Don't Come Looking AJ Campbell (best biographies to read .TXT) 📖

I shake my head and return my attention to the scribbles on the orange Post-it. ‘Come on, Eva, work it out,’ I repeat out loud.

M5 R10 C10 P10 P20 = 55

Five minutes crawl by as I try to arrange my muddled thoughts in order. Then it clicks. Sliding my phone across the table towards me, I pull up the photos I took earlier in Luke’s room. I clap my hands several times. The sound echoes around the room like a round of applause. I grab another napkin and wrap the orange pieces, slipping them into my pocket to join the green ones.

I march to the office. Sasha is still sitting, staring at the wall, her hands propping up her head. I perch on the desk next to her and tap her arm. She doesn’t acknowledge me. ‘I need to look at the laptop again,’ I say.

She turns to stare at me, defeat saddening her expression. ‘What’s the point?’

‘Why don’t you make some coffee and leave me here?’ I ease her up out of the chair. She feels lifeless, floppy, like a rag doll, as if she’ll collapse if I don’t hold her up.

‘I used to be such a strong person.’ She snivels. ‘How do I find the strength to get through this?’

I escort her to the kitchen and make her a cup of coffee. She takes it over to the beanbag Hannah was lying on earlier and slumps down.

‘I’ll be back in a bit,’ I tell her.

I return to the laptop and find the wretched image and compare it to Sasha and Marc’s photo on my phone. Blinking, my pulse races. I knew it. How has he done this? There’s the error. The point where the patchwork throw meets Luke’s body. The alignment is out, and the hue and contrast are awry – only visible to the scrutinising eye when compared with the same point on the image of Marc. This photo has obviously been doctored. It is good, boy, it is good, but it’s not entirely perfect. I place two fingers on the touchpad and pinch to zoom in. The pixels enlarge, distorting the clarity of the image. I zoom back out and in again. In out, in out.

Very clever.

But not clever enough.

No more sneaking around, Luke. Your game is over, and you can’t hide anymore.

My phone rings. ‘Rob, thank God you called.’

‘Never knew you cared so much. What’s up?’

‘I need you to come over to Napier Close. I’ve found stuff out. I think we’ll find Luke Walker at the Sofitel, Heathrow. Check it out with airport police, can you? And pave the way with reception if I’m right. Give clear instructions for them to wait for us. Then get yourself over here, and I’ll fill you in on the rest on the way. He’s a nasty piece of work, this one.’

‘Sure. But you’re on annual leave.’

‘And when has that ever stood in the way of police business?’

‘Point taken. I’ll make the calls and be right there.’

I run down the hallway and into the kitchen. ‘Sasha, come here.’ I extend an arm and pull her up out of the beanbag. ‘Quick.’

Reluctantly, she surrenders to my tugs back to the office. I point to the image. ‘It’s not real.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s fake.’

She catches her breath, looking from me to the screen.

I zoom into the image when a knock at the front door disturbs our concentration. ‘Who’s that now?’ Sasha huffs. ‘It’d better not be that blasted Annie.’

Hannah passes the study door, saying, ‘I’ll get it.’

Sasha stares at the screen, transfixed. ‘Are you sure it’s fake?’ she asks me.

‘Undoubtedly,’ I say.

Screams pierce along the hallway. ‘Daddy! Daddy!’

Sasha’s jaw drops. She stares me in the eyes for a second before bolting out of the office.

I turn from the laptop to see Marc across the hallway, standing on the doormat with his daughter clinging to him like a limpet. He is as white as the painted woodwork, his eyes sunken in his pained face, and it looks as if he hasn’t shaved since he left. He looks small, the loss of hope weighing him down. Sasha stands in front of him, trying to gulp in air. Throwing out a hand, he draws her towards him and cocoons her in his arms with Hannah, six shoulders involuntarily shaking. They remain entwined until Sasha pushes him away and cups his head in her hands, pulling his face towards hers. Their noses touch. An intense look only they will understand passes between them, before they hold each other again.

He looks up. His eyes lock onto mine, then down to the laptop. He looks crestfallen, a broken man.

I mouth, ‘It’s a fake. We know it’s fake.’ I snap the laptop shut.

His face contorts, and his bottom lip quivers as Harry comes hurtling down the stairs, with George in tow. George pushes past Harry, rushing towards his father. Harry hesitates, momentarily challenging his father. ‘Dad! Where have you been?’ before joining the dramatic embrace. A family of five reunited at last.

‘Daddy, Daddy, tell me, was that you outside school the other day?’

Marc gives the faintest of nods. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says between sobs. ‘I’ve been in such a mess. It’s all over now, though. It’s all sorted. I can explain everything.’

I swallow the lump choking me as I leave the office to locate my bag. In the kitchen, I find it hanging from the back of a chair. Voices crescendo as the five of them hug their way down the hall. I gather my emotions to deal with later and slip my bag’s strap over my shoulder. George and Hannah are crying. Tears of joy marvelling at how suddenly desperate circumstances can change. Harry looks stunned.

‘Don’t go,’ Sasha says to me. ‘Tell her, Marc.’

Marc’s shoulders curve over his chest, a middle-aged man stooped from the course of catastrophic events. He follows his wife’s orders and invites me to stay.

Another lump forms in my throat, watering my eyes. I reach out and curl my hand over