Where Everything Seems Double

by Penny Freedman

  ‘Well it’s the truth, not a story, so they’ll have to believe it, won’t they?’ she snaps.

  ‘And the truth is…?’ I ask, my eyes still glued to my phone.

  She sighs. ‘Ruby brought her phone to the theatre by mistake. She didn’t want to leave it in the dressing room and she gave it to Milo to look after.’

  ‘And after she disappeared?’

  ‘HE FORGOT,’ she shouts.

  I give up the pretence of casualness. ‘It’s an odd thing to forget, isn’t it? When a friend goes missing?’

  ‘People forget things. You forget things all the time.’

  ‘But I have age as an excuse. My brain cells are dying at an exponential rate.’

  ‘Well Milo was in shock.’

  ‘And that’s what he told the police?’

  She gets up. ‘I’m going to my room to read,’ she says. ‘Don’t you want to talk to David?’

  ‘He’s gone to the police station.’

  ‘Then you didn’t need to interrogate me, did you?’ she says, and closes her door behind her.

  *

  David gets back from his consultation with the local police hours later. He taps on my door, holds up a hand to silence my questions and says he will talk to me later when he has his thoughts in order. By this time, Freda has relented enough to open her door and ask what time we are having dinner and we agree to meet in the bar in half an hour.

  There I watch the meeting between the two of them with interest. Freda, who has always liked David, is not hostile but is certainly challenging, influenced, I suppose, by the view of the Flynn/Fletcher family that he and I were responsible for Colin’s downfall, but David takes this in his stride, used as he is to difficult women, and by the time we are sitting at our table Freda has changed tack. She has seen, I suspect, that David and I are not quite love’s old dream at the moment and has decided to adopt him as an ally in getting at me. She starts with the menu.

  ‘As you see, it’s in French,’ she tells him. ‘My grandmother is delighted because it gives her the opportunity to lecture us. Try not to choose the sole meunière because we’ve had that lecture already, on our first night.’

  David, who could easily say something affectionate about enjoying my lectures (which he does, actually, for the most part) grins conspiratorially at her and says, ‘I was thinking of steak-frites. Do you think I’m safe there?’

  She grins back. ‘Give it a try,’ she says.

  I have a choice: I can either ignore them and maintain a lofty detachment or I can enter into the joke and be a good sport. I am thinking of having the jaune doré. This fish is John Dory in English, but that is a corruption of the French name, which means ‘golden yellow’. In Italian, it is pesce san Pietro, because it has a dark mark on its side, which is supposed to be St Peter’s thumbprint. So I could give them a lecture on this but I haven’t the energy, really, and why should I make myself a willing butt of their joke? Instead I pull the rug out from under them by saying that I will have steak-frites too. Then I order a large glass of Merlot and sit back and sulk.

  As it turns out, they don’t even notice the sulk – or if they do they collude in ignoring it. Freda is charming to David, chatting while we wait for our food and asking him if he ever watches TV crime dramas and whether any of them are truthful in the way they show the police, and David admits – as he has never done to me – that he has a liking for Scott and Bailey. I have time to reflect on this as neither of them is talking to me. He gains Brownie points, of course, for liking such a female-oriented show, but I can’t believe that he sees me in Janet Scott or Rachel Bailey – neither the level-headed mum nor the edgy risk-taker with a screwed-up family life. DCI Gill Murray, though. Could he see me in Amelia Bullmore – gone blonde and about two stone heavier? Freda is laughing now at something David has said, and I am attacked by a pang of guilt – the reluctant recognition that he could have been her cool grandfather if I hadn’t – for reasons which seem less compelling now – sent him packing years ago when he invited me to marry him. Picking up my glass, I find that it is nearly empty and when our food arrives I order another.

  When we have finished, and David and Freda have shared a sticky toffee pudding and a chocolate mousse while I scraped daintily at a single scoop of lemon sorbet, Freda says she is going upstairs to watch TV, and David and I go into the bar for coffee. There, finally, I get a rundown on his dealings with the local police.

