Christopher Brookmyre (28 page)

'When exactly did you last speak to him?' he asked.

Jane sighed. 'Exactly? I don't know. Maybe three weeks ago.'

'Three weeks?' asked Bett, trying not to sound surprised and, she suspected, disappointed. 'And how did he sound? Was he worried?'

'He sounded the same as he always does. Uncommunicative. We exchanged the usual formalities, skirted around the things we ought to be talking about but never do, and then I passed the phone to his father. Forgive me if I failed to interpret anything crucial from minor nuances in his speech patterns.'

'Do you know what he spoke to your husband about?'

'Not in detail, no. But I doubt it would be of any greater pertinence. Not unless you can detect any coded message in whether Chris Sutton is best deployed as an out-and-out striker or played deeper behind Larsson and Hartson.'

Nuno shifted in his seat at this. He looked like he wanted to say something, but reluctantly swallowed whatever it was. Jane had detected a growing tension around the table as she failed to provide any salient information, sighs and traded looks that Bett's admonishing glances were having a diminishing effect in reining in. She felt under increasing pressure to deliver, and thus more resentful that she had been put in this position.

'Does he . . . do you have any relatives on the continent, or friends that he might contact? People or a place he might consider familiar?'

'No. No relatives. As for friends, I don't know.'

'Does he have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend?'

'He was engaged, but that's all off now. Two years ago, in fact.'

'Two years ago is a long time. What about now? Did he ever mention seeing a girl?'

'I'm the last person he'd talk to about that. He's still sore at me because we had a bit of a falling out over him breaking it off with his fiancee.'

More sighs, rolled eyes, a tut.

'Look, I'm sorry if I'm not a fount of knowledge here, okay?' Jane hit out, staring fiercely around the table. 'But I never volunteered myself and it wasn't me who thought I would be.' She looked last at Bett, as did everyone else. The dynamic was beginning to become a little more clear. It wasn't her they were frustrated at.

'Mrs Fleming, please don't allow yourself to become flustered,' he stated flatly. He couldn't have been less solicitous about it; his concern was all for the success of the interrogation. 'This is not a test of your knowledge or of your relationship with your son. What you don't know may prove as relevant as what you do, and what you do know may not be immediately apparent to yourself.'

This sounded like rubbish. Maybe it wasn't her he was trying to convince.

'If you had to take a guess, just on sheer instinct, where would you say Ross might go? Pure gut-reaction. He's alone, he's anxious, he needs to hide, needs to feel he's somewhere he knows, an environment he can control. Where would he go?'

Jane sighed, venting her own frustration. 'I haven't a clue. I'd guess home. That's the only place that fits the bill as you described. Maybe he's there right now and we just missed each other yesterday. Shall I call?'

Bett continued, his tone betraying no response to her sarcasm. He was singularly undistractable. 'Home is too dangerous. Too obvious. He's smart, he wouldn't take the risk. Nor, I imagine, would he want to bring his pursuers anywhere near to his loved ones.'

'Yeah, thank God that didn't happen.'

'Is there another city he's familiar with? Somewhere he's frequented, a regular family holiday destination from his youth?'

'We went to the Canaries mostly. Tenerife, Lanzarote a couple of times.'

Bett shook his head. 'The police impounded his Audi TT after it was left illegally parked in Demerin, near the Swiss border. He also lifted a lot of cash from an autoteller there, according to records obtained by Deimos.'

'So you think he's in Switzerland. We've never been there, not the family.'

'I don't think he's in Switzerland, but I believe that's what he wants people to think. He knew his bank records were traceable and he had no shortage of inconspicuous places to leave his car. He wanted it found. So I ask you again, one guess, but mainland Europe. Where would he go? First thing that comes into your head.'

'Paris.'

'Why?'

'It's big and impersonal. It's comparatively close. Lots of transport options. He speaks French.'

'Does he know it well?'

'I don't know. I don't know if he's ever been, to be honest, but you said first place that comes . . . '

'Okay.'

Nuno shifted restively again. He and Bett stared at each other for a tense couple of seconds, then, with an irritated tut, Bett returned his gaze to Jane.

'Barcelona,' Bett said, with the merest hint of weariness.

