Fine Lines

by Simon Beckett

  ..." I had a brain wave "Just let me check in my diary." I moved the telephone away from my mouth. After a while I put it back.

  "Now, Wednesday ... That's the ...?"

  "The sixteenth, I think."

  "Yes, the sixteenth. Oh, what a shame. I'm out of town al day."

  "Are you? Oh, what a pity." If we had been in the same room, I felt sure she would have put her hand on my arm again.

  "Yes, I'm sorry about that, but you know how these things are ..."

  "Wel , that's business, I suppose." She laughed. "It would be worse if you weren't busy, wouldn't it?" Reprieved, I laughingly agreed. "Perhaps the next time we might have more luck."

  "Wel , I'm not sure when it'l be. As I said, my trips into the centre tend to be few and far between." For which I was grateful. "But I'm sure we'l be able to meet up sometime or other."

  We chatted for a while longer about the progress, or lack of it, of our relative insurance claims, and by the time I put the telephone down, relief at my narrow escape made me feel quite wel disposed towards her. Then I remembered what Anna had said.

  I had given little thought lately to her joking suggestion that the woman might have designs on me. But now the idea lodged in my mind.

  First she had cal ed into the gal ery. Now she had telephoned me. That was not normal behaviour towards someone whose car you had run into.

  Or, as she claimed, had run into you. Disturbed, I poured myself a drink. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that Anna might have been right.

  I felt a sudden need to talk to her. She answered the telephone on the second ring.

  "Hel o?" She sounded rushed and expectant.

  "It's Donald. I thought I'd cal to see if Marty was back." Her disappointment was dishearteningly obvious. "Oh, hel o Donald. No, he's not."

  "Have you heard anything from him?"

  "No. Nothing at al ." Now I had cal ed, I was unsure what to say. "Are you al right?" She attempted a laugh. "I'd be better if I knew where Marty is. No one's seen him since yesterday. I don't know whether to phone the police, or … or what." She drew a long, shaky breath. She seemed to be control ing herself with effort.

  "Would you like me to come over?" Her voice had a slight tremor. "No, it's okay, thanks. A friend of mine's going to stay." It was my turn to feel disappointed. "Wel , let me know as soon as you hear anything."

  "I wil . Look, I'm going to have to go, Donald. I want to keep the phone free in case he rings."

  "Yes, of course. And don't worry about coming into the gal ery tomorrow. Just ... wel , just see how you feel."

  "Okay. Thanks." She sounded distant and uninterested. It was clear she did not want to talk to me. I said goodbye and put the receiver down feeling worse than before I made the cal . It had only let me see that, in spite of everything, Anna stil regarded me only as her employer. Not a friend or confidant. I tried not to be disheartened, and told myself that I could expect nothing else. Obviously, she had other people she would turn to before me. I would just have to be patient.

  It was stil early days.

  The next day it was almost lunchtime before Anna arrived. She looked pale and tired. Her eyes were red and puffy.

  "Have you heard anything?" I asked, brushing aside her apologies.

  She shook her head. "Not from Marty. I've just had the police around to the flat. That's why I'm late."

  "The police?" I was glad I was behind her; she could not see my face.

  "I reported Marty as missing, so they sent a couple of policemen to take the details." Her voice was dul .

  "What did they say?"

  "Not much, real y. I did find one thing out, though." She tried to smile. "Wherever he is, he's taken a suitcase with him."

  "A suitcase?"

  "One's gone. Along with some of his clothes and his passport." I looked shocked. "When did you notice this?"

  "This morning, when the police were at the flat. One of them asked if anything of his was missing, and I said no, because I didn't think it was. I'd seen his clothes in the wardrobe, so it never occurred to me to check if anything had actual y gone. And I didn't think it would have. I thought if he'd gone anywhere he would have told me. But then they asked if they could search the flat, and when I went around with them I realised one of the suitcases wasn't there. So then I had another look through his clothes, and saw some of them had gone as wel .

  Then one of the

  policemen asked if I knew where his passport was, and I looked but couldn't find that, either." She did not look at me as she spoke.

