I make myself another coffee and think about Louise, baby Louise, the little girl whose mommy was killed. What’s going to happen to her, growing up without her mom? Thank God she still has her dad, Thomas. Realizing I haven’t called him yet, I decide to do it now. But where’s his number? I know Jeff asked him for it when we were leaving the house in Algiers, I remember that much, it was just before I saw the pink coat. But I don’t know what happened while I was staring in shock at the photograph.

Hoping that Jeff might have put it into my phone, I grab my cell and flick through the contacts. Thomas Collins. There it is. My hand is shaking, mouth dry. I’m nervous about what he’ll say when I tell him Katie was right. Will he hate me? Blame me? Curse me? It doesn’t matter, I’ll take whatever’s coming. He has to know and I want to tell him before Turner does.

Chapter Fifty-Six

‘Thomas Collins?’

My heart is thumping. I’ve never felt this nervous before and I have had a lot of experience of late. Silence floats between us for a moment and I think that maybe he’s going to hang up.

‘Yes?’ he says.

‘Thomas, this is Rebecca Wall.’

‘Rebecca Wall?’

‘Yes. I came to see you last week about Katie. I was the girl she came to Boston to find.’

‘Of course,’ he says.

I can’t read him, don’t know if he’s annoyed or interested, so I just spit it out.

‘Katie was right. I am her sister.’

Thomas says nothing, but he doesn’t hang up either, so I continue.

‘I’m Louise. I was abducted when I was a few months old.’

It’s only when I say these words that it strikes me – I don’t even know my own birthday. This makes me want to cry, but I push the tears back. I can’t cry now. It’s important I stay strong.

‘My mother took me. Her baby died, and she took me from my real mom, Katie’s mom.’

Thomas remains silent but he’s still listening. I guess a guy in his situation gets a load of prank calls. Weirdos, psychos, broken people looking for someone else’s pain to play with.

I’m struggling with what to say next because I thought he’d have joined in by now.

‘Katie was right this time, Thomas. I’m so sorry she was killed before she found me.’

I want to ask him what was she like, her interests, her hates, the things she laughed at, the things that made her cry. What music did she like? There are hundreds of questions to be answered. But now is not the time.

‘Thomas?’

I hear a sniffle. He’s crying. Fuck.