Alarm Call

by Jardine, Quintin

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ I continued, quickly. He nodded. ‘Why were you so certain he wouldn’t show up here? And why were you so surprised when I told you what he’d been up to?’

  ‘Mr Blackstone,’ he replied, ‘I’m a police officer, so I’m used to asking questions not answering them. All I’ll say is that the Wallinger family does not wash its dirty linen even in private, far less in public. We’re Christian people with Christian values, and Paul simply did not live up to them. You misread my reactions: your accusations of deceit and dishonesty don’t shock me at all.’

  I still didn’t believe his mother, but him, I did. ‘Where should I look for him, John, if not here?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’d guess California; if he’s still pursuing his dream he’ll probably go back there, now that he’s got the sort of money that would support a lifestyle there.’

  ‘He doesn’t; not yet at any rate. I think he might be setting up a trade: the money for Tom.’

  ‘But ...’

  ‘But what? Kidnap? He’s the kid’s father.’

  The big man frowned. ‘Mr Blackstone,’ he murmured, ‘I want you to apologise to your ex-wife on behalf of my mother and myself for my brother’s behaviour. I want you to give me a number where I can contact you. I’ve got resources here that you haven’t, and access to the means of finding an American citizen in his own country. I’ll look for him, and when I find him, wherever he is, I’ll put you on his trail. He deserves whatever’s coming to him, and you strike me as the man to make sure he gets it.’

  I gave him one of my personal cards, and took his in return. ‘That’ll get me, any time. I’m gone from here tomorrow morning, but I’ll be in the States for another two weeks and more.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t approach my mother again. Leave this entirely with me.’

  ‘As you wish. There is one thing you could do for me right now, though.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Suggest somewhere to eat tonight; we did Gluek’s yesterday.’

  ‘Try Murray’s, twenty-six South Sixth Street; it’s our local celebrity restaurant. You better book, though.’

  I thanked him and walked with him to the entrance. ‘There’s one more thing I got to ask you,’ he said, as we reached it. ‘Since you’re travelling with your ex-wife, how come you’re in the same room?’

  ‘A clerical error on their part: no kidding. And they promised me discretion, too.’

  He grinned. ‘My badge overrides that.’

  I took his advice about the restaurant. Our discreet friend from the checkin fiasco was back on duty; I considered rattling his cage about spilling the beans to the lieutenant, but simply asked him to make a booking for us.

  Prim was back from the hairdresser’s when I got back to our room, standing in the dressing area sorting out something for the evening. The tint was gone from her hair, it was blonde again, and the same length as it had been when we met for the first time, if not quite so sun-bleached and a lot less ruffled. I’d forgotten how brown her eyes were. She looked like herself again: it was like stepping back eight years.

  I must have been staring; my mouth was maybe even a little open, just a little. ‘Will this do?’ she asked, coyly. There’s nobody does coy like Prim, especially when her shirt’s unbuttoned and hanging apart.

  ‘Will it ever,’ I heard myself say, then found myself taking a step towards her. I got hold of myself in time and simply put my hands on her shoulders, admiring her makeover. ‘Yes,’ I told her, ‘that does more for me than a blow-job any day.’

  ‘You poor, sad old man.’ She laughed.

  The restaurant lived up to its billing. Murray’s house specialty is a thing called the Silver Butter Knife steak; I’m not sure where it got the name, but the way they pitch it at you, it’s more or less compulsory, so we both had it. I was glad I’d earned mine in the gym.

  Once we’d finished, and the strolling violinist had done his thing, taken his tip and strolled on, I told her that we were heading for Vancouver next day, together, and why. I’d been worried that she might have seen it as a distraction, but she understood the importance of the move, and the leverage it would give her when it came to getting Tom back.

  She misted over again when I mentioned his name. ‘I wonder how he is, Oz,’ she whispered. ‘And how will he be when we find him? He’s been gone so long, he’ll have grown. Will he even know me?’

  ‘Of course he will. I promise you, he will; I can be away from my kids for weeks at a time, yet whenever I get back they tear me apart.’

