Fine Lines - SA (18 page)

"No, she couldn't be any more exact than that. She was quite upset about it. Her TV had broken down, otherwise she said she'd have remembered the day by what was on it."

"I went away on the seventh," said Anna. "And I spoke to Marty that night and the next, so it must have been the ninth. The Wednesday." Simpson looked at his file. "It could have been the night before, after you'd spoken to him. But since he went into university the next day I think we can assume it wasn't. You say you telephoned him just after six, and the line was engaged, so it looks as though he spoke to someone, and then immediately afterwards left with a packed suitcase." He looked at Anna. "Any more ideas on who he might have been speaking to?" She shook her head helplessly. "No. None."

"You can't think of anyone who could have made him leave the house like that?"

"I've asked everyone I know. Al our friends, the people he knows at university. No one spoke to him."

"Al right. Keep on trying to think about it, anyway." He briefly looked at the file again. "I think it's safe to say that, wherever he was going, he took either a bus or the tube. If he'd have been

planning to go by taxi, he would have ordered it from home." I offered up a silent prayer of thanks that I had told Marty not to take one. "I've been trying to contact the bus crews who went through your area at around that time. We've not spoken to al of them yet, but so far no one can remember picking up anyone who fits Marty's description.

I've also spoken with the ticket office at the tube station nearest to you, but no one there can remember anything either." He gave an apologetic little shrug. "The problem is that it's getting on for two weeks ago now. A lot of faces have passed through since then."

"So it's a dead end," Anna said, flatly.

"Wel , I can't pretend he's left a blazing trail, but it's stil early days. And we've only just started looking. Airports and hospitals we leave to the police. They'l automatical y be contacted if he turns up there. But there are plenty of other places he could be, so we'l concentrate on those. I've already been in touch with the Salvation Army, and they're going to see what they can do." Both Anna and I looked blank. "The Salvation Army? How can they help?" Anna asked.

"They're very good, actual y," Simpson said. "Most people don't realise it, but they've got a missing-persons bureau, and an intel igence network that's pretty much as good as the police's. In fact, the police sometimes use it themselves. It can save a lot of time and footwork. And there's always the chance that we'l get lucky and find that he's staying in one of their hostels." Anna looked dubious. "I can't real y see that."

"Perhaps not, but it doesn't hurt to try. We've also been in contact with the YMCA, to see if he's stayed with them. No luck so far, but we'l contact them every few days, just in case."

He glanced down at the file again, then looked at Anna.

"There is one more thing that's worth mentioning. He's got to live on something. You said he'd taken his own chequebook with him. You don't have a joint account in either a bank or building society he can have access to, do you?" Anna shook her head. "No. We keep our money separately." Simpson looked disappointed. "Ah, wel . If you had, you could have got the bank to run a check on any withdrawals. Found out what cheques he's written lately, and where they've been cashed."

"Can't we do that anyway?"

"I wish we could. It would make things a lot easier, but no bank wil just release that sort of information unless it's a jointly held account."

"Not even if I explain what's happened?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Even the police haven't the authority for that.

Not in this sort of situation."

"What do you mean, "this sort of situation"?" I asked.

He spoke cautiously. "Wel , I mean that at present there are no grounds for concern for Marty's actual wel being. I realise that you're very concerned about him yourself, obviously," he added hurriedly, before Anna could say anything. "But there are no … let's say "suspicious circumstances" about him going. If there were it would be a different matter. If there was anything to indicate that, heaven forbid, something might have happened to him, then the bank would co-operate with the police. But not as things stand at present." He smiled. "I know that doesn't exactly help us find him, but in a way it's a good sign that we can't have access to his account. If you see what I mean." I did. And although I was not sure how Anna felt, I certainly found that reassuring.

Anna invited me to her flat that weekend. Or, rather, she accepted when I offered to cal around. I was stil a little wary of forcing my company on her, but now I felt justified in seeing her out of working hours. And I was sure she seemed genuinely pleased.