  We settle in a corner with our coffee.

  ‘So?’ I say.

  ‘There are four possibilities when someone goes missing,’ he says, and I should shut up and gaze respectfully at him, waiting for the professional to enlighten me. Instead, like the class swot, I have my hand up with the answer.

  ‘Bunk, abduction, accident, murder,’ I say.

  ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Are you debriefing here or am I?’

  ‘You are,’ I say, ‘but you could save yourself time if you bear in mind that I am not an idiot.’

  David chooses to ignore this. Instead, he starts to tick off the options.

  ‘Starting with the least likely – accident. It is very improbable that she could have fallen from her boat without anyone noticing, even though there was not much light. And there are several witnesses who say that she had someone in her boat with her. And the clothes that were found in the abandoned boat don’t fit with an accident. Unless it happened after everyone went back into the theatre. Whoever was in her boat with her is in the frame as her possible abductor or killer, but he could also have been involved in a fatal accident. There is a possible scenario where he persuades her – or they decide – to skip the rest of the show and go off – skinny-dipping or whatever. A dare. She gets into difficulties, he panics, she drowns and he does a runner.’

  ‘So we add that to the likelihood that if she has been abducted or killed, it was the guy in the boat that did it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about a bunk? If she was running away, how do you see the guy in the boat fitting in then?’

  ‘Two possibilities. The phone call that took Dumitru Budescu back to the hotel was obviously planned to keep him out of the way. It looks as though it was designed so that someone else could replace him, but suppose Ruby herself set it up so that she would be alone in her boat and could stage a disappearance but some helpful guy, seeing her without a rower, volunteered himself at the last minute and she had to accept. If so, she would have let him out of the boat when the interval finished and then taken the boat further along the lake, where she put on other clothes that she had in the boat with her and—’

  ‘And then what? She couldn’t have gone anywhere at that time of night without help, could she,’ I object.

  ‘Tomorrow first thing I want to go and look at the area where the boat was found. The local guys say that it’s an easy scramble from there up onto the road. Forensically, that looks more likely than anything violent happening in or near the boat. They’ve found her DNA in the boat, and plenty of other people’s, of course – it’s a hire boat – but no blood, saliva, semen et cetera. And no DNA except Ruby’s on her costume, though she could have taken it off herself under duress. And the grass isn’t flattened on the bank there.’

  ‘So she might have climbed up the bank and then hitched a lift?’

  ‘There are still buses running along there, one an hour, until about ten, but all the drivers insist that she didn’t get on their bus.’

  ‘And hitching?’

  ‘If you’ve been reading the papers you’ll have seen that there has been an appeal for information from anyone driving along there that night. It’s a difficult one, though. Giving a lift to a young girl is problematic, isn’t it? People are very wary. A woman might do it, I suppose, if the girl looked very distressed. But in the dark, on a lonely road, if they had any sense they would be worried about the boyfriend who would emerge fro
m the bushes as soon as she stopped the car. And any man with sense would worry about the accusations that the girl might make later.’

  ‘Unless he saw it as an opportunity.’

  He looked at her. ‘It’s a possibility we have to consider – she makes a plan to run away and then she gets picked up by a predator.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel right, somehow – the hitching. If she made such a careful plan to get away would she have left it to chance to get a lift? That’s pretty desperate, isn’t it? Do your colleagues have any reason to think that she was desperate to get away?’

  ‘No. Her parents say she was fine – no trouble, hard-working, good at school. The school says the same. A bit of a loner but mature and good academically. Quite a bit of pressure to do well from her father but she seemed to be coping. You’ve talked to the parents, haven’t you? I thought you might have some insights. And Freda in her undercover operation.’

  ‘I only talked to her parents once. I think her father might have a temper. His wife’s afraid of him, I think.’

  ‘The school didn’t mention any concerns about domestic violence. Has Freda picked up anything from her friends?’

