Rachel put on a single pair of gloves. There was little point in double-gloving at this stage: the items had all been handled by multiple un-gloved hands. She dropped the Tangier Nights lipstick, the red dress and the shoes into separate evidence bags, sealed them and labelled them with Phoebe’s full name, date of birth and the linked LAPD case number. Then she dialled Rob McConnell’s cell phone number.

He picked up straight away. There were voices in the background which became fainter as he adjusted his position.

‘Two minutes.’ He hung up.

When he called back, the background noise was gone. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Nice surprise on a Saturday.’

‘Sorry to call at the weekend… I have some stuff to courier to you. Real stuff, not digital stuff. Okay to send it to you at National Central Bureau?

‘Are you still in Los Angeles?’

‘Yes, but not for long. Leaving tomorrow morning.’

‘One second, let me just check something.’

The line was muted for a couple of minutes. When Rob came back he asked, ‘What’s the address where you’re staying?’

She gave him the street address of the Ventana Vista.

‘Cool. Someone will be there to collect the items in a few hours.’

‘Okay.’ Rachel was thrown by this. ‘Well, I guess I can put everything else in an email.’

‘Great. Listen, I have to run.’

And he was gone.

---

This was probably her last chance to use the motel pool, and she was going to make it count. For the first time since she arrived, she was not a solitary user. There were a couple of people swimming, and several more on loungers. Rachel swam forty lengths and lay in the sun for half an hour, topping up what was now quite a respectable tan.

She would miss this: but she needed to get back. There was Joe, for a start. And Brickall had been less communicative than usual. Her sixth sense and years of experience of his moods told her something was troubling him. It was time to get back to her real life.

As she unlocked the door to her room, heading to take a shower, her phone rang.

‘Hi, is that Detective Prince?’ It was an unfamiliar voice; female, middle-aged bordering on elderly.

‘It is. Who am I speaking to?’

‘Renée Foster. Blair Lundgren gave me your number.’

‘Blair Lundgren? I’m sorry—’

‘He lives here. At Canton Place apartments. We both do.’

Ah, Phoebe’s neighbour. Mr Beardy.

‘We were chatting by the garbage chute, and when I told him I’d seen her, he gave me your card.’

‘You saw her?’

‘The girl from apartment 510. The English girl.’

Rachel dropped her towel and grabbed her notebook and pen. ‘When was this?’

‘About a week ago, I believe. I was at Valley Plaza with my daughter and I saw her outside the pharmacy. I recognised her from her baseball cap, and the blonde hair. It was the Padres one she always wore around the building. You noticed it because everyone wears Dodgers caps here. The Padres are San Diego. I said to my daughter, “That’s the English girl who’s living in Canton Place.”’

San Diego. Rachel’s stomach did a little flip.

‘And you’re sure this was around a week ago?’

‘Yes, certain, because we were shopping for my grandson’s birthday party, and his birthday’s February 23rd.’

It was now February 28th. Ten days since Phoebe’s body was found, many weeks since she was killed.

‘I phoned my daughter just now, and told her I was going to speak to the police. She said she thought it was February 21st, but that the CCTV at the mall would be able to confirm it right away. They have cameras everywhere.’

‘I’ll phone the shopping mall and ask them if they can assist. Thank you Renée, that’s very helpful.’

‘They’re saying she died, but that can’t be right, can it? She’s not dead. We definitely saw her.’

‘I’ll look into it.’

Still in her damp bikini, Rachel googled the office number for the Valley Plaza Shopping Centre. There was no reply. After five minutes more of online searching and clicking, she found a customer service number, which was answered on the third attempt by a bored sounding clerk.

‘Office opening hours are Monday to Friday, nine thirty to five thirty.’

‘It’s Saturday: the stores are still open. There must be security guards there right now?’

‘Mmmm hmmm.’

‘Well I need to speak to their supervisor.’

