Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

“There’s no need to do that. I’ll be all right.”

“I’m sure you will, but I can still 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 generally reads the personals, but it can’t hurt, can it?”

I smiled reassuringly. “Not at all.”

It was after lunch before Anna was able to see anyone at the American embassy. I overruled her protests about closing the gallery, but allowed her to persuade me that she would rather be seen alone. “I’ll 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 walled 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 walls 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.

I stared at him with disgust as the filthy smell became more apparent. He glanced up at me once, in curiously and went back to his reading. I wondered if I should object, or simply get up and leave. But the man’s equanimity was daunting. I was still wondering what to do when I heard a door open further down the corridor.

A middle-aged man held it open as Anna came out. “Please get in touch if there are any further developments,” he said. Tight-lipped, she walked down the corridor without answering him. I stood up and went towards her, anxious to be away from the smell in case she thought I was responsible. I gave her a questioning look as she reached me.

“They’re very sorry, but they can’t interfere in “domestic” affairs,” she said. Her tone was bitingly caustic a side of her I had not previously seen. “He said that if the police have already listed him as missing, there’s nothing more they can do about it. Since his visa’s not expired, and everything indicates that he left of his own free will, apparently there’s no reason for the embassy to become involved. The fact that no one’s seen him, and that he’s just abandoned years of research work, doesn’t matter.” She walked so fast I had to hurry to keep up with her. “What does it take, for Christ’s sake?”

I hid my satisfaction. “I really don’t know what to suggest, Anna. But at least you’ve tried everything you can. We’ll just have to hope he responds to the advert in the Guardian.”

She said nothing. We went outside. It was cold and drizzling, already growing dark although it was still only mid-afternoon. Anna was quiet on the way back to the car. I respected her silence. We were driving away before she spoke again.

“I’ve been thinking about what that policeman said. About them not being a detective agency.” There was a determined look about her. “If they won’t try to find Marty, I’ll hire someone who will.”

This was unexpected. “You mean a private detective?”

She nodded. “I should have thought of it before.”

“Isn’t that... well...” I stumbled for words. “Do you think that would do any good?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t have many options, do I? It’s either hiring a detective or doing nothing. No one else is going to look for him.”

I tried to hide my reluctance behind practical objections. A car pulled out in front of me, and I only just managed to avoid bumping into it. I forced myself to concentrate on the road. I had already caused myself enough trouble through one accident. “How would you get hold of a private detective?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Yellow Pages, I suppose.”

“But how would you know if he was reputable or not? I’ve always had the impression that some of these people operate on the fringe of the law. You could just be paying someone to do nothing.”

“Well, I’ve got to try.”

“Have you any idea how much someone like that would charge?”

“No, but the money hardly matters, does it?”

There was a note of censure in her voice. I retreated from it. “Of course not! I was only meaning that you might not be able to afford it.”

“I can use the money I’ve saved for America.”

My objections had ant agonised her. I hurriedly tried to repair the damage. “There’s no need for that,” I said. “All I was trying to say was that I’d be only too pleased to pay for someone. If you’d let me.”

She quickly looked at me. “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that!”

“Why ever not?”

“Because I just couldn’t! You’ve done enough already!”

“My dear Anna, I’ve done nothing at all, except act as a chauffeur. I couldn’t possibly let you spend your hard-earned savings. There’s not much I can do to help, but at least let me do this.”

“No, really, Donald. Thank you, but there’s no need.”

I was warming to my theme, enjoying the opportunity to be generous. “I know there’s no need, but I would like to. Call it an indefinite loan, if you’d rather.”

“Thanks, but I couldn’t. Really.”

“If you don’t I’ll be offended.” Anna looked uncertain. “Please?”

She hesitated a moment longer, then gave in. “Okay. I... well. Thanks.”

Before she looked away, embarrassed, she smiled at me gratefully. And, I was sure, with genuine affection.

It was payment enough.

Anna was right about finding detective agencies in Yellow Pages. It had never occurred to me before that such things would be so easy to locate. There were comparatively few, but still more than I would have expected. She made her selection almost randomly, singling out the ones with bigger, more expensive advertisements in the hope that this reflected their professional expertise and success. Of these, any with melodramatic names were quickly discounted. Finally, we were left with a choice of five, after Anna dismissed one because he claimed ‘twenty years’ experience as a detective sergeant”.

“I already know what the police think,” she said. “If he was a policeman for that long, he’ll be no different.”

The first number Anna called had an answer machine: she hung up without speaking. The second was more hopeful. I sat opposite Anna in the office while she gave brief details of what she wanted: I noticed the hand not holding the telephone was trembling slightly. She said goodbye and put the receiver back in its cradle.

“I’ve an appointment with Mr. Simpson at four o’clock.”

“Is that who you spoke to?”

“No, just a secretary. She said he’s out until this afternoon.”

“Are you going to try the other numbers?”

She shook her head. “I think I’ll see how this turns out first.” She gave an awkward smile. “To be honest, it feels a bit weird. Asking complete strangers to look for Marty.”

I was instantly contrite. “You should have said something! I could have done it for you.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean that. I’d rather do it myself. But it just seems... well. You know.”

I nodded understandingly. “Would you like me to come with you?”