Full Stop (19 page)

Dale opened the door for her and she slid on to the back seat, gasping: ‘Greenwich Street. Greenwich and Franklin.' The taxi pulled away and she turned, watching the dwindling figure of Dale Martineau until she could no longer distinguish him in the gathering dusk.

John Tracey pushed back his chair and stood up, beaming at Loretta as she approached his table. He was more smartly dressed than the previous evening, wearing what looked like a new suit, and his hair had recently been washed. He slid his arm around her waist, murmuring, ‘You look fabulous,' and went to kiss her on the mouth.

‘Thanks,' she said, turning her face so his lips brushed her cheek. Stepping back, she rested her hand lightly on the only other chair and said: ‘Shall I sit here?'

Tracey gave her a searching look. ‘That's the general idea. Unless you want to move to another table. The only problem with this one is they want it back by quarter past ten.'

‘Fine,' she said, sitting down. ‘How's your day been?'

He leaned forward. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Yes. Why?'

‘You seem... preoccupied. Not all here. And your cheeks are flushed.'

Loretta turned to look out of the window, feigning interest in a slender Asian woman who was getting out of a taxi. Otherwise the wide, dimly lit street outside the restaurant was empty and she said: ‘It's this area. I've never been here before and it's a bit strange. All those warehouses.'

Tracey shrugged. ‘It's quite safe as far as I know. As safe as anywhere in New York, that is. I wouldn't recommend walking round TriBeCa on your own at night but as long as you get a taxi. Here, have a look at the menu, I don't want to rush you but I did say half eight.'

Loretta picked it up, ignoring the implied rebuke, and ran her eye distractedly down the list. ‘I'll have the lamb.'

‘No starter?' Tracey was watching her closely, almost as if he knew — had guessed, somehow — about Dale Martineau.

‘I'm not very hungry.'

‘Something to drink?'

‘Anything. White wine.' She had had two or three glasses at Kelly's party, it wasn't easy to keep count when the waiter kept topping it up. ‘Oh, and some mineral water. Sparkling.'

‘So how was the party? Did you meet the New York literati?'

‘I don't know about that.' She looked down at the menu again, as though she might want to change her mind, then said as casually as she could: ‘Katha Curran was there, the reincarnation woman. And Anwar Saady, who wrote that book about the Gulf War. At least, I think it was him. We didn't actually speak.'

‘You talk to anyone I might have heard of?'

‘Carla Griccioli, the cookery writer. And a novelist called Dale Martineau.' His name came out unnaturally, the verbal equivalent of being up in lights, but Tracey appeared not to notice. ‘Means nothing to me,' he said, and started reading out their order to a waiter.

When they were on their own again Loretta said: ‘I don't know if you remember, last night, in the restaurant, I told you I'd had a couple of obscene phone calls?'

‘Did you?' Tracey sounded genuinely surprised. ‘Sorry, Loretta, last night's a total blank.' He began to look interested. ‘How d'you mean, obscene?'

Not wanting a re-run of the previous evening's conversation, Loretta didn't answer directly. ‘It doesn't matter,' she said, ‘what I wanted to ask you is, how do I go about finding out who a telephone number belongs to?'

‘Why? You don't mean this bloke gave you his number?'

‘Of
course
not. Well, not exactly. The thing is –' She hesitated, reluctant to say it out loud. ‘The thing is I think I've been set up. I mean, I thought I was talking to the police and all the time ...'

Tracey held up his hands. ‘I'm not with you.'

She told him the story again, from the initial call from Michael
on Thursday night to Lieutenant Donelly's little lecture that morning about ambient noise and church bells. At this point, Tracey interrupted.

‘Bloody
hell,
Loretta, you don't really think the cops would go to all that trouble over a couple of obscene phone calls? Do you realise how many murders there are a day in New York? They've got serial killers, gang fights, drug wars –'

‘You didn't talk to him,' she said crossly. ‘He was very plausible, and he didn't sound anything like ... like Michael.'

‘The other point is, with the technology they've got these days, they can trace a number in seconds. Haven't you heard about these phones that display the number of the person who's ringing you? You'll be able to get one in Oxford by the end of this year.'