'What about it?'

'Does it mean anything to you? Can you think of any reason Ross might go there?'

She looked back blankly and shook her head.

She tried to remember

whether Ross had ever expressed any interest in the place, but no bells rang. Hadn't he once . . . no, she was pretty sure that was Prague. Or maybe Budapest. Christ, this was hopeless. Bett looked to Nuno with a thin-lipped expression and a fleeting twitch of his brow. Though wordless, it said 'Told you, now shut up,' more witheringly than words could have expressed. Part of her wanted Nuno to lamp him for it.

'Why Barcelona?' she asked, wishing to throw Nuno a crumb of solidarity in facing a common foe.

'Because he's
from
bloody Barcelona,' Bett answered for him. 'And he thinks the whole bloody world revolves around it.'

Nuno shot back an angry look, but again swallowed whatever he had to say.

'It's as likely as Paris,' Jane admitted. 'You might as well get me to throw darts at a map. I don't have any priceless insights, trust me on this. And I'm starting to feel like an idiot for bothering to get myself here. The best chance of me being any use to Ross is if he phones for help, and in the highly unlikely event that he does, I'll be in the wrong bloody country.'

'I don't believe it's unlikely at all,' Bett said, again impervious to her rant.

'The fact that he'd not been in touch for three weeks before he ran will most probably make it more tempting to hear a friendly voice. No matter how self-reliant he is, he'll never have felt so alone. He's going to want to talk to someone, and my guess is, it'll be his mum. He'll call, Mrs Fleming, believe me. Eventually, he'll call, and what country you're in is irrelevant. We can get to anywhere within . . . '

'I'd say it's pretty bloody relevant if I'm not at home to answer.'

'If your mobile doesn't work abroad, I can get you a SIM card that will--'

'I don't
have
a mobile. Only the free gift I got at the supermarket, courtesy of Alexis here.'

There was a moment of complete silence around the table. Bett remained poker-faced as ever, but she could read the headlines in everyone else's reactions. He'd screwed up. That the odds were enormous would be scant consolation: Jane was probably the only woman in Lanarkshire between the ages of nine and ninety who didn't own a mobile phone, but for Mr Attentionto-Detail it constituted a howler.

'Does anyone at home know the number of the phone you're carrying?' he asked, remarkably no hint of anxiety in his voice.

'
I
don't know the number of the phone I'm carrying.'

'Have you phoned anyone with it?'

'Yes, I called Michelle, my daughter.'

'Then she should have it. You're still contactable.'

'She
may
have it. I wouldn't say more than that. I don't know whether international codes show up on Call-ID.'

'You're right. Call home. Now. Give your husband the number. Alexis has it. Alexis, write it down for Mrs Fleming, please.'

Jane took out the mobile and looked around at the circle of faces. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to share.

'Would you excuse me,' she said, and walked across the room to the fireplace. A silence hung in the air as she left, thick with unspoken recrimination. Ironically, despite her feelings of solidarity with the others, it was Bett who'd thrown his lot in with her, and right then it looked like they were both sinking. She dialled her home number. It rang out. She looked at her watch, tried to estimate where Tom might be, asked herself whether he'd have gone to work as normal after Michelle told him his wife had absconded. Chances were, Tom would have gone to work as normal if Michelle had told him he'd twelve hours to live. He didn't operate well outside of defined parameters. 'Twelve hours?

Okay, I'll put in a shift, have my tea and just hope the game tonight doesn't go to extra time.'

She dialled his mobile instead.

A recorded announcement said it was

switched off and invited her to leave a message.

She called Michelle. She answered so quickly, she must have been sitting with the phone cradled in her lap.

'Dad?' she asked expectantly.

'No, it's Mum.'

'Mum, thank God. I was hoping you'd call. Mum, it's about Ross.'

'You've heard from him?' Jane looked towards the table, her voice having risen unintentionally. All eyes were now fixed upon her.

'He called Dad last night, not long after you phoned me. He's in trouble, Mum. That's why they tried to grab Rachel.'

'I know.'

'You know? Why didn't you say something?'

'It's complicated. What did Ross say? Do you know where he is?'

