---

Schrödinger purred as he wound himself around Robyn’s feet. She ignored his demands and studied the photograph even though she’d committed it to memory and knew every detail of it.

So far, her efforts to contact Peter Cross, Davies’ superior, had come to nothing. She wasn’t surprised by that fact. He worked for military intelligence and was something of a ghost. Davies had worked for him, and with Davies gone, she had no way of contacting Peter Cross.

A printed A4 sheet contained all the flights that had left Morocco that day. Given he’d left their riad in Marrakesh at six that morning to cross the Atlas Mountains, he’d had sufficient time to travel to any number of airports in Morocco and catch a flight back to the UK. The nearest airport was Marrakesh Menara Airport. He might even have gone to Casablanca Mohammed V Airport, or, at a push, caught a flight from Agadir. All were possible.

She faced the window and fought back the rising anger that came with such considerations. If Davies was alive, he should have bloody well contacted her directly and not put her through this. It was so ridiculously inconsiderate and cruel. And, if he were alive now, she wasn’t sure how she felt about him after this. How could he justify what he’d done – the pretence, the lies, the pain? She snatched up the photograph. She was sick of all this. She hadn’t got any time for stupid games.

Robyn checked her watch. There was still time to catch her cousin Ross before he went home and before Amélie came over. He was the only person who could help her with this.

---

Robyn found a parking space outside the offices of R&J Associates, behind her cousin’s silver Vauxhall. The premises were in the main street in Stafford, sandwiched between an insurance company and an estate agency. She opened the door and entered the narrow hallway, shared by several companies, before bounding up the stairs that led to his office on the first floor.

She waited outside the door before knocking. A raised voice indicated Ross was in.

‘I warned you,’ he said loudly. ‘I’m not putting up with this behaviour for a minute longer.’

She smiled in spite of herself and knocked.

‘Come in,’ yelled Ross.

She opened the door and slid into the office, shutting the door quickly behind her.

Ross, in a dark-blue ill-fitting suit with tie undone, was looking hot and bothered. He pointed to the basket beside his desk and shouted, ‘Down!’ The young Staffordshire bull terrier on his large leather chair looked mournful but remained resolutely fixed to the spot.

‘For heaven’s sake, Duke, get off my chair.’

Robyn patted her thigh. ‘Duke, want to see what I’ve got in my pocket?’

The dog looked over to Robyn then jumped down from the chair, scooting over to her. She fussed over him before giving him a dog biscuit she’d grabbed from the tin marked ‘Duke’ as she left the house.

‘Don’t reward his bad behaviour,’ said Ross, sliding onto his chair before Duke could return.

Robyn grinned. ‘It’s your own fault. You let him climb up there when you first got him, and now he thinks it’s his chair. You should have been firmer with him when you were training him. Besides, the chair probably smells of you, and when you’re out, he likes to feel close to you.’

Duke plopped down on his haunches and stared at her intently.

Ross grumbled something unintelligible. ‘I’ve just got in. You were lucky to catch me.’

‘I was going to phone but I was passing anyway and thought I’d take a chance,’ she replied, stroking behind the dog’s ear.

‘So, what can I help you with?’

‘No small talk first? You want to get straight to the point?’

‘I’m not one for small talk as you well know. You’re here because you need my help. And I’m happy to give it to you. What is it this time? Murder, missing person?’

Robyn sat on the chair opposite Ross and rested her elbows on the desk, fingers steepled against her lips. She wasn’t sure how to broach the subject but Ross, like her, preferred to get to the point.

‘I think Davies is alive.’

Silence fell, broken only by the noise of Duke’s claws as he clattered across the wooden floor and tumbled into his basket with a heavy sigh.

Ross stared at her, then picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers. ‘Go on,’ he said.

She delved into her bag and slid the photograph of Davies across the table. ‘I received this in January. It was postmarked London. At first, I thought it was faked, but now I’m not so certain. It’s definitely Davies, but the date and time stamp on it show it was taken the day he was killed. I think it was snapped at a UK airport. If you look closely, you’ll see souvenir double-decker toy buses on the stand behind the newspaper rack. It looks like a WHSmith store. The newspapers are all English ones. At first, I believed the picture was photoshopped, but I kept asking myself why? Why would somebody want me to believe he was alive?’ She tilted her head backwards and stared into space. ‘It makes no sense to me, Ross. I’ve tried to find out as much as I can. I can’t get hold of Davies’ old boss, Peter Cross. I’m running around chasing my tail on this. There’s a message on the back of it.’

He turned the picture over and read it. ‘“Fact not fiction”. That’s brief and doesn’t tell you much.’

‘It might suggest that this picture is real. I believed Davies was dead, caught in an ambush – but that was fiction, and the fact is that somehow he travelled to an airfield, or airport, and caught a flight back to the UK instead of going across the Atlas Mountains to a meeting with an informant. For whatever reason, he or his superiors allowed me to believe he’d been killed.’

