marriage
was
consummated?’
‘Consummation took place a few weeks
before
the wedding.’ This amused him.
‘So there was no house-warming party?’
He sidestepped the frivolity. Instead, he answered a question that hadn’t been asked.
‘Tina left the country with her money.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because she phoned me, to thank me for everything, the night before she flew out.’
‘Where to?’
‘The New World, the eternal land of opportunity.’
‘The States?’
‘Isn’t that what I just said?’
‘Did she say which city she was flying to?’
‘LA.’
‘To do what?’
‘How the fuck should I know?’
‘Because I bet you asked her. It would have been the natural thing to do: you know, “How are you going to survive?”’
He downed his whisky with one head-jerk, banged down the glass as if using a gavel on my head, and folded his gorilla arms, resting them on a flabby cushion, his paunch.
‘She said something about trying to get into the movies. I didn’t take much notice. It was bullshit talk. Sort of thing all airheads say when breezing off to Tinseltown on a whim and a prayer.’
‘But she was no
airhead
,’ I pointed out.
‘You wouldn’t have thought so,’ he agreed, somewhat churlishly . ‘Nevertheless, I took it with a pinch of salt. I just said, “Oh, yeah. Best of luck, kiddo. Take care of yourself.” She thanked me again and that was it.’
‘Was she travelling alone?’
‘S’pose. As I said, she’d already ditched the Russki. Neither of them had any more use for the other.’
‘Did you ever hear from her again?’
‘Nope.’
‘You sure about that?’
‘Scout’s honour! Now, are we done?’
‘Almost.’
‘Holy Moses!’ he fretted.
‘You wouldn’t know if she travelled under her maiden or married name?’
‘No, I don’t know, though I’d have thought it highly unlikely that she’d have had time – or the inclination – to get her passport changed from Tina Marlowe.’
‘Good point,’ I complimented him. ‘Enjoy the rest of the day. Plenty of time left to visit your wife … I’ll let myself out.’
‘No, you won’t. I want to escort you off my property. I want to watch you disappear into the sunset. I want your footprints rubbed off my land and out of my life.’
‘You’re a real gent,’ I said, my smile as phoney as everything else in that room, especially Cullis.
On my drive back to Oxford, I stopped for a fast-food meal at a motorway service station, where I called Sarah. While munching on French fries and a chilli burger, I briefed her synoptically on my day. ‘So tomorrow you can abandon the death-trail and concentrate on marriages,’ I said. ‘Should be a doddle. We have the year and the location of the crime.’
There was a vacuum, diluted only by breathing that amounted scarcely to more than a murmur. Finally she spoke, much to my relief, proving that my staccato account hadn’t rocked her to sleep. ‘Since when has marriage been a
crime
?’
‘When it’s a sham. When it’s to open a back door to illegal entry.’
Later, in bed, we talked through our respective schedules for the following day. While she was searching records of marriages, I intended making overtures to the spooks at MI5.
‘Spooks don’t do co-operation,’ she said. ‘Secrecy is their MO. Even what they have for breakfast is protected by the Official Secrets Act.’
‘I have contacts,’ I said, optimistically.
‘Contacts who were in Intelligence all those years ago?’
‘No, but that’s why my prospects are good. The info I’m after isn’t current. It’s something from the archives. Although they wouldn’t have been personally involved, they’ll have the means at their fingertips to backtrack.’
‘Seems to me we’re wasting our time in Oxford, then. Although it all started here, it moved on long ago.’
‘I agree we are rather misplaced,’ I said, sort of helplessly. ‘Trouble is, old Pomfrey sees this case
was
consummated?’
‘Consummation took place a few weeks
before
the wedding.’ This amused him.
‘So there was no house-warming party?’
He sidestepped the frivolity. Instead, he answered a question that hadn’t been asked.
‘Tina left the country with her money.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because she phoned me, to thank me for everything, the night before she flew out.’
‘Where to?’
‘The New World, the eternal land of opportunity.’
‘The States?’
‘Isn’t that what I just said?’
‘Did she say which city she was flying to?’
‘LA.’
‘To do what?’
‘How the fuck should I know?’
‘Because I bet you asked her. It would have been the natural thing to do: you know, “How are you going to survive?”’
He downed his whisky with one head-jerk, banged down the glass as if using a gavel on my head, and folded his gorilla arms, resting them on a flabby cushion, his paunch.
‘She said something about trying to get into the movies. I didn’t take much notice. It was bullshit talk. Sort of thing all airheads say when breezing off to Tinseltown on a whim and a prayer.’
‘But she was no
airhead
,’ I pointed out.
‘You wouldn’t have thought so,’ he agreed, somewhat churlishly . ‘Nevertheless, I took it with a pinch of salt. I just said, “Oh, yeah. Best of luck, kiddo. Take care of yourself.” She thanked me again and that was it.’
‘Was she travelling alone?’
‘S’pose. As I said, she’d already ditched the Russki. Neither of them had any more use for the other.’
‘Did you ever hear from her again?’
‘Nope.’
‘You sure about that?’
‘Scout’s honour! Now, are we done?’
‘Almost.’
‘Holy Moses!’ he fretted.
‘You wouldn’t know if she travelled under her maiden or married name?’
‘No, I don’t know, though I’d have thought it highly unlikely that she’d have had time – or the inclination – to get her passport changed from Tina Marlowe.’
‘Good point,’ I complimented him. ‘Enjoy the rest of the day. Plenty of time left to visit your wife … I’ll let myself out.’
‘No, you won’t. I want to escort you off my property. I want to watch you disappear into the sunset. I want your footprints rubbed off my land and out of my life.’
‘You’re a real gent,’ I said, my smile as phoney as everything else in that room, especially Cullis.
On my drive back to Oxford, I stopped for a fast-food meal at a motorway service station, where I called Sarah. While munching on French fries and a chilli burger, I briefed her synoptically on my day. ‘So tomorrow you can abandon the death-trail and concentrate on marriages,’ I said. ‘Should be a doddle. We have the year and the location of the crime.’
There was a vacuum, diluted only by breathing that amounted scarcely to more than a murmur. Finally she spoke, much to my relief, proving that my staccato account hadn’t rocked her to sleep. ‘Since when has marriage been a
crime
?’
‘When it’s a sham. When it’s to open a back door to illegal entry.’
Later, in bed, we talked through our respective schedules for the following day. While she was searching records of marriages, I intended making overtures to the spooks at MI5.
‘Spooks don’t do co-operation,’ she said. ‘Secrecy is their MO. Even what they have for breakfast is protected by the Official Secrets Act.’
‘I have contacts,’ I said, optimistically.
‘Contacts who were in Intelligence all those years ago?’
‘No, but that’s why my prospects are good. The info I’m after isn’t current. It’s something from the archives. Although they wouldn’t have been personally involved, they’ll have the means at their fingertips to backtrack.’
‘Seems to me we’re wasting our time in Oxford, then. Although it all started here, it moved on long ago.’
‘I agree we are rather misplaced,’ I said, sort of helplessly. ‘Trouble is, old Pomfrey sees this case
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