‘What will you tell Mr Glasson?’ Anna asks. She shakes back the curls of her bob from her jaw and gazes at me intently. I’ve got her attention, that’s for sure.
‘That we’re going to have to try other ways to find out if Jane is the source of the drug.’
‘You heard Holly. You know she’s certain it has nothing to do with Jane.’
Don’s eyes are fixed on me. At least he’s had the sense to shut up. ‘We’re not certain,’ I say in my best friendly but firm tone.
Anna gives me a long look. She’s weighing her options. I let her weigh them. Then she says quietly, ‘There’s a little more I can tell you that’ll remove all doubt in the matter.’
‘There is?’ Don asks in surprise.
‘Can you meet me an hour from now?’
I nod. ‘Sure.’
‘Lyndhurst. There’s a parking area on the eastern edge of the town. You take the Beaulieu turning off the Southampton road, then turn left straight after the cattle grid.’
I nod again. ‘We’ll be there.’
She watches us drive away. As we take the bend in the road, she turns and goes back indoors. I watch her in the wing mirror, walking briskly, hurrying, if you like.
Don must’ve been watching her too, in the rear-view mirror. He lets out a breath and says, ‘What was that all about?’
‘Secrets, Don. Our anal friend Anna is carrying a lot of them.’
‘You still think Lucinda might be Jane Glasson?’ He turns out of the cul-de-sac and heads back the way we came, towards the town centre.
‘Luscinia,’ I correct him. ‘Latin for nightingale.’
‘Manebo, manebis, manebit,’ he recites. ‘Manebimus, manebitis, manebunt.’
‘Come again?’
‘It’s Latin. I learnt it at school. Can’t remember what the hell it means, though.’
‘Thanks, Don. That’s really helpful.’
‘Everything Holly said seemed genuine to me.’
‘What about everything Anna said?’
He doesn’t answer at once. A gear change up and gear change down later, he says, ‘Not sure.’
‘Well, maybe we will be sure. An hour from now.’
The parking area was nearly full. The stretch of heathland it faced was a popular spot for strollers and dog-walkers late on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
Don and Blake had arrived early for their appointment with Anna Marchant. But she was not late either. Blake pointed to a mint-green Fiat that had turned in and was moving slowly towards them. The bob-haired driver was Anna, her eyes obscured by sunglasses. ‘Here we go,’ said Blake.
At that moment, Don’s phone burbled. ‘Not Fran again,’ he complained as he pulled it out and squinted at the screen. ‘No,’he said, sounding surprised. ‘Not Fran.’
‘Whoever it is’ll have to wait,’ said Blake.
‘It’s Holly Walsh.’
‘What?’
Anna pulled in close to the MG and stopped.
‘You’ll have to speak to Holly later,’ Blake whispered to Don. ‘Turn the phone off.’
‘Right.’ Don switched the phone to silent and buried it in his pocket.
Anna got out of the Fiat and walked towards them. She had added a boxy little jacket to her teatime outfit, making her look more like the businesswoman she evidently was. The sunglasses stayed on. And she did not return Don’s smile of greeting.
‘Hello, Anna,’ he said in a tone designed to sound friendly but which somehow failed to pull off the trick.
‘Does Holly know you’re meeting us?’ Blake asked with instant candour.
Anna pursed her lips in what might have been irritation. With her sunglasses on, her expression was hard to interpret. ‘I’m sure you realize I prefer not to worry Holly with this.’
‘We’re not trying to put you on the spot,’ said Don.
‘But I find myself there, nonetheless. Shall we walk a little?’
They headed away from the parking area across an undulating stretch of heath and rough grass. To Don, it seemed the afternoon retreated around them, the colour and noise of their surroundings fading as they went.
‘You must understand,’ said Anna in a clipped, uncompromising tone, ‘that Holly’s health and peace of mind are my primary concerns.’
‘Of course,’ said Don. Unlike Blake, who had already made plain her distrust of Anna, he hoped the woman would convince both of them she was holding nothing back.
