“Leave it be, Gabriel,” I said. “Paul, are they taking this seriously? Or is he just another dead gay man to them?”
“They’re taking it as seriously as they would any other case involving a foreigner. Whether that’s enough, I don’t know. He’s right though—you should go home. There’s nothing you can do here, and you could just get in the way.”
“How am I in the way when I’ve just given them more than twice the information they already had?”
He held up his hands. “I’m sorry, Anton. You’ve been very helpful, of course, and I’m sure Inspector Ferreira realizes that. But what can you do now? We don’t even know the blood is Nick’s.”
“And if it isn’t? The victim had his wallet.”
“Which he could have stolen.”
“So where is Nick?”
“I don’t know. But is there anything you can do here but not back in England? You can track his bank activities and so on back there. The police have his photo, and the name and description of the man he was travelling with—”
“Gregorio Goncalves,” I said, unable to resist the temptation.
“Yes. A Portuguese citizen. I understand he entered the country four days ago.”
“And where is he?”
“Anton, be reasonable. You’ve given the police a great clue to follow up. Let them do their job.”
“Can’t Scotland Yard take an interest?”
“Not until they’re asked. Of course I’ll keep the relevant parties informed of progress here. You too, naturally. But you can’t do any more. Look, I’ve seen families beggar themselves hanging around in a foreign country waiting for investigations to resolve. Don’t do that to yourself. If Nick, God forbid, has been murdered, you can’t help him. If he’s alive, then he’ll emerge somewhere, and you’re more likely to discover that first than anyone else.”
“His passport will be on a watch list?”
“Yes, and his name will be flagged at car hire venues and so on. No one can exist without leaving a trace. Even if he faked his own death—”
“He wouldn’t do that. There’s no reason for him to.”
“All right. I’m only saying that even those people who do, are usually eventually found.”
He was talking perfect sense, and I’d promised myself to act sensibly. “All right. I want to stay a couple of days just to make sure the police have all they need. I have to arrange my flights and so on anyway.”
“I understand. And I’m available for you to call if you need any help or information.”
~~~~~
Two days later Gabriel drove me back to Rio to catch my flight. He’d offered to pay back the money I sent him to retain his assistance, but I refused. “Then I will be at your service here if you need it, any time.”
“Thanks. You’ve been a good friend, Gabriel. Not much fun for you.”
“It has been exciting, but sad. I wish you had had better fortune.”
So did I. The police had made no more progress by the time I left Beagá, not that I’d expected them to. I’d called Nick’s father to give him the bad news, which he took stoically. I thought it was almost as if he’d expected it. On my instructions, Andy had already retrieved Nick’s hair and toothbrushes from the house to collect DNA from. I didn’t want the Brazilians to have the slightest excuse for delay. Until we knew whose blood was in that alley, I couldn’t make any decisions about what to do next.
At the airport, Gabriel hugged me, and his eyes were red as he said goodbye. “I wish I knew you would be coming back here with Nick.”
“Me too.” I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “Obrigado. Muito obrigado, meu amigo.”
“'Good luck, Anton. I hope you find him soon. Força!”
I shook his hand and he hugged me again. I waved as he headed back to the car, and resisted the temptation to call him back and tell him I had changed my mind. I had reasons to go back home. Staying would be pure self-indulgence, and of no use to anyone. Not even me.
Chapter 6
My first four days back in London could only be described as ‘bloody’. Calls to Nick’s family, calls to my family, calls to his snotty boss, and back and forths with the police and the Foreign office, providing information, paperwork, and trying to get answers, the tiniest hint that Nick’s whereabouts were known one way or another.
But once the shock, the phone calls, and the raw worry had subsided a little, I was left twiddling my thumbs. George Adeyemi said their investigation would have to be suspended given the involvement of the police, and that considering they hadn’t found Nick, there would be no charge for the search. I felt a little guilty about that, but the Brazil expedition hadn’t been cheap. I’d have been happy to pay George’s bill, but was glad not to have to.
