Fine Lines - SA (17 page)

Thanks." Before she looked away, embarrassed, she smiled at me grateful y. And, I was sure, with genuine affection.

It was payment enough.

Anna was right about finding detective agencies in Yel ow Pages. It had never occurred to me before that such things would be so easy to locate. There were comparatively few, but stil more than I would have expected. She made her selection almost randomly,

singling out the ones with bigger, more expensive advertisements in the hope that this reflected their professional expertise and success.

Of these, any with melodramatic names were quickly discounted. Final y, we were left with a choice of five, after Anna dismissed one because he claimed "twenty years' experience as a detective sergeant".

"I already know what the police think," she said. "If he was a policeman for that long, he'l be no different." The first number Anna cal ed had an answer machine: she hung up without speaking. The second was more hopeful. I sat opposite Anna in the office while she gave brief details of what she wanted: I noticed the hand not holding the telephone was trembling slightly. She said goodbye and put the receiver back in its cradle.

"I've an appointment with Mr. Simpson at four o'clock."

"Is that who you spoke to?"

"No, just a secretary. She said he's out until this afternoon."

"Are you going to try the other numbers?" She shook her head. "I think I'l see how this turns out first." She gave an awkward smile. "To be honest, it feels a bit weird. Asking complete strangers to look for Marty." I was instantly contrite. "You should have said something! I could have done it for you."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean that. I'd rather do it myself. But it just seems ... wel . You know." I nodded understandingly. "Would you like me to come with you?"

"It's up to you. I don't want you to think you have to. You're doing enough as it is, and I've already taken you away from the gal ery once today." I could see that she did not relish the idea of going alone. I felt warmed by the fact that she wanted me with her. "I've already told you not to worry about that. This is far more important."

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"Of course I don't. I'd like very much to go with you." Anna suddenly smiled. "If Marty knew where I was going, he'd love it.

He's a big fan of the old detective stories."

"I've read one or two of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's," I said. "I quite enjoyed them."

"Marty's into the American hard-boiled school. Chandler, Hammett.

James M. Cain. Al those." Al things considered, I thought that was quite apt.

The Simpson Investigation Agency bore little resemblance to any of its fictional counterparts. The first-floor office in Finchley had neither the opulence of Holmes's residence, or the seedy masculinity of the American private eye's headquarters. Blandly anonymous, it could have housed anything from a double-glazing company to an insurance brokers.

A selection of framed certificates proclaimed the usual obscure qualifications. Sitting at the desk in front of them, Simpson himself looked as though he would be more at home with tax returns than problems of detection.

He shook both my and Anna's hands and told us to sit down. He was a balding, innocuous-looking man lost somewhere in his forties. A smel of aftershave and peppermint clung to him.

He offered us tea or coffee, and seemed disappointed when we declined.

"Now, Miss ... Palmer?" He looked at Anna enquiringly. She nodded.

"I believe you want to locate your boyfriend." That's right."

"And what's his name, please?"

"Marty Westerman." Anna fretted with her hands as she told Simpson about Marty's disappearance. He made notes on a printed sheet of paper, waiting until she had finished before asking any questions. He wrote her answers down diligently.

"Have you a photograph?" Anna fetched a smal snapshot out of her bag. I looked at it jealously, but it was only of Marty. He attached it to his notes with a paper clip.

"What do you think the chances of finding him are?" Anna asked. She looked and sounded nervous. Simpson pursed his lips.

"It's difficult to say. From what you've told me, it looks as though he left deliberately. Why he went, and why he hasn't been in touch, remains to be seen. It's no good me even trying to guess. Al I can do for now is try and trace his movements, find out who was the last person to see him, if anyone's seen him since. I must warn you that I can't promise anything, though. If anyone is real y determined not to be found, then to be honest finding them's pretty much a matter of luck." Anna was sitting on the edge of her seat, listening intently. "Do people normal y come back in cases like this?"

Simpson gave an apologetic smile. "You can't real y make comparisons.

