The Locker by Adrian Magson Page A

drained look of utter incomprehension.
    Vaslik came and sat down alongside Nancy. She flinched but didn’t move.
    â€œWhoever wrote that note,” he said softly, “wants your husband to know. But why? He’s hardly ever here and you handle all the household finances and stuff, don’t you?”
    She nodded, apparently beyond being curious about how he would know that.
    â€œSo if it’s not money they’re after, what could Michael give them that you couldn’t?”
    â€œHe’s right,” Ruth added. “The lack of explanation or demand means they’re giving you time to contact him. But why?”
    â€œI don’t know!” The words were squeezed out with a high keening sound, and Ruth felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. She leaned forward and took Nancy’s hands in hers. It was like holding onto two steel rods. She looked into her eyes with as much intensity as she could muster, waiting for her to calm down. The last thing they needed right now was for this woman to suffer a breakdown.
    â€œIt’s all right, Nancy,” she said firmly. “We’re going to find Beth. But to do that we need to understand what could have brought this thing on. Why they took her.”
    Nancy relaxed by degrees, demonstrated by a slow softening of her bodyline. Her eyes became more focussed and her shoulders lost their tension. Instead, silent tears flowed down her face. “I’m sorry … I just want Michael and Beth to come home.” She found a handkerchief and wiped her eyes, slowly regaining control before saying, “Tell me what you want to know.”
    â€œI want you to try and remember which agencies your husband has worked for—and where. It doesn’t have to be the last one; we checked the number you gave me but there’s no reply. They could be out in the field somewhere. We’ll keep trying. In the meantime it would help if you could recall any other names or details.”
    For a moment Nancy didn’t reply, and Ruth wondered if she had pushed her too far. Then the woman stood up and walked out of the room towards the front of the house.
    Ruth looked at Vaslik, who shrugged and made a motion for her to wait. Gina was out in the hallway and would keep an eye on her.
    Five minutes later, Nancy returned. She was carrying a small address book. She dropped it on the coffee table. “I’d almost forgotten about this,” she murmured. “It’s Michael’s. He didn’t use it much. One day he sat down and said he wanted to make a list of the agencies he might work for and the places he wanted to go. He said it was a kind of wish list.”
    â€œDid you help him?”
    Nancy nodded and gave a wan smile. “He didn’t want me to, but I needed to be involved, to be a part of his work. It was important to me that we share it. In the end he let me help.”
    Ruth opened the address book. It was leather-backed , with pages for the recording of basic information such as phone, address and email, and a short space after each contact for brief notes.
    It was like looking at a UN list of aid organisations, with the big names first, such as Oxfam, Médecins Sans Frontières, and Save the Children, followed by many names Ruth had either only vaguely or never heard of before.
    â€œI wasn’t much help, really,” Nancy confessed. “I could only think of the obvious names like the ones you hear about in the news.”
    â€œI’d be the same,” Ruth agreed, flicking through the pages. “I’ve never heard of most of these. How did you find them?”
    â€œMichael researched them at the library, although I think he already knew about a lot of them.” She looked sheepish. “I’m afraid you’ll think we’re Luddites—we don’t have a computer. I guess that makes us really unusual, doesn’t it?”
    Ruth didn’t say anything. Checking the