‘No I haven't, I've been out of the country for three months, remember. Anyway, that's exactly what I thought to begin with, I'm not
completely
stupid.' She began ticking off all the avenues she'd tried, finger by finger. ‘I rang the police first, they couldn't have been less interested, then I tried the phone book and all it offers is counselling. No, really, I'm not kidding, have a look when you get back to your hotel. There's this number you can ring, some kind of helpline, but only in office hours. I even tried the operator and she referred me back to it, I was going round in circles. By the time Don — by the time this pretend policeman called I was just incredibly relieved that anyone seemed to be taking it seriously. And he did say something about Toni's exchange being one of the last to be computerised.' Contradicting the conclusion she'd come to earlier, she added: ‘It's not implausible, given how many exchanges there must be in New York City.'

Tracey rolled his eyes upwards. ‘AH right, when
did
you get suspicious?'

The waiter was hovering, waiting to pour the wine Tracey had chosen. ‘I'll taste it,' said Loretta, thankful for the distraction. She held her glass under her nose for a few seconds, took a sip and nodded in approval. ‘Are you sure it's all right for you to drink?' she asked Tracey, a little maliciously, when the waiter went to fill his glass. ‘After last night?'

‘He only said to stay off alcohol while I was taking the tablets and I haven't had any today. Come on, when did it dawn on you something was wrong?'

‘Well, I suppose I was always a bit ... uneasy. And then tonight, when this ... supposedly this other detective phoned. He sounded just like the first one, Donelly, except he had a bit of a foreign accent. He said they'd traced the area he, Michael that is, was ringing from and when he mentioned First Avenue,
down
on First Avenue, that's when it hit me.'

‘What hit you? What's special about First Avenue?'

Loretta said: ‘I was looking at the map this morning, trying to remember the name of your hotel if you must know, and I thought — oh, I never knew that's where it was.'

Tracey was getting irritated.
‘What}
What are you talking about?'

‘
Bellevue
,' she said. ‘Bellevue is on First Avenue.'

Tracey started to laugh, incredulous. ‘You mean — the mental hospital?'

‘Exactly.'

He saw her expression. ‘I suppose it is pretty sick. Let's get this straight, you think all these people, Michael, Donelly, whatever the other cop's called — they're all the same bloke?'

She nodded. ‘I said this morning I was going to be out all day except between five and six. And when did I get all these calls? Just after five, as soon as I finished talking to you.'

‘This number he gave you,' Tracey said thoughtfully, ‘you say it's always engaged?'

‘Every time I've tried it. That's why I wondered if — well, you know more about these things than I do.'

‘Got it with you?'

‘Of course.' Loretta reached into her bag, took out her notebook and found the right page. She copied the number on to a clean sheet, tore it out and handed it to Tracey.

He glanced at it and put it away. ‘The obvious possibilities are — one, it's his own and he leaves it off the hook when he thinks you might call, which seems a bit unlikely unless for some reason
he's got two numbers. Two, it belongs to someone else and he knows it's out of order. Maybe he works for the phone company, have you thought of that?'

‘I've thought of all sorts of things,' said Loretta, ‘including that he might be a friend of Toni's, but she — I haven't been able to get hold of her.'

‘Some friend,' said Tracey. ‘Go back a minute. Say you're right, how did this bloke Michael know you'd reported him to the cops in the first place?'

Loretta frowned. ‘I'm trying to remember what he said, Lieutenant Donelly, the first time he rang. I
think
he just asked if I'd reported an obscene call the night before and it all came pouring out. As I said, I was so
grateful.'
Looking over Tracey's shoulder she added: ‘I think this is our food.'

They ate in near-silence, Tracey wolfing down his fish as though he hadn't eaten all day and not leaving a single pod of mange-tout on his side-plate. ‘That was good,' he said, finishing before Loretta. ‘How's the lamb?'

‘Great,' she said, swallowing a mouthful of vegetables. She was tired, not wanting to think any more about Michael and his probable aliases, and she asked: ‘How much longer are you going to be in Washington?'