‘Holly would never admit this,’ she continued, ‘but secretly she’d like to believe Luscinia is Jane. She doesn’t want to have to accept that her friend’s almost certainly dead. I suspect you know as well as I do that’s much the likeliest explanation for Jane’s disappearance.’ She gave a decisive toss of her head, as if relieved to have come out and said it. ‘I hope you agree it’s best to speak frankly.’
‘You’re probably right,’ said Don, aware of Blake glancing at him as he did so.
‘The wish to sustain the possibility of Jane’s survival explains in part Holly’s reluctance to press the question of Luscinia’s identity. Feeling no such qualms myself, and worrying that Holly was coming to rely so much on the generosity of an anonymous stranger, I emailed Luscinia, pleading with her to tell me at least a little about herself.’
‘Did she respond?’ asked Blake.
‘Eventually, after I’d sent her two or three messages. She said she’d be willing to meet me, though I’d have to go to Chicago. As it happened, there was a conference coming up in Philadelphia that I was due to attend, so I added on a day and fitted in a flight to Chicago while I was there.’
‘Convenient,’ said Blake, her scepticism evident without being blatant.
‘It certainly enabled me to arrange a meeting without Holly becoming aware of the fact. I hope I can rely on you to say nothing to her about it now.’
‘You’d deny it anyway, right?’
Don winced. Blake was definitely not holding back.
Anna took the challenge in her stride, however. ‘I’d have to deny it, in Holly’s best interests. A positive outlook is almost as important to her welfare as the Ditrimantelline regime.’
‘You’re saying you met Luscinia?’ Don cut in. He did not see how Blake’s sniping was likely to help.
‘Yes,’ said Anna. ‘In a coffee shop at O’Hare Airport. She’s not Jane Glasson. She’s an Asian American in her mid-thirties. She inherited a fortune from her father and uses some of it for altruistic purposes. She didn’t wish to say much about her present circumstances beyond that, but I gathered her husband might not approve if he discovered what she was doing, despite being wealthy in his own right. She only agreed to meet me because she feared otherwise I’d go on digging until I inadvertently brought her activities to his attention. Holly’s not her only beneficiary. She explained that one of her brothers had died when he was a child for lack of proper medical treatment. Her parents had divorced by then. Her mother was virtually penniless and couldn’t afford the drugs the boy needed. That’s why now she does her best, when she can, to help people in such situations.’
‘D’you know her name?’ asked Blake.
‘I glimpsed it on her credit card when she paid for the coffee. Later, I Googled her husband. And her father. Which was illuminating. But I’ve no intention of enabling you to do the same. She deserves her privacy. Her generosity to Holly – and to others – entitles her to that.’ Anna pulled up and turned to face Don and Blake. ‘I didn’t intend to tell you any of this, for obvious reasons. But I can’t allow you to put Holly’s health at risk by continuing to poke and pry.’
‘We’re just looking for the truth about Jane,’ Don said emolliently.
‘That’s not poking,’ said Blake, looking straight at Anna. ‘Or prying.’
‘Well,’ said Anna, ‘one truth about Jane is that she isn’t Luscinia.’
‘We understand,’ said Don.
‘You accept what I’ve told you?’
‘Naturally we do.’
�
�I’d like to hear you say it.’ Anna nodded to Blake.
Blake shrugged. ‘Sure. I get it, Anna. You checked Luscinia out. She absolutely isn’t Jane. We have to look for her somewhere else.’
‘Do you have somewhere else to look?’
‘That’s like Luscinia’s real name, Anna. We don’t need to know it. And you don’t need to know what we’re going to do next.’
‘No.’ Anna smiled tightly. ‘Well, good luck, anyway. You’ll contact us if you do turn anything up, I hope.’
‘For sure.’
‘Yes,’ said Don, still playing the peacemaker. ‘Of course we will. Thanks for being so … open with us.’
‘Open with us?’ Blake muttered a few minutes later, back in the MG, as they watched Anna drive away. ‘Did we just talk to two different people, Don?’
‘I didn’t see any sense in antagonizing her.’
