Free Scion by Murray McDonald

been?”
    “No.”
    “Can someone else tell us where you’ve been?”
    “No.”
    Kelly thought of a way to get the information.
    “What about your passport, we can track where it’s been .”
    “Don’t have one .”
    “But you said you entered the UK last night so you must have one?”
    “I did and I don’t.”
    The Chief sat back in frustration with the realistic possibility that Scott was an illegal immigrant claiming not to know where he was from and who by default would gain access to the UK. You can’t deport someone unless you have somewhere to deport them to.
    Kelly had the same thought but the accent was too good, definitely English. In fact almost perfect but for a slight twang of something she couldn’t quite place.
    “You’re not going to get citizenship out of this , you know. We’ll just lock you up and throw away the key until you tell us where you’re from.”
    Scott placed his hands in the air next to his head, in a mock surrender.
    “ Look guys, I’m not an illegal immigrant. I’m not looking for citizenship. I’m not a rapist. It was kill or be killed and I wish I could but I can’t tell you where I’ve been. I honestly am not trying to be difficult.”
    Kelly and the Chief looked at each another and both could see that they rather bizarrely believed him. However with no concrete proof, he was their only suspect.
    Kelly moved her hand towards the tape recorder.
    “Interview terminated 11.51 p.m. Sunday 5th October 2008.” She pressed the Stop button.

     
    Chapter 12
     
     
    “I’ll just give you a reference number. Have you got a pen?”
    “Just a sec. ,” Ashley quickly searched through the mess on the floor and found the pen and pad that once sat next to the phone.
    “The reference is Yankee, Bravo, 9, 3 , Tango, X-ray. Do you want to read that back to me?”
    “YB93TX ,” repeated Ashley.
    “ Correct. Now if you give that reference number to the ticket desk with your passport, they’ll issue your tickets and boarding pass. Is there anything else I can help you with Miss Diaz, sorry Rosie?” The BA sales associate corrected herself. The customer had insisted she call her by her first name. She reprimanded herself. She hadn’t made it to first class bookings by ignoring customer wishes.
    “No , that’s fine, thank you. Oh sorry just one thing. Is seat 4A available?”
    “ Just let me check.” After the sound of the keyboard clacking, the agent came back. “Yes, would you like me to allocate it to you?”
    “ Yes please and thank you, you’ve been very helpful.”
    “Not at all Rosie, thank you for choosing British Airways. Goodbye .”
    Ashley said goodbye and hung up. She was not happy at having to use Rosie’s identity to book the flight but thought it best. As the British authorities were expecting a Rosie, she better give them one. It was imperative nothing interfered with her meeting him.
    She looked across the floor at the clothes strewn throughout the apartment . Rosie really did have some terrible clothes. It was only now that she didn’t need to wear them that she could see just how bad they were. Ashley only ever travelled trans-Atlantic first class. It was the one luxury she insisted on no matter what. That trip alone would cost almost a quarter of her annual salary. Not that that was an issue. Ashley worked because she loved what she did, it most certainly was not for the money. Her trust fund generated in less than a month more than her annual salary. Her life had been one of luxury; the finest clothes, homes, education and holidays. Her parents were members of the American aristocracy; her father a career diplomat and mother a career socialite, a lady who lunched. Both from privileged and wealthy backgrounds, their invitation to dinner and parties with the rich and powerful meant that the world was Ashley’s oyster, whatever career she chose, she could have. But it hadn’t always been like that. Ashley could remember the times before America,