I had expected to have her to myself, but I was disappointed. When I went into the lounge there was another girl on the sofa.

"You've not met Debbie, have you?" Anna asked.

"No, I don't think I've had the pleasure."

"This is Donald, my boss," Anna said to the other girl. I was stung by the way she qualified the introduction. But the injury was soothed a moment later.

"I've heard a lot about you," the girl said, and I felt almost childish pleasure at the implicit compliment. Her voice sounded familiar, but I did not immediately place it. Then I put her name to it and remembered. Debbie. The girl Anna had been talking to when I overheard them on the telephone. I felt a bristle of hostility towards her.

"I was just making a drink," Anna said. "Would you like tea or coffee?"

"Whatever you're making."

"Wel , I'm having tea, and Debbie's having coffee, so you can take your pick. I've got some Orange Pekoe, if you'd like it?"

"That would be lovely." Again, I felt a surge of pleasure. That was my favourite tea. I was sure Anna had bought it in special y.

There was a moment's silence after Anna left me alone with the girl.

She had a round, rather doughy face, unappealingly draped with straggly hair.

"I'd just like to say I think you've been great to Anna," she said, out of the blue.

I was taken aback. "I've not real y done very much."

"You're paying for the detective, for a start. I cal that a big help.

But not just that, you've given her support, and that's what she needs right now. I real y appreciate it." Her patronising attitude irritated me. "I've only done what I can." I tried not to sound too stiff.

"Wel , I think it's great. And I know Anna's grateful."

"There's no need for her to be." She smiled. "I'm sorry. I'm embarrassing you. I just wanted to tel you while Anna was out of the way. She's taking it wel , isn't she? I mean, it can't be easy."

"No, I'm sure it isn't."

"If it was me, I'd be going out of my mind. Not knowing what's happened to him. I couldn't stand it."

"No."

"I mean. I wouldn't say so to Anna, but to be honest, it doesn't look very good, does it? If it was my boyfriend I'd be worried sick. For him to just walk out like that in the first place, and then for her not to hear anything. Wel ..." She looked at me, meaningful y. "I real y wouldn't like to say what's happened. I mean, I real y wouldn't like to say." I had the feeling that, like it or not, she would anyway. She did.

"Either he's got cold feet, or found somebody else, or something's happened to him," she went on. "I mean, if he was going to come back, or at least get in touch, he would have by now, wouldn't he? So he's either not going to, or can't. Either way, it doesn't look very good for Anna, does it?"

"I suppose not."

"I mean. I know he could have suddenly had a breakdown, or got amnesia, or something, but it's not very likely, is it?" I inclined my head, noncommittal y It did not satisfy her. "What do you think's happened to him?"

"I real y couldn't say. I don't know him very wel ."

"Wel , none of us do, real y. I mean, I know Anna's been going out with him for nearly a year, but once she'd started seeing him they kept themselves pretty much to themselves. I must admit, I'd got my doubts about this whole America thing from the word go. It seemed a bit soon to me. I mean, don't get me wrong, I real y liked Marty, from what I saw of him, but how wel can you get to know anyone in a few months? Mind you, having said that, he never struck me as the type who would just walk out like this." She shook her head. "You just don't know what to think, do you? One minute I'm convinced he's run off, the next I start thinking that something horrible must have happened to him."

"The police don't seem to think so." She snorted. "The police? They wouldn't, would they? Unless it's something blindingly obvious, they don't want to know. They'd rather sit on their backsides than do anything constructive." She stopped and grinned, apologetical y. "Sorry. Bit of a hobby horse of mine." Thankful y, Anna came back with the drinks at that point. "Have you two got me al sorted out, then?" she asked. I was horrified at the thought of complicity with her awful friend, but the other girl only laughed.

"Of course. That's what friends are for, isn't it, Donald?" I was saved from having to respond by the doorbel . "I'm popular today," said Anna, lightly. But I had seen her jump when it rang, and she was tense as she got up and went out. I wondered how long it would be before she was able to answer either the door or the telephone without flinching.