‘But you didn’t believe her, did you? I mean, you can’t have.’
‘Could she really have made all that up?’
‘It’s called a cover story.’
‘Cover for what?’
‘Phone Holly back. Maybe she can tell us.’
‘I can’t let Holly know we’ve met Anna. We gave our word.’
‘Technically, we didn’t. But just phone her, Don, OK?’
‘OK.’
The mint-green Fiat had turned out on to the main road by now and was heading back into Lyndhurst. As soon as it had passed out of their sight, Don reached for his phone.
To his considerable relief, Holly answered straight away. ‘Hi, Holly,’ he said cheerily. ‘Don Challenor here. You rang me earlier.’
‘I’m so glad you’ve called back, Don.’ And she did sound glad. ‘Anna’s had to go out and I didn’t, well … Sorry. It’s just that Anna probably wouldn’t think it wise to tell you this. She’d see it as putting my Ditrimantelline supply at risk unnecessarily.’
‘Well, er … you shouldn’t do that, of course.’
‘No. But since you contacted me I’ve been thinking about Jane’s father. We should do everything we can for the poor man, shouldn’t we?’
‘Absolutely. And that’s what we are doing. But—’
‘It probably has no connection with Jane anyway. Really I don’t know what it amounts to. But maybe you and Blake can find out.’
‘We can try, certainly.’
‘A man got in touch a couple of weeks ago and subsequently came to see us. Somehow he knew I was receiving money from the Nightingale account at Credit Suisse. He wanted to know why. Anna was all for telling him to mind his own business, but I saw no harm in disclosing what the money was for. He said nothing about Jane, though. As far as I could judge, he didn’t know anything about her. She wasn’t why he was interested.’
‘Why was he, then?’
‘He’s a private investigator, working for some of Harkness’s creditors. He wouldn’t confirm it, but I’m worried Luscinia may be a Harkness employee who’s diverted company funds to pay for my medication. If so, those payments could be stopped at any moment, though he assured me nothing’s likely to happen until Harkness’s case has gone through the American courts, which, assuming he’s actually extradited, could take years.’
‘That may be true, but I appreciate why you’re anxious about it, Holly. Thanks for telling me.’
‘I think this investigator may know who Luscinia is, Don. If you can persuade him to tell you – or at least tell you enough to prove she isn’t Jane – you’ll have accomplished something on Mr Glasson’s behalf.’
‘Yes. We will.’
‘You’ll let me know what comes of it, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Just me, Don, OK? I’d like to keep Anna out of this. Her concern for me sometimes … well, distorts her judgement.’
‘Understood.’
‘I’ll give you the investigator’s contact details. I’d, er, prefer not to text them to you.’
Don wondered why, but did not pursue the point. He grabbed the newspaper he had brought from Wortalleth West, fished a pen out of his pocket and wedged the phone under his ear. ‘OK. Fire away.’
‘I’m just trying to be logical.’ I was always saying that to Mum. I was wasting my time. You can’t reason with her. She doesn’t really understand what reason is. It’s like that part of her brain is missing. Since I ran away from all the madness she calls normal life – the rows, the drinking, the total fucking chaos of everything – I’ve realized there are loads of people like Mum in this world, more than there are like me. It doesn’t matter to them if you can prove you’re right and they’re wrong. They’ll never accept it. It’s not their fault. They don’t understand. They just don’t get it.
Luckily, Don isn’t one of those. He does get it. We sit in the MG looking out at the people wandering across the green, rolling stretch of heath ahead of us. There are fewer of them than when we arrived. It’s getting late for afternoon strolls, though the sun’s still high in the sky.
I look down at the folded FT Don’s shoved in the tray between the gearstick and the dashboard. There’s a name written on it – Perkins – and a phone number. That’s all. But it says a lot.
I didn’t believe anything Anna told us. Don’s finally admitted he’s having a hard time believing any of it himself. Some rich Asian American in Chicago – nowhere local, of course – who prefers to remain anonymous is just too good to be true, specially with that neat little touch about seeing the woman’s name on her credit card but feeling unable to reveal it because her privacy has to be respected. I mean, please!
