Jon Grimwood - End of the World Blues

About the only thing they’d missed out was tying each other to the bedstead, and that was only because Amy shrugged it off when Kit hesitated, offering him something far filthier instead. If Amy had bruises on her thighs, then Kit had scratches across his back and a vicious bite below his neck. Kit was wondering whether to wake Amy, or just start again anyway when a shrill buzz from his phone rewrote his day.

Only three people knew the number—Kate, Pat, and Neku. It was 8.00 on a Saturday morning, and even Kate would think twice about calling him that early.

“Me,” he announced, as he rolled out of bed.

All Kit got was silence.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hi, is that Kit?”

“Yes,” said Kit, realising he didn’t recognise the voice. “Who’s—”

“It’s Charlie. Are you still in London?”

“Of course I’m—” said Kit, then hesitated. Fire and ice, ripped sails where stars should be, the naked woman in the bed behind him, all irrelevant. He’d just remembered what the screen read when Charlie’s call came up.

Neku.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” said Charlie. “But she’s not here.”

“You slept over?”

“In your room,” he said, sounding instantly defensive.

“I’m not bothered about that,” said Kit. “How did you…”

“What is it?” Amy demanded. When Kit turned, he found her sitting up in bed behind him, arms folded across her breasts.

“Trouble,” said Kit, returning to his phone. “Look,” he said. “Charlie…how did you discover Neku was gone?”

“You had a delivery,” said the boy. “I went to get Neku because it needed a signature. The roof door was open but her hut was empty. This was about an hour ago.”

“An hour…”

“I thought she’d gone out. You know, to buy milk or something. So I waited to see if she’d come back. And then I noticed her bag on the floor of the little hut and thought I should call you.”

Charlie’s voice had grown formal and it took Kit a couple of seconds to realise why. He’d heard Amy. So now he knew Kit had missed supper to spend the night with someone. Since he’d gone to meet a police Inspector and not come back it didn’t take a genius to…

Kit sighed. “I’m on my way,” he said. Grabbing his trousers, he found his shirt and struggled into both. Yesterday’s socks were in a corner and his pants on the floor. He was just kicking his heels into his shoes when he caught sight of Amy’s face in the mirror, all hurt and hollow eyes. Someone else bailing out of her life.

When did he get to know this stuff? wondered Kit, turning back. “You coming with me?”

Amy shook her head, but some of the emptiness left her eyes.

“Look,” said Kit. “The kid’s gone missing. Think you can do something for me?”

“Maybe,” said Amy.

“I need the name of a police officer,” said Kit. “Large, slightly fat with a moustache and greased back hair…What?” he demanded, seeing her smile.

“Describes half the guys I know.”

“He was in an unmarked car on the M25 with whoever made that call to the DVLA. Pulled me over a few days back. It wasn’t the first time. A couple of days before that he came by Hogarth Mews asking about Mary O’Mally.”

“Section 44.”

“Yeah,” said Kit, “that’s the man.”

“I don’t suppose you got his registration plate?”

Kit gave her what he could remember, which was the year, the make of car, and a guess for the first two letters of what the plate might be.

“You want to know who he is?” Amy asked, jotting the details on a hotel pad by the bed.

“Also what he thinks I’ve done.”

“Maybe,” said Amy, “it’s what he thinks you’re going to do. You know, a lot of people are surprised you came back.” She hesitated on the edge of saying something else. “Take care,” Amy said finally.

“Say it,” said Kit.

“I just did.”

Peering from her flat, Sophie gave Kit one of the strangest looks he’d ever received and slammed her door without saying a word. A second later, she turned on her sound system and yanked up the volume, until whichever Rai mix she’d put on was loud enough to shake the stairs. Mixing with the enemy was obviously an unforgivable sin.

“Mrs. O’Mally just called,” said Charlie, when Kit opened the door to the flat. “I promised you’d call her back.”

Kit groaned; it was entirely instinctive. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing,” said Charlie.

“She want to know who you were?”

The boy looked sheepish. “She already knew. Pat had called her last night. But I didn’t tell her about Neku,” he promised. “Well, not really. I said Neku was out shopping.”

“At 8.30 on a Saturday morning? What did Kate O’Mally say?”

“You should call her back. It’s in here,” Charlie added, nodding to the kitchen. “I signed for the package when I realised Neku had gone.” The teenager was torn between being cross with Kit and being worried; so far, worry was winning.

Kit left the box where it was, on the breakfast bar in the tiny kitchen, and went to look at Neku’s hut and the roof garden. The ivy on both sides of the door outside was undisturbed and none of the smaller pots had been knocked over. Neku’s sleeping bag had been left open but the zip still worked. When Kit checked the bottom of the bag a passport, an A–Z of London, and $1,500 fell out.

“Take these,” he said, giving the lot to Charlie.

A cheap laptop in the hut fired up the moment Kit turned it on and proceeded to download pages from Asahi Shimbun, news from BBC Asia, and half a dozen e-mails, mostly from Micki.

Stand off continues in Roppongi…Civil matter, says Tokyo’s new mayor…Opposition demands use of riot police…Dear Neku, No Neck and Tetsuo and Micki say hi…

A lift-up latch had let Kit into the hut and the latch still worked. There was no sign of anyone trying to force the door.

“What are you trying to find?” demanded Charlie.

“It’s what I’m hoping not to find.”

Charlie stared at him.

“Blood,” said Kit. “Torn clothes, broken fingernails, ripped hair, signs of a struggle…” He bent to pick up a bead from the boards. Blue, not threaded but held on a short length of silver wire by a complicated knot that allowed the bead to shift within a mesh cage without allowing it to fall free. It was the first sign that Neku had put up a struggle. At least that was what Kit thought, until Charlie told him otherwise.

“I don’t remember Neku wearing a bracelet,” said Kit, considering.

“It broke. She said you gave her the beads back.”

“I thought those came from her wedding gown,” Kit said, and found himself explaining about cos-play and how Neku used to dress.

“She hangs them from her phone,” Charlie said. “Only they fall off…she said so,” he added, when Kit looked doubtful. “Shouldn’t we open the parcel?”

“In a moment,” said Kit.

No one packed a box that big with something so light unless they were making a point. Taking a kitchen knife, Kit sliced away one side of the box, ignoring the tape holding the package shut.

“It might be a trigger,” he said, answering Charlie’s unspoken question.

Inside the box was crumpled paper, pages from a South London free sheet, and in the middle of these was an envelope. The envelope contained a photograph and Neku’s flat key. She was standing against a red brick wall in the picture, dressed in her jeans and black jersey and her eyes were open.

“Good,” said Kit.

“How can you say that?” asked Charlie, then stopped. “Oh fuck,” he said. “What were you expecting?”