I could have cancelled my leave, but I didn’t feel I could give work the attention it deserved. Prof Carter had suggested I take more than three weeks if I needed it. I’d be out of my mind with boredom and anxiety if I didn’t return to some semblance of a normal existence in three weeks’ time.
Andy did give me one piece of interesting information though it wasn’t much help. ‘Gregorio Goncalves’ was a fake identity, which supported my theory that Nick’s disappearance was more than it seemed, and the police’s conjecture that he was behind the suspected attack on Nick—or whoever it was—in Bélo Horizonte. But ‘Gregorio’s’ identity and location were as yet unknown, though Interpol were helping trace his photo. Andy said the British police were looking at the ‘missing person’ aspect since they couldn’t interfere with the Brazilian investigation. I didn’t care how they fudged it, so long as they chased whatever leads they had.
A week after I flew back from Rio, the other boot dropped. Paul Reynolds called direct from Brazil, rather than allowing the local liaison to handle it.
“It’s Nick’s blood, Anton. No doubt about it.”
I clutched the phone hard. “But no body.”
“No body. Nothing else has changed. He could still be alive.”
“Only he’s missing a litre of blood.”
“It doesn’t look good. You know that. But nothing else has changed. So...you need to be prepared for bad news, but there’s nothing to say he’s not alive somewhere.”
“I understand.”
“I’m sorry, Anton.”
“No...no, it’s good news. I mean, that we know.”
“Yes. Do you have support?”
“I’m fine. I appreciate you calling.”
“It’s the least I can do. I’ll let you know if there are any developments, the second I hear.”
“Thank you.”
I bit my lip after Paul hung up, and made a decision. I was damn tired of being led around by the nose. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make me think my husband was gone.
Well, bugger that. I hadn’t lost him to a serial killer or a murderous stalker. I wasn’t going to lose him to some stupid head game.
Time for a council of war.
~~~~~
The council members agreed without hesitation to a meeting, though it was probably more to humour their missing friend’s possibly crazed spouse than anything else. I chose a quiet pub in Wandsworth, where I booked a room so we could talk in private.
Charlotte hugged me, and her girlfriend, Beth, kissed my cheek. Harry clung to me, as upset as I’d ever seen him. Angus was sombre, so was Andy. Karl kept back, letting the others greet me. I ordered drinks, and the waiter set out the snacks I’d arranged.
Then I shut the door, and sat at the head of the table. “Thanks for coming. This is about Nick, as I told you on the phone. The police in Brazil are treating this as a possible homicide. I think that’s true for the Met as well, isn’t it, Andy?” Andy nodded. “Why I called you here, is that I think they’re wrong. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the facts, the clues, the supposed narrative, and what I’ve concluded is—Nick is being held somewhere against his will. All this supposed activity in Brazil is designed to deflect att
ention from the fact that Nick would never walk out on me as he was supposed to have done, and would not have left under his own free will.”
Around the table, the expressions were carefully blank. All but Karl’s of course, since he and I had spent hours talking about this. “Feel free to tell me I’m nuts,” I said as the silence lengthened.
“I don’t want to upset you,” Harry said, “but why is it impossible that Nick has been murdered?”
“I didn’t say ‘impossible’. I said I don’t believe it. I don’t think Nick was ever in Brazil. I don’t think he ever left the UK. His passport was used. His driver’s license was used. His credit card was used, but not where a PIN was required. No one in Brazil who supposedly met him, was able to pick his photo out of a handful of pictures of similar looking men more often than you can account for by chance. I think the text message and travel to France was supposed to convince me Nick had left me. When it didn’t, and you put out that media appeal, Harry, someone decided to convince me that Nick was in fact dead. I was carefully led to Brazil by the sudden burst of credit card activity, and once I was in the country, the ‘attack’ scene was staged in Bélo Horizonte. Andy, how likely is it that an ordinary street robber or gay basher would remove the body?”