If he just wanted some time to himself, then I'd say yes, there's a good chance. But since we don't know why he went in the first place, it's best not to jump to any conclusions one way or another. I know it's difficult for you, but I don't want to raise your hopes too much at this stage. Let's just see what we can find out, shal we?"

He stood up, offering his hand again. "You've given us enough to be going on with. If you'd like to have a word with the secretary in reception, she'l give you details of the fees. I'l get in touch with you in a few days to let you know what we've come up with." He gave Anna a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. We'l do our best." On the way out, I found myself hoping that their best would not be good enough. I could not see any way he might pose a serious threat. But at the same time, the irony of hiring someone to uncover the very thing I wanted to remain a secret was not lost on me.

I hoped I was not being too clever for my own good.

"You're fucking jokingV That was Zeppo's reaction when I told him about the detective. It was not a task I looked forward to. I had not imagined he would be pleased. I was right.

"You've hired a private detective? Are you fucking mad, or what?"

"I didn't real y have any choice."

"You didn't have any choice? Jesus Christ, why don't you just tel her what happened?"

"If you'l calm down a moment I'l explain."

"Go on, then! Explain!" I already had my argument prepared. "Anna was going to hire someone anyway. Since I couldn't persuade her not to, I thought the best thing to do was offer to pay for it myself. At least this way I'l know as soon as Anna does if he finds anything. Besides which, I hardly think anyone is going to suspect me if I'm paying for the investigation." I heard a thump as Zeppo hit something. I was glad I had chosen to tel him over the telephone. "This isn't fucking Agatha Christie, Donald! We fucking kil ed someone, and now you're trying to tel me you're playing at psyfuckingchology with a detective? Jesus Christ!"

"If we're talking about taking risks, I hardly think you should be talking like that over the telephone."

"Oh, for fuck's sake! You've hired someone to find Marty, and you're worrying in case someone's tapping the fucking phone line? Oh, that's a real risk, isn't it?"

"I don't think hiring a detective constitutes any real danger'

"Wel , I fucking do! Why didn't you talk her out of it?"

"If you'd listen, I've already told you I tried! Would you rather I objected so much it began to look as if I had a reason?"

"You didn't have to go with her, though, did you?"

"I've already explained'

"Don't give me that shit! Al right, so you thought it'd be a good idea to pay for a detective. You could stil have let her go by herself! You didn't have to hold her hand while she saw him, did you? Now, instead of just being Anna's boss, you've connected yourself to Marty! Whether you like it or not, you've made yourself part of that dickhead's investigation! How can you be so fucking stupid?" To be honest, that had not actual y occurred to me. But I was not going to admit it to Zeppo. "I stil think you're overreacting. I can't see how he can possibly begin to suspect either of us."

"Why take the fucking chance, for Christ's sake?"

"Apart from anything else, it puts Anna under an obligation."

"An obligation'? How much of a fucking obligation do you think she'l be under if she finds out you had her boyfriend clubbed to death?"

"It won't come to that."

"It better fucking not. Because if I go down, you go down! And if it's because of your fucking stupidity, you better hope the-police get to you before I do, you know what I'm saying?"

"I think I get the general gist, yes."

"You'd better. And in future, if you get any more bright ideas, I want to know about them first. Okay?" I felt it was time to assert myself. "May I remind you who is paying whom?"

"I don't give a shit. I don't want you dropping any more surprises like this on me. And I want to know whatever the detective finds out, as soon as he tel s you. Clear?" I decided to let it go. I did not want to risk an argument at this stage. "Perfectly," I said, icily.

"Good. Ring me when you hear anything." He hung up.

Infuriated, I banged down the receiver. But then, as I thought about what Zeppo had said, I felt a vague unease. I had miscalculated. I thought that going to see the detective with Anna was the best course of action. Now I was no longer so sure. And also,

at the back of my mind, was the nagging fear that if I had overlooked one thing, there could be others. It did not make for pleasant thinking.

Anna was almost cheerful the next morning. Not just because now she felt something was being done to find Marty, but because she had also found something out for herself.

