Free Deadline by Simon Kernick Page B

Liars tend to limit their physical
movements, and those they do make are towards
their own body rather than outwards. They touch
their face, throat and mouth a lot, and will often
turn their head or body away from their questioner
when they talk, so that they're not facing
him or her directly. Andrea exhibited none of
these tendencies. Hers might have been a highly
unusual story, but from Bolt's point of view she
was telling the truth.
    There were three reasons for this. First, she
came across as genuine. Second, there was, in the
end, no real point in her lying, since it would take
very little time for him to verify the truth of many
of her claims. And third, and perhaps most importantly,
he knew her, or at least had known her
once, and didn't think she was capable of a
charade like this. Underneath a hard, occasionally
defensive exterior, she'd always been a good hearted
person.
    It was why he'd once been in love with her.
    Having no children of his own, Bolt couldn't
begin to appreciate the extent of the ordeal
Andrea was going through, but it was clearly
taking a terrible toll. She was still a very attractive
woman, with thick, shoulder-length auburn hair
and well-defined, striking features that would make
most people look twice, but today her face was
haggard and puffy from lack of sleep, with dark
bags under the eyes and a greyish, unhealthy tinge
to the pale skin. The eyes themselves, a very light
and unusual hazel that he remembered being so
pretty, now appeared haunted and torn, and more
than once when she looked at him as she spoke he
felt an urge to reach across the table and touch her.
It was an urge he fought down. There was no room
for personal involvement in something like this.
    'I made one mistake,' she said when she'd
finished, looking at both men in turn. 'I trusted
them.'
    'No, Andrea,' Bolt told her, 'you made two
mistakes. You trusted them, and you didn't come
to us first.'
    'I thought I was doing the right thing.' She
sighed, stubbing out her third cigarette in the
coffee cup in front of her. 'I guess I was wrong.'
    Mo looked up from his notes and spoke for the
first time. 'Do you have a picture of Emma we can
copy, Andrea?'
    She nodded and produced a small colour photo
from her purse, handing it to him. 'This was taken
last year. I'd like it back, please. It's very precious
to me.'
    'I'm sure it is,' he answered, his tone sympathetic.
He gave it only the briefest of glances, not
wanting to make the moment any more painful
than it had to be, before slipping it inside a small
clear wallet.
    'Do either of you two gentlemen have children?'
    'I'm afraid I don't,' answered Bolt.
    'I have,' said Mo. 'Four of them.'
    Andrea looked at him with new interest, as if he
was a kindred spirit in a way that Bolt could never
be. 'You're very lucky,' she told him. 'I hope what
happens to me never happens to you. You can't
imagine what it's like.' And in that moment, her
features, tight with tension and pain, almost
cracked. Almost, but not quite.
    'I promise you we'll all do everything in our
power to help you and bring your daughter back,'
Mo told her. 'But you're going to need to help us
as much as you can. Now, there are some points
that need clarifying, and some questions that need
answering. Can I speak frankly?'
    She nodded. 'Of course.'
    'Your husband's missing, and he has been
since Tuesday, the same day that Emma was
kidnapped. Do you think he could be involved?'
    She paused for several seconds. 'I've thought
about that a lot but I just can't see it. He's always
got on well with Emma, and he's not the sort to do
something like this to her.'
    'Has he acted at all differently around you and
your daughter in the last few weeks?' asked Bolt.
    'Not that I've noticed.'
    'So, where do you think he might be?'
    She threw up her hands. 'I honestly don't know.
Maybe they've taken him as well.'
    Mo made a show of consulting his notes.
'According to what you've told us, you never
asked the kidnapper who phoned you whether