Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil Read Online Free

what Attal was referring to. Couldn’t agree more. Bee’s tour of Normandy had included the granddaughter of Louis Sarraf, the man responsible for killing twenty-three people, and himself, in the Brackenham bombing over thirteen years ago. Violette LeBrac Zidane’s mother, Noor LeBrac, confessed to making the bomb and was now serving a life sentence.
    ‘Où est-elle?’ Attal pointed to the name. Repeated the question.
    Bish shrugged. A universal gesture. He had no idea where she was, but as a copper he understood what Attal was thinking. Violette Zidane could have been the intended target of this morning’s carnage. The girl needed to be found sooner rather than later. Bish and Attal struggled through their language barrier for a couple minutes more until they both gave up. The only fact Bish was able to comprehend was that the body at the steps of the other bus belonged to a Spanish girl.
    Bish went in search of Gorman or Lucy Gilies, hoping they could reveal the whereabouts of Violette Zidane. He knew that one of them would have to identify the bodies of Michael Stanley and Julius McEwan, and that once the embassy staff arrived the families of the dead could be notified. He hoped this would all happen before those families came looking for their loved ones. Among the parents who had already turned up, one couple had been sent to the Boulogne hospital where their injured son had been taken. Still, better that than Attal’s temporary headquarters on site and waiting for the right person to tell them the devastating truth.
    Bish glimpsed his mother sneaking a fag behind one of the cabins.
    ‘I can’t believe you’re still smoking,’ he said, taking the packet of cigarettes from her and removing one to light up. He could see that the day had taken its toll on her. With one chaperone dead and the other two unreliable, Saffron had made it her job to meet and greet any parent arriving from across the Channel. It was what she was accustomed to. Saffron Ortley was an old hand at taking care of households and dire situations in foreign countries. She’d just been rubbish at looking after her teenage son.
    ‘You should rest,’ he said.
    Saffron shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave parents at the mercy of Gorman. Have you met him? Can I quote Bee and call him an idiot?’
    ‘Feel free.’
    ‘You’ve got to do something, Bish. These people are distraught. They want to take their children home.’
    ‘The authorities here need to collect as much information now as possible,’ he said. ‘If they let everyone go, they’ll never get to the bottom of what happened this morning.’
    Saffron nudged him and pointed in the direction of the recreation hall. ‘Lucy Gilies.’
    The young chaperone was sobbing hysterically in the arms of a girl no more than fourteen. The poor kid was looking around, lost and confused.
    Bish and his mother approached and sent the girl back inside, leading Lucy away to the pool. Attal had just begun to allow some of the press in and Bish didn’t want the world media reporting that the British chaperone was a basket case.
    ‘Lucy, can you tell me about Violette Zidane?’ Bish asked.
    Her crying intensified. Lucy knew exactly who Violette was.
    ‘Russell – Mr Gorman – came searching for the passports that were in my backpack. Someone must have grabbed it on the bus, because it was there in the recreation hall. I don’t remember taking it. I don’t remember much after the explosion.’
    ‘So you didn’t record the names and details on the list that did the rounds?’
    ‘No. Perhaps Mr Gorman. He ended up with the passports, and he contacted the embassy and read out all our names straight from them.’
    Lucy nodded, as if getting clarity for the first time. ‘Within minutes he got a call back. Someone had recognised Violette’s name. Her tour documentation has her down as Violette Zidane, so that was her name on the roll. But her passport includes