Next Of Kin (Unnatural Selection #3) (6 page)

“If Anton
can’t pay, I’ll make up the shortfall,” Karl said.

I turned to
him. “You don’t need to.”

Karl held up
his hand. “Money is not going to be an object in finding your
husband, Anton.”

God, I loved
my brother.

“Well, if
that’s settled,” George said, “let me outline a broad approach,
what you can expect, and then I’ll need you to sign disclaimers and
a contract if you want to proceed. You can take as long as you want
to decide.”

I wanted
to sign the contract immediately. Karl advised waiting until the
next day so we could discuss the implications. George had warned me
that even if Nick were found, he might not want to make contact
with me. Karl raised this again that night as we ate
supper.

“At least I’ll
know where I stand,” I said.

“But
it’ll mean finality which you don’t have now. You still have hope
now.”

“Then
I’ll have to deal with it. I’d rather he was alive and out of love
with me than dead.”

Karl nodded
when I didn’t continue. “Just be sure you want the answers they
might give you.”

“I
don’t
want
anything
but Nick home. But I’ll manage whatever happens.”

“I hope
so.”

I signed
and scanned the contracts the next morning, and after I sent them
off to George, I told Karl he should go home. He agreed. “I’ll be
next week anyway.”

I stared at
him. “Why?”

“Rosh
Hashanah, of course.”

“Oh God.” Of
course Karl would be down. The family would all be at my parents’
house to celebrate the New Year. “I don’t think I can make it. Not
without him.”

He touched my
arm. “Mum will understand. But you might want to, for your own
sake. Don’t make a decision yet.”

“All right.
But don’t count on it.”

“No
pressure on that, I promise. But don’t think you’re going to get
rid of me. I’ll be calling every night. If you don’t answer, I’m
coming down again.”

“I don’t need
a keeper.”

“I’ve mislaid
a brother-in-law. Don’t imagine for a second I intend to lose a
brother.”

He hugged me.
I nearly lost it then. I wanted to appear strong for him, but I
couldn’t help but wish he could stay. His family needed him,
though, and I merely wanted his company. I’d be fine.

And if I
wasn’t, I would just have to fake it.

I had work to
do for the OU, but every time I opened the file to deal with it, my
brain shut down. Finally, I gave up. There was only one task I
could concentrate on, and that was finding Nick.

So I
spent the rest of the day making notes about Nick’s friends,
relatives and workmates, and handed them over late that afternoon
when George came to collect Nick’s laptop and other personal
documents.

“You’re
organised,” he said. “Excellent.”

“I can’t
really help it,” I said. “Uh, there’s something you need to know
about Nick though. Three years ago, we were stalked by a homicidal
maniac who came
this
close to
killing Nick. Twice.”

George took
this news in his stride. “Tell me more.”

I explained
the sordid details as briefly as I could. “The reason I’m telling
you this is that we both learned an awful lot about not letting
someone learn our personal information. Nick may not be easy to
find.”

“Anton, many
of the people we investigate try and conceal their tracks. You’re
not telling me anything that worries me.”

“So how long
might it take?”

“If we don’t
have results in two weeks, I’ll be surprised, though not shocked.
It could take a lot less time. Solving the case fast is to our
mutual benefit.”

“I
understand.”

His genial
expression turned serious. “I don’t think you do. Not yet. When
loved ones go missing, for whatever reason, it puts enormous
pressure on those left behind. Every day, the wait gets harder, the
pressure increases. The strain can overwhelm people. Often does
overwhelm them. You need to be ready for this, get your support
mechanisms in place. Your brother is part of that, but you’ll need
more, especially if Nick doesn’t want to come home.”

“I’ll be fine.
But thank you.”

“I haven’t
lost a client yet, Anton. Don’t be my first.”

I laughed. “I
won’t. Do you need anything else?”

He asked a few
more questions, then promised to make an immediate start. “Don’t be
afraid to contact me if you have questions. I’ll keep you
informed.”

George’s
confident manner left me hopeful for all of five minutes. Then,
sitting in the quiet house, looking at the corner of the sofa I
always kept clear for Nick to throw himself into when he got home
from work, reality sunk in once more. There were several possible
explanations for Nick’s disappearance, but none of them boded well
for us or our marriage. The most I could hope for was that Nick had
gone temporarily insane and would come back once he’d realised what
he’d done. That didn’t fit with the man I knew. So that left him
being unfaithful, dead or kidnapped—and Andy hadn’t seen any sign
of force on the CCTV at Heathrow.

I’d
tried to work out why Nick would want to disappear so completely.
He wasn’t in any trouble at work. He hadn’t indicated he wanted to
break up with me. He wasn’t in debt, or under investigation for any
crime. If he had sent that tweet and gone on his merry way with his
own details, using his own money, there was nothing I could do
about it except curse him. Maybe the clue was in the person he was
with—maybe they were the one in trouble. I didn’t know his name.
Andy wouldn’t tell me even when I’d asked him straight out. But if
that person was in some kind of trouble, I’d have expected the
police to be more interested in Nick’s whereabouts—and they simply
weren’t.

My landline
went, and I jumped. “Anton Marber.”

