His eyes, suddenly on mine, flash almost as bright as the last merciless rays of sun firing over the rooftops in the west.

‘Right then,’ says Olivia, all swish and tinkle as she arrives next to us. ‘Shall we get to work? It’s just the small matter of blowing open the biggest known conspiracy in UK history and probably sinking senior members of government, after all. Shouldn’t take too long, eh?’271

She gazes down at me, eyes like honey.

‘And I haven’t forgotten about our other little girl, either. We’re damn well going to air our trafficking story in short order too, I can promise you that. But for now, tell me, Marie, are you ready for this? We’ll be with you all the way, don’t you worry.’

And as I nod, Carly’s gone, taking the third shadow with her, all violet-pink wisps drifting, warping and disappearing into the last rays of setting sun.

272

Marie ~ London ~ Six months later

There is a girl. She’s sitting, wedged high in the public gallery, short, dark hair smoothed sleek as a cap on her head. Technically, the case should have been heard in Warchester, where the offences were committed. But only the Old Bailey, with her statue of Justice and sword of retribution brandished high over the heart of historic London, was deemed fit for the trial of the twenty-first century. The honeyed-oak panelling of Court One is varnished against offences of the worst kind: the Yorkshire Ripper, the Kray Twins, the Soham murders. A centuries-old patina that can stand up to this particular case.

Elbows prod and coat-tails flick as dozens of other spectators jostle and gesture around her, but she stays calm; serene, even. Even though the world knows her true story now, only a few could put a face to her real name. And so the crowd is curiously comforting, its collective outrage a warm blanket. Today, there’s no other place she could possibly be.

It’s the last day of the trial. Closing speeches, so she knows she’ll hear what everyone said all over again. She knows it will still be a version of the facts, each lawyer will sum up the evidence according to their argument, fixed on winning their own case rather than telling the truth. But international pressure has finally come to bear. Even the partial suggestion that the pressure of a global intelligence operation might explain depravity of the worst kind has crumbled faster than the aftermath of an explosion. Whatever version of the facts the defence comes up with, nothing will suffice other than total condemnation. And the media have united, all competitive differences suspended like 273dust in the air. Those divisions will return, of course – all’s fair in love and ratings, except during a collective attack on their soul. A brazen attempt to manipulate the facts from within.