I heard the front door open, and then brief, murmured voices. Anna came back into the room. Her face was white. A man was behind her.

"This is Marty's father," she said.

I would have known who he was even if Anna had not introduced him. He had the same run tish characteristics as his son, but without even the few redeeming features that youth had lent to Marty. As I stood up to offer my hand, I reflected that I had at least spared Anna the ordeal of growing old with someone like that.

He shook my hand reluctantly, dropping it almost straight away. He said not a word, making no attempt to be civil or explain his presence.

"This is a … a complete surprise," Anna said. "I had no idea you were planning to come over." She seemed shel -shocked. Her friend Debbie stood beside me wide-eyed, as though this was some kind of new and fascinating spectator sport.

"I wasn't. But since I want to get this sorted out quickly, I obviously didn't have much choice except to come here and take charge myself The criticism was so blatant it bordered on the insulting, and the tone of the man's thin, waspish voice made it clear that was how it was intended. Anna coloured up and seemed on the point of reacting. But al she said was, "You should have let me know. I could have met you at the airport." He rebuffed the pleasantry. "That's quite okay. I'd rather settle in by myself. Although I hope al your cab drivers aren't as incompetent as the one who drove me here. I had to almost find the way for him." He cast a brief glance towards where I was standing with Anna's friend before addressing Anna again.

"Now, if you don't mind. I think we have a lot to talk about." I was so astonished by his lack of manners that I was slow to realise this was a dismissal. There was a moment's stunned silence. Then Debbie began col ecting her things together.

"I'd better be going anyway, Anna," she said, moving towards the door.

"I'l cal you later. Goodbye, Mr' Her mouth worked as she groped for Marty's surname.

"Westerman," his father said, curtly.

Reluctantly, I fol owed her cue. "Yes, I'd better be off, too." I resented being ousted in such a way, but there was no excuse for me to stay. Westerman and I exchanged brief nods as the girl and I left.

Anna-came with us into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry about this," she whispered.

Debbie gave her a hug and kissed her cheek. "Don't be, it's not your fault."

"I'd no idea he was coming! Why didn't he tel me?"

"He's just being an awkward sod. Don't let him get to you. Look, do you want me to stay?"

"No, I'l be al right. Thanks."

"I'l be at home al afternoon if you want me," I said, not to be outdone. Anna nodded, but I could see she was not real y listening.

"I'd better go back. I'l talk to you both later."

"God, poor Anna!" Debbie said, as we went down the stairs. "Can you believe how rude he was? What a pig!" I found myself agreeing with her, something I would not have thought possible ten minutes earlier. I was even moved to offering her a lift, and found I did not object to her garrulousness half as much when it was directed against someone I disliked.

After I had dropped her at the nearest tube station, I went home. I had told Anna I would be there, and now my visit had been interrupted I had no other plans.

For a while I was able to occupy myself in making lunch. Eating it took up a little more time. But after that I was once again faced with an empty day. The only subject I could concentrate on was Anna. I sat and waited for her to cal , wondering what was being said in my absence. Nothing else seemed worth thinking about.

It was then I remembered my private gal ery. With surprise I realised I had not been in it for weeks, not since the night of Zeppo's visit. I had not even thought of it since, and felt mildly amazed that my former passion had gone neglected for so long.

The prospect of an afternoon of self-indulgence seemed

heaven-sent to take my mind off Anna. I deliberately eked out the moment, delaying going upstairs until I had washed the lunch dishes and had a cup of tea. Then, with a sense of reward, I went up to the gal ery.

The anticipation was better than the fact. I turned on the lights and closed the door, and waited for the usual sense of contentment to wash over me. When it did not, I began my study of the pictures anyway, consciously trying to manufacture the mood. It would not come. I found I had wandered past several pieces without real y seeing them, and tried to force myself into a more receptive state. But al that achieved was to make me notice the flaws in each work. The sensuality, the beauty of them was lost to me. Faults I had previously been able to overlook, even considered a part of their charm, now seemed clumsy and glaring.