  ‘I’m afraid my cunning plan hasn’t worked out all that well. Freda’s gone native, basically. She likes them all, especially Milo – and he’s the most problematic, isn’t he? Is it too much of a coincidence that he was the person who took the phone message for Dumitru and he has had Ruby’s phone for days without telling anyone? Have they traced where that phone message came from, by the way?’

  ‘They have. And it did come from the hotel. What they can’t trace is which extension was used, but it was from the hotel number.’

  ‘So Milo’s story stands up?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘But no-one at the hotel admits to having made the call?’

  ‘They’re a difficult lot, the staff there, apparently. They’re all EU, including the restaurant manager – mostly Romanians and Poles – and they’re very twitchy about their immigration status with things as they are. Plus they come from countries where the police are less than friendly.’

  ‘Unlike here, where they spend all their time helping old ladies across the road?’

  ‘Exactly. So they’ve all clammed up, and the locals haven’t been able to get anything out of them about who was in Ruby’s boat either. It has to have been someone who didn’t normally play one of Oberon’s followers but knew all about the play and what happened in the interval. That applies to only three of the male staff, apparently, and they’ve been grilled and all produced alibis of a sort.’

  ‘Was one of them called Gheorghe?’

  For the first time, he needs his notebook. He pulls it out and flips pages. ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘Gheorghe Baciu. What made you ask?’

  ‘Dumitru uses him as an understudy,’ I say. ‘In life, I mean. Gheorghe stands in for him in the bar when I’m giving him English lessons. That seems to be the dynamic between them.’

  ‘OK. So what are you thinking?’

  I take a deep breath and wish that I had stuck to one glass of wine.

  ‘Ruby’s father thinks that Dumitru has got her – willingly or unwillingly. I assume he has told the police that? He says she had a crush on him and Dumitru sort of admits it, though he denies hotly that he would touch a thirteen-year-old – but the police will know that as well. I’m inclined to believe him, but suppose Ruby enlisted his help – or set out to seduce him. Suppose she was really unhappy about the pressure at home and wanted to let them know that it was too much – a cry of protest? And suppose that, on top of being unhappy at home, she was obsessed with Dumitru? So she concocts a plan to disappear and to get Dumitru to help her. That way she scares her parents into taking the pressure off and she gets closer to Dumitru. She gets him to help her to hide somewhere and she hopes that they will get so close that he will want to be her boyfriend. A thirteen-year-old girl is quite capable of that sort of thinking.’

  ‘But Dumitru didn’t help her, did he? That’s the point. He’s the person we know wasn’t there. He was at the hotel.’

  ‘Exactly.’ I lean forward, quite excited now by my own scenario. ‘Ruby knows that her father is suspicious of her relationship with Dumitru, so if he is going to help her he has to be put in the clear. And he calls on his loyal little friend, Gheorghe. Gheorghe makes the phone call to the theatre and then he nips down to the lake, wearing Dumitru’s costume, and gets into Ruby’s boat. He rows them along the lakeside, leaves her there to wait for Dumitru and walks back to the hotel. Nobody has missed him in the meantime because, with Dumitru working, they have enough waiters. And who would notice in the kitchen which waiters were working; they drop off the orders and grab the plates. As long as somebody is doing it, that’s all the kitchen staff care about. And if Dumitru is clever, he can drop one or two references to Gheorghe that suggest that he is out in the restaurant, waiting at tables.’

  ‘And then?’ David asks.

  ‘Then, as soon as he can, Dumitru slips away and meets Ruby by her boat. Maybe he has her clothes with him, or she had them in the boat and has already changed. She leaves her costume in the boat to suggest that something has happened to her, and Dumitru takes her off and hides her.’

  ‘Where, exactly? How? The local officers may not be the Met but they do know how to conduct a search. They have done a fingertip search of the entire lake area, they have searched every garage, shed and outhouse along the lakeside. Where do you suppose Dumitru could have hidden her?’

