Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

She bit her lip, fretfully. “I shouldn’t have said that to him, though. About Marty.”

“I don’t see why you should feel bad about it. The man showed no concern for your feelings.”

“I know, but... well, I just wish I hadn’t. Things are bad enough between him and Marty without me making it worse like that.”

“I still think he asked for it. He was the one being unfair. All you did was defend yourself.”

She didn’t answer. She rested her head back on the chair, looking tired. “I’d better get in touch with the university tomorrow. I don’t want them throwing anything out.”

“I’m sure they won’t do that. Certainly not just on his say-so. I dare say whoever he spoke to is capable of seeing for himself what sort of a man he is.”

“I hope so. I think I’ll still give them a call, though.” Her face contorted. “How could he do something like that?”

“Perhaps it’s his way of punishing Marty for the “inconvenience”.”

“The inconvenience,” she echoed. “God, I wish that’s all it was.” Abruptly, she stood up. “Well, I better clean everything up. Thanks for coming, Donald. I’m sorry it was such a rotten evening.”

“At least the food was good.”

She smiled, politely, but did not respond to the compliment. It was obvious she wanted to be alone. I offered to help with the washing up out of courtesy, but was not surprised when she refused. I said goodnight and left.

Despite Anna’s views on the subject, in my opinion the evening had by no means been all bad. As much as I despised Westerman, I was still realistic enough to realise that his prejudice was perhaps the best thing that could have happened. Particularly if he communicated it to the police. He was over for another ten days. Provided nothing untoward was discovered during that time, I could not see the investigation carrying on for long afterwards. Cautiously, I allowed myself the luxury of optimism once again.

It was therefore all the more disconcerting when the police found their first lead.

It was only a few days after the meal that the two policemen came into the gallery. One was in uniform, the other plain clothes. Both Anna and I immediately stopped what we were doing.

“Miss Palmer?” the one in plain clothes asked. He was the taller of the two, a heavy set, military-looking man with a thick moustache several shades paler than his hair.

Anna had tensed. “Yes?”

“I’m Detective Inspector Lindsey, this is Sergeant Stone. Could we have a word with you please?”

All the colour had drained from Anna’s face. I doubt I can have looked very much better. I had my own fears. “Why? What about?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk in private?” The policeman glanced at me. I felt a nauseous touch of paranoia.

“It’s all right, you can talk to me here,” Anna said, interpreting the look. “This is about Marty, isn’t it?”

“It might be better in private.”

“There’s the office,” I said, but Anna shook her head.

“No, it’s all right, I’d rather you stayed.” I was too anxious to feel flattered, by no means certain I wanted to hear what he had to say. Anna turned back to the policeman. She was holding herself rigid. “Have you found him?” Her voice was deliberately calm.

The policeman looked away from me. From that point on, I ceased to exist for him. “No, we’ve not found him yet. But we do have a possible lead.” He paused. I could smell the sour, rotten smell of cigarettes on his breath. “This may be a little upsetting for you, but I’ve got to ask if your boyfriend has any homosexual tendencies that you’re aware of?”

Anna now looked more confused than frightened. “Homosexual tendencies? No. Not at all. Why?”

The policeman ignored her question. “Has he ever given you cause to suspect that he may be homosexual?”

“No, of course not! Why?”

Suddenly, I saw the connection. Blood rushed to my head as I struggled to keep the realisation from my face.

“We’ve received an identification from someone who claims to have seen your boyfriend in a gay club in Soho,” the policeman went on. I told myself it could not be the same club where Marty had met Zeppo. Surely no one would remember him from a single visit. But the thought did little to reassure me. I became aware that the sergeant was looking at me. I tried to ignore him.

“Recently?” There was a note of hope in Anna’s voice.

“Before he disappeared. We don’t have a definite date. But we’ve reason to believe he went there several times.”

Some of the tension drained out of Anna. She seemed suddenly disappointed. “Which one was it? The Pink Flamingo?”

Both policemen looked at her in surprise. “You know about it?” the senior one asked.

“Yes. Marty went there quite a few times. He went to one or two others, as well, but I can’t remember what they’re called.”

He stared at her. “I thought you said he hadn’t any homosexual tendencies?”

“He hasn’t. He didn’t just go to gay clubs. He went to other types as well. It was part of his research.”

“Research?” The very flatness of his tone conveyed his incredulity.

“That’s right. He’s taking a PhD in anthropology. He’s writing a paper on behavioural patterns in different types of nightclubs. How it’s affected by money, sexuality. That sort of thing.” She sounded as though she were reciting it by rote. It was similar enough to what Marty had told Zeppo to convince me she was.

The two policemen exchanged a look. “So your boyfriend told you he went to gay clubs as part of his studies?”

The colour was back in Anna’s face now. More than was normal. “He didn’t just “tell” me. That’s why he went. Marty’s not gay, if that’s what you’re trying to make out.”

“We’re not trying to make anything out, Miss. We just want to establish his reason for going. Did you ever go to any of these gay clubs with him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a girl. If Marty went with me, we’d attract attention. It would be obvious we were a couple. Marty wanted to blend into the background, so he could just... you know, observe without bothering anyone.”

“How far did he actually go in order to blend in?”

“I’ve told you, he used to sit and watch. That’s all.”

“But you never actually went with him.”

“No. Look, what’s the point of all this? I want to know “where Marty is now, not weeks ago!”

The policeman nodded, placatingly. “So do we, Miss. I know this isn’t very pleasant for you. It’s not for us, either, but it’s the first lead we’ve had, and we’ve got to see if it’s worth following up or not. I’ve got to ask you these questions, if only so we can discount it, you understand?” He waited for Anna’s terse assent before continuing. “Now, how often did he go to these clubs?”

Anna shrugged, sullenly. “I don’t know. A few times. Not often.”

“Once a week? Twice a week?”

“Less than that. I’ve told you, it wasn’t often.”

“Once a month, then?”

“Perhaps. Something like that.”

“Did he go on any particular nights? I mean, was it always on a Friday, or a Saturday? Or at a certain time of the month?”

“No, it varied. He went on different nights so he could compare them.”

“And did he ever mention anyone he had met?”

My heart jumped at the question. “He didn’t go to “meet” anyone!” Anna snapped. “He went purely as an observer. How many more times do I have to say it?”

“He never mentioned anyone in particular, then? No names?”

“No.”

“So he just used to sit in a corner and mind his own business? What if someone came up to him?”