  ‘But this is such a big chunk of his life.’

  ‘Prim, honey, you could have been separated at birth and I reckon he’d still know you.’

  She gave me a strange, quizzical look. ‘You’re sure of that, are you?’

  ‘I reckon so.’

  It was time to give her something positive to think about, so I told her about my visit from Lieutenant John Wallinger the Second. By the time I was finished she was radiating a mixture of excitement and indignation. ‘He came to scare you off ?’ she exclaimed.

  ‘He may have come to try that, but I doubt it. John’s just an honest guy, and he’d die for his mom.’

  ‘But she’s a liar! We know that.’

  I held up a hand. ‘Maybe, just maybe, what I suggested was right. Maybe Paul and Tom arrived in Minneapolis while she was away. There’s a concierge in that block; maybe he talked him into handing over a key, and spent a night or two there until he was ready to move on. It’s not that crazy an idea: the guy’s a con-man, remember.’

  ‘Mmm.’ She didn’t sound convinced.

  ‘Whatever, and whatever the family skeletons might be, the important thing is that we’ve got his brother . . . his policeman brother . . . playing for our team, and promising to hand him over on a plate. What more can we ask for at this stage? Think of where we were after we’d seen Martha ... no-bloody-where.’

  ‘I suppose. But if I couldn’t trust Paul, are you sure we can trust his brother?’

  ‘I’ve looked him in the eye. I’m sure.’ I hoped that I was right.

  She seemed mollified. I paid the bill, and we walked the short distance back to the hotel . . . downtown Minneapolis is so compact that there don’t seem to be any long distances. I told the manager we’d be checking out in the morning. There was no message for me about travel details, but it was just a little too early for that. I made sure that whenever a call came in it would be put through, and we took the lift to the twentieth.

  There was none of the gauche awkwardness of the night before. We had come to terms with the situation, plus there were no physical secrets between the two of us. We were friends rooming together and, as I saw it, that was that. We sat in the darkness and looked out at the city lights for a while, then Prim went through to the sleeping area and returned, minus the light summer dress she’d been wearing, and unwrapping our joint pyjamas. I didn’t turn my eyes away this time.

  I gazed at her, almost nostalgically, as she picked at the packaging, taking in the familiar shape of her body. It was unchanged, apart from the bigger bust, and something else I noticed. She caught me looking, and smiled. ‘A present from my son,’ she murmured. ‘Stretch marks; not a damn thing I can do about them.’

  I laughed. ‘Your Tom’s a generous kid.’

  She caught my meaning. ‘These? I thought they’d go back to normal size after I stopped feeding him, but they never have.’ She dropped the pyjamas on to a chair, crumpled the wrapping, and unclipped her bra. ‘Gross,’ she said.

  ‘I preferred the old models,’ I admitted, ‘but those have a certain charm to them. Large, my dear, but not gross in any way; you’ve got the width of shoulders to carry them.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Take a last look, then, and wish them a fond farewell.’ She picked up the pyjama jacket, and pulled it over her head, without unbuttoning it. ‘Goodnight,’ she said, then leaned over me, kissed me like a sister, on the
cheek, and went through to bed.

  Chapter 18

  The phone rang. I hoped it would stop, but it didn’t, just kept on ringing and ringing until I had swum out of my confused dream about Prim, Spain, and people who were dead. I picked it up, and mumbled a ‘Yes?’ into the receiver.

  ‘Mr Blackstone, this is the night clerk. I have a call for you.’

  I blinked myself awake, and switched on the light. I was aware of Prim in the twin bed, propping herself up on an elbow, looking at me.

  I’d been expecting Audrey, but it was Susie. ‘Did I waken you?’ she asked, solicitously.

  ‘Six-hour time difference, but it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Poor love.’ She sounded sorry for me. ‘You’re booked on a Northwest flight tomorrow morning, direct to Vancouver from Minneapolis, departure nine twenty-seven. You’re in the Granville Island Hotel; the travel agent said it’s small but very nice.’

  ‘That’s good, thanks, love.’

  ‘Is everything going well?’