She was given an alternative phone number, which went straight to voicemail. ‘You’re through to Secure Group at the Valley Plaza. There’s nobody here to take your call, but please leave your message after the tone.’

Rachel hung up, exasperated. The chances of anyone calling back seemed slight, and even if they did, unless she could view in person whatever footage they still had, this would not progress the lead. She considered driving to the mall. It was only four o’clock; there was still time. But the chances of finding someone authorised to identify the correct CCTV footage and show it to her seemed vanishingly small. They would almost certainly tell her to come back on Monday. She picked up her laptop and started trying to compile everything she knew into an email to Rob, but her brain felt as though it was about to explode.

Stop. You need to stop, she told herself. It’s time to take a step back.

---

After a shower, and with the warmth of the day receding, she drove to the drugstore to pick up some supper, treating herself to a bottle of chardonnay to mark the fact that this was her last night in North Hollywood. She would have preferred to walk there and back to help unscramble her thoughts, but the courier still had not arrived to collect the evidence bags, and she didn’t want to increase the odds of the service arriving while she was out. At six o’clock there was still no courier. Rachel checked with reception, but was assured nobody had asked for her. Seven o’clock: still nothing. She tried to phone Rob, but her call went straight to voicemail. At seven forty-five there was a knock at her door. She grabbed the evidence bags and opened it.

Rob McConnell was standing there, a flight bag slung over his shoulder.

Rachel looked him up and down. ‘What the fuck?’

He grinned. ‘Thought I’d pick up those exhibits in person.’

‘From Washington DC?! That’s on the other side of the country. Are you insane?’

‘You going to ask me in?’

She let him pass her. Instantly the room felt too small, too shabby for his large, glowing presence. She was hyper-aware of the gleam of the golden hairs on his tanned forearms, the chrome of his expensive pilot’s watch, the flash of his even white teeth. She also felt acutely conscious of her make-up-free face and sloppy jogging bottoms, the half-eaten salad on the desk, the open suitcase she was in the process of packing. She made a token attempt at tidying away the clothes on the bed, but Rob held up a hand.

‘Hey, don’t worry, I booked a room down the hall. I have my own space to mess up.’

‘You’re staying here?’

‘I was actually at Dulles when you phoned. I’m on my way to Seattle to meet with the FBI office there and talk about drug trafficking. Heroin from Mexico: the usual. So I was flying west anyway.’

‘This is the scenic route, is it?’

‘Kind of. I managed to change my flight last minute, and book one from here to Seattle in the morning.’

He turned his light blue-grey eyes to meet Rachel’s. She flushed slightly. Stop acting like a clueless schoolgirl.

‘I see.’ She could sense his need for her to say more. ‘Sorry, I’m just trying to take this all in. It’s a bit like walking into a darkened room and all your friends leaping out and shouting “Surprise!”’

Rob laughed. ‘I get it. Why don’t I go and dump my stuff and we can catch up later?’

‘Meet me by the pool,’ Rachel told him. ‘I have wine.’ She brandished the half empty bottle of Chardonnay.

---

Twenty minutes later, Rob was waiting for her on the pool terrace. She was carrying the wine and two plastic cups and had exchanged her sweats for jeans. She was also wearing the minimum amount of make-up that could be applied without looking as though you had applied make-up. A complex balancing act that a man would fail to recognise. This thought was making her smile as she sat down beside him.

‘So – am I forgiven for the surprise party?’ he asked, pouring them both wine.

‘Absolutely. I’m actually very glad to have you here,’ she confided. ‘To have someone to discuss the case with,’ she added quickly.

They moved to the edge of the pool and sat with their feet dangling in the cooling water, while Rachel worked her way through every angle of her investigation. The list was a long one: the trip to San Francisco and the discovery that the renter of both dead girls’ properties used the same profile picture, the fact that both profiles were fake, her interviews with Phoebe’s agent, neighbours and accused boyfriend, the forensic reports on both apartments, the visit to the production crew, the analysis that proved the girl in the shoot was not actually Phoebe, her visit to San Diego to find out more about Tiffany Kovak. Then she voiced her doubts about the evidence the LAPD had on Matt Wyburgh.