"Marty didn't take the plane tickets!" For a moment, I was confused. "Plane tickets?"

"To America! They're stil at the flat! What with Marty going, and everything, I'd forgotten al about them. But then yesterday, after I said I could use the money I'd saved for America to pay for the detective, I suddenly thought about them, and checked to see if they were stil there. And they were!" I could not see why this should excite her. "Ah. Good." My reaction must have been disappointing. She felt compel ed to explain. "Don't you see what that means? He must be planning to come back! If he was going to leave for good, he would have taken at least one of them with him, wouldn't he?" I answered without thinking. "Not necessarily. If he doesn't want anyone to know where he is, he'l hardly use a plane ticket you know about. And he might not want to go back to America now, anyway." Anna turned on me. "Thanks, Donald. That's real y poured cold water on that idea, hasn't it?" Astonished, I stared at her. But she was immediately contrite. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

"It's ... it's quite al right."

"No, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that." She seemed suddenly deflated. "I'm sorry. You're right, I was building my hopes up over nothing."

"No, no, I shouldn't have tried to dampen your spirits." Seeing how dispirited she had become, I genuinely regretted it.

"Yes, you should. I was getting al excited over nothing." She sat down, her animation gone. "I suppose I was stil on a high after hiring the detective. You know, knowing that somebody was final y going to do something at last. Then when I found the tickets, it was like Marty hadn't completely gone. I talked myself into thinking it was a good sign." She gave me a sad smile. "But

you're right. They don't mean anything one way or another, do they? I was just being stupid."

"You shouldn't say that. You've got to have hope."

"Yes, but kidding myself isn't going to do any good. And neither is snapping at you. You were only saying what I already knew. I didn't even mention anything about the tickets to Marty's father last night, because I could guess what he'd say and didn't want to hear it." She sighed, shaking her head. "I'm real y sorry, Donald. I was being a cow. You didn't deserve that." I patted her hand. "Nothing to be sorry for. Don't even think about it." Then, casual y, I asked, "I take it Marty's father cal ed you again?" She shook her head. "I phoned him. I'd thought he'd be pleased to know I was doing something."

"And was he?"

"If he was, he didn't show it. He certainly wasn't any nicer." She shrugged. "I don't know, perhaps I'm being a bit harsh on him. It is his son who's gone missing, and as far as he's concerned I might be just some floozy who's led him on, or something." The suggestion was distasteful. "Hardly."

"No, but he doesn't know that, does he? He's bound to be a bit suspicious. And he'd had no more luck with the American embassy than I did. I don't think that helped." I thought she was being overly generous. "There's stil no cause to take it out on you."

"I suppose not, but I can understand him being worried." She smiled.

"I've just bitten your head off, and you've done nothing, have you?" I remembered what Zeppo had said, and felt a sudden chil at the thought of Anna finding out what had actual y happened.

"Don't even think about that," I told her, not wanting to myself.

I waited almost as anxiously as she did for the first news from the detective. No matter how much I told myself there was nothing to worry about, there was stil that doubt that refused to go. My stomach began to suffer.

The first results, however, were encouraging. "A neighbour saw him leaving your home address with a suitcase around tea-time on either the eighth or ninth of this month," Simpson told Anna. He

had cal ed at the gal ery, and with his briefcase and tweed jacket, he looked like an insurance col ector. The smel of aftershave and peppermint had come with him.

"A neighbour?" Anna frowned. "Who? I asked everyone I know." He glanced at the thin cardboard folder open on his lap. "A Mrs.

Jenner. An old lady. She lives almost directly opposite at number thirty-two." Anna looked surprised. "I know an old lady lives opposite us, but I've never spoken to her. Was she sure it was Marty?"

"She seemed to be. She also said she'd seen you leaving a day or two earlier, also with a suitcase."

"She doesn't miss much, does she?" Simpson smiled. "Every neighbourhood's got someone like that. It can be useful." My stomach had coiled at the mention of a witness. "You said she saw him on either the eighth or the ninth. Didn't she know which?"