The big man was back in less than five minutes.
‘Right, all they have is one big room, with a kitchen and a bathroom,’ he said. ‘And it’s not the Waldorf, that’s for damned sure, but I reckon we’ll be safe enough, for a while anyway. Now just follow me and keep quiet. We should be able to go in the back way without you two being seen.’
The back entrance to the flop house, through a narrow door beneath the fire escape, was damp and dark and smelt of something Jones did not particularly care to identify. The room was no better. It was more like a small dormitory. There were four iron-framed beds covered in dubious looking blankets. There was a kitchen area at one end, comprising a sink, a fridge, a microwave and an electric hob, none of which looked excessively clean. The door stood open to an uninviting shower room and toilet.
Jones wrinkled her nose in distaste, an involuntary gesture spotted at once by Dom.
‘I say, so sorry it’s not what you’re used to, Your Ladyship,’ he said, in what he presumably assumed was an impression of an upper-class English accent.
‘I don’t give a toss as long as a bunch of thugs with crowbars or worse don’t come bursting through the door,’ responded Jones, who was tempted to tell the big man what she thought of his pantomime of an impersonation, but didn’t have the energy.
‘OK. I’ll go find my girl,’ said Dom. ‘I’ll call her on her cell from a public phone. I doubt they’ve got to me yet, my cell phone could still be safe, but we shouldn’t take no more risks. Not after what’s happened to Marion.’
‘You can use my burner.’
Jones held out the phone.
Dom looked at it for a moment.
‘You didn’t tell me you had that,’ he said accusingly.
‘No, sorry,’ muttered Jones, who wasn’t actually sure she was sorry, or that she should even be giving Dom the phone now. But she and Connie had put themselves in his hands. There was no point in holding back.
Dom grunted. And reached out to take the burner. Then he stopped.
‘Was that the phone Ed called you on this morning?’ he asked.
Jones nodded.
‘That could be how they traced you to my place.’
‘I told him only to call from a call box.’
‘Yeah, well maybe he didna do what he was told. Don’t you see? Phone’s almost certainly no good any more. Too dangerous to use. And the one you gave Connie.’
Jones wondered who was getting paranoid now.
‘Whatever you say,’ she muttered. ‘I bought a third phone though.’
‘You did?’
‘Not been used. It’s in my bag. I’ll get it for you.’
‘Right. But I should go out anyway. We need some food. Anyone hungry?’
Jones never got her morning tea. She and Marion hadn’t made it to breakfast. However, food and drink were the last things on her mind. And she still felt nauseous. She shook her head.
Connie looked at Dom as if he was crazy.
‘I haven’t been able to eat properly since Paul died,’ she said. ‘I feel even less like it now.’
‘I’ll bring something back anyway. We gotta be strong, and if you don’t eat you don’t stay strong.’
‘I could do with some coffee,’ said Connie.
‘Sure,’ responded Dom. ‘Maybe there’s some here...’
He opened the fridge door, rummaged for a moment or two amongst goodness knew what, and then stood up clutching a foil pack of coffee that had been opened but was held together at the top by a clip.
‘There you are. Coffee. And there’s the thing to make it with, too.’
He pointed to a filter coffee machine standing on the worktop. Jones hadn’t seen one of those in a long time.
‘Right, I’ll get off, then. Just don’t do anything stupid?’
Again neither Jones nor Connie responded. Instead they watched in silence as the big man left.
Jones took the opportunity to finally remove her dirty, torn, and blood-spattered clothing, then shower and, as ever, wash her hair. The shower turned out to be much more effective than it looked, sending out a restoratively powerful stream of piping hot water. Afterwards she dressed in a clean shirt, her Stella McCartney grey trousers, the only spare pair she had brought with her, and her leather jacket, and applied her make-up rather more heavily than usual in an attempt to at least partially disguise the damage to her face.
There was a hairdryer plumbed into the wall by the basin. Jones used it to swiftly blow-dry her hair into the sharp glossy bob she was so fussy about, which immediately made her feel considerably better.
When she stepped out into the main room Connie was fiddling with the coffee maker.
‘Well, it boils the water, doesn’t it?’ she muttered unenthusiastically. ‘Don’t suppose we’ll come to much harm. Anyway... seems like there’s a lot more danger lurking for us than a few germs.’
She turned to face Jones.
‘You look better.’
Jones managed a weak smile.
Connie rinsed the coffee machine then filled it with water and added the coffee. Jones watched for a few seconds as she produced a couple of mugs which she swilled under the tap.
There was a television in one corner. Jones hadn’t seen the news since early that morning. She wanted to check if there were any further reports on the RECAP explosion, and to see if there was any mention of the incident with Marion and her. She switched on the TV just in time to catch a regional news bulletin.
The fourth item featured their hit-and-run.
‘Passers-by report that the vehicle appeared to deliberately mow down the injured woman, and that it then reversed for a second attempt.’
A shiver ran down Jones’s spine. Connie had turned away from her coffee-making activities, and was also watching.
‘Police are withholding the name of the victim, whose condition is said to be critical, until next of kin have been informed. A second pedestrian, another Caucasian woman, who left the scene of the incident, was believed to have been involved, and police are appealing for her and any other witnesses to contact them.’
Connie uttered a big, deep sigh.
‘Critical,’ she murmured. ‘That means Marion’s alive, doesn’t it, Sandy? She’s alive.’
Jones nodded her agreement. She was also hugely relieved, not least because of the sense of responsibility she felt for what had happened. But her thoughts swiftly turned to what else had been revealed in the bulletin.
Police were withholding the victim’s name until next of kin had been informed. That meant they already knew who Marion was. Of course, Marion had been carrying her handbag which had presumably been found in the road alongside her. No doubt it contained her credit cards, her ID, her phone, and all the usual paraphernalia of modern life. But did whoever had attempted to kill her in mistake for Connie now know that they had targeted the wrong woman? That was the million-dollar question.
In addition the police were appealing for the second pedestrian involved to come forwards. Did that mean they knew who Jones was too? She thought that was still unlikely, but couldn’t be sure. She so hoped her boys didn’t get to hear of any of this before she could safely speak to them.
Neither Dom, nor his intervention, were mentioned. What did that indicate? Or did it not indicate anything at all?
Jones glanced at Connie. She could tell that all she was thinking about was Marion’s welfare. Almost certainly she had yet to consider the wider significance of the report.
The aroma of coffee was beginning to fill the room. It smelt wonderful, promising somehow to be even better than the tea she had earlier yearned for, and had more or less drowned all traces of the vaguely unpleasant odour that had previously lurked. Jones hadn’t thought it possible that her body could, at this time, display any desire for food or drink, but her saliva buds had automatically kicked into action.