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‘Pardon?’
‘That’s what I want for breakfast.’
Without complaint, he takes a pan from the drawer and eggs from the fridge. He talks as he cooks, asking about my plans for the day.
‘The dog shelter has a team that rescues strays. I thought I might tag along with them. Help out.’
‘And you won’t bring any animals home?’
I look at Poppy, who is hovering near the stove, begging as usual. ‘One is enough.’
27
Cyrus
In 1954, a psychologist called Julian B. Rotter came up with a concept he described as the ‘locus of control’. He based it upon how much each of us believes we control events in our lives. Someone with a strong internal locus believes they are pretty much masters of their own destiny and that their actions determine outcomes. But a person with a strong external locus of control will look at their success and failure, happiness and sadness, and attribute much of this to luck, or chance, or a higher power.
I used to think that I fell somewhere in between these two poles, perhaps leaning towards the latter, because every time I felt like I was in control of my destiny, I had the shit kicked out of me. Losing my parents and twin sisters. Elias’s schizophrenia. Evie’s abusive past. Even the bodies washing up on Cleethorpes Beach were beyond my control.
Now Evie has a brain tumour. I keep saying that I’ll support whatever decision she makes, and that’s true, but I want to make it for her. I know that’s wrong. I have argued with her, but only in my head. I’ve presented evidence, cross-examined witnesses and made final submissions, but the jury of one keeps voting for Evie, which isn’t surprising, given that she’s the sole judge and juror. Her verdict is always the same: ‘Stay out of my life.’
When I can’t sleep and I’m too tired to run, I go to work. I have rooms at Nottingham University, where I lecture part time and oversee several PhD students, who think they’re cleverer than I am. They may be right.
Forensic psychology has become a sexy subject these days because of TV shows about FBI profilers who hunt serial killers and high-functioning psychopaths. The reality of my job is far more mundane. I assess offenders, prepare psych reports, analyse crime statistics and counsel the survivors of violent crimes.
My rooms are on the first floor overlooking a boating lake, which is dotted with brightly coloured pedalos. By ‘rooms’ I mean a reception area with a sofa and an office with a desk, filing cabinet, shelves and a coffee machine that doesn’t work. Autumn term doesn’t begin for another three weeks, but I have future lectures to prepare and submissions to read.
Florence is sitting on the windowsill. I promised her access to Arben Pasha, something I haven’t managed to arrange despite my links to the investigation. She has been patient until now, having gone back to London and returned to Nottingham at my request.
‘So, why have you brought me here?’ she asks.
‘I’ve been thinking about the missing women. Neither has contacted the police or the Home Office or applied for asylum.’
‘If they survived, they’re likely to be sold off,’ says Florence. ‘They won’t surface unless they manage to escape and seek help.’
‘From the police?’
‘Or a charity or migrant group.’
Florence reaches into her shoulder bag and pulls out her notebook with Monet’s water lilies on the cover. Unhooking the elastic fastening, she retrieves a newspaper clipping, folded between the pages.
‘This was published three days ago.’
The headline reads:
UK Minister admits 200 asylum-seeker children have gone missing.
Florence paraphrases the article. ‘The children had been placed in hotels and hostels run by the Home Office. Some were abducted off the street and bundled into cars. Others were wooed away by bribes or promises of work, or by lover boys who play Romeo and convince them to run away. The girls are often forced into prostitution. The boys work illegally in carwashes and sweatshop factories or become pickpockets or burglars. Simon Buchan has been lobbying the Home Office to set up a special task force to tackle the problem.’ She glances at me. ‘You met him, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you think?’
‘He’s very impressive. Thoughtful.’
‘He’s putting his wealth to good use.’
I look at the article again. ‘If Arben’s sister manages to escape, where would she go?’
