‘Well, at least that we can agree on.’
Emilia towered over him, if not satisfied, then at least victorious.Her heartless, absent father had finally owned hisimmorality, his cruelty.Not that he would gain anything from it.Her wounds might be old, but they were still raw.
‘But it doesn’t change anything and much as I’d love to stay here chatting, I’ve got work to do.So, if you’ve said your piece …?’
‘No, not yet.’
This time there was frustration, even anger, in his voice.Slapping his chest harshly to still his barking cough, he gestured urgently at Emilia to resume her seat.And such was his sincerity, his passion, that to her surprise Emilia found herself complying.Something told her that she was about to learn the real reason for her surprising summons.
‘Emilia, my love,’ he eventually continued, his emotion evident.‘I didn’t ask you here to fight.Or for absolution.I know it’s too late for that.But I do want to ask for your help.’
Emilia said nothing, suddenly wrong-footed and suspicious.Her father had never asked for her assistance before.Had not tried to contact her once in all the years he’d been behind bars.What could he possibly want from her now?
‘Well, if you’re hoping that I can get you out of here, you’d best think again,’ she replied caustically.‘I’m no lawyer and to be honest, I’m not much of a baker either, so we might have to forgo the chisel in the cake.’
‘For God’s sake, Emilia, can you not be serious for one minute?’he said, slapping the table, silencing her and causing several heads to turn.‘I know I’m never getting out of here, I’m not an idiot.’
Aware that he’d caused a commotion, her father leaned forwards, lowering his voice as he continued:
‘I just … I just want you to help me end things therightway …’
This time Emilia had no comeback, the import of his words slowly taking hold, as he added:
‘I’m dying, Emilia.’
Chapter 11
They sat in hushed silence, their eyes glued to the snake of foreign lorries, bringing in vegetables, flowers, electric cars, televisions and more, but there was no sign of Adam Peeters, the Belgian haulier who they’d been assured was smuggling a dozen desperate souls into the UK.
Breathing out heavily, Charlie pondered her options.She still hadn’t heard from DC Roberts, who’d hot-footed it down to the embarkation zone, nor from DC Shona Williams, who must by now have reached the rendezvous site in Portswood.So what to do?She could pull the operation, saving valuable money and resources, trying to salvage what she could from another missed opportunity, or she could persist with the operation, potentially making the situation worse if theywerewasting their time here with no genuine prospect of an arrest.Charlie’s authority was already in question, her reputation on the line, so the choices she made now mattered.
‘Five more minutes,’ she muttered to DC Malik, who nodded soberly.‘We’ll give it five more minutes.’
But she’d barely finished when her radio crackled into life.
‘DC Roberts to DI Brooks.’
Charlie snatched up her radio.
‘This is DI Brooks.Go ahead.’
‘We have eyes on the prize,’ Roberts breathed excitedly.
Hope surged within Charlie.Raising her binoculars, she scanned the busy dock.
‘Right, where are you …?’
And now she saw it.Just as their tip-off predicted.An Iveco lorry with a Belgian plate – 1 AYB 209 – driven by a lone male.He was behind schedule, a good couple of hours past his disembarkation time, but he was here at last.
‘Alert Border Force,’ Charlie demanded, turning to DC Malik.‘Tell them to seal the exits and stand by.I want him in cuffs before he gets anywhere near the gates.’
Charlie was on the move, heading fast towards the stairs, as she raised her radio again.
‘DC Roberts?Where are you now?’
‘I’m staying with him.Proceeding on foot, maybe thirty feet behind.’
‘Keep it steady, don’t do anything to spook him.’