  "Is anything else missing?"

  "Not real y. Most of his clothes were stil there. His chequebook's gone too, but that's al . Nothing of mine's missing, if that's what you mean. The police made me check." "Anna … I don't know what to say." "Not much to say, real y, is there?" "Have you any idea where he might have gone?" "No. None at al ." She stared at the table top.

  "I just can't understand it. He wouldn't just go off somewhere without letting me know. He'd have left a note, or something. And he certainly wouldn't go al this time without phoning me."

  "Is there anyone he might have left a message with?" "No one I've not already phoned. Except his parents, and I can't see Marty tel ing them anything. And I don't know how to get in touch with them anyway. Their number's in his address book, and he carries that with him." I knew. I had given it to Zeppo to burn. "I don't want to pry, but can you think of any reason why he might have left?" She shook her head. "That's just it, I can't! It's not as if we've had an argument, or anything. The last thing he said when I phoned him was that he was missing me."

  Abruptly, she covered her face. "Oh, Christ, I feel so confused!" Just as suddenly, she recovered. She wiped her eyes. "Sorry." I offered her a handkerchief, awkwardly.

  "Here. It's clean." "No, it's okay. I'm al right now. Real y." She gave me a shaky smile to prove it. "It's just that I don't know what to think, that's al . One minute I want to kil him, the next I'm certain something's happened to him. I keep going round and round in circles." I nodded, sympathetical y. "Are the police going to do anything?"

  "They've already checked with al the hospitals, but nobody answering Marty's description's been admitted recently. That's something, I suppose. So now they just list him as a missing person, which means they'l keep an eye out for him at airports and train stations, places like that. But I can't see them trying very hard. Not when it looks as though he's packed up and walked out."

  "Is that what they said?"

  "Not in so many words. They were polite enough, but I could see what they thought. I'm just some neurotic girlfriend, whose boyfriend's left her. I suppose you can't real y blame them, can you?" I sidestepped the question. "What about his work at the university? Has he been under pressure from that lately?"

  "No more than usual. Not enough to make him do anything like this. And he loves it, anyway. He wouldn't just drop out without saying anything. That's what I can't understand. I know what it looks like, but I can't believe he'd just walk out like this." She looked at me.

  "What do you think, Donald? Honestly?" It was my turn to shake my head. "I real y don't know, Anna. I can't claim to know him wel enough to say."

  "Yes, but what do you think?" I sighed. "Wel , let's say I'd perhaps be more concerned for his welfare if his luggage and passport were stil here. As it is ..." I spread my hands.

  "I know. It looks like he's left me." I said nothing. Anna was quiet for a moment. "But in that case, why didn't he take everything with him?" she burst out. "Most of his clothes are stil here. And al his personal things as wel . If he was leaving he'd take everything, wouldn't he?"

  "I don't know, Anna."

  "And why hasn't he got in touch with me? Or the university?"

  "Perhaps ..." I stopped. "No, it doesn't matter."

  "No, go on. Please."

  "Don't take this the wrong way, Anna. I'm not saying he has. But ...

  wel , perhaps he felt he needed some time to think."
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  "What do you mean?" I spoke cautiously. "Wel , perhaps he hasn't been in contact because he was afraid to. I don't want to upset you, but it does seem a coincidence that this has happened only weeks before the two of you leave for America." She frowned. "You mean he might have had second thoughts?"

  "Al I'm saying is that it's a possibility." Anna considered this only briefly. "No. No, he wouldn't do something like that without tel ing me. Besides, he's as keen on the idea as I am." She was emphatic.

  I inclined my head. "Obviously you know him best. But try and look at it objectively. I know it's hard, but if you look at the bare facts, forgetting for the moment who's involved, then they do seem to suggest something like that. Marty spends two days on his own, and the day before you arrive back he disappears with a packed suitcase and his passport."

  "You mean he might have gone to America without me?" I had not actual y meant that, but it seemed a useful idea. I gave a helpless shrug. Anna was silent as she considered this new possibility.

