Next Of Kin (Unnatural Selection #3)

by Somerville, Ann

  Frustrated, sweaty, footsore and stuffed with the snacks we’d bought to avoid alienating the various cafés and bars in which we’d done our investigating, we walked up to the Parque das Ruinas, and drank icy sugarcane juice while I contemplated our next move.

  “If Nick was not here, Anton, what have you learned? And have you proved he was here?”

  “Not really. I’ve proved it’s more than possible he wasn’t, but it doesn’t tell me where he is now.”

  “So we have wasted our time?”

  “Possibly. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about my time, Anton. I’m glad to help. And I owe your brother a favour or two.”

  “So do I.”

  Having come this far, we decided to climb the ruined mansion which made this little park famous, and admired the view over the bay and city. I turned to ask Nick what he thought of it.

  Gabriel raised his eyebrow when he found me looking at him with my mouth open.

  I’d forgotten I wasn’t with Nick.

  I was losing my marbles.

  “Anton, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Let’s go.”

  Purely because there was no reason not to take every chance for information, I asked Gabriel to ask the owner of the café near the ruins if she had seen a pale, red-haired Inglês maybe two weeks before. To my surprise, she said, “Sim,” and picked out Mr Bettany’s picture from the photo collection. She and Gabriel chatted for a minute or so. Gabriel was wide-eyed with excitement as he turned back to me.

  “She says Nick wanted to know a good place to hire a car to go to Beagá—Bélo Horizonte—and she told him the name of a company here.”

  “Does she remember when, exactly?”

  “It was Monday a week ago, for sure. It was early and the café was quiet, no others foreigners. She remembered he didn’t seem like a tourist.”

  “In what way?”

  He shrugged. “Like he wasn’t having fun.”

  There hadn’t been any credit card activity on Nick’s account in the last five days, but if the transaction was manual, as the others had been, it could take a while. “Which company was it?”

  It turned out to be a small garage run by her brother in Lapa, one which used manual verification for credit card transactions. This, I was sure, was the main reason for using such a minor operator, instead of one like Hertz or Avis. The manager owner, an elderly man, was happy to spend any amount of time chatting to us. Senhor Guthrie wanted a week’s hire to Beagá for what reason, he didn’t say. The Inglês had paid in cash, but had signed a credit card slip to cover any unexpected costs. I looked at the slip—the signature was certainly very like Nick’s. Gabriel asked for any other information the man might have. The manager scratched his chin and answered.

  “The car was returned yesterday.”

  “Yesterday! That means—”

  The man interrupted and spoke again. Gabriel frowned. “This is strange. He says someone Senhor Guthrie hired returned the car for him. A man called Gregorio Goncalves. Goncalves said Senhor Guthrie had decided to stay in Beagá.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  The man nodded. “He said yes, sometimes. He doesn’t do one-way hires as such, so this is an alternative. So long as the car is not damaged, it’s okay.”

  The manager hadn’t picked out Nick’s photo, but that could mean nothing. If Nick really had hired the car, that means he could be in Bélo Horizonte right now. But where? Beagá was a huge, sprawling city I knew almost nothing about.

  “Obrigado,” I said to the garage manager, who smiled and nodded. “Let’s get out of here,” I said to Gabriel.

  Outdoors, the mid-afternoon sun still beat down strongly. Gabriel looked at me and, seeing my expression, took my arm. “Come on. We missed lunch. Let’s have lanche da tarde and we can talk.”

  We caught the bonde back to Largo dos Guimarães, and walked towards the hotel. Gabriel chose a little café. I didn’t pay attention to which one and didn’t care why he’d picked it. Gabriel ordered for us both, and when we were alone again, said, “It’s good news, you think?”

  I wiped my face. Jetlag and emotional stress had caught up with me and were beating me into the ground. “I don’t know. If it’s Nick, it’s a lead. If it’s not, then it’s not.”

