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And then there was another phone call.
Her mother.
‘I need to speak with my daughter...’
‘Roula is not in the office today,’ Galen said, as if he was the receptionist.
‘Then I need her home number.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t have it.’
‘But she’s not taking my calls.’
She wasn’t taking Galen’s either.
‘What?’ Roula asked as he buzzed the intercom.
‘It’s me.’
‘If you’re here to fire me, just say so.’
‘Fire you? Roula, just let me in.’
She buzzed him through and he found her in striped pink pyjamas, with a lot of curls and ringlets. Her hair was down for the first time.
How inappropriate of him to be turned on, Galen thought.
‘I just wanted to check in,’ he said. ‘I heard.’
‘Yes...’ She gestured to the television that was on. ‘So has everyone.’
‘I’m so sorry, Roula.’
‘Well, don’t be. I’ve been expecting this. I know I should have told you, but...’ She shook her head. ‘I thought I might get through the next few weeks before...’ She gestured again to the screen.
Christ, Galen thought, they had a helicopter over Anapliró. And there were reporters both there and in Athens, where it would seem her brother was in custody.
‘Nemo’s house,’ Roula said as a picture of it came on the screen. ‘I found Dimitrios’s gas cylinder in the garage. They haven’t said that yet...’
‘Okay...’ He had to remember he wasn’t supposed to know. ‘Your mother called a short while ago.’
‘I just tried to call her.’ Roula nodded. ‘I think she’s giving her statement.’ She shot him a look. ‘She doesn’t know yet I was the one who went to the police. She’ll never forgive me.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Webothknow that, Galen.’
‘If he killed your husband, you have every right to hate—’
‘Shut up!’ Roula put her hands over her ears.
He was so bad at this type of thing...
‘Turn it off, Roula,’ Galen suggested.
But still she stood and, no, she was not feeling as together as she had first thought.
‘I want to see my little cottage.’ Oh, she really was starting to lose it. ‘I want to see what they say.’
