Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

Anna looked dubious. “I can’t really see that.”

“Perhaps not, but it doesn’t hurt to try. We’ve also been in contact with the YMCA, to see if he’s stayed with them. No luck so far, but we’ll contact them every few days, just in case.” He glanced down at the file again, then looked at Anna.

“There is one more thing that’s worth mentioning. He’s got to live on something. You said he’d taken his own chequebook with him. You don’t have a joint account in either a bank or building society he can have access to, do you?”

Anna shook her head. “No. We keep our money separately.”

Simpson looked disappointed. “Ah, well. If you had, you could have got the bank to run a check on any withdrawals. Found out what cheques he’s written lately, and where they’ve been cashed.”

“Can’t we do that anyway?”

“I wish we could. It would make things a lot easier, but no bank will just release that sort of information unless it’s a jointly held account.”

“Not even if I explain what’s happened?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Even the police haven’t the authority for that. Not in this sort of situation.”

“What do you mean, “this sort of situation”?” I asked.

He spoke cautiously. “Well, I mean that at present there are no grounds for concern for Marty’s actual wellbeing. I realise that you’re very concerned about him yourself, obviously,” he added hurriedly, before Anna could say anything. “But there are no... let’s say “suspicious circumstances” about him going. If there were it would be a different matter. If there was anything to indicate that, heaven forbid, something might have happened to him, then the bank would co-operate with the police. But not as things stand at present.”

He smiled. “I know that doesn’t exactly help us find him, but in a way it’s a good sign that we can’t have access to his account. If you see what I mean.”

I did. And although I was not sure how Anna felt, I certainly found that reassuring.

Anna invited me to her flat that weekend. Or, rather, she accepted when I offered to call around. I was still a little wary of forcing my company on her, but now I felt justified in seeing her out of working hours. And I was sure she seemed genuinely pleased.

I had expected to have her to myself, but I was disappointed. When I went into the lounge there was another girl on the sofa.

“You’ve not met Debbie, have you?” Anna asked.

“No, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

“This is Donald, my boss,” Anna said to the other girl. I was stung by the way she qualified the introduction. But the injury was soothed a moment later.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” the girl said, and I felt almost childish pleasure at the implicit compliment. Her voice sounded familiar, but I did not immediately place it. Then I put her name to it and remembered. Debbie. The girl Anna had been talking to when I overheard them on the telephone. I felt a bristle of hostility towards her.

“I was just making a drink,” Anna said. “Would you like tea or coffee?”

“Whatever you’re making.”

“Well, I’m having tea, and Debbie’s having coffee, so you can take your pick. I’ve got some Orange Pekoe, if you’d like it?”

“That would be lovely.” Again, I felt a surge of pleasure. That was my favourite tea. I was sure Anna had bought it in specially.

There was a moment’s silence after Anna left me alone with the girl. She had a round, rather doughy face, unappealingly draped with straggly hair.

“I’d just like to say I think you’ve been great to Anna,” she said, out of the blue.

I was taken aback. “I’ve not really done very much.”

“You’re paying for the detective, for a start. I call that a big help. But not just that, you’ve given her support, and that’s what she needs right now. I really appreciate it.”

Her patronising attitude irritated me. “I’ve only done what I can.” I tried not to sound too stiff.

“Well, I think it’s great. And I know Anna’s grateful.”

“There’s no need for her to be.”

She smiled. “I’m sorry. I’m embarrassing you. I just wanted to tell you while Anna was out of the way. She’s taking it well, isn’t she? I mean, it can’t be easy.”

“No, I’m sure it isn’t.”

“If it was me, I’d be going out of my mind. Not knowing what’s happened to him. I couldn’t stand it.”

“No.”

“I mean. I wouldn’t say so to Anna, but to be honest, it doesn’t look very good, does it? If it was my boyfriend I’d be worried sick. For him to just walk out like that in the first place, and then for her not to hear anything. Well...” She looked at me, meaningfully. “I really wouldn’t like to say what’s happened. I mean, I really wouldn’t like to say.”

I had the feeling that, like it or not, she would anyway. She did. “Either he’s got cold feet, or found somebody else, or something’s happened to him,” she went on. “I mean, if he was going to come back, or at least get in touch, he would have by now, wouldn’t he? So he’s either not going to, or can’t. Either way, it doesn’t look very good for Anna, does it?”

“I suppose not.”

“I mean. I know he could have suddenly had a breakdown, or got amnesia, or something, but it’s not very likely, is it?” I inclined my head, noncommittally It did not satisfy her. “What do you think’s happened to him?”

“I really couldn’t say. I don’t know him very well.”

“Well, none of us do, really. I mean, I know Anna’s been going out with him for nearly a year, but once she’d started seeing him they kept themselves pretty much to themselves. I must admit, I’d got my doubts about this whole America thing from the word go. It seemed a bit soon to me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I really liked Marty, from what I saw of him, but how well can you get to know anyone in a few months? Mind you, having said that, he never struck me as the type who would just walk out like this.”

She shook her head. “You just don’t know what to think, do you? One minute I’m convinced he’s run off, the next I start thinking that something horrible must have happened to him.”

“The police don’t seem to think so.”

She snorted. “The police? They wouldn’t, would they? Unless it’s something blindingly obvious, they don’t want to know. They’d rather sit on their backsides than do anything constructive.” She stopped and grinned, apologetically. “Sorry. Bit of a hobby horse of mine.”

Thankfully, Anna came back with the drinks at that point. “Have you two got me all sorted out, then?” she asked. I was horrified at the thought of complicity with her awful friend, but the other girl only laughed.

“Of course. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it, Donald?”

I was saved from having to respond by the doorbell. “I’m popular today,” said Anna, lightly. But I had seen her jump when it rang, and she was tense as she got up and went out. I wondered how long it would be before she was able to answer either the door or the telephone without flinching.

I heard the front door open, and then brief, murmured voices. Anna came back into the room. Her face was white. A man was behind her.

“This is Marty’s father,” she said.

I would have known who he was even if Anna had not introduced him. He had the same runtish characteristics as his son, but without even the few redeeming features that youth had lent to Marty. As I stood up to offer my hand, I reflected that I had at least spared Anna the ordeal of growing old with someone like that.

He shook my hand reluctantly, dropping it almost straight away. He said not a word, making no attempt to be civil or explain his presence.