Noughts and Crosses, Malorie Blackman [types of ebook readers .txt] 📗

take any more questions. I wasn’t in the interrogation room any more. I was back in my cell, with Mum sitting on the bed beside me, stroking my hair back off my face.

‘Callum? Thank goodness. Are you OK? They didn’t hurt you.’

I took my time to sit up, shaking my head as I did so.

‘W-where’s Dad? Where’s Jude?’ I asked.

‘Your dad’s still being questioned and,’ Mum took a deep breath, ‘I don’t know where Jude is. He wasn’t in the house when those animals came crashing in.’

‘He wasn’t? What’s going on? What do they want? Why’re they going on and on about Jude?’

‘They found an empty can of drink near to where the Dundale bomb went off,’ Mum said grimly.

‘So?’

‘So, the can had Jude’s prints all over it. So they say. It’s a damned lie of course but they reckon they cross-referenced it with the print on his ID card.’

‘But how did they get hold of his ID card…?’ And then I realized.

Mum nodded. ‘They scanned in his card when we were at the hospital. I guess they got the information from the computer before the nurse had a chance to delete it – if she ever really did.’

‘But Jude didn’t . . .’ I looked straight at Mum. ‘Did he?’

‘They’re saying he planted the bomb. They’re saying w-when they catch him, he’ll . . . he’ll hang.’ And Mum’s face dissolved into a stream of tears.

‘They won’t get him. Once Jude knows they’re looking for him . . .’ I said, frantically.

‘It’s just a matter of time.’ Mum shook her head. ‘We both know that. And they’ve already issued a reward for information leading to his capture.’

‘What kind of reward?’

‘Fifty thousand.’

There was nothing to be said at that. Words and tears and prayers were useless. With that kind of money up for grabs it was just a matter of time before Jude was arrested.

‘They’ve probably planted the evidence themselves. They don’t have a clue who planted that bomb and they’re just looking for a scapegoat.’ My voice was barely above a whisper. I couldn’t take it all in. They wanted to hang my brother. Nothing on this earth would make me believe he’d actually planted that car bomb. He might’ve been there, but he wouldn’t’ve been the one to put it together and set it to go off. Jude wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. ‘If they only want Jude, why’re they still questioning Dad?’

‘Dad demanded to see them once we knew why they were after Jude,’ Mum told me.

‘Why? What’s Dad doing?’

‘I have no idea.’ Mum wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Probably saying the same as you, no doubt. I just hope he’s careful.’

I stared at Mum. ‘What d’you mean?’

Mum just shook her head. Before I could speak, the cell door clicked open. An officer I hadn’t seen yet, opened the door wide. He was a slim man with cutting eyes who looked at us like we were worse than nothing.

‘You two can go now.’

‘Where’s my husband?’ Mum asked at once.

‘He’s being held, after which he’ll be formally charged,’ the officer told us.

‘Charged with what?’ I asked.

‘My husband has done nothing wrong. Why’s he being held?’ Mum asked, her voice shaking, but it was hard to tell whether it shook with fear or anger.

‘Get your things and leave,’ the officer said. ‘I haven’t got all day.’

‘I demand to know why you’re holding my husband. I want to see him – now.’ Mum exploded.

One look at the officer’s furious expression was enough to tell me that there’d be snowball throwing contests in hell before this guy helped us in any way.

‘You can leave or you can spend the rest of the night in this cell,’ the officer’s voice dripped ice. ‘It’s your choice.’

‘May I see my husband please?’ Mum forced herself to be civil. But it was too late.

‘I’m afraid not. No-one but his lawyer will be allowed to see him until after he’s formally charged,’ the officer told us.

‘What is he going to be charged with?’ I asked again, desperate for an answer.

‘Political terrorism and seven counts of murder.’

fifty-nine. Sephy

‘Come on, Callum! Pick up the phone.’

Nothing doing. It just continued to ring. I glanced down at my watch. Where was everyone? Someone should’ve picked up the phone by now. It was almost nine o’clock in the morning for goodness’ sake!

I put the phone down, trying to swallow down the uneasy feeling in my stomach.

Wait till later, then tell him your news in person. Tell him that come September, you’ll be gone.

Will he try to persuade you to stay? Will he even care?

Wait till later and find out.

sixty. Callum

The offices of Stanhope and Rigby were every shade of dingy grey and dirty white imaginable. The waiting-room chairs were more like benches, made from the hardest – and I do mean hardest – oak. The coffee machine had scum marks all over it. And the windows were so dirty it was impossible to make out anything beyond them. This was the fifth solicitor’s office offering free legal aid that Mum and I had tried. Once the other solicitors had learned about Dad’s case, we’d been shown the door so fast I was beginning to suffer from jet lag. But this office was by far the seediest. I told myself that beggars couldn’t be choosers, but it didn’t help.

‘Mum, let’s go,’ I said, standing up. ‘We can find better solicitors than this.’

‘What d’you mean?’ Mum frowned.

‘Look at this place. I bet even cockroaches avoid this dump.’

‘Don’t judge by appearances.’ A voice from behind made me jump. Mum stood up as I turned around.

A middle-aged man with jet black hair, silvering at the temples, stood in the doorway. He wore a checked shirt and denims and an expression on his face that was harder than titanium nails.

‘And you are?’ I asked.

‘Adam Stanhope,’ the man replied.

‘This is your company, Mr Stanhope?’ Mum asked.

‘My father started it. I’ve carried