Dead Tomorrow

German desk, so we were able to get a quick check done. I think you’re going to like this!’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘The LKA–the Landeskriminalamt–sort of the Bavarian equivalent of the FBI–have had them under surveillance for some time, on suspicion of human trafficking. Now, this is the bit you will like most. One of the countries they have a link with is Romania!’
    ‘Brilliant, Ray!’ Grace said. ‘I have a very good contact at the LKA in Munich.’
    ‘Yes, well, I thought, you know, for what it’s worth.’
    Grace thanked him, then hung up. Immediately, he spun his Rolodex and retrieved a card from it. It was printed Kriminalhauptkommissar Marcel Kullen .
    Kullen was an old friend, from when he had spent six months on an exchange, about four years ago, at Sussex House.Marcel had helped him a while back, when there had been a possible sighting of Sandy in Munich, and Grace had gone over there for a day, on what had turned out to be a wild-goose chase.
    He dialled Kullen’s mobile number.
    It went to voicemail and he left a message.

65
    Lynn wishedmore than ever, now that she was expecting an important visitor, that she had been able to afford to make the downstairs of the house look better. Or at least to have replaced the horrible patterned curtains in the living room with modern blinds and to have got rid of the manky carpet.
    She had done her best to make the house look presentable this morning, putting fresh flowers around the hall and living room, and laying out Sussex Life , Absolute Brighton , and a couple of other classy magazines on the coffee table–a trick she had learned from a home-makeover show on television. She had made herself look smart too, putting on a navy two-piece she had bought in a second-hand shop, a crisp white blouse and black court shoes, as well as a few liberal squirts of the Escada eau de toilette Caitlin had given her for her birthday, in April, and which she rationed carefully.
    As the minutes ticked by, she was starting to become increasingly afraid that the German woman was not going to show up. It was now quarter past ten and Marlene Hartmann had said, yesterday afternoon, that she anticipated being at the house by half past nine. Weren’t Germans supposed to always be punctual?
    Maybe her flight was late.
    Shit. Her nerves were shot to hell. She’d barely slept a wink all night, fretting about Caitlin, getting up every hour, almost on the hour, to check she was OK. And thinking angrily aboutthat transplant coordinator, Shirley Linsell, at the Royal.
    And wondering what she was getting herself and Caitlin into by seeing this broker.
    But what alternative did she have?
    She gave the living room a final check and suddenly noticed, to her horror, a cigarette butt stubbed out into the earth of her potted aspidistra. She retrieved it, feeling a flash of anger towards Luke. Although of course it might have been Caitlin. She knew, from the smell on her sometimes, that Caitlin smoked occasionally. That had started since she met Luke. Then she noticed a stain on the beige carpet, and was about to hurry and put some Vanish on it when she heard the slam of a car door.
    With a beat of excitement, she darted across to the window. Through the net curtains she saw a brown Mercedes, with tinted windows, parked outside. Hastily, she moved away, walked through into the kitchen, deposited the offending butt in the bin and turned down the volume on the television. On the screen, a couple were showing two presenters around a small semi that was not dissimilar to her own–from the outside, at any rate.
    Then she hurried upstairs and entered Caitlin’s room. She had woken her up early, and made her shower and get dressed, unsure whether the German woman might want to examine her medically. Caitlin was now asleep on top of her bed, with her iPod earpieces plugged in, her complexion even more yellow today. She was dressed in ragged jeans, a green hoodie over a white T-shirt, and thick, grey woollen socks.
    Lynn touched her arm lightly. ‘She’s here, darling!’
    Caitlin looked at her, a strange, unreadable expression in her eyes, a mixture of hope, despair and bewilderment. Yet somewhere in the darkness of her pupils lurked her old defiance. Lynn hoped she would never lose that.
    ‘Didshe bring a liver with her?’
    Lynn laughed and Caitlin managed a wry grin.
    ‘Do you want me to bring her up here, darling, or are you going to come down?’
    Caitlin nodded pensively for some