‘You’ve done all of this in a week, alone? For real?’ Rob stood up and refilled their plastic cups, then sat down beside her again.

‘I have.’

‘That’s seriously impressive: you’re like some kind of machine. Little Miss Tenacity.’

‘Think how much I could have achieved if there were a whole team on this, and not just me. God!’ She slapped her hands down on the pool edge to emphasise her frustration. ‘I’ve got to walk away now and there are so many more questions.’

‘What can I do to help?’

‘For starters, can you see if the dress, the shoes and the lipstick give us anything?’

‘Of course. I’ll send them off to CODIS. That will tell us if any DNA matches samples on existing crime databases… their reach is nationwide. And we’ll cross-check the items with each other.’

‘Can you get someone to check footage from the shopping mall where Phoebe was seen? Except obviously it can’t have been Phoebe.’

‘Sure. Don’t know how long it will take, but I’ll try.”

‘And maybe the CCTV images of Tiffany Kovak’s car…’

‘Yes ma’am.’ He put down his cup of wine and made a mock salute.

‘It’s okay, I’m going to email everything I have to you, you don’t have to try and memorise it.’

‘You really care about what you do, don’t you?’ Rob turned to face her, placing his hand lightly on her arm. Rachel nodded.

‘Yep. It’s pretty much all I do care about.’

He did a double take. ‘Really? No significant other, no kids?’

Rachel hesitated. ‘I have an eighteen-year-old son. I care about him, obviously. But he doesn’t live with me.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be: we still have a great relationship, and he’s going to university soon anyway. Actually, he’s never lived with me: I gave him up for adoption.’

Rob could not quite hide his shocked reaction. ‘Jesus, Rachel, that’s—’

She put her fingers on his lips to stop him. ‘If you’re about to say it’s awful then think again. You wouldn’t want to patronise me, would you?’

He held her wrist, her fingers still against his lips, holding them there for a few seconds. His breath on her fingertips set off a familiar tingle in her core.

‘Patronise you?’ he spoke very quietly. ‘That’s not what I want to do.’

---

They finished the wine, and Rachel stood up and collected up the empty bottle and cups. Rob followed her into her room, as she had known he would. You shouldn’t do this, the voice in her head said sternly. You’ve only just made the new rule and you’re already breaking it. Rob’s an important professional ally, and if you’re ever to have any hope of resolving this case you’re really going to need him. Romping around with him in a motel room is potentially risking that goodwill.

‘We shouldn’t do this.’ She voiced her thoughts out loud, as he stretched out on her bed, trying to make the move look casual. He caught sight of her expression and sat up again.

‘Hey, we’re just hanging out, aren’t we?’

‘I suppose so.’ Rachel perched primly on the edge of the bed, steadfastly avoiding eye contact. It didn’t matter that she quite liked the idea of kissing him: she was not going to do it. Her mind was already flashing back to a similar scene in a hotel room in Edinburgh, when Giles Denton had stretched himself out on her bed. And that had not ended well.

Her mobile rang.

‘Ignore it.’

But her instincts and training forced her to glance at the display, and when she saw it was Mike Perez’s number she moved away from Rob and picked up.

‘Hi?’ she said, breathing a little more heavily than she would have liked.

‘Hi to you too. Hope I’m not interrupting something?’

‘No, no, I’m just… hanging out.’ She felt her face colour, and was glad Perez couldn’t see her.

‘I have something for you. D’you want to maybe get dinner?’

Rachel laughed. ‘Sorry Mike, I’m afraid I’ve already eaten.’

Rob disentangled himself and stood up. I’ll leave you to it, he mouthed at her, and left the room. As Rachel’s eyes followed him, she missed what Perez was saying.