'Yes. Dad's gone to meet him. He flew out first thing this morning. Couldn't get a direct flight because they're all full, so he flew to Madrid and drove the rest.'

'Drove where?'

'Barcelona.'

Jane looked across at Nuno, unable to stop herself when she heard the word. She put her hand over the speaker.

'He
is
in Barcelona,' she announced. Nuno threw his hands in the air in a gesture of exasperation.

'Mum? You still there?'

'Yes, honey. Barcelona, you said. But what's your dad planning to do? He can't bring him home, it's too dangerous.'

'Dad said he knew someone over there who might be able to help.'

'Dad? Who does he know in Barcelona?'

'I don't know, he didn't tell me the name. He said it was someone with connections.'

'And is he there now, your dad? Is he with Ross?'

'Yes. Dad called about an hour ago. They had met up with this guy and they were waiting for someone he knew, someone who could help. Look, you shouldn't be talking to me about this. Call Dad. He's got his mobile, and--'

'I just tried him. It's switched off.'

'Must be the signal. Try him again.'

'I will, honey.'

'Mum?'

'Yes?'

'Where are you?'

'The wrong place. I'll tell you later.'

Jane disconnected the call and began dialling Tom's mobile again. As before, a recorded voice informed that it was switched off. She'd keep trying.

'He's with my husband,' she reported. 'My daughter said Tom knows someone there, but it's the first I've heard of it.'

'Rebekah,' Bett said with a nod. The girl got up from the table and made for the door.

Jane hit the redial button. Still no joy. She felt her heartbeat speed up, echoing the urgency she felt to get connected now that she knew Ross was also at the other end of the line. What she didn't know was how the hell Tom could have a friend in Barcelona that he'd never mentioned, and why of all places Ross should choose to pitch up in that particular city in his time of trouble. It was quite a coincidence, as was Nuno having suggested it not five minutes ago.

She glanced again at the young Catalan. He looked pissed off rather than vindicated. Bett's stone-set countenance was showing cracks too.

'Why did you think he'd go to Barcelona?' Jane asked.

'I saw the photographs from his apartment. Posters on the wall. Celtic.'

'What's that got to do with Barcelona?' Bett asked.

'They're playing there tomorrow night. They bring thousands of their supporters. Los Verdiblancos. Where better to blend in, maybe find friends, get help.'

Bett's eyes flashed, anger now unconcealed. 'Well, why the bloody hell didn't you say this before?'

'I did say.'

'You didn't say
why
.'

'You weren't prepared to listen.'

'That's nonsense. If you had something to say, you knew it was your duty to--'

'Ah, bullshit,' Nuno retorted. 'You'd already made your mind up that
she
would have all the answers. She knows nothing. It's her husband we should have tailed. And the scariest thing is that maybe someone smarter
has
.'

'Ross phoned home last night,' Jane said accusingly to Bett. 'If you'd just let me be, instead of all this cloak-and-dagger crap, I'd be with him by now.'

'Mrs Fleming,' Bett replied, the control in his voice hinting at the anger it held back. 'If I hadn't dispatched Alexis and Rebekah to carry out this "cloakand-dagger crap", as you put it, then the men who attempted to abduct Rachel would have returned last night, as they intended, broken into her home, kidnapped her from her bed and murdered everyone else in the house.'

She looked to Alexis, who was staring down at the table. Reluctantly, she lifted her gaze, and Jane saw the truth written there indelibly. Jane kept redialling. Still she could not connect. Still the announcement said it was switched off. But Tom's mobile was
never
switched off.

'Oh shit,' she said.

'What?' asked Bett.

Celtic.

They bring thousands of their supporters.

Dad said he knew someone over there . . .

Jane lifted the phone and called Michelle again.

'Michelle, who is it that Dad was meeting in Barcelona?' she demanded, trying to keep her voice from trembling, though she couldn't tell if it was from anger or from fear.

'I don't know, Mum. The name didn't mean anything to me, I don't remember.'

Jane bit her lip, controlling her growing ire. Michelle had first lied to her when she was two, standing at the top of the stairs and announcing, 'I haven't done a poo in my nappy, Mum.' Two decades later, she was more sophisticated but no less transparent.