him, the atmosphere suddenly tense as she headed to the glazed door closest to the fridge.

  She didn’t give a fuck what he thought. He was expecting Mar’s crazy little sister, and that’s what he was getting.

  As if everything was completely normal, Anna poured milk into a jug, setting it on the tray Reiss had found, putting the empty carton on the draining board.

  ‘I think that’s everything. Will I bring it through?’

  ‘No, no, let me.’

  Right on cue, Reiss threw her his hundred-watt smile and picked up the tray.

  Couldn’t have a lady doing any lifting.

  Brioni smiled inside. Anna had no idea what Brioni was up to, but she’d anticipated exactly how Reiss would react. Leaving her in the kitchen, they headed into the living room.

  Brioni turned to glance at the fridge door. Everything was neatly held in place with circular stainless steel magnets – that was
Mar all over. And she’d been right; Mar’s neat handwriting spidered across everything, each item with its own neat heading – Church, Shopping. Brioni glanced quickly at the calendar. There were appointments marked she hadn’t seen in Mar’s Google Calendar – a doctor’s appointment. Was that for her or Steve? Brioni glanced over her shoulder. Anna had reached the other end of the room and had pulled over a leather-covered footstool and an occasional table. Sitting down, she’d angled herself to one side so Brioni wasn’t behind her in anyone’s field of vision. A mug of tea in her hand, she was deeply involved in a conversation and frowning. Brioni couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she could tell she’d sat down to draw the men’s attention away from the kitchen and was keeping them engaged.

  Quickly, Brioni turned with her back to the room and angled her phone to take photos of the fridge door. It would be a bit hit-and-miss, but she wanted to have some time to look over those lists. Taking the shots as quickly as she could, she walked over to the patio doors, looking out at the neat decking and the old apple tree standing stalwart to her right, strong boughs reaching over the lawn. The garden was beautifully tended; bright patches of purple and red, balanced with shades of blue and pink, spilled from the flower beds. Mar’s favourite colours.

  Brioni turned to face the room and headed to her chair at the head of the table, glancing at the manila file covers and printouts spread across it as she passed.

  ‘Interested in politics, Bri?’

  Reiss had a slight edge to his voice. She stopped, confused.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You seem interested in my thesis.’ His sweeping gesture seemed to take in the end of the room, and she realised he was talking about the papers on the table. ‘It’s still a mess, I’m trying to organise the chapters.’

  ‘What are you studying?’ Anna looked at him with interest.

  Before Reiss could answer, Steve interrupted.

  ‘Come and sit down, Bri, have some tea.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m a bit restless.’ She didn’t move, but leaned on the edge of the table. ‘What have the police told you?’

  Steve shrugged. ‘Very little. They’re looking for her. I’ve called all the hospitals and filled out a missing person’s report. I was planning to try social media today, get her picture into as many places as possible. Reiss has already started.’

  Anna shifted on the footstool she was sitting on; in her white linen outfit, she matched the room perfectly.

  ‘I wondered if she could have amnesia. From the shock of the explosion?’

  ‘I can’t see her dropping her purse unless something big had happened.’ Steve vaguely indicated the direction of the kitchen, as if he was pointing at something. ‘And she’s surgically connected to her cell phone. She’s always checking it, looking at Facebook or whatever, God knows. She never leaves it out of her sight …’

  Brioni glanced over to her right and saw what he meant: Mar’s bag was tucked away in a corner of the kitchen counter, her phone connected to a charger.

  ‘Can I look?’

  Steve opened his mouth as if to raise an objection, but it was Reiss’s turn to interrupt with a wave of his hand.

  ‘I plugged it in in case someone tries to text her.’

  Like me.

  Brioni stood up and, walking around the end of the table, picked it up. The screen came to life with the movement.

  Brioni’s photo was the screen saver.

  Brioni felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. Purple hair, just before the pink phase, when she’d been in Laos.

  Brioni leaned on the counter so the phone was hidden by the wall, and deftly tried Mar’s passcode. 1812. It worked. Part of her despaired about Mar’s lack of security, but part of her rejoiced. Tchaikovsky’s1812 was Brioni’s favourite piece; Mar had loved listening to her practice it on the piano.

  Brioni opened the text folder. The last one had been from Thelma, about seeing her at the church. Deftly, Brioni opened WhatsApp. Scrolling down, she looked at the dates on the messages. There was nothing from her. But Brioni had seen the two blue ticks on her own phone – so had her messages been read and deleted?

  Brioni opened her photographs. Nothing. WhatsApp would have automatically saved what she’d sent, unless they had been deleted, too. Brioni narrowed her eyes. There was only one person who would have had access to Mar’s phone and who could have done this.

  Steve.