  ‘He lives in at the hotel, doesn’t he, in the staff quarters at the back? Has anyone looked there?’

  ‘Of course they have. Ruby’s father has been badgering them from the start with his claims that Dumitru has got her. They’ve searched every room in the staff quarters, twice. No sign of her.’

  ‘Well, how about…’ I say, not knowing how I’m going to go on but not willing to give up on my theory. ‘How about – a tent? What was Dumitru carrying the other night when Freda saw him? She thought of a body because she’s thirteen and a girl’s gone missing, but he could easily have been carrying bedding, couldn’t he? Have the police searched camp sites?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I wouldn’t think it would be a priority. Ruby’s picture has been everywhere. Don’t you think someone would have noticed if she was living in the tent next to theirs?’

  ‘She could have changed her appearance.’

  I am clutching at straws; he raises a sceptical eyebrow.

  ‘A car,’ I say. ‘Do we know if Dumitru has a car? He seems to have been headed for the hotel car park when Freda saw him. She could have hidden there until she was able to get away somewhere.’

  ‘I don’t think this is a theory I can take to the local SIO,’ he says, putting away his notebook. ‘It has a certain plausibility but not an atom of evidence.’

  ‘The evidence is the absence of evidence.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘No forensics. No evidence of struggle or violence.’

  ‘The dog who didn’t bark again?’ He leans back in his chair. ‘You know, don’t you, that we’re avoiding the obvious? After nearly a week the overwhelming likelihood is that we shall find a body. Probably in the lake. Do you want to talk about that scenario, or shall we leave that till tomorrow?’

  I experience this like a punch in the stomach. ‘Don’t,’ I say. ‘Just don’t. Her parents don’t think she’s dead, and don’t parents always know?’

  ‘Parents always hope,’ he says. ‘It’s not the same thing.’

  I stand up. ‘Well, thank you, David, for encouraging me to look on the bright side. I hope you sleep as well as I expect to.’ Quite pleased with this sign-off, I stomp out of the room.

  Chapter Ten

  THE STORM

  Sunday

  When she looked back, Freda would wonder why she hadn’t realised how thi
ngs would be. The signs were all there, but she had ignored them, and she woke up feeling cheerful and optimistic about the day ahead. Having David here was fun, actually, she reflected as she lay in bed. He treated her as a grown-up and with any luck he would keep Granny off her back, so that she didn’t have to keep her informed of her whereabouts at all times. She didn’t know if the gang had plans for the day but she would find out. Venetia would come in and tell her, if she’d got over her spiky mood yesterday, or the boys would arrive off the ferry – probably the ten o’clock one. And she might have pancakes with maple syrup for breakfast because they did look good.

  At breakfast, Granny wasn’t eating much. She said she had a headache and hadn’t slept well, but David was fine and they obviously had a plan for doing something later, which left her free. When Venetia didn’t turn up, she decided to go down to the jetty and wait for the ferry to come in. The morning was sunny and bright, though their breakfast waiter had said there was going to be rain later. She looked out over the lake and up to the hills above for signs of rainclouds, but they were all fluffy white at the moment and the day was still full of promise. She liked the phrase, though she supposed it was a cliché, and tried it over to herself: full of promise.

  As the ferry approached, she could see Micky with his father at the helm and waved. He waved back, but when she went and stood close to where he was handing passengers off the boat, he seemed to be ignoring her. Eve got off and waved Freda a cheerful Hello, but she didn’t have Milo or Fergus with her. And then Venetia appeared, running down at the last minute and jumping onto the ferry, brushing past Freda as though she hadn’t noticed her, and barely acknowledging her, as the ferry pulled away, with just a little twiddle of her fingers. A gesture that said Cancelling you.

  So, Venetia could be rude if she wanted to. Cancel her too. She would go along to Eve’s studio and find out what the boys were doing. They might have rowing practice, she thought, and in that case she would see if she could help Eve with her pots – or whatever else she was doing.