  “Why do you think it’s not Nick, Anton? Who would pretend to be him?”

  “ I don’t know who, or why. But right from when he disappeared, nothing has fit. I mean, made sense. He says he’s found someone else, and runs away without another word to me, which isn’t like him. He doesn’t touch his credit card or bank for weeks, then suddenly he uses it here all over the place—but only where he can sign, not use a PIN. Otherwise he uses cash. What was he using for money until he came to Rio? Where did he get the cash he used to pay for the car hire? Where is this lover who was so important that Nick abandoned me and his job—the job he loved—for him? Even if I didn’t know Nick, I would say it was strange. I do know Nick, and none of this is the way he behaves. He’s steady and sensible and rational.”

  “And you love him very much.”

  “Yes,” I whispered. He gave me time to collect myself and blow my nose. “Gabriel, I know something is wrong, but I can’t prove it. If I could find him, I would know what it was. I’m going out of my mind worrying about him.”

  Gabriel patted my hand. “Eu sinto muito.”

  “Obrigado.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. Unless I know where he went in Beagá, how can I find him?”

  “What about this Gregorio Goncalves who brought the car back?”

  “How do we find him? Goncalves is a common surname, isn’t it?”

  “Sim. But we have to try.”

  I stared at him, my brain too tired to think of how we could even start. Our food arrived. I couldn’t find any appetite, though it looked delicious. “I think I need to speak to George Adeyemi and ask his advice. He was right. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “Anton, you’re being too hard on yourself.”

  My mobile phone rang, and I jumped. I’d told people where I was going, but I realistically only expected calls from Karl or George. The number on the screen was neither of them. “Hello? Anton Marber here.”

  “Dr Marber, this is Paul Reynolds from the British embassy in Bélo Horizonte. Your brother told me how I could contact you. I understand you’re in Brazil at the moment?”

  “Yes, I am, in Rio de Janeiro. I was thinking of going to Beagá tomorrow in fact. What’s happened?”

  “You’re the civil partner of Nicholas Guthrie, and his designated next of kin?”

  My heart leapt into my throat, and I literally couldn’t speak until I took a sip of water. “Y-yes. Is he...has something happened to him?”

  “We don’t know, but the police need to speak to you. I’m calling you to offer assistance in this matter.”

  “But what happened?”

  “They’ve found a wallet with his identification in it, an item of clothing, and...a large amount of blood. They are afraid that he may have met with foul play.”

  “No, he—” I covered my mouth with my hand. No.

  “I know this is difficult, Dr Marber. If you don’t feel able to come to Bélo—”

  “No. No, I want to. Uh...tell me who I need to see, and where to go.”

  I scribbled down the details in my notebook, and he said he would also email them to me. He said he would meet me at the police station the next day, and recommended a hotel nearby if I didn’t know of a better.

  Gabriel had sat silently, his expression anxious, as I talked to Reynolds. I hung up, but couldn’t bring myself to explain.

  “It’s bad news?” Gabriel asked after a minute of silence. “Anton? What can I do?” He reached over to touch my hand. “Anton, speak to me.”

  “Uh...they found Nick’s wallet and shirt and a lot of blood. In Beagá. They think...maybe he’s been killed.”

  Gabriel
crossed himself quickly. “Nossa! I can’t believe it!”

  “Me either. But they haven’t found him.”

  “There is no body? They don’t know where Nick is?”

  “That’s what I understand.”

  “This Gregorio Goncalves, he could have done it.”

  “Yes. Shit, I forgot to tell them about him.”

  I called Reynolds back and told him about the investigations into Nick’s disappearance and what we had learned since, specifically about the car hire. He asked for the details of the garage, and said he would pass all the information on to the police in Beagá immediately.

  I checked the time. Britain was four hours ahead of Rio, but it was still early evening there. “I have some calls to make. Why don’t you stay and eat and I can meet you at the hotel?”

