Trust Me - T.M. Logan Page 0,117

him too, his aggression, and I wish I’d asked Angela about him and how he fits in. He knew both sisters, he knew the Clifton family – could he be the Ghost? Was that why Zoe wouldn’t tell her sister about the new man in her life, why the relationship had been a secret – because she’d been seeing her sister’s boyfriend? Had he bribed or blackmailed Holt into botching the DNA test to cover up his involvement? I think back to Holt’s solo visit to see Max on Thursday. Come to think of it, both men seemed cut from the same cloth – both good-looking white guys in their twenties, same private-school home counties inflection, both gym-toned types who clearly looked after themselves. Did they know each other from way back? I make a mental note to flag this to Gilbourne. And I will visit Angela again to give her an update.

I go down to the car park and within a few minutes I’m on the A40, making good time heading out of London in the Sunday morning traffic. Thinking about Max and the barely-contained violence in his words, his posture, his whole attitude when he had confronted me in Prestwood Ash on Friday night. A man on the edge.

I’m halfway to the village when my phone pings with a new message in its hands-free cradle on the dash. I expect to see Matt Simms’s name on the display, but it’s an unrecognised number. I click on the message.

Mia’s almost out of time

I start a reply, then delete it and simply call the number, panic swimming through me. It rings out. I end the call and text instead, holding the phone against the steering wheel as I drive.

Who is this?

Don’t make the same mistake twice.

He’s already on his way

In answer to my question, at the end of the text he’s signed it off as if he’s writing an email.

Leon

Do you mean DS Holt? Is he the one?

I push down on the accelerator and pull out to overtake the car in front. I’ve just pushed the phone back into its cradle when it rings, the Bluetooth-connected speakers bouncing the sound around inside my car.

‘Ellen?’ Gilbourne’s voice is taut with tension. ‘Tell me you’re still at the hotel.’

‘No,’ I say, overtaking a van. ‘I’m in my car.’

‘Listen to me very carefully, Ellen, do you trust me?’

‘Yes. Of course.’

‘I need you to turn around and go back to your hotel, lock the door and wait until I call you back. Do not open the door to anyone, do you understand? Not the manager, not DS Holt, no one at all, until I let you know it’s safe and give you the all-clear.’

‘What’s happening, Stuart?’

There is a pause on the line, road noise, traffic, muffled conversations in the background.

‘Dominic Church has shaken off his surveillance and he’s on the move. I have units out looking for him but I need to be sure you’re safe in case he comes for you.’

‘This is it, isn’t it?’ Pressure is building at the base of my throat, the pain rising into my larynx. ‘What about Holt? Where is he?’

‘I don’t know,’ Gilbourne says, almost shouting with frustration. ‘He’s not answering his phone.’

‘Where did they lose the surveillance on Church? Where was he?’

‘Ellen, you need to go back to the—’

‘Just tell me!’

There is another pause on the other end of the line. Engine noise, the pitch rising, a siren wailing close by.

‘The last ANPR hit we had for his car reg was on the A40, heading north-west out of London.’

‘You mean he’s going towards Prestwood Ash.’

‘We don’t know that for certain but we’ve got the situation under—’

I hit end and push the accelerator flat to the floor.

62

I speed the rest of the way there, breaking limits on every single road, my hands in a death grip tight around the wheel. I can’t sit in a locked room waiting for the phone to ring: I have to know that Mia is safe. I flash through Prestwood Ash and hit the country road out the other side, pushing up to seventy miles an hour before standing on the brakes as the turn-off for The Grange comes into view. The gates are open and I skid into the driveway in a slew of gravel, almost clipping the wall as I accelerate through and on up to the house.

There’s a black Ford Focus in the driveway, parked at an angle opposite the Mercedes and the Range Rover I saw yesterday. There