The Wreckage - Michael Robotham [70]
“Why?”
“I’ve been told not to say anything.”
Miss Lindop looks up and her whole body stiffens. Her lips draw back from her teeth in a pained smile. She pulls her hand away from Elizabeth, breaking physical contact. Felicity Stone has appeared in the cafeteria, flanked by two security guards. Scanning the tables, her eyes come to rest on Elizabeth. She flips open her mobile and makes a call, moving between tables, closing the gap.
Miss Lindop stands and mumbles an apology.
“I’m praying for him, Lizzie.”
“Should I be praying?”
“I find it helps.”
She leaves without saying goodbye, her sensible shoes click-clacking on the tiles.
Felicity Stone is no longer full of smiles. “I told you to wait in your brother’s office.”
“The baby was kicking. I had to move around. I think she’s going to be a dancer.”
“How nice for you.”
Mitchell has finished his meeting. Elizabeth struggles up from her chair. He kisses both her cheeks then holds her at arm’s length, a hand on each shoulder.
“Where the fuck is he, Lizzie?”
His anger shocks her. It triggers a memory from her childhood; Mitchell holding one of her dolls just out of her reach. Older. Faster. Stronger. He put the doll on a makeshift raft and launched it into the center of the pond where he bombarded it with rocks, clods and sticks until the raft tipped over and the doll bobbed face down in the water.
Her brother had always been a bully. Now he was doing it again.
“He can’t just have disappeared. He must have said something. Called. Emailed.”
Elizabeth knocks his arms away.
“No.”
“Why didn’t he go with you last weekend?”
“He said he had too much work to do.”
“You must know something, Lizzie. This is a very inopportune time for him to go missing. We have an audit…”
Elizabeth looks at him incredulously. “Is that all you care about? He’s my husband. He’s your brother-in-law. I don’t give a fuck about your audit. I want to know why everyone is being so secretive. And why was North so scared?”
“You think he was upset?”
“No, he was scared. There’s a difference.”
A secretary knocks. Mitchell has another meeting. Elizabeth doesn’t want to let him go.
“Why has Bridget Lindop been told not to talk to me? What are you trying to hide?”
Mitchell is gathering files from his desk. Elizabeth blocks the doorway. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”
Her brother sighs, angry but accepting. He glances at his watch.
“We’re rather concerned that North took materials with him—internal memos and sensitive documents.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Someone has been feeding information to outside parties.”
“What outside parties?”
“A journalist.” Mitchell raises his hands. “I’m not making accusations, Lizzie. We just want to talk to him. I’m sure there’s an explanation. Right now I have auditors waiting in the boardroom. I can’t stay.”
Elizabeth wants to follow him, to argue, but Felicity Stone materializes in the corridor, blocking her way. Chaperoned to the foyer and through the security barriers, Elizabeth hands over her visitor’s pass and finds herself in Cabot Square. People have to step around her to reach the revolving door.
Almost without thinking, she begins walking with no destination in mind, feeling her certainty run down inside her like a wind-up toy. Reaching the river, she watches a group of teenagers, black and white, boys and girls, hanging out on benches. One couple is French kissing with all the desperation of those too young to share a bed yet.
Elizabeth can feel objects grow bigger in her imagination, magnified by the silence of the river and the din of voices in her head. Up until six days ago, if asked, she could have taken North apart and put him back together again blindfolded, just like some people can put guns together in the dark. Now she’s not so sure. Now he seems like a stranger. An imposter. Someone who tricked