  “I can ask them to pack this up. It’s no problem. Can I help, Anton?”

  “You already have, meu amigo.”

  Gabriel politely ate on the balcony to give me privacy while I called Karl, then Andy. Andy was horrified at the turn of events, and promised to pass everything he had on Nick’s companion to the Brazilian police.

  “You realize we can’t interfere with their investigation, but they can ask us for assistance.”

  “I thought it was something like that. Andy, was Nick’s companion called Gregorio Goncalves?”

  He hesitated long enough that I took it as confirmation. “I can’t tell you, Anton. I wish I could. But I’ll tell you the second I can.”

  “Good enough. Thanks, Andy. God, now I have to call his parents.”

  “Wait until you speak to the police there so you have facts to give them. For all you know, they’ve misidentified the personal items.”

  “Okay. Do you think the Brazilian Police can handle something like this?”

  “I think they should be given the chance to do so. There will be a lot of pressure on them, with Nick being a foreign national. I hope they’ve got it wrong, Anton.”

  “Me too. I...don’t know what I’ll do if he’s dead.”

  “Without a body, that’s not the only possibility. Ring me tomorrow?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I checked Nick’s bank accounts and email—no activity. That doesn’t mean he’s dead. I pushed such thoughts away, and sent George Adeyemi a quick email, with a promise to update him when I learned more.

  Gabriel looked up as I opened the glass door out to the balcony. “All finished?”

  “I’m certainly done.” He had bought some beer on our walk back, and he offered me a bottle I gratefully accepted. “How long will it take to drive to Beagá?”

  “Five, six hours. Don’t worry, I’ve done it many times.”

  “I’m not worried. Not about that.”

  “This is terrible news about Nick.”

  “If it’s Nick. Am I crazy, Gabriel? Have I created this illusion because I can’t accept Nick left me?”

  Gabriel stared at the view from the balcony and took his time answering. I drank my beer and tried to quell the sick feeling in my gut.

  “You know him better than me. His friends, you, all say this is not like him. You showed me how it’s possible for someone to pretend to be Nick and still use his identification. His policeman friend said someone else could have used his passport. There are questions. You are not crazy to ask them.”

  “But....”

  “But...it could be him. Are you prepared for this?”

  I exhaled. “No. Not even a little bit.”

  He winced. “I cannot advise. I have never been married. But I will do everything I can do to help.”

  I saluted him with my bottle. “Obrigado.”

  “De nada. You want something to eat?”

  “No, I don’t think I can. Are you happy to leave early tomorrow?”

  “Com certeza. I’ll speak to Reception, explain we have to leave sooner than we planned. They will understand.”

  I showered and went to bed, as I hoped we would be leaving immediately after breakfast in the morning. Gabriel puttered about but went to bed not long after I did.

  The mattress was comfortable, the room quiet, and I was worn out. But I couldn’t sleep, a problem I’d had for weeks now. I gave it an hour, then got up, fetched one of the beers, and went back onto the balcony. The air was still warm and humid, the city lights twinkling prettily.

  Nick would have loved it. I swore that when—not if—I found him, and if he still wanted to be with me, we would come back here properly, wash bad memories away.

  But that assumed two things. That Nick was still alive. That Nick still loved me. Wanting them desperately to be true, didn’t make it so. My only, best hope was the craziness of the whole narrative. None of it made sense, either in parts or as a whole. Was that only because I was missing so much information about the story? Or because someone was leading me around by the nose, trying to make me believe the impossible?

  And who was that someone? Was it Nick himself? Was it someone who had Nick in their control?

  The picture shifted every time I tilted it. One second it was a straightforward relationship breakdown, the next a mad, paranoid fantasy that Ian Fleming would have scorned as unrealistic.

  If it wasn’t so late, I would call Karl because he had a way of laying things out calmly that didn’t necessarily make them better, but at least they felt more manageable. The best I could do was talk to my inner Karl and ask him to shuffle my thoughts into a less circular pattern.

