Read Online The Wrong Girl by David Hewson - Free Book Online Page B

shifted on her bare feet. She was wearing girlish pyjamas with a flower pattern on them. No more work that day.
    She glanced up the stairs in a way that meant something.
    ‘What is it?’
    The girl ran a nervous hand through her dark hair.
    ‘I was out all afternoon. There was no one here. When I came back . . .’ She nodded at the door. ‘It was open. Someone’s been in our rooms. They pinched some of my clothes. I didn’t have . . .’
    Hanna went up the narrow staircase, all the way to the little gable room at the top. The door was open. When she went in she could see straight away what had happened.
    The few clothes they had were scattered around. Natalya’s single bed had been turned over, the mattress spilled on the floor.
    The padded brown envelope which contained all their money was ripped open and empty. They’d even taken the necklace her husband had given her when they were married all those years before. It was cheap, an amber pendant on a silver chain. But she’d kept it, let Natalya wear the thing from time to time. A reminder of when they’d been a family. Together. In love. Seemingly secure.
    Chantal stood behind her in the door and said, ‘I don’t know how they got in.’
    As if that mattered.
    ‘They want the rent tomorrow,’ the Filipina kid added. ‘Will you be OK?’
    ‘Not now. Can I borrow some?’
    She said nothing.
    Hanna turned on her.
    ‘I’ve lent you money when you needed it. You know you’ll get it back. What with Natalya . . . I might need money there too.’
    Her round, brown eyes grew wide.
    ‘What kind of money?’
    ‘I . . . I don’t know. They haven’t said. I don’t . . .’
    No family. No friends. No one to turn to. That was the cost of coming all this way. Why it was so important nothing happened to them until she managed to find her feet.
    She put Natalya’s bed back the right way and returned the mattress, tucking in the sheets without thinking. They needed washing. So did some of her clothes.
    The pink jacket.
    A sudden wave of regret brought tears to her eyes. According to the sympathetic detective in Marnixstraat that was all that caused this mistake. The fact that her daughter and the kid of some wealthy Dutch family shared the same piece of clothing. A jacket Hanna would never have bought in the first place. It was too expensive. The thing had come to her as an odd gift. A tip from a customer who’d seen the two of them later on the street then found her again in a cabin not long after.
    ‘You could always have a word with Cem,’ Chantal said. ‘Just do what he wants. You’ll get the money. Maybe . . .’ Her hand went to her hair. ‘Maybe he can help with Natalya too. He knows people.’
    ‘Like terrorists?’
    That’s what Marnixstraat said. They’d snatched her thinking she was the granddaughter of a notorious Dutch soldier, one who’d been mixed up in a massacre a couple of decades before.
    A black monster rolling up the stairs. An idle boast: I’ll kill it . What kind of mother had she been?
    ‘I don’t know,’ the girl whined. ‘It was just a thought. You could call the police. About the money . . .’
    ‘I didn’t say they took money. Did I?’
    ‘Why’d you want some from me, then?’ Chantal snapped then walked back downstairs and slammed her door shut.
    No choices now. None at all.
    Hanna Bublik showered and got some work clothes. As she was about to go out her phone rang. It was the brigadier from Marnixstraat, Vos.
    ‘Do you know anything?’ she asked.
    ‘We’re working on some leads.’ He sounded like a bad liar. ‘I meant to ask. Do you know anyone with a boat?’
    The question astonished her.
    ‘A boat? Are you serious?’
    He sighed. It was a patient sound. Not aimed at her.
    ‘Yes. I’m serious. I think she’s on a boat.’
    ‘We don’t really know anyone here. No one with a boat.’
    He made sure she had his mobile number, said she was to call him any time, day or night.
    ‘Is there anything I can do to