Contents ( 71)
- THE
- DAUGHTER
- MICHELLE FRANCES
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
His eyes widened. ‘Pardon?’
‘Sitting there in your fine-leather chair, in your fancy suit, pretending you’re so caring, that your company is not just about how much money you can make, giving me the fake pat on the shoulder and then doing some spin about complicated contracts and how it’s just not your fault but you will look into it, you will not rest, except the minute I walk out of here you’ll be ordering a coffee from your PA and moving on to the next item in your very busy money-making agenda, and you’ll never even spend another nanosecond of your oh-so-precious time thinking about it, about the thing that killed my daughter—’
‘We’re investigating additional cameras and sensors for the trucks—’
‘And even though you have the opportunity, you, Mr Hollander, you who has the power— What?’
‘We already meet current legislation – of course – but we’re doing a risk assessment on some additional features. Revising the front-passenger windows, too. We’re hoping to have the entire fleet modified by the end of this summer. Maybe earlier. It’s a question of how long the tests take . . . and, I’m afraid, the outside fitters. But I’m pushing for very little delay.’
Kate stared at him, dumbfounded.
‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ He seemed, again, wrong-footed by her silence.
She smiled, the first genuine one of the meeting. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘We feel responsible. I feel responsible,’ he said, ‘and I know nothing can bring your daughter back but what happened . . . it’s never going to happen again. Not while I’m here.’ He looked her straight in the eye. ‘The driver, he’s been dismissed.’
‘He has?’
‘Yes. Some time ago.’
Kate nodded tightly. ‘Thank you.’
‘There’s one other thing. I was wondering . . . would you like it if I stayed in touch personally? To keep you updated with progress? The first set of results should be in in a few days.’
She smiled again. ‘I would like that very much.’
TWELVE
Wednesday, 18 January 2017 – thirty-seven days before the accident
Becky sat at her desk pretending to type, to be really engrossed in what was on the screen in front of her. It was positioned in such a way that her peripheral vision could still capture what was going on five metres ahead of her in her boss’s glass-walled office, without having to look directly at it.
Terence Cooper was on the phone, as he had been for the last sixty-seven minutes. She was counting her lucky stars she could see in. He often enjoyed letting the metal venetian blind race down the window, then peering through, as if he were in some Hollywood investigation movie, and Becky had a sneaky suspicion he did this because it appealed to his ego, because Terence (never Terry) had a big ego. You kinda had to, to get as high up as he had in journalism. Granted, it was restrained, camouflaged by the passion he displayed for his craft and for rooting out a story about the scandal of the politicians’ expenses, or covering the shock election win for Trump (something she’d been proud to have helped him on), but still, it was an ego. He knew he was good. And Becky was in awe of him. His thirst for ferreting out the truth inspired her, and that was the explanation she had all lined up should she get busted.