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"
Who
was
that
?
"
There
was
a
huskiness
to
Irene
Elliott
’
s
voice
that
sounded
like
the
residue
of
too
much
crying
.
"
Back
-
up
,
"
I
said
absently
,
watching
the
car
trail
out
over
the
wrecked
aircraft
carrier
.
"
Works
for
the
same
people
.
Don
’
t
worry
,
she
’
s
a
friend
.
"
"
She
may
be
your
friend
,
"
said
Elliott
bitterly
.
"
She
isn
’
t
mine
.
None
of
you
people
are
.
"
I
looked
at
her
,
then
back
out
to
sea
.
"
Fair
enough
.
"
Silence
,
apart
from
the
waves
.
Elliott
shifted
against
the
polished
coachwork
of
the
limo
.
"
You
know
what
’
s
happened
to
my
daughter
,
"
she
said
in
a
dead
voice
.
"
You
knew
all
the
time
.
"
I
nodded
.
"
And
you
don
’
t
give
a
flying
fuck
,
do
you
?
You
’
re
working
for
the
man
that
used
her
like
a
piece
of
toilet
tissue
.
"
"
Lots
of
men
used
her
,
"
I
said
brutally
.
"
She
let
herself
be
used
.
And
I
’
m
sure
your
husband
’
s
told
you
why
she
did
that
as
well
.
"
I
heard
Irene
Elliott
’
s
breath
catch
in
her
throat
and
concentrated
on
the
horizon
,
where
Trepp
’
s
cruiser
was
fading
into
the
predawn
gloom
.
