I sat down beside her as she pulled a laptop out of her bag. The mailbox on her website was already open. I scanned the message quickly, and then again, more slowly.
“Shit.”
It read:
Hello, my name’s Katie Taylor and I’m writing about your sister. I’m in Thailand right now and I’m sure I’ve seen her. She’s on Phuket, the island? I’m attaching a pic. Sorry it’s not great but I was trying not to make it too obvious that I was taking it. She’s with another girl on Patong beach, at the top end near the Sheraton? Only I think you’ll have to act quick because the police here don’t like stuff like that. What do you want me to do? Do you want me to say anything? Attaching my contact details. Message me back. Love and hugs, Katie xoxo
Below the message was a photo of two young women.
“How would she get to Thailand?” Cat said.
I realized my eyes were darting around the screen, trying to absorb all the information as fast as possible, and I forced myself to slow down and take a proper, considered look at the two girls in the image. It was night, and they were sitting on a neon-lit pavement, cross-legged on mats. Both were wearing thin, strappy dresses that hung loosely about them, revealing grungy-looking bra straps and thin limbs that were either tanned or dirty, or perhaps both. They wore leather sandals and each had multiple string bracelets tied around her wrist. On the left of the picture one girl, with bright chestnut hair and brown eyes, sat upright and stared directly at the camera, an eager, open look on her face. The other was looking slightly down and away, as if lost in thought, her face shadowed by the night and a mass of long, messy, dark hair. Between the two of them was a bowl and the edge of a ragged cardboard sign with the words: please help.
“She’s begging,” Willa said. “It’s just awful.”
“Which one is Laika?” I said.
“How would she get to Thailand?” Cat asked again.
“This one.” Willa tapped her finger on the dark-haired girl and we both moved our heads closer to the screen.
“That’s her?”
“It’s definitely possible. Obviously she would have changed a lot. The angle’s a bit—”
“She’d need a passport to get to Thailand,” Cat said, “and a visa.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t know.” Willa turned her eyes to me, her voice high and silvery. “I don’t know. I can’t tell. But those could definitely be her cheekbones. And that could definitely be the line of her jaw. I really, honestly think it is. It is. It’s her.”
“Tell the police,” Cat said, “or call the British Embassy. They can contact the embassy in Bangkok.”
“I tried the embassy, but they told me they’re short staffed. There’s some giant festival going on or something, a holiday, I don’t know. This is the first proper lead ever.”
“Willa,” Cat said, “hang on, slow down a bit. You don’t know for certain if that’s her; it’s not a clear photo. Why don’t you ask this Katie person to send another picture? A close-up. What if she’s wrong?”
“What d’you mean? There’s an actual photograph.”
“A debatable—”
Willa turned to me. “Tell me what you would do.”
“Well—”
“What would you do if Michael needed your help?”
“Michael? I’d help him, obviously.”
Willa held my eyes for a long moment. “Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?” She paused. Slowly, she said, “You would. Right. Okay, then.” She stood up. “So that’s what I’ll do. I’ll fly to Phuket.”
“Willa,” Cat said, speaking slowly, “wait. You’re not really about to jump on a plane, are you?”
Willa looked her straight in the eyes. “Why?” she asked. “Wouldn’t you?”
We all stood looking at each other for a beat.
“With your mum?” I said.
“No. I can’t ask her. She—”
“You can’t do this alone,” I said. “I’ll come with you.” Cat’s eyes widened.
Willa looked once at Cat, then back at me. “Can you leave tomorrow? Or Sunday? If there’s an available flight.”
Thoughts flew round my head—tickets, visas, cash. Jabs?
“How long can you spare?”
I looked at Cat, then back at Willa.
“A week.”
***
Cat turned on me the moment she was gone.
“What the hell just happened?”