My theory about Anna’s a bit strong for Don to swallow straight off, but I can see him turning it over in his mind. He knows it makes more sense than anything else. Moving close to Holly and making friends with her wasn’t some happy accident. Anna was sent. She was instructed to stop Holly – or anyone else, like us – probing the mystery of the Nightingale money. That’s why she invented the woman in Chicago. To stop us before we make too many waves.
That’s a complicated set-up, of course. And expensive. I shouldn’t think Anna comes cheap. Who has the resources to do it? Well, it’s got to be Jack Harkness, hasn’t it? There’s no one else in the frame. But why? What’s the point? What’s he got to hide?
The money’s the puzzle. If Harkness has found out someone in his empire is helping Holly, using Harkness company money, why not just put a stop to it? Why go to the bother and expense of sending Anna to cover things up?
We’ve got to talk to this Perkins guy. It’s totally obvious. Don knows that. He doesn’t want to admit it, because he keeps hoping we’ll hit a wall. But we won’t. That’s what I know. Jane’s out there somewhere. Carrying Harkness’s big secret as well as hers. We can’t stop now.
‘Are you going to phone him, Don?’ I ask. ‘Or d’you want me to do it?’
‘I’ll phone him.’
‘Luscinia links to Harkness. So does Anna. And Harkness links to Jane. You’re not going to deny it, are you?’
‘No.’ Don sighs. ‘It’s just …’
‘Just what?’
‘Last Sunday I had a late lunch at the pub and watched a DVD in the evening. Denzel Washington on a runaway train. Great stuff.’
‘So?’
Another sigh. ‘I think I’d like my simple, boring life back.’
‘Are you phoning Perkins or not?’
‘You’re a heartless young woman, Blake. Has anyone ever told you that?’
‘Oh yeah. Many times.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Don gives a resigned growl and pulls out his phone. ‘He won’t answer, y’know. It’s Sunday. He’s probably gone to the pub too.’
‘You could be right.’
‘I haven’t been right about much so far, though, have I?’
‘You said it.’
Don harrumphs and makes the call. And I can tell from the look on his face, even before he speaks, that he’s wrong again.
‘Mr Perkins? … My name’s Challenor.
Don Challenor. Holly Walsh gave me your number … Well, I’m hoping we can help each other concerning … Yes. The Nightingale account … I’d rather not get into that over the phone … We have some information I think you’d find useful and … We is me and a friend, Blake. She and I, well, we’re looking into something that, er, may connect with your investigations … I’m not asking for anything beyond an exchange of information … Mutually beneficial. Exactly … No. As I say, I think this is something we have to discuss face to face … We were with Holly earlier this afternoon … Yes. Still in the New Forest. Lyndhurst, at present … I see … OK … Yes, let’s say there, then … An hour? Yes, we should be able to manage that … a seventies MG … OK … OK. ’Bye.’
Don ends the call and sighs heavily. ‘You get your wish. We’re meeting Perkins at Fleet Services on the M3 in an hour’s time.’
I smile at him. ‘See? That wasn’t so difficult, was it?’
I don’t get a direct response. He just starts the car and pulls away.
Keith Perkins had sounded gruff and guarded to Don, but also curious. He had said he was travelling to London and suggested the service area rendezvous to suit both parties.
The motorway was busy and it took slightly more than the allotted hour to reach Fleet. But Perkins had waited for them. In the farthest corner of the car park, a man was sitting in the raised tailgate of a dark green Volvo estate, smoking a cigarette and watching them carefully as they approached.
He was lean and heavy-browed, with close-cropped grey hair. His clothes were superstore casuals. His face was lined and weary. He looked like a thousand other middle-aged men worn down by the compromises and disappointments of life. He did not acknowledge them as they drove towards him and pulled into the vacant bay next to his car. But it was Perkins. The Volvo was just where he had said it would be.
‘He looks a real barrel of laughs,’ Blake murmured.
‘Snooping for a living probably doesn’t make for a sparkling personality.’
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