Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

“That’s how these things are. If someone’s determined to buy a piece, there’s very little you can do to stop them. Unless you want to spend a ridiculous amount of money. Never mind. At least you got the Hopper, and that was the one I was most interested in.”

I could see my condolences were unnecessary. Anna was not really listening.

“Have you heard from Marty?” she asked.

“Not since we saw you off. Why? Is anything wrong?”

“Oh no. I just wondered, that’s all. I thought he might be here.” Her casualness was unconvincing.

“Well, I did call him last night to see if he wanted to come with me, but he wasn’t in.”

“What time was that?”

“Oh... about eight, I think. Is there something the matter? You look worried.”

She smiled. “No, not really. It’s just that I couldn’t get in touch with him yesterday.”

“At home or the university?”

“At home. I called him last night, but there was no answer.”

“Perhaps he was working late.”

“Yes, probably.” We walked a few more steps. “Do you mind if I try again now? Just to tell him I’m back?”

“Of course not. I’ll wait here.” I watched as she went over to the row of telephones and joined the smallest queue. I yawned. It had been another late and almost sleepless night. I had waited up until after half-past four for Zeppo to call and tell me he was safely back. There had been no problems. Once at the moors he had followed minor roads and finally stopped at a particularly isolated spot. He had carried Marty well clear of the road and buried him in an area of bracken.

“It’s just started to grow now,” he had told me. “In another few weeks it’ll have covered over completely.”

The shovel, pick, and crowbar had been thrown in a flooded quarry pit. The overalls, gloves and Wellingtons had been brought back. Along with Marty’s clothes and suitcase, they would be cut up and torn into strips, mixed with household rubbish, and discarded at several dumping sites around London. Marty’s more personal belongings, such as his passport and credit cards, would first be burnt and then similarly disposed of.

That was what Zeppo was doing while I was at the airport. He had left my car in the overnight car park where his own was waiting, locking the keys inside. Using my spare set, I had collected it earlier that morning and run it through a car wash before going to meet Anna. Later, I would have it cleaned more thoroughly and have the tyres changed. I wanted no trace of mud or dirt from the moors left on it.

Anna had finally reached a telephone. I could see a small furrow appear between her eyebrows as she held the receiver to her ear. I felt a mild shock when she began to speak, before I realised that she must have telephoned the university. The furrow remained after she had cut the connection and dialled again. This time she waited without speaking. After a while she replaced the receiver.

“Any luck?” I asked, as she came over.

“No. I called the university, but he isn’t there. And there’s still no answer from the flat.”

I patted her arm. “Don’t look so worried! He’s probably on his way to the department right now.”

“But it’s not like him to be late. And I tried the flat from the hotel this morning, and there was no answer then, either.”

“Well, perhaps your telephone’s out of order.”

“I don’t think so. It was ringing. And the first time I called last night it was engaged, so it must be working.”

That would have been me. “Not necessarily. It might not be ringing out at the other end. That happened to mine, once. Or you might have been connected to the wrong number the first time. There could be any number of reasons.”

The furrow faded a little. “You’re probably right. It’s just not like him not to be in, that’s all.”

“And if your telephone’s on the blink he’s probably still at home now, thinking it’s not like you not to call him.”

She laughed, a little abashed. “I know, I’m being silly.”

“Not at all. In fact, if you’d like, I’ll take you back home first. I daresay I won’t get a stroke of work out of you until we’ve set your mind at rest.”

Anna looked instantly relieved. “Would you? Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not.”

I put her bag in the car boot I had already checked to make sure it was empty and we set off for her flat. At first we chatted about her trip, but as we drew nearer she fell silent. I felt tense myself. I could not be entirely sure that Marty had left nothing behind to indicate where he had gone. There was no reason why he should, but I would be happier once I knew for certain.

I had never been to Anna’s flat before, and once we reached Camden she had to give me directions. “This is it,” she said. I parked outside the terraced house.

“Shall I stay here?” I asked, hoping she would not say yes.

“No, it’s okay. Come on in.”

I followed her around the back of the house and up a flight of wooden steps to a first-storey door. Anna unlocked it and we went inside.

“Marty?” she called. I stayed in the kitchen while she went through into the rest of the flat. It smelt pleasantly of herbs and spices, with a rather sour under-odour of stale coffee from a dried filter cone. A dirty cereal bowl, beaker and spoon lay in the sink, testimony of Marty’s last breakfast.

Anna came back into the kitchen. She looked more worried than ever. “There’s no note or anything. I can’t understand it. He knew I was coming back this morning.”

“But he wasn’t expecting you to come straight here, so he wouldn’t have left you a note, would he? Why don’t you try the university again?” I smiled, reassuringly. “While you’re doing that, I’ll pop the kettle on, shall I?”

She went back into the lounge to make the telephone call. I filled the kettle and was searching for the tea when she returned, moments later.

“I’ve just spoken to the head of the department. He was going to ring here himself. Marty was supposed to be meeting him half an hour ago, and he’s not turned up. No one knows where he is.”

I looked a little concerned. “Well... perhaps he forgot about it.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Now calm down, Anna. Don’t work yourself up over nothing. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation.”

“But he knew I was going to phone last night. When I spoke to him the night before, I told him I was, and he said, “I’ll talk to you the same time tomorrow”!”

“Well, sometimes things crop up unexpectedly. You said yourself that the line was engaged when you first tried. So he must have been here then, mustn’t he?”

“I suppose so.”

“And as far as he was concerned, I was going to pick you up from the airport and take you straight to the gallery. So if he’s going to get in touch with you, he’ll try there rather than here, won’t he?”

She nodded, clearly not convinced. “We’d better be getting back, anyway. I’m taking up all your time.”

I waved the objection away. “Let’s have that cup of tea first. It’ll give you a chance to calm down a little. And if he calls the gallery in the meantime, he’ll leave a message on the answer machine.” I was in no rush to leave. I liked the sense of intimacy of being with Anna in her home, surrounded by her belongings. It was my first excursion into her private life. The kettle boiled.

“Now, where’s the tea?”

As I poured the water into the pot, Anna went into the lounge and I heard the telephone being used again. I took the milk out of the fridge, smelling it to make sure it was not sour, and poured it into two mugs. I wondered when Anna would notice that some of Marty’s things were missing. It was a temptation to suggest that she check, but I resisted it. She would find out soon enough. I put the tea and mugs on to a tray and carried it into the lounge.