‘Sorry, what was that?’

‘I said there wasn’t a match. That photo – it’s not the same girl as the one on the shampoo video.’

‘Really?’ Rachel straightened up. ‘Damn. But I guess that’s not so surprising. If you’re setting up a fake profile it makes sense to use a fake photo.’

‘Figures,’ agreed Perez. ‘I also got a buddy of mine to run the photo and a still from the video through the NGI-IPS. You don’t need to know what all those letters stand for, but it’s the facial database used by the FBI. They have access to thirty million mugshots, and driving licence photos from most states. No hit for the girl in the video, but we have a strong match for the profile photo. I’ll email you her details.’

‘That’s fantastic. Thanks so much, Mike.’

‘Be aware that the results sometimes throw up a false positive. It’s not proof of anything at all, just someone who needs to be ruled out… so, you sure about dinner?’

What is it with these American men? Rachel wondered.

‘I’m sure. Thanks,’ she said firmly, hanging up.

She knew Rob’s room number; she could go there now. She wanted to go there now. She picked up her key, walked to the door but stopped with her hand on the doorknob. She sat down on the bed again.

She wasn’t going to go. That was definite. Tempting or not, she wasn’t about to become entangled with either Rob McConnell or Mike Perez. As she walked into the bathroom to undress and brush her teeth, the room phone started ringing. It could only be Rob: he was the only person who knew her room number. She ignored it and eventually it stopped.

Her phone pinged.

It was the email from Mike Perez. She decided to read it in the morning when she was less tired and could give it her full attention. For a while she dozed in front of the TV, ignoring the phone by her bed as it rang once, twice, three times. Eventually, at nearly midnight, it stopped. Relieved, she switched off the light and crawled under the covers.

---

She was woken at eight by a knocking on her door. Rob was standing there with two cups of coffee, and seemed unfazed by the fact that she was wearing just T-shirt and knickers.

‘Peace offering,’ he held out a coffee.

‘Do we need to make peace?’ She took the coffee but did not invite him in. Fusty sheets and morning breath were not on her list of ways to impress.

‘Calling you last night. I wondered afterwards if that was a bit…’

‘Pushy?’

‘Yeah. When you didn’t pick up I debated with myself whether I should come over here in person. And while I was trying to decide, I fell asleep. Sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ She gave him a rueful smile over the rim of the coffee cup. ‘I wouldn’t have asked you in.’

‘You have the prettiest eyes,’ he told her.

‘They’re mud colour: that’s what my dad used to say.’

‘Used to?’

‘He’s dead.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be; it was nearly eighteen years ago.’

Rob was still scrutinising her face. ‘I’d say they were hazel. Kind of brown and kind of green.’

Rachel had already started backing away. She was starting to feel uncomfortable, and annoyed with herself for giving him mixed signals the evening before. ‘Listen, I’m going to jump in the shower. I need to check in around ten, so I should get going.’

‘I’ll give you a ride to the airport.’

---

They didn’t talk much in the car; Rachel watching the California landscape that slipped past her. Strip malls, distant hills and in between them a thousand palm trees pushing up towards the sky. Even when they were pinioned in one of the inescapable LA freeway jams, Rachel remained silent. They arrived at LAX dangerously late for the London flight, and she was forced to flash her police warrant card to jump to the front of both the check-in queue and the line for security screening. Rob showed his Interpol ID to gain access to airside, and together they ran to the gate. He stopped at the top of the jetway and waved her on.

‘Go. Go! They’re closing the goddam door.’

He reached forward to kiss her on the cheek, but she had already ducked away and was heading down the ramp, glancing over her shoulder as she went. He raised a hand in farewell, turning to go only once she had reached the door of the plane.

The female flight attendant took her boarding pass with one hand and ushered her firmly with the other.

‘You’re almost out of time.’

‘No,’ Rachel corrected her. ‘I am out of time. Completely, one hundred per cent, out of time.