Page 2 of Girl, Entangled

‘Yes, she does.’

‘Does she talk like Officer Doyle?’

‘We don’t know. She hasn’t said anything.’

Creed bit his lip. ‘So, if she looks like Officer Doyle, what’s the problem?’

Ella wasn’t going to give anything away. Ella didn’t know anything about Creed and Doyle’s relationship, or whether one existed at all, or whether the relationship existed purely in Lindsey Doyle’s imagination. She also didn’t know if Creed was aware she had a twin sister.

‘There’s no problem. We need someone to confirm it’s her, and who better than the person who spent so much time with her.’

‘Okay, and if I confirm it’s her – then what?’

‘Then maybe that life of yours won’t be so short after all.’

Creed seemed to like that. ‘I see. I assume I’ll still spend the rest of my life in jail.’

‘Yes.’

‘But maybe with somewhere that has a library.’

Ella said, ‘Jury’s out on the library, but I’ll tell you what the prison won’t have and that’s a death chamber.’

He thought about that. His chains clinked. One Marshal at the door read the movement and stepped half a pace closer, then stepped back when it was clear Creed was only laughing, internally, probably at the notion that he’d screwed up his life so much that his best case scenario was to spend that life in jail.

‘So, if I want my execution pardoned, all I have to say is that the woman is Officer Doyle. Am I hearing this correctly?’

Ella was aware of the complications. If Creed had half a brain in that misshapen head of his, he’d say whatever the FBI wanted to hear to get him out of a death sentence.

‘Yes. You’re hearing that correctly.’

He looked at her long enough that she felt her own pulse in the split in her lip.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘That is something to think about.’

***

At six A.M., Ella came off the steps behind Ripley. Two Marshals walked Creed down between them at a pace that wasn’t fast and wasn’t slow and conveyed by length of stride alone that they would shoot him if he ran. He shuffled down, because the ankle chains didn’t permit anything else. When he reached the bottom of the ramp, Creed looked at the sky like he hadn’t seen it before.

Loading Creed into the van reminded Ella of a Formula 1 pitstop. He was in there before Ella had a chance to blink. Creed’s profile then disappeared behind the tinted windows, along with a driver and three Marshals. Two unmarked cruisers were either side of it.

‘Well,’ Ripley said. She had come up alongside Ella without making any noise about it.

‘I didn’t get as much out of him as I’d hoped.’

‘Dark, you didn’t really think he was going to spill his guts, did you? You know better than that.’

‘I suppose.’

Behind them, on the steps of the Gulfstream, Dever was on the phone. He had put on a fresh suit somewhere between Louisiana and the cabin overhead bin, and at seven in the morning on a runway it already looked slept-in. He had a hand cupped over the mouthpiece.

‘CDF. This is Dever, FBI. Yeah. Yeah, I know. No, I want her in the interview room in ten minutes. Microphone on. Cameras inside the room. Keep them running the whole time. Got it?’

Ripley nudged Ella and gestured to Dever. ‘Someone’s eager to put an end to this.’

‘Aren’t we all?’

Dever continued, ‘And no contact. No notifications to counsel until I clear it. I don’t care what the standing protocol is. If Stockley gets a phone call before we’re in the building, I’ll know where the call came from. All clear?’