  ‘Reasonably. We’ve got help.’ I told her about Wallinger’s brother.

  ‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘How’s Prim bearing up?’

  ‘She won’t be happy till she’s got Tom back, but she’s doing okay.’

  ‘That’s good.’ She paused. ‘I’ll tell you what.’ Suddenly she was yelling. ‘Just you put her on the phone and she can tell me herself!’

  Oh, shit!

  ‘Susie,’ I started.

  ‘You bastard! And I was stupid enough to insist that she went with you!’

  ‘It’s okay!’ I exclaimed. ‘Honestly, it’s okay. There’s nothing going on. They made a balls of the booking, that’s all.’ There are very few occasions on which economy with the truth can be justified, but I felt that I had happened upon one of them. ‘It’s a bloody great suite,’ I protested. ‘It’s all they had left, but it’s about the size of our house. Honest.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me you’re not sleeping with her?’

  ‘No, I’m promising you, okay?’

  ‘Can I believe that?’ she asked, with just a little more scorn, scepticism, call it what you like, than I was able to take.

  It was the middle of the night. I was tired. I was upset. I was right in the zone for saying something really stupid. ‘What?’ I barked into the phone. ‘On the basis of past performance, do you mean?’

  I hit way too close to home. ‘You bastard!’ she yelled, once, then again in case I hadn’t caught it the first couple of times. The line went dead, and I was left staring pointlessly at the handset, until finally I slammed it back into the cradle.

  ‘Are you in trouble?’ Prim asked.

  ‘No, my dear. We are in trouble; both of us.’

  ‘Oh, Oz, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do to fix it? Should I call her?’

  ‘God, no.’ I picked up the phone again and called the night clerk. ‘I want you to think very carefully,’ I told him. ‘When that call came in for me, and the caller asked for me, what were the exact words you used: no approximations, the exact words?’

  He sounded unflustered. ‘Yes, sir. I said, “Hold on, please, madam, while I put you through to their room.” That’s exactly what I said, word for word. I hope that was in order.’

  I’ve rarely felt such anger, but I resisted the temptation to roar my response. Instead I spoke slowly and quietly. ‘You were given no special instructions?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Okay, here are some special instructions now. I want you to get in touch with the duty manager who checked us in. I mean get in touch with him at once; waken him, like I was wakened. I want you to tell him exactly what’s happened, word for word. Then I want you to give him a message from me. Tell him that I am not a vindictive man, and I have never in my life caused anyone to lose his job. However, he should know this: once I’ve spoken to the general manager, he will be fucking history here. Did you get that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, do it, please. Once you have, book me . . . us . . . an alarm call for seven, and have a car waiting to take us to MSP International at eight.’

  ‘Very good, Mr Blackstone.’

  ‘One other thing: when I check out, I want the general manager there, in person, so I can make my feelings clear to him.’

  I hung up and turned back to Prim. Her brown eyes were wide open. ‘It’s that bad?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s that bad.’ I held up the duvet on my bed, feeling the Oz Blackstone that used to be take complete control. ‘Do you want to come over? If I’m going to be hung for it, we might as well do the crime.’

  ‘You’d hate us both in the morning,’ she replied. ‘Put out the light, and try to sleep.’

  I did. I tried. I couldn’t.

  Chapter 19

  She was wrong, though: I wouldn’t have hated her in the morning, only myself. I knew it as I watched her sleep, as I had many times in the past. The head that had lain on the pillow the night before had belonged to someone else, but the crumpled blonde look was definitely her.

  I was smiling when she woke, as the phone rang our alarm bell, and focused on me.

  ‘You’ve cooled down, then?’

  ‘I reckon.’

  ‘Do you still want me to come over there?’

  ‘No,’ I told her, although the part of me without brains wanted just that.

  ‘I’ll shower first, then.’ She pulled off the pyjama top and climbed out of bed.

  ‘Good morning, ladies,’ I said.

  The general manager was indeed waiting when I went to check out. His name was Benjamin E. King and he was full of apologies; he promised me a full internal investigation, and he did indeed offer me his assistant’s head on a plate. I turned it down, but accepted his offer to waive our bill. Charles’s smile was even wider than before as we climbed into the limo. I guessed that word had spread around the staff.