“Not very. It’s not impossible, though.”
“Just highly implausible.” He nodded. “Right. Charlotte, Nick could lose a litre of blood without being harmed?”
“Yes, if it was taken in a clinical setting. I mean, collected rather than him losing it from a wound.”
“So if he’d lost it in a stabbing, he’d have needed a doctor pretty damn soon afterwards, but there’s no record anywhere of a foreigner matching his description going to a clinic or hospital. But if someone wanted to convince me and the police that Nick had come to harm, and had a litre or so of his blood to splash around, they could do that and Nick would still be alive.”
“Yes. But why, Anton?” Charlotte asked.
“I don’t know. But which is more plausible? That Nick Guthrie up and leaves me without a word of warning to me or any of you and disappears for weeks without touching his bank account or credit card, or that Nick Guthrie has been taken by persons unknown and the rest of it has been set up to fool everyone into thinking he’s dead?”
“What about his passport?” Angus asked. “They have those biometric thingies now.”
“Andy? Care to answer?”
Andy cleared his throat. “They’re far from infallible. Good prosthetics, even plastic surgery—”
“That’s a bit Hollywood, isn’t it?” Charlotte said.
“Yes, but it’s been done. If Nick wanted to disappear completely, he knows better than most people how to do it effectively. Yet he used his own passport, even though his companion was using a fake one. I agree with Anton—that’s a bit suss.”
“Not to mention that Brazil Nick suddenly took a liking to coffee, and apparently conjured HRF out of thin air in Rio since he doesn’t seem to have bought any.”
“He didn’t specify HRF on his flight from Berlin either,” Andy said. “It’s a long flight. Why would he not make sure it was available to him?”
“All right, I agree it’s possible.” Charlotte wrinkled her nose as if what she was saying stank. “But why? Nick’s a lovely guy but he’s nothing special.” She caught herself. “I mean, to a criminal.” She glanced at me and winced. “Sorry, Anton.”
“It’s okay, I know what you mean. So he’s a cop, a vee, and gay. He’s also O-negative.”
“He’s ginger,” Andy said. Charlotte laughed.
“And an early adopter,” Harry said. “He was one of the earliest patients in Britain to have the ISH treatment.”
“Yes, that’s right. He’s in that long-term NHS follow up programme on vee morphs,” Charlotte said. “Blood samples once a year, basic health questionnaire.”
“Oh, I know someone who works on that study,” Beth said. “She’s a good friend of mine.”
“Andy, what about a stalker or a connection through his job?” I asked.
“We’ve followed that up as thoroughly as possible. There’s no one who’s sworn deathly vengeance against him—any more than me, that is—and there’s no evidence of a stalker. Doesn’t mean they don’t exist, but we haven’t found anything to suggest it.”
“So, guys, any ideas?”
The silence was profound. No one wanted to meet my eyes. Hell. I’d lost them. Karl had warned me it all sounded paranoid, even though he agreed that my theory did fit the facts.
Then Harry coughed. “There’s something I was planning to tell Nick about next time we met up. You remember we were talking about clinics supposedly offering ISH treatment on demand?”
“Yes, I remember,” I said. “But I thought you said there was nothing to the stories.”
“That’s what I thought. Turns out that it’s more than possible that Jack Klein died after private ISH treatment went wrong.”
“Who’s Jack Klein?” Charlotte asked.
“American gay actor,” I said. “Well known and very popular in the community. Harry, I thought he died of an infection after surgery.”
“Yeah, that was the official story. But a friend of mine was interviewing his partner for the paper, and the partner hinted that the ‘surgery’ wasn’t actually that. All off the record, of course. My friend got the impression it was ISH treatment. The point is—Klein died at a clinic in Rio.”
Everyone sat up as if poked in the arse. “Do the Brazilians regulate access to ISH inoculants like they do here?” I asked. “Anyone know?”