‘And his ex-wife and his daughter,’ said Ross, shaking his head. ‘That’s too cruel. Davies wouldn’t have allowed that to happen.’

‘I wondered about that when I first got the photo. I tried to justify his silence and told myself maybe he didn’t know we’d been told he was dead. That we’d been told he was on a top-secret mission and couldn’t contact us. I came up with all sorts of crazy notions. Oh, Ross, I have no idea what to think and it’s doing my head in. I can’t reason why it’s happened. All I know is that I’ve been sent a photograph of Davies taken after his death. He was wearing that exact outfit the last time I saw him.’

‘This is crazy, Robyn. Look, I don’t want to be rude or disrespectful but maybe you’re reading too much into this. It’s normal you’d want to believe he’s alive and that this isn’t faked.’

Robyn tried to keep the ice out of her voice. ‘I’m not clinging to false hope to absolve myself of guilt. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?’

‘No, yes. No. You were in pieces after his death. You blamed yourself constantly for going to Morocco. You firmly believed you’d blown his cover. Robyn, I saw you. I watched you sink into the worst depression I’d ever seen. I saw life drain from you until you were an empty husk. You were a mess!’

‘I know. I understand. I was in a dreadful state, and yes, I blamed myself for his death. I’m not trying to believe this picture is real so I can feel better about what happened. I’m not even sure I want Davies to be alive. I can’t imagine how I’d cope with seeing him or allowing him back in our lives after this deception. I only want to find out who sent this photograph and why. It’s eating me up. And then there are the flowers I received on Valentine’s Day – anemones. Davies always sent anemones. Who’d know that? I’ve started to wonder if there’s something more sinister going on.’

Ross’s chin jutted forward. ‘It’s times like this I wish I hadn’t given up smoking. This is so damn stressful. Robyn, I’m going to be blunt here. Have you considered the fact Davies might have set us all up? It’s possible he had a completely different life – a family even – in another country, and he’s fabricated this whole death scenario thing to start afresh. It has been known to happen.’

‘It crossed my mind.’

‘You assumed he was on missions when he left you for weeks on end and he never divulged where any of them were. He might have been living a double life.’

Robyn swallowed hard. She hated the thought she might have been taken for a fool. ‘I discounted that theory.’

‘Why? It’s a good one. Davies never usually told you where he was headed. He always said his missions were secret yet he told you about Morocco. Why?’

‘He said it was a low-risk mission. It was just a meeting and he thought it might not even go ahead.’

‘Did he beg you to go?’

Robyn thought back to the day Davies tried hard to persuade her to join him in Morocco, cajoling her and tempting her, subtly persuading her. She nodded. ‘Pretty much. He really wanted me with him there.’

‘Robyn, you know where I’m going with this. Davies wasn’t as virtuous as you like to pretend. He and Brigitte split up because he played away on several occasions. She’d had enough of his philandering and lies.’

‘It wasn’t like that with us,’ she replied, stony-faced.

‘No, but you had a fair few arguments, didn’t you? You rang me on more than one occasion to voice your concerns about him.’

Robyn blinked away memories of the shouting and raised voices. Ross had touched a nerve. It was true she’d had moments when she’d wondered if Davies was being unfaithful.

‘I don’t want to hurt you. I never would, but let’s get this into perspective. Davies could have been living with another woman and might have had his hand forced. He made the decision to choose her. Face it, Robyn, Davies might not be the man you believed him to be, and an anonymous individual wants you to know the truth.’

Robyn swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. She needed closure on this once and for all. ‘So you’ll help me?’ she said.

‘You know I will. But I’m doing this purely for you. You’ve wasted two years of your life mourning this man, and when I uncover the truth, I want you to start living again. I want you to put Davies out of your life, regardless of what’s happened to him, and move on, find somebody else. Get out more and stop treating him like some saint, and you have to promise me one more thing.’

‘What?’

‘You’ll get on with your own investigations and let me handle it alone. I mean it. Forget it for now. Get on with your case. Leave it entirely to me and don’t pester me about my findings. I’ll tell you when I’ve got something to tell you. Promise?’ He waggled his heavy eyebrows at her to signal the end of the pep talk.

Robyn patted his hand. ‘Promise. You’re the best, Ross. I mean that.’

‘Yeah. Sure I am. I’m a big softie at heart.’

‘I’ve got to rush off. Amélie is staying over tonight to meet my new pet cat – Schrödinger.’

His eyes twinkled with mirth. ‘You? A cat lady? Who’d have thought it? Hey Duke, you’ve got a new friend to play with when you go to visit Robyn next. You’ll be able to play chase.’ He grinned at her, creases forming at the sides of his eyes. ‘Go on, scoot. Go see the kid and don’t bring that naughty animal any more treats until he’s learnt to get off my chair.’