Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

“Of course not. I only hope they’ll listen to him.”

“So do I. I would think they’ll have to, now. He’s his father, and he’s come all the way from America. Surely they’ll have to do something, won’t they?”

“I’m sure they will.” I wondered what. “Are you seeing him again before Monday?”

“No. I asked him if he wanted to come here for something to eat tonight, but he said no. He wasn’t exactly gracious about it, but I can’t pretend I’m disappointed.”

“I can’t say I blame you.” On impulse, I asked. “What are you doing tonight? Not staying in by yourself, are you?”

“No, I’m seeing some friends at Debbie’s. And in case you’re interested, she doesn’t like Marty’s father, either.”

“So I gathered.” I felt a stab of jealousy. Anna must have spoken to the girl before she telephoned me. “Well, I’m glad you’re going out. It’ll do you good.”

“That’s what Debbie said. I don’t really feel like it, to be honest, though.”

“Nonsense. You deserve it after putting up with that awful man all afternoon.” I hesitated. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Not so far. Why?”

I felt ridiculously nervous. “If you’re not, I wondered if you might like to go out somewhere?”

“It’s nice of you to offer, Donald, but I better not. I’m not sure what Marty’s father’s doing. He might want to meet me again, or something.”

“Of course. I only wondered. Well, you know where I am if you want to get in touch.” I was glad she could not see me. My face was burning like a schoolboy’s. After I had put the telephone down I told myself that I was over-reacting, that she had not thought anything of either my offer or her refusal. But that did little to ease my embarrassment.

To take my mind off it, I thought about Marty’s father, indulging in self-righteous anger against him. His entire attitude, particularly his treatment of Anna, was deplorable. There was simply no call for it. I spent a while contemplating scenarios in which I told Westerman exactly what I thought of him, while Anna stood by as a grateful witness. After half an hour of such juvenile fantasies, I felt much better. Until I remembered the reason he was here in the first place.

I wondered what, if any, effect he would have on the investigation into Marty’s disappearance. Hopefully none, but it was a situation I would rather have avoided. Then I wondered how Zeppo would react to the news.

I decided not to tell him.

Monday lunchtime came and went without sign of Anna. I found it difficult to concentrate on the everyday chores of the gallery. Even when a garish and enthusiastic American came in and bought one of my more expensive pieces for cash, I found myself resenting the intrusion.

I had not spoken to Anna again. On Sunday, despite her refusal of my offer to go out, I had called around to see her. But she was not in. The doorbell rang hollowly, and there was that indefinable quietness about the flat that said it was empty. I left feeling the same way.

It was after two o’clock before she arrived at the gallery, and my relief at seeing her was instantly tempered with anxiety for what might have occurred.

“Sorry I’m late. It took longer than I expected.”

“That’s all right. Did you have any luck with the embassy?”

She took her coat off and hung it up. Her motions were slow and deliberate, as though she were very tired. When she turned to face me again, I noticed she had faint black smudges under her eyes. I wondered how long they had been there. “Sort of,” she said. “Well, not even sort of. Yes, we did.” She gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m not quite with it today.”

“What happened?”

She took a deep breath and sat down. “The embassy have finally agreed to get involved. Marty’s father did all of the talking. I just sat there like a jellyfish. He told them that he’d spent time and money to come over here, so the least they could do was take it as seriously as he did. He went on about how it was completely out of character for Marty to do something like this, and said he could supply written references from the university and half a dozen other sources to back him up, if need be. Anyway, to cut a long story short, they finally agreed to give us their backing when we went to the police, if we needed it. So that was where we went next. Marty’s father demanded to see the detective inspector instead of the sergeant I’d spoken to last time, and got all high and mighty with them. It was a bit embarrassing, really. But it worked, I suppose, so that’s the main thing. Marty’s now been moved on to a “high priority” category. That means that instead of just having him on file, now the police will actively start looking for him.”

“How will they do that?” I hoped my tension did not show.

“Circulate his description to other divisions, try to trace his movements. Generally make more of an effort, I suppose. I don’t know how much good it’ll do, but at least they’re trying.”

She kneaded her eyes with one hand. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I should be relieved that they’re actually doing something at last, but I’m not. I know I’m being stupid, but now the police are taking it seriously, it seems to make it more real. As though something must have happened to him.”

I found it easy to reassure her. From what she had said, the police could search from now to judgement day without finding anything. “I think that’s probably just reaction,” I said. “The fact that the police have started to look for him isn’t going to alter where he is, or why he went, is it? All it means is that you have a better chance of finding him sooner.”

“Oh, I know that, really. It’s just...” She shrugged. “Well, like you say, it’s probably reaction. And Marty’s father doesn’t help.”

“I take it he’s no pleasanter.”

“You could say that. And I’m in his bad books more than ever now. I stayed at Debbie’s on Saturday night, and didn’t get back to the flat until Sunday afternoon. He phoned about ten minutes after I’d got back in, and said that he’d been trying to get hold of me since the night before. It wasn’t anything important, but he made it clear he disapproved of me being out. He didn’t actually accuse me of being unfaithful, but he might as well have.” She shook her head, exasperated. “I wouldn’t mind so much, except it’s the first time I’ve been out since Marty went missing. And I probably wouldn’t have gone at all if he hadn’t upset me so much.”

I was outraged that he could even think such a thing. “He’s a despicable little man. Don’t let him bother you.”

She hesitated. “Actually, he might have done something to upset you as well.”

“Me?”

Anna nodded, grimacing. “After we’d been to the police station, he insisted on going to see the detective. I thought he just wanted to talk to him himself, to find out how far he’d got. Anyway, Mr. Simpson hadn’t found out anything else since the last time we spoke to him, and seemed pleased when I said that the police were finally getting involved. Then, out of the blue, Marty’s father suddenly said that now they were, we wouldn’t be needing him any more. I didn’t know what to say. I was just so surprised. And it was the way he said it. Not “I’m sorry”, or “thank you”, or anything like that. He just blurted it out! I didn’t want to argue in the detective’s office, so I waited until we were outside before I asked him what he thought he was doing. He said that Simpson was obviously inept, and that now the police were taking over there was no point risking amateurs clouding the water and ant agonising them. So I told him he still shouldn’t have done something like that without discussing it first with me. And you, because you’re paying, after all. But he said there was more at stake than personal pride, and he wasn’t going to waste time on etiquette. After that, I couldn’t bear it any longer. I said I’d phone, and left him there. If I’d been with him another minute, I think I’d have strangled him.”