  "No, he wouldn't do that," she said after a while. But she seemed less certain than before. "Not without saying something. And most of his things are stil here. He must be planning to come back. He could have just taken his passport because ... because ..." I said nothing. She smiled sadly. "I can't get away from that, can I? Why has he taken his passport unless he was planning to use it?"

  "I'm sure there could be any number of reasons," I said. But I did not attempt to give any.

  Anna stared into space. "I just hope he gets in touch soon." I patted her arm. "I'm sure he wil ." A sort of tense calm settled over the next few days. Anna was quiet and withdrawn.

  She contacted the police regularly, as much to make sure they were actual y trying to find Marty as anything else. They claimed to be doing everything they could, but Anna was not convinced.

  And her own helplessness weighed on her almost as much as Marty's disappearance. She declined my offer of time off. "I'd rather work than just sit at home and wait," she said.

  I began to feel cautiously optimistic. I had given Zeppo an indefinite holiday, tel ing him I would be in touch when he was needed again.

  There was a tacit agreement that the original bargain, to seduce Anna, stil stood. Whether this was because Zeppo himself saw this as unfinished business, or simply because it never occurred to him to question it, I have no idea. I was only glad he seemed to take it for granted. In any event, I had not expected to cal on him again for weeks. I could not see Anna welcoming another man's attentions so soon after Marty's disappearance. But what with the apparent lack of police concern, and her growing acceptance that Marty had left of his own accord, I began to think Zeppo might be able to resume his campaign sooner than planned.

  Unfortunately, my optimism was premature. Interference was about to come from an unexpected quarter.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Since Anna was unable to contact Marty's parents, I had assumed it was safe to disregard them. From what I had heard, they had not been particularly close to their son, and so it seemed reasonable to suppose they would remain ignorant of his disappearance, at least for the forseeable future.

  However, some things are simply unpredictable. When Anna walked into the gal ery, a week after Marty had disappeared, I could see at once that she was upset.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  She made an attempt to sound normal. "Marty's father phoned last night."

  "His father?" I searched for a suitable response. "Has he heard from him?"

  "No. That's why he cal ed. It was Marty's mother's birthday two days ago, and he didn't send a card or phone. His father was going to tel him off for forgetting." Anna looked young and frightened. "It's the first time he's not been in touch on a birthday." I tried not to let my irritation at the news show. Things had been going so wel . "Anna, people forget birthdays al the time. It doesn't necessarily mean anything."

  "But Marty's always thoughtful about anything like that. And his father said he's never forgotten before." I could think of no way to convincingly defend Marty's lapse of memory.

  "What did you tel him?" She shrugged. "What could I tel him, except that Marty had disappeared about a week ago, and I hadn't a clue where he was? He wanted to know why I hadn't let him know straight away. I said I couldn't because I hadn't got his number, but I could tel he didn't believe me."

  "He didn't actual y say that, surely?"

  "No, but he let me know that's what he thought. He asked why Marty had left, and when I said I'd no idea, he said. "Wel , have you at least done anything to find him?" As if I'd just not bother!" She angrily brushed tears from her eyes with the heel of her palm.

  "Come on. Sit down." I took hold of her arm and led her to a chair.

  My fingers retained a tactile memory of the contact. I poured us both a coffee and sat down opposite her. "Did you tel him you'd been to the police?" She nodded. "Yes, but when I told him what they were doing, he said,

  "So in actual fact, they're doing nothing." Then he wanted to know what else I'd done, and when it actual y came to saying it, it sounded like nothing at al . He made me feel like a cal ous bitch."

  "You're hardly that."

  "No, but he just ... oh, you know, made me feel like I wasn't even trying to find Marty. I could tel he thought I knew more than I was tel ing him. He obviously thought I must have done something to make him leave." I felt outraged for her. "That's nonsense!"

  "I don't know, I'm starting to wonder." Her voice was on the edge of breaking. She held her coffee cup in both hands, as though she were trying to warm herself from it. She looked very vulnerable.

