Page 108 of The Dead Come to Stay
“No way,” Jo said, scrabbling backward—into the broad chest of the Geordie.
“Ye dee as yer telt!” he boomed.
“Tie you up if it was up to me, an’ don’t tempt me,” said the third man, guiding them out of the car.
Two men on both sides of her, one behind, all within touching distance. Jo’s skin crawled.Focus on the ground, she told herself. New asphalt, wet streaked beneath the black umbrella. A parking lot, but in a moment they were under the awning of a building. She heard Lina whimper: “Where is Habibi?”The word teased Jo’s memory; she’d heard it before.
Foley just answered by saying, “Everything will be fine.”
The umbrella came down once they were inside; the space wascavernous.Polished stone, cut glass and a fountain in the center. Atrium? Office building?
“Why are we here?” she asked.
“I have something to attend to,” Foley said. “It won’t take long.” He led them to an elevator, and when it dinged open, the Geordie herded them in behind Foley—but the other man stayed behind. He turned to go, and in the barest stripe of visual before the doors closed, Jo could see a handgun tucked into his waistband.
Ohshit oh shit oh shit,she breathed as the floors counted up—six, seven, eightfloors;nine, ten, eleven. The elevator didn’t open to a hallway, but a whole floor.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Foley said, pointing to a sunken area with shiny sofas and a heavy coffee table. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Are you serious?” Jo asked. Lina just stared at him, wide-eyed.
“Where is Habibi?” she asked again.
“Let me get you that tea,” Foley said. “And then we can talk about everything.” He stepped up to the peculiar platform that circled the room, a sort of display area for various awards. To one side was a small counter and tea maker. Jo looked for the door but found the Geordie instead. He stood in front of it firm and joyless as a salt pillar. And for the first time, Jo noticed the sheath buckled to his belt. It wasn’t a gun, thank God. It was a knife, which was almost as bad. Jo swept her eyes back to center.
“You kidnapped us.”
“I invited you,” Foley corrected. “Do you take milk? I’m sorry I don’t have any biscuits to offer.” He set two cups down, one for Lina and one for Jo. “You were more hospitable, I know.”
Jo was afraid to drink it. Lina wasn’t in a state to deny; she gulped it thirstily.
“This doesn’t feel like an invitation. Someone’s blocking the door. And the man downstairs had a—”
“A temporary arrangement,” Foley completed.
“Nar, us has adeal,” said the Geordie. “Got to get gannin; wot you waiting ’ere for anyways?”
Foley clenched and unclenched his hands against the blue blazer, then turned back to Jo in smiling composure.
“Ignore him. I just have some paperwork to take care of. Then we can talk about—everything.”
“Can we talk about who the dead man is?” she asked.
Foley’s smile went brittle like plastic. “It’s just a misunderstanding,” he said, but Jo wasn’t having it.
“There is a man in Abington morgue, and he’s not misunderstood,” she said. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?” Lina rose to her feet. “Who is dead?Pleasenot Habibi!”
Habibi.The meaning escaped Jo before but returned in a flash. She’d seen it on the cover of an Arabic language-learning book she’d edited; it was a term of endearment. It meantmy love.Jo’s brain skipped forward to MacAdams’s kitchen; “Foley had a girlfriend.” The girlfriend was the missing hiker. The missing hiker was Lina, who begged for news of her lover.The man standing before themwasthe same man who arrived on Jo’s doorstep in the rain. But he wasnotRonan Foley.
21:00
The case had never made sense, because the very first piece of evidence had been wrong. Ronan Foley supposedly shut the attic door between himself and Jo Jones at 11:00 p.m. on Friday. Since then, it had been questions with no answers: why Jo’s cottage instead of Abington Arms? How did he get there? Where was his car? Why was the body iced? Why the stolen towels and soap?
Green had said it best; the case would make more sense if Jo got the timing wrong. She didn’t. Instead, she’d mistaken theman,who had convinced her he was someone he wasn’t.
It wasn’t possible for Burnhope to get from the charity ball to Abington and back if he had to hunt down and murder Foley. But itwaspossible todumpa man he’d murdered and iced earlier that day. Much earlier, in fact. MacAdams had checked with Struthers first: the stomach contents test had failed because the stomach wasempty. Jo’s guest, on the other hand, ate a package of Jammie Dodgers.
