Robert Goddard - Name To a Face

“Hello?”

“Mr. Harding?”

“Ann?”

“Yes.” She sounded uneasy. There was a faint tremor in her voice. “You asked me to call… if I heard from Hayley.”

“And you have?”

“Yes.” There was a moment of silence, followed by a whisper of static. Then she said, “I know where she is.”

Let’s go through what she said again.”

Harding was sitting with Ann Gashry in a café just round the corner from Victoria station. She had agreed to travel in from Dulwich to recount in person the details of Hayley’s out-of-the-blue phone call. The change of venue had diminished Ann. The noisy crowded, grubby purlieus of Victoria were not her natural domain. Just as telling Harding everything Hayley had told her was evidently not something she relished having to do.

“I need to be clear about this. She was definitely phoning from Munich?”

“So she said,” Ann replied, in a voice so subdued it seemed she was afraid people at nearby tables might be listening in on their conversation.

“Where in Munich?”

“That she didn’t say. Just that she’d flown there from Nice on Thursday. She assumed I’d heard what she’d done in Monte Carlo and wanted me to know she was as horrified by her behaviour as everyone else. She emphasized that I wasn’t to blame myself. Her exact words were ‘It’s all down to me.’ I asked why she’d gone to Munich. ‘Kerry died here and I have to come to terms with her death. There’s nowhere better to start.’ Again, her exact words. I asked if she was alone and she said, ‘I’m getting help, Ann. You don’t need to worry about me.’ Then she rang off.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, no. She said, ‘I’ll call again.’ Then she rang off.”

“Who is she getting help from?”

“I don’t know.”

“The Horstelmann Clinic, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.”

“Is Kerry buried in Munich?”

“I believe she was cremated.”

“But in Munich?”

“Yes. As far as I know. There was certainly no funeral in Dulwich. With her parents dead, there were no close relatives left. Apart from Hayley of course.”

“And nobody bothered to let her know.”

“I only heard of Kerry’s death after the event. I would have contacted Hayley if I’d been given the chance. I should have enquired what was to happen to Kerry after her parents were killed, of course. I should have done more to help Hayley. I realize that. If I had, this might never have happened.”

“But you believe Barney murdered Kerry. So nothing happening wasn’t really an attractive option for you, was it, Ann?”

Ann flushed. The accusation that she had encouraged Hayley to avenge her sister’s death hung unrefuted between them. “I never meant it to go so far,” she murmured.

“Then let’s hope we can stop it going any further.”

Harding had promised to alert Barney as soon as he had any news of Hayley. He phoned him from the concourse at Victoria station after seeing Ann Gashry off on her train back to Dulwich. Barney’s initial reaction was predictable enough, though Harding’s discovery that he had paid Kerry’s medical expenses made even the predictable seem faintly suspicious.

“Munich? What the hell’s she doing there?”

“Mourning her sister, I think, Barney.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I’d better go after her.”

“Where will you look? It’s a big city.”

“I’ll start at the Horstelmann Clinic.”

“Yeah. I suppose that… makes sense.”

“Ever been there?”

“Where-the Horstelmann Clinic?”

“Yes.”

“Why should I have?”

“I spoke to Nathan Gashry He told me who paid the Foxtons’ bills.”

There was a freighted pause. Then Barney said, “I should have filled you in on that.”

“Yes. You should.”

“Sorry Tim. This is getting to be a habit, isn’t it? Me apologizing for keeping you in the dark about something.”

“A habit you promised to break, as I recall.”

“Yeah. Well, that’s the last secret blown now, I give you my word.”

“Why did it have to be a secret?”

“Because of how it looks. Which is bad, right?”

“It looks guilty, Barney. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Does Hayley know?”

“Oh yes. Nathan spilled the beans to her months ago.”

“I suppose that helped convince her I’d murdered Kerry.”

“I should imagine so.”

“And then, to her mind, I murdered Kerry all over again, by cutting off the payments after her parents were killed.”

“Well, you did, didn’t you?”

“Shit, what a mess.” Barney sighed heavily. “OK. Time to face the music. I’ll join you in Munich. We’ll sort this out together. Once and for all.”

Barney’s sudden determination to take a personal hand in resolving the crisis Hayley had precipitated brooked no delay. It was agreed he and Harding would both fly to Munich in the morning. This ruled out Harding’s planned visit to Jack Shepherd, but it could not be helped. Tracking down Hayley mattered every bit as much to him as it did to Barney possibly more so. And Shepherd was going nowhere. He would wait. Harding left a message on his phone, saying he would ring again in a few days to rearrange. What he did not say was that he had no idea what those few days might bring. When they found Hayley, if they found her, all bets were off.

He had imagined meeting Hayley alone. Now he faced the prospect of refereeing a confrontation between her and the man she believed had murdered her sister. Worse still, he did not know for certain that she was wrong to believe it. And worst of all, he was unsure what he really felt for her. He should pity her, perhaps, or fear her. He should want to see her only to help her-to save her from herself. But he knew he truly wanted to see her for another reason altogether.

Ann Gashry had not asked what was in the large, flat parcel he was carrying. If he had told her, she would have been incredulous, understandably so. He should logically have left the picture at the storage depot. He did not understand why he had taken it away with him. Or perhaps, he admitted to himself as he removed the wrapping paper in the privacy of his room back at the Great Western and stared once more into Hayley Foxton’s eyes, he did not want to understand.

Harding’s plane was due to land in Munich a quarter of an hour before Tozer’s. It touched down on schedule, giving him just enough time to lodge the carefully re-wrapped painting at the left-luggage office before joining the crowd of people waiting at the arrivals gate.

Tozer was the first Nice passenger to emerge from the customs hall. He looked, if anything, worse than when Harding had visited him in Monte Carlo on Friday-tired, rumpled and preoccupied, his face knotted in a frown that lifted only faintly when he spotted Harding.

They shook hands, Tozer adding a hefty clap to the shoulder as if to confirm their unity of purpose. “Wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d decided to stand me up, Tim. This is all basically my fault.”

“I don’t know about that, Barney. I made a few mistakes myself. Let’s just try to sort it out.”

“Good lad. Tony said you wouldn’t let me down.”

“Tony knows we’re here, does he?”

“Couldn’t leave him out of the loop, Tim. Matter of fact, he’s… prepared the ground for us.”

“How d’you mean?”

“I’ll explain as we go.”

They could have taken a train into the city centre, but Tozer preferred a taxi. The driver’s severely limited command of English ensured the degree of privacy he evidently required.