  It took a couple of hours and another beer, but inner Karl finally did as much as I could hope for. Beer consumed, I used the loo, and hoped my bed would seduce my tired body into some kind of rest. Eventually, it did.

  ~~~~~

  “A French tourist found this wallet on the ground in an alley yesterday. The shirt was a little distance from it, balled up. The ground was soaked in what is estimated to be one litre of blood, type O negative. Do you recognize the shirt or wallet?”

  Both the wallet and shirt were drenched in blood. I didn’t want to touch either, even wrapped in plastic evidence bags. I nodded. “The wallet...was a gift. An anniversary gift. I don’t recognize the shirt.”

  “And these things were inside the wallet. This business card is yours?”

  “Yes. That’s Nick’s driver’s license, and his police ID. He...uh...is type O negative. Is it his blood?”

  Inspector Ferreira’s hard gaze held no sympathy. “We don’t know yet. Once we extract the DNA, we will have to match against a sample provided by the British police. Do you have anything with you we can use? A hairbrush, perhaps?” I shook my head. “You didn’t know your partner was in Brazil?”

  “Not until a few days ago. I’ve been looking for him.”

  I described, with help from Gabriel and Paul Reynolds, the weeks of searching for Nick and how little we had found until I discovered the credit card transactions in Rio. The inspector showed little interest, and appeared to find my conjectures about a stand-in, amateurish and of no importance to the case in hand. The only thing he found useful I’d passed on the previous day.

  “Oh, and one more thing that is odd. He’s ISH-positive.” The inspector gave me a blank look. “A vee.” I pointed to my canine teeth. Gabriel explained a little further.

  “What of it?”

  “Well, he has a very limited diet. He can drink certain things, eat a very limited number of foods, but he must have haem replacement fluid to survive. The hotel said he checked in with a single small pack and no other luggage. HRF is reasonably bulky, so if he didn’t bring it, he had to obtain it while he was staying there. He ordered no food or drink while staying there. We asked the local drogaria—he didn’t buy any there either.”

  “So he bought it somewhere else. Now—”

  “And the other thing....”

  The inspector exhaled in exasperation. “Yes?”

  “He can drink coffee but he doesn’t like it. He drinks tea exclusively at home. But several places we visited said he had ordered coff
ee. Never tea.”

  The inspector sighed. “On vacation, people’s habits change, Senhor Marber. Our coffee is the best in the world, after all. Now, to confirm—you have had no actual contact with him at all?”

  “Nothing except that one text message. Inspector, what do you think has happened?”

  He glanced at Reynolds before answering. “It’s difficult to say. If the blood is Senhor Guthrie’s, then he must have suffered a very severe wound.”

  “Fatal?”

  “Not definitely. There is a gash in the shirt which appears to be made by a knife, and there is no money in the wallet. It could be a simple robbery gone wrong.”

  Gabriel asked the inspector something, and the man answered somewhat impatiently, Paul translating word for word as he had done from the start. “Yes, it could be an attack because he was gay.” The inspector had actually used the word ‘viado’ which I knew not to be a very nice word for homosexuals. I chose to pretend I didn’t know that.

  “But where is he? Or his body?”

  “We believe that the victim may have been put in a vehicle, as the trail of blood stops very suddenly. We are still investigating this. However, we simply needed you to verify that these are Senhor Guthrie’s possessions. Unless you have further information regarding his whereabouts or movements, then I will have to ask you to be patient until our investigations bear fruit.”

  “How long?”

  The inspector rolled his eyes before composing his face in a more tactful expression. “Senhor Marber, there are many things we have to work on in this case, and we have many cases. I suggest you return to England, and Senhor Reynolds can keep you informed. For now, I thank you for your help and bid you good day.”

  I let Paul guide me out of the room. Gabriel was fuming. “Filho da puta! Why did he have to be so rude?”