Free Bombproof by Michael Robotham Page A

brother.
    Miranda hands him a photograph - a prison mugshot that must have come from Macbeth’s file.
    ‘What was this guy in for?’
    ‘Possession of stolen goods.’
    ‘First timer.’
    She nods.
    ‘What makes him think his sister is in trouble?’
    Miranda tells him how Nadia abandoned her flat. She hasn’t turned up for work or at college. Isn’t answering her phone.
    ‘When was the last time he heard from her?’
    ‘A week ago.’
    ‘This Nadia have a boyfriend?’
    ‘According to Sami she had started seeing a guy called Toby Streak.’
    Ruiz doesn’t know the name. ‘What does Streak have to say?’
    ‘Says that he and Nadia parted company. Last time he saw her she was with Tony Murphy.’
    Now there’s a name that does ring a bell. Dozens of them, pealing from the rooftops.
    Miranda senses as much.
    ‘It’s not good news, is it?’
    Nothing about Murphy is good news, thinks Ruiz. ‘What do you want me to do?’
    ‘I thought you might ask around - make a few calls, you’re good at that sort of thing.’
    ‘What sort of thing?’
    ‘Finding girls.’
    ‘I’m a bit long in the tooth.’
    ‘As a favour,’ she says, rubbing her stockinged foot against his ankle. ‘I feel good about this guy. I don’t think he’s a bad egg. He wants to straighten himself out.’
    Ruiz has to fight the urge not to run his hand up her leg to her thigh. After another glass of wine he’s beginning to settle in for the evening - something Miranda recognises.
    ‘Off you go, big man,’ she says.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘It’s Friday night. I’m going out,’ she says.
    ‘Who with?’
    ‘None of your business.’
    She gives him a hug. Ruiz runs his hands down the small of her back and squeezes her backside.
    ‘What was that for?’ she purrs into his mouth.
    ‘Old time’s sake.’
    ‘Stop calling yourself old,’ she says.
    ‘It’s all right for you. You still look great.’
    ‘It just takes me twice as long to look half as good.’
    Ruiz smells her hair and turns away, walking up the stairs, onto the street. How is it, he wonders, that something so soft can make him so hard.

    13
    When Sami was in Wormwood Scrubs he received a letter from a girl called Kate Tierney. Kate used to hang around the band - not like a groupie, but as part of the entourage.
    She was dating the drummer, Shortie, a good-looking bastard who treated her like shit. What is it about drummers? Ringo Starr falls out of the ugly tree, hits every branch, yet still manages to pull birds like Patti Boyd and Barbara Bach, a Bond girl for fuck’s sake.
    Sami used to lust after Kate from afar, or at least from the front of the stage. She was always upfront, in the mosh-pit, eyes closed, swaying to the music.
    She was only eighteen when he first met her. When that particular band broke up, she drifted away. Over the next few years he bumped into her once or twice before losing touch.
    Then Sami got sent down for a stretch. Three months in, he gets a letter from Kate Tierney. Perfumed. Little blue flowers around the border. Sami lay back in his cell and imagined the same little blue flowers on the edges of her knickers.
    After that she wrote to him twice a week. Told him about her life. Her folks had been rich until her old man invested in junk bonds and blew the lot. Kate went from a private school in Surrey to a comprehensive in Hackney.
    Sami had no idea why Kate decided to write to him. Maybe she felt sorry for him. Maybe she’d secretly fancied him for years. Maybe the reason was more fundamental and deep seated.
    He asked her to send him a photograph. She sent one of her wearing a silk teddy, sitting astride a rocking horse. That’s when he realised it was about lust. He was now a bad boy. An outlaw. Some girls think they deserve guys like that.
    Kate Tierney studied hotel management and got a job working at the Savoy. She started in reception and worked her way up to night manager.
    Sami calls her at work. Tells her he needs somewhere to stay.