  As soon as we had cleared flight security, I found a phone in the executive lounge and called home. Audrey answered, sounding distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Oz, it wasn’t me,’ she said. ‘I didn’t make the mistake, honestly.’

  ‘I know you didn’t. Don’t tell me Susie’s blaming you.’

  ‘She hasn’t said anything, but I get this feeling that she might be.’

  ‘I’ll sort it, don’t worry. Is she around?’

  ‘No, she’s gone to the Gantry Group office for a meeting.’

  ‘Okay. When she gets back, please tell her I called, and that I’ll call her again from Vancouver.’

  It was a long flight, halfway across a continent and a bit more. The weekend was drawing near so I used the time to concentrate on Everett’s script, and on my longer scenes. The skies were cloudless, and Prim spent the time staring out of the window at the vastness of the northern states as they unrolled before her. I’d no idea what she was thinking about, but that sight on that sort of day doesn’t leave much room in the mind for anything else.

  I hoped it was doing her good. As hard as I focused on my lines in the forthcoming movie, Susie’s angry voice kept breaking through. I was still kicking myself for the stupid thing I’d said to her in the middle of the night. Effectively I’d told her that when I was married to Prim she hadn’t had too many scruples herself, but that was then and this was another world, in which such an argument was irrelevant.

  ‘Fuck it!’ I muttered under my breath. ‘Who needs to be a nice guy?’ But then I thought about Janet and wee Jonathan, and I realised that I did. There was a problem about that, though. The Prim with whom I was travelling was not the shocked, emotionally broken half-drunk who’d tottered off the shuttle a week before, she was a woman who’d recovered her formidable courage and her sense of purpose. More than that she’d transformed her dowdy appearance, and had become a slightly older version of a woman for whom I’d had the serious hots from the very beginning. If she’d taken up my angry proposition in the middle of the night, I could only imagine the trouble I’d be in.

  I thought a
bout it and patted her on the shoulder. ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  She looked away from Montana and at me. ‘For what?’

  ‘For keeping me honest.’

  She smiled, took my hand and squeezed it. ‘Someone has to. But to be honest myself, tonight I’ll miss sleeping beside you.’

  ‘Yeah, well. If we hadn’t messed things up in the past . . .’

  ‘You wouldn’t have been as happy as you are now . . . or nearly as successful. Susie’s made you, I’d have held you back.’

  Suddenly I felt resentful. ‘Hey, cool that one,’ I told her. ‘I’ve made myself. I’ve had a lot of help in the planning, but the execution’s been down to me.’

  I was still thinking about that as we swung out over the strait that divides Vancouver from its island then round for landing.

  I’d been to the city before and to Toronto, filming, so I was familiar with the strict formality of Canadian Immigration, but it took Prim by surprise. ‘Don’t they want people in their country?’ she asked, when, eventually, we’d been cleared.

  ‘Sure. They just don’t want the wrong people.’

  There was another limo waiting for us, sent by the hotel on Audrey’s instruction. It wasn’t quite as plush as the Minneapolis job, but it was okay, and it was big enough to handle our luggage, which was all I really wanted. When we saw the Granville Island Hotel, I realised that I’d been there already. A couple of autumns before I’d been filming in the city and had been invited to a Scots reception organised as part of Vancouver’s annual writers’ festival.

  It’s built on the waterfront, on a sheltered creek that cuts into the city and divides it. Granville Island is really an islet, and you can drive on to it, but it has the feel of a separate community. Once it was all industrial but now it’s very arty-crafty, with several theatres and workshops, although there is still a cement factory there, managing to co-exist happily with everything going on around it. The hotel lived up to the rest of the place . . . quirky, modern in design but appealing.

  The rooms were fine too, and this time we had one each, one floor up, at the front of the hotel, on either corner, looking down on some quite expensive boats and out across the water. The two corridors were divided by a glass-walled area that contained . . . I could hardly believe my eyes . . . a micro-brewery.