Beth and Charlotte shook their heads. Andy said, “Wouldn’t take long to find out.”
“Okay, it’s a long shot,” I said, “but if Klein died as a result of ISH treatment, and the clinic was using blood instead of the preferred inoculant, why would Nick be attractive to someone running that operation? There are plenty of ISH positive people in Brazil, surely.”
Beth raised her hand. “He’s a universal donor with that blood type, but that’s not particularly special. But you said he was treated with the early ISH virus?”
Harry nodded. “It was still experimental when it was offered to him. He was dying fast. It was worth a try.”
“It’s not my particular field, but I do know that one of the developments in ISH viral therapy is that the virus strain has been engineered to reduce the incidence of vee morphs. The newer strain is also less likely to cause adverse reactions, and almost never fails to take effect. The old version failed in at least five percent of patients.”
“So Nick is infected with the strain which is more likely to produce a vee morph. Which is what everyone thinks gives the anti-aging benefit,” I said.
“He’s not the only one who received that strain though,” Charlotte said. “That follow-up program has a cohort of at least a hundred people, from memory.”
“So why Nick?” Harry said.
“Why not Nick?” Andy countered. “What we need to find out is if anyone else from that group has gone missing.”
Karl spoke up for the first time. “The first thing is to find out if there’s anything to this story about the death of this actor at all. Then you need to know what clinic it was, and if there’s any connection to Britain. Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. Anton, I don’t want you getting your hopes up. You’ve been through a lot already.”
The others murmured their agreement. I gave my brother a wry look. “Thanks, Karl. The voice of reason, as always. Okay, unless anyone’s got any better suggestions, maybe we can chase this up. Harry—”
Beth raised her hand again. “Hang on. I don’t want to be rude, but shouldn’t the police be doing this?”
She stared at Andy as she spoke. He looked back quite unperturbed. “Give me something I can take to my boss, and we can pass it on to the investigating team. The link with Nick doesn’t exist yet. Just give me one solid fact. We’ll chase it, I promise. Nick’s one of our own.”
“That�
��s not the impression I got when he first went missing,” I couldn’t help pointing out.
“Situation’s changed, Anton. Just give me something I can use.”
“I could ask my friend if they’ve had anyone drop out of the study suddenly,” Beth offered.
“If they have, I can check if there’s anything suspicious about that,” Andy said. “I’ll need names, or at least dates though.”
“Thanks, guys. Uh...I sort of forgot to ask if you all want to help.”
Harry gave me the finger, while Angus grinned, and Charlotte shook her head at me in disgust. “Okay, silly of me. Look, I haven’t involved Nick’s family because they’re not taking things well. But Nick has other friends that you know, and who can help. If you want me to talk to them, tell me.”
“One thing, Anton,” Harry said. “You haven’t ruled out the possibility of Nick being murdered in the UK, and all this flight and passport stuff is just to confuse the issue.”
“True. That’s another reason I don’t want to involve his family because it might get their hopes up. I just can’t think of why anyone would want to kill Nick, and then cover it up with such an elaborate pantomime.”
“It might not have been intentional,” Andy said. “If Nick was kidnapped and it went wrong, say.”
“And the cover up was planned so they went ahead anyway? You’re right, that’s possible.”
But not probable. Surely not probable.
“What about the blood?” Karl said. “Can you draw a litre of blood from a dead man? Can forensics tell?”
“You can’t draw it,” Charlotte answered. “You’d have to let it drain out, so you’d need the facilities for that. Forensics could tell if it was straight from the body, but if it was thrown around an alley and left to dry for a day or so, I have no idea.”
“So Nick could be dead and still have had the blood removed, but it’s less likely than it being removed while he was alive,” I said. “I’m having trouble believing that someone wanted to kill Nick but was prepared to draw blood and fake his death in Brazil before killing him here.”
Next Of Kin (Unnatural Selection #3) Page 7