  "Wel , you shouldn't! Don't let him upset you, he was probably just hitting out at you because you were there. Didn't you say that Marty didn't get on with him?" She nodded. "Wel , then, there you are! Now you know why. If he jumps to conclusions like that, he's obviously completely unreasonable!" I was prepared to dislike the man already.

  "I know, you're probably right," Anna said, a little calmer. "But he stil made me realise that I'm not doing anything. Marty's missing, and I'm just sitting and waiting for him to come back. That's not enough."

  "You've done everything you can. Did Marty's father suggest what else you could have done, or offer to do anything himself? Or was he just content to criticise you?" She sighed, tiredly. "He's going to go to the American embassy, to see what they can do, so I said I'l go to the embassy here as wel ." She shook her head. "I should have thought of that myself."

  So, perhaps, should I. "Wil they be able to help?"

  "I don't know. They might be able to put some pressure on the police to try a bit harder." She did not sound too hopeful. "Something needs to. I cal ed them last night to tel them what Marty's father had said. I thought it might make them take it more seriously, but I might as wel not have bothered." Her mouth tightened at the memory. "I spoke to this ..." she struggled for a suitable description, '.. .

  this pig of a sergeant, who just said he'd make a note of it. So I asked what else they were going to do, and he said that Marty was already listed as a missing person, and they'd carry on keeping an eye out for him." Her agitation was growing as she re-lived the conversation. She put her coffee down, angrily. A little slopped into the saucer. Anna did not notice.

  "I told him that "keeping an eye out" wasn't enough! I mean, Marty's disappeared, for God's sake! You'd think they'd at least make an attempt to find him! Especial y now, when even his parents are getting worried! But he just got al stroppy, and said he was sorry my "young man" had left me, but they weren't a detective agency, and can't be expected to find everyone who decides to leave home." She paused, making an obvious attempt to calm down. "God, I was just so angry. I didn't bother saying anything else. If I had I'd only have regretted it. What with him and Marty's father, I just felt like

  ... like screaming." She drew in a long breath. "I just hope to God the embassy does something. I can't stand sitting around like this much longer, not knowing anything. If I don't do somethin
g soon I'm going to go mad!" Reluctantly, I realised that Anna was no longer going to passively resign herself to Marty's absence. There and then, I decided to change my tactics.

  "AH right," I said briskly. "Let's try and think what you can do.

  You've already done everything you can as far as the police are concerned. Now what about the embassy? Have you spoken to them yet?"

  "I phoned them last night, as wel , but the person I need to speak to wasn't there. They told me to cal back this morning." She looked at her watch. "He's probably there by now."

  "Wel , you give him a ring and make an appointment to see

  him. Insist that it's urgent, and that it must be this morning. Don't take no for an answer." I doubted that she would have anyway. "I'l take you over whenever you have to go."

  "There's no need to do that. I'l be al right."

  "I'm sure you wil , but I can stil give you moral support. And while we're about it, what paper does Marty read?" She looked puzzled. "The Guardian. Why?"

  "We can put an advert in the personal columns. Appealing for him to get in touch." Anna was brightening visibly now she had something to do. "I don't think he general y reads the personals, but it can't hurt, can it?" I smiled reassuringly. "Not at al ." It was after lunch before Anna was able to see anyone at the American embassy. I overruled her protests about closing the gal ery, but al owed her to persuade me that she would rather be seen alone. "I'l look less like a hysterical girlfriend who needs looking after that way," she said.

  I waited for her in the reception area. The room was white wal ed and plain. A few paintings decorated it, but they were drab and uninspiring. I picked up one of the less dog-eared magazines from the low table and tried to find something interesting in it. The chain ran around the wal s of the room, facing the centre. After a while another man, grey-haired and quite distinguished looking, came in and sat down, shoes squeaking on the parquet floor. We ignored each other. The room was very quiet, except for when one of us cleared our throat or turned a page. I had just found an article on Landseer when there was a loud, ripping noise from where he was sitting. I looked over. He was reading his own magazine as though he had heard nothing. Puzzled, I went back to my article, not believing it could have been what it sounded liked. A moment later, my nostrils twitched, and I realised with a shock that it was. The man had passed wind.