  Why would he have wanted to sever contact between them? Was he worried Brioni would influence Mar to leave him? But how did her travel photos cause an issue? Brioni had been on the other side of the world.

  It didn’t make sense.

  She turned back to the room. ‘Have they any idea about who set the bomb off?’

  ‘Which one?’ Reiss rolled his eyes. ‘The papers are full of the driver of that van. ISIS haven’t claimed responsibility yet, but it’s only a matter of time.’ He shook his head. ‘I guess we’re just lucky Mar wasn’t any closer to the bus, or on it. I’m sure she’s going to turn up safe and well. An explosion like that can cause all sorts of trauma. I’m sure she’s just fine and in a hospital. It’s only a matter of time before the authorities find her.’

  Chapter 27

  ‘That Reiss guy’s a real creep, isn’t he?’

  Brioni scowled as she pushed the button on the crossing opposite Archway Tube station. She shivered, looking around her. She’d suddenly had a creepy feeling, as if she was being watched, which seemed ridiculous in a crowded London street. Memories of the night before came back.

  Had there been someone trying to break into the house?

  Brioni tried to focus on the present; there was enough to worry about right now without adding burglars to the mix.

  ‘There’s a pair of them in it. I just can’t help thinking Steve was the last person to see Mar before she disappeared.’

  Focused on the crossing, neither of them noticed Dalton Hargreaves standing a few steps behind them, his shades reflecting the sun.

  Anna wrinkled her nose, thinking. ‘How long does it take to get from that restaurant they were in to the embassy?’

  ‘About fifteen or twenty minutes by cab – I checked.’

  Anna pursed her lips. ‘And he got there before me. He was very relaxed and chatting when I saw him, looked like he’d been there a while. I arrived just before three o’clock. I don’t think he had time to do anything awful.’

  ‘Who’s to know he didn’t give her some sort of slow-acting poison that made her feel ill so she went home after Selfridges? Maybe … she dropped her bag because she wasn’t feeling well, managed to get home and then collapsed. He’d have had all evening to work out what to do with her.’

  Anna looked at Brioni, her face worried. ‘I think maybe your imagination is running away a bit there.’

  Brioni shrugged. ‘I’m going to get the bus to that restaurant now, it’s near Gower Street. I want to retrace her steps, see if the staff remember her and can tell me what sort of mood she was in. That could tell us a lot.’

  ‘That’s true. I saw you looking at the notes on the fridge – was there anything there?’

  Brioni grinned. ‘I’ll never make a detective.’ The crossing lit up, ushering them across the road. ‘Nothing that jumped out at me. Oh, crap, there’s the bus.’

  ‘Will I meet you later and we can compare notes? Come to my hotel?’

  ‘Perfect.’ Brioni reached out to touch her arm. ‘And, Anna … thanks. Thanks for everything.’

  ‘You keep saying that – now go.’

  Running across the road, Brioni jumped on the red double-decker just before the doors closed. Tapping her Oyster card, she headed straight up the stairs. Marissa would have found a seat downstairs, rarely went up to the top, but Brioni wanted to see where they were going. The bus took longer than the Tube, but she didn’t have the patience for standing all the way into central London and she wanted to think. The upper deck was almost empty. Heading for a seat on the pavement side, th
e bus lurched as the driver pulled out, and. Brioni grabbed the handrail.

  There were only two other passengers upstairs, both of whom studiously ignored her as she made her way to the rear, out of the intensity of the direct sunlight. Acclimatising to the heat of … well, everywhere that wasn’t Ireland, had been a real challenge on her travels, but after a few months she’d got used to it, or, more accurately, knew to keep hydrated and to not worry about sweating. With her pale colouring, she’d invested heavily in high factor sun lotions and it had made all the difference. She was never going to tan, but she hadn’t burned, and now her arms and legs were a sort of off-white.

  Brioni caught sight of her reflection in the window as she sat down and ran her fingers into her hair, flicking it back. She closed her eyes for a moment. If Mar had been caught in the blast and was injured and disorientated, wouldn’t she have instinctively walked away from Oxford Street, towards perceived safety? And if she’d just kept walking and not stopped until she actually collapsed, could she be lying in a park, or have been found and taken to another hospital miles away from central London? If she was injured, whoever found her could have thought she’d been in a car accident, maybe?

  As the bus rumbled on, Brioni pulled out her phone and scrolled through the shots she’d taken in Mar’s house. She wanted to look properly, somewhere quiet, but as she went through them, nothing stood out as strange. The calendar was the same: Steve’s birthday ringed in red; dropping off and collecting dry-cleaning seemed to be important; and the name Rani was on the board – hadn’t Steve said that was the name of the cleaner?

  What had she hoped it would tell her? Brioni suddenly felt despair sweep over her. What on earth was going on? There was so much wrong in Mar’s life, but it was like a micro-version of the rest of the world.