Page 32 of Famous Last Words

Sixteen.

And Niall was right to wait, because that’s when somebody answers.

But it isn’t Luke.

12

Niall

Niall’s brain works quickly. It isn’t Deschamps; it isn’t a man at all. Therefore, it is Isabella Louis.

And her police officer husband is somewhere on the scene.

Shit.

‘Hello?’ she says again, her voice a whisper.

Camilla’s eyes are saucers, staring at the phone, then up at Niall. He needs to get her away from it. He doesn’t have clearance for her to speak to anybody except Luke. She could jeopardize the whole thing: relatives often act in unpredictable ways.

And he needs to make sure Isabella’s husband, George, isn’t anywhere nearby, either.

He holds a hand up to a uniformed officer and gestures for him to remove Camilla, feeling regret at her hurt and dumbfounded expression. She looks a lot like young Viv: big eyes, lots of hair, and Niall feels a sympathetic lurch in his gut, but, nevertheless, he turns away from her, needing to concentrate.

Niall scans the RVP for George Louis, but he isn’t here.

‘Hello, Isabella,’ Niall says into the phone while the officer removes Camilla. Only ten seconds or so have gone by. He hopes it’s not been too long.

Nothing. No response, but the call is still connected.

‘Isabella?’ Niall says into the phone. ‘I know you must be scared but – I need you to talk to me, if you can.’

Nothing.

Maidstone approaches Niall and sits down too close to him, clearly unable to help himself, and begins making gestures. Niall waves him away.

‘If you can’t talk for fear, please tap the handset three times,’ he says.

More silence at the end of the phone. Niall strains to listen. Nothing. Maidstone drums his fingers on the desk. Niall’s whole body is full of adrenaline.

He turns and watches the police: hunched over laptops, fingers to ears. At any moment, Deschamps might grab for the phone. Niall feels a stab of something, guilt maybe, that he’s always pretending to be just one man, talking softly to criminals or victims, when really there’s a whole team of police there. A tactical commander listening to every word.

He turns again, trying to ignore his audience, the pressure he’s under, the resources being directed at this exchange. He gazes out of the window towards where his call is coming from. Armed police surround the warehouse like an ugly grey swarm. The warehouse sits there, impassive in the light.

Maidstone points to the phone. ‘Isabella?’ he mouths, and Niall nods, but he’s irritated. He can’t concentrate under this scrutiny.

On the line, Niall can hear nothing. No breathing, no shouting, nothing. ‘In case you didn’t hear, it’s three taps, if you can’t speak,’ he says.

Silence. Niall turns to look at the phone, to check it’s still connected, and as he does so, he hears them. Three delicate taps. Three scared taps.

‘All right, Isabella. I heard those,’ he says, holding a hand in the air.

Maidstone is scribbling on a piece of paper.Ask her if she’ll put LD on.

Niall shakes his head.

Maidstone gestures to Niall, but Niall can’t work out what he’s trying to say and, right now, he needs to be concentrating. He stands up.

‘If you are Isabella, this time tap twice,’ he says.

---