Tracey looked evasive. ‘The Whitewater hearings are about to start so it could be a while. Three, maybe four weeks.' He turned the wine bottle round and studied the label, even though Loretta knew he didn't understand Italian. ‘Actually, they've asked me if I'm interested in the job. Making it permanent.'

‘What job?'

‘Washington correspondent. Chris Calder's gone back to London to be political editor, he's an old mate of Tony Blair so they're keen to have him at Westminster. I'm not sure he realises yet how right-wing this new regime is, but that's his problem.'

Startled and dismayed, Loretta said: ‘I thought — last night you were saying how much you disliked it, having to write stories about Bill Clinton.'

‘Was I? I'd have to cover the '96 election of course but it's not
just domestic politics. The Middle East peace talks, Ireland, I was thinking about it before you arrived and there are some advantages. Not being in the office for a start, you know what's it's been like since that bloody woman bought the paper.'

‘It seems a bit... sudden. I had an idea you wanted to spend more time in London, especially since you got back from Sarajevo.'

‘I did,' Tracey said gloomily. Loretta watched him while the waiter cleared their plates and left dessert menus; aware of her scrutiny, he lifted a hand and made a brushing motion in the air. ‘Sorry, Loretta, I didn't mean to bother you with my problems. I got a phone call as I was leaving the hotel and it's been on my mind ever since.'

‘From the office?' She remembered the time difference and added: ‘Of course not, silly question.'

‘From a ... friend. From Hampshire to be exact. Actually, Loretta, I've got myself into a bit of a situation.' He had started to look embarrassed, fiddling with things on the table and avoiding her eye.

‘You know how it is,' he went on, ‘you go out with someone a few times, concerts and the occasional dinner, and the next thing you know... I didn't think she had my number in New York but apparently she got on to the newsdesk and said it was urgent so they gave it to her. I mean,
Christ,
by the time she phoned it must've been one o'clock in the morning in Basingstoke.'

Feeling acutely uncomfortable, Loretta repeated: ‘Basing stoke?'

‘Yeah, she — Mo, Maureen — lives in a village on the road from Basingstoke to Reading. I met her just after I got back from Sarajevo, remember I had that kidney infection? I was a bit low, I may have phoned her more often than I should, a shoulder to cry on and all that.' With a flash of anger he added: ‘But how was I to know she'd be so bloody
persistent?'

Loretta picked up the empty water bottle. ‘Shall we get another one of these?'

‘If you like.' There was a moment's silence and then Tracey
said unexpectedly: ‘She offered to make you a jumper. She wanted to know your bust size and what colours you like.'

‘A
jumper?
'

‘Yeah, she has her own shop, Mohair, it's called. Get it? Mohair. She breeds rabbits and makes these fluffy jumpers –'

‘I'm allergic,' Loretta said quickly. ‘And mohair comes from goats.'

‘Whatever. You having a pudding?'

The waiter was back and Loretta hadn't even looked at the menu. ‘No,' she said distractedly, picking it up. ‘I mean yes.' She ordered a confection of bananas with dark and white chocolate sauce and Tracey asked for coffee and more mineral water. Sounding more cheerful after the interruption, he said: ‘Never mind all that, I don't know how we got on to it. How's Bridget?'

Loretta blinked, knowing he wasn't fond of her best friend. ‘Much better, thanks. Her mother takes Elizabeth to see her every month, they don't allow children in prison after eighteen months. She's been given a date for her appeal and her barrister thinks she's got a very good chance of getting off, especially now we've got this new evidence.'

‘Which is what?'

Loretta explained that she'd hired a private detective to look into the events three years before which had led to Bridget Bennett's conviction for manslaughter.

‘That must've cost a bit,' Tracey observed.

Loretta rolled her eyes upwards. The detective, she went on as though Tracey hadn't spoken, had cast doubt on the alibi produced by Bridget's husband, Sam Becker. The only other plausible suspect — he admitted having had a brief affair with the dead woman — Becker claimed during Bridget's trial at Oxford Crown Court that he'd been in his office on the afternoon she was killed, discussing a complex computer problem with a female colleague. But the private detective had established that the witness, Brenda Perfect, was actually at her dentist's surgery during the crucial period.