Liz Jensen - The Rapture

Detective Kavanagh’s hands, laid on the desk, are as strong and clean as an orthopaedic surgeon’s. You could put your life in them. He tells me there were no signs of a struggle, so the likelihood is that Bethany’s abductor was somebody known to her.

‘Can I ask, how long have you been, er, confined to…’ he nods at it. I roll a millimetre back.

‘One year, ten months and three days. And it’s permanent. I can’t walk, if that’s what you’re getting at. As for where I was last night,’ I tell him, anticipating where this is going, ‘I don’t have an alibi. At least, not one I can prove. I was at home, alone. Just me and my titanium friend here.’ I pat a wheel.

The detective tells me that Dr Frazer Melville’s name appears in the visitors’ log at Oxsmith. He has taken time off work at very short notice. What is our relationship, what was his interest in Bethany, and where has he gone?

‘We’re acquaintances rather than close friends. As far as I know he’s away on a field trip.’

‘Well, he has gone abroad,’ Kavanagh says. He presents the information like it’s a poker stake. Responding in kind, I do not allow my features to move. ‘And we’re concerned, naturally, at the coincidence.’

‘Where is he?’

‘We have a record of his having arrived in Thailand yesterday.’

The detective is reading my face, so I try to keep my shock hidden while I work out the maths, and the implications, of what he has just said. If Bethany was taken early this morning, Frazer Melville didn’t do it. He was in Thailand. Nothing fits. So who took Bethany? Is it possible that he has actually done what he said he was going to do, and is currently taking nature photographs in south-east Asia? With a methane disaster unleashing itself in five days?

Today never happened. And nor did Kristin Jons dottir. I will grit my teeth and play my part in the game. But not for her sake.

‘You are acquaintances with Dr Melville, you say? Rather than close friends? According to Dr Sheldon-Gray, you met at a charity function here in Hadport. Which you both left early, missing the buffet and the prize raffle.’ It’s clear where this is heading.

‘I always get indigestion the next day with those buffets. And I’m never lucky with raffles. Dr Melville showed an interest in Bethany.’

‘So you told him all about her?’

‘I didn’t breach patient confidentiality, if that’s what you mean.’ This is not strictly speaking the truth. ‘He met her once, that’s all. At my suggestion. He wanted to encourage her interest in natural science. I didn’t realise what it would lead to.’ I am not much of an actress: my experience as the religiously-confused Penny showed me that much. But I tell him anxiously that I want to help find Bethany, and that he can — he must — ask me anything.

‘Are you aware that Dr Melville took Bethany’s psychotic visions seriously enough to contact scientist colleagues about them, and this caused his superiors alarm on his behalf?’

I nod in shame, and tell him I blame myself for that. I should have spotted that Frazer’s preoccupation with Bethany’s ideas was unhealthy. Especially because my predecessor Joy McConey fell into the same… here I search for the word, and come up with ‘trap’. ‘Bethany’s very convincing,’ I insist. ‘Her delusions seem to be infectious. It’s easy to over-identify with a case like hers.’ I study the floor and take my time before looking up. It feels as though we are both caught in a bell-jar. ‘Dr Sheldon-Gray thinks I’ve succumbed to that too.’ He looks interested. ‘Though that’s something I’d deny.’ He can’t have been expecting this. I wait for him to absorb my flood of honesty, my fervent desire to help the police unravel the mystery of the rogue physicist. ‘Dr Melville was going through a very tough time, personally,’ I venture. ‘His mother died not long ago, and it distressed him more than he let on. Things got out of hand. And psychologists don’t always see the obvious. Even when it’s staring them in the face.’

‘So how do you account for his taking off, just before Bethany was abducted? Coincidence?’

‘Well, certainly it’s no surprise. He needed a complete break. He said something about wanting to go on a field trip. His mother died, he got frozen out of his job, he was confused about Bethany. I said, for God’s sake, go. I’m glad he took my advice.’

‘So have you any idea what Dr Melville is actually doing in Thailand? On this field trip?’

I concentrate on the table. It’s wood-laminate. They take a photograph of wood and project it on to plastic. The realism is heartbreaking. The detective shifts impatiently. Men of action do not like being trapped behind desks.

‘I’m sorry to say this. But guessing at Frazer’s… proclivities, I’m afraid that "field trip" might be something of a euphemism.’ The detective’s eyebrows shoot upward. I am savouring my small act of revenge. ‘Your field is crime, and mine is the psyche,’ I continue. ‘Unhealthy impulses are part of the territory we both inhabit. Personally, I don’t like a lot of what I encounter in the human condition. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.’

‘Can you clarify that for me, Ms Fox?’

‘Come on, do I need to?’ I accuse. Calling my bluff, he thrusts his chin up in affirmation. ‘OK. Frazer Melville is a lonely, overweight, middle-aged single man who is going through a difficult phase in the wake of his mother’s death.’

‘Mrs Zarnac, your landlady, seemed to think…’

I laugh and shake my head. ‘Mrs Zarnac has too much time on her hands and a rampant romantic imagination. She’s a devoted subscriber to True Life magazine. Which as you know specialises in stories of the fiscally and physically disadvantaged overcoming the mountainous odds stacked against them, and discovering eternal love. I’m sorry to disappoint her. Do I honestly look like I’d have a sex life?’

This seems to stump him. ‘Dr Melville was married once,’ he warns, as if I’m about to attempt what he might call ‘some funny business’.

‘To a lesbian. You can check it.’

With interesting predictability, this seems to put a lid on that line of questioning. Together, in the silence that follows, we picture Frazer Melville buying a ladyboy a fruity cocktail in a Bangkok bar. Do we both see a frangipani flower in her hair, and the sadness of a pair of tilted underage eyes? I make a regretful face, and we allow ourselves a knowing quirk of the mouth, silently agreeing that it takes all sorts but we do not approve. Perhaps we are both regretful, too, that I count a man like Dr Frazer Melville among my acquaintances — but then I am a cripple and probably can’t be choosy. The detective shrugs, shaking off the distaste conjured by our Thai vision.

‘What about Bethany’s father?’ I ask, shifting gear. ‘I presume he was informed about the electrocution, and he would have known she was in hospital?’

Detective Kavanagh scrutinises his hands, as though they are beings more intelligent than he, which require consultation. ‘Dr Sheldon-Gray has told me about your unusual intervention with Leonard Krall.’ He waits for me to speak, but the wood-laminate has regained my attention. ‘As it happens, the reverend has an alibi. But let’s discuss your meeting with him. Do you normally visit the parents of your patients, incognito?’

‘No.’

‘So why on this occasion?’

‘Because Bethany Krall is a highly unusual case. I suppose I thought that her father might hold some sort of clue to her recovery.’

He studies his hands again. I can picture them flexed around some weights in a gym. ‘And did he?’

He looks up sharply and I meet his stare. The flush that spreads upwards from my chest and ignites my face is the real thing because it reflects my definitive and absolute failure. ‘He didn’t.