“Anton, it’s
Charlotte. I, um, wondered how you are.”

“Oh. I’m fine.
I’ve hired a private detective to locate him.”

“That’s great.
Do they think they’ll find him?”

“They claim
they have a high success rate. I don’t know. I hope they do.”

“Me too.
Um...so...how are you coping until they do?”

“Fine. Just
fine. I’m going to keep busy.”

“Good idea.
But...you know...I can pop around any time, or you can call
me.”

“Thanks, but I
can manage,” I said firmly. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I
will. And about Nick.”

I smiled.
“Yes, I suppose so. I’ll keep you updated, I promise.”

After I
hung up, I rubbed my face.
Okay, Anton, do what you said. Keep busy.
I’d planned to ask for a week’s
leave from the OU, but I decided to plough straight on. If Nick
came back, I wanted him to find me coping and strong. And if he
didn’t come back...well, falling apart wouldn't help
anyone.

~~~~~

For the next
two weeks I tried to maintain a semblance of normality. I went to
my parents to celebrate Rosh Hashanah, but left early. Everyone was
kind and understanding, and the food and goodwill and the
traditions all familiar and warming. But without Nick, I felt dead
inside, like the happiness around me couldn’t touch me. I dutifully
wished my loved ones “L’shanah tova” but I had no belief in a good
year for myself. Not until he came back.

I did my best
to keep my personal woes away from my job. Prof Carter was the only
one in the department who knew about Nick, and I’d asked him not to
tell anyone else. I had grants to write, papers to review, students
to communicate with, and meetings to attend. Those were the
hardest. I could bury myself in my work at home, and if I needed a
drink, or a walk, or a call to Karl to push me over the frequent
sloughs of despond, no one cared so long as I produced the
results.

But face to
face, I couldn’t entirely hide my distraction, or my miserable
mood. I think people assumed I was going through marital problems.
They had no idea, of course.

All the
while George had kept me informed by email and phone calls, but
there had been nothing to be informed about. His latest call had,
for the first time, sounded downbeat. His investigation had found
absolutely nothing—not a trace of Nick’s companion or of Nick, no
paper trail, no rumours, nothing. Nick’s bank account remained
untouched, his credit card unused, and his email unopened. He
didn’t use social networks of any kind and certainly wouldn’t have
after our crazed stalker affair. His laptop’s browser history was
unexceptional, and he hadn’t withdrawn large amounts of money or
emailed anyone unusual in the last six months. Or at all. The
biggest purchase in his credit card history was my anniversary
present. Whatever he was living on, it wasn’t his
savings.

“That means
he’s dead, doesn’t it?” I said, gripping my arm painfully hard as I
asked the question.

“Not at
all. What it
does
probably
mean is that he’s prepared for this for some time, and has likely
obtained forged documents and new bank and credit
details.”

“But he used
his own passport to go to France.”

“Perhaps the
new documents had to be collected there. It’s surprisingly hard to
conceal a body, Anton. If he was dead, I think we’d know by
now.”

“So he planned
to disappear out of my life.”

“We don’t know
what he planned or why.”

“So what
happens now? If he’s abandoned his old identity completely, how can
you find him?”

“One
thing we could try is a media appeal. Those can be quite effective,
especially if you can hook into a community like gay men. Would you
agree to that?”

“Let me
think about it. Nick would hate me doing that.”

“Anton,
Nick isn’t being particularly respectful of your feelings, is
he?”

“No, I suppose
he isn’t.”

T
hat evening I
tossed the idea back and forth, hating it but knowing George
wouldn’t have suggested it without good reason. Finally I decided
that a media appeal’s merits overrode Nick’s likely objections.
Maybe it would make him angry enough to charge home and tell me
off. I could always dream.

Andy had
already told me the police wouldn’t make a public statement about
Nick since officially he was no longer missing, so I called Harry
and asked for help. I knew he’d agree. He’d been enthusiastic about
using the gay press to make one since almost the day Nick
disappeared. I supplied him with a selection of photos. He wrote up
a discreet but emotional press release in the space of an hour
which I approved without changes, then I left him to place it
wherever he felt best. Our community was global, and its heart
huge. This should have encouraged me. It did, but I was growing
numb from disappointment. I didn’t want to wake the beast of hope
again.

Harry
emailed me the next day to tell me that the first stories about
Nick had gone live, including a big splash in
The Pink News
. Comments on line were supportive. Within
hours, I’d had emails forwarded from Karl’s secretary, sent to me
by people who recognised Nick as my partner, offering help and
supposed sightings. Harry, as designated contact, had been deluged
with messages. For the first time, I thought it was possible this
might work. We were everywhere. Nick couldn’t hide from every gay
man on the planet forever.

But once we
started to sift through them, my optimism sank. Unfortunately, gay
men make no better witnesses than anyone else, and the sightings
were so random and far-flung that they were close to useless, at
least as far as I could tell.

George agreed
that most would be of little value. “But it’s about building up a
pattern, and hopefully someone will take a photo which confirms a
sighting. Not to mention that the appeal itself puts pressure on
Nick and he might even come forward of his own volition. It’s a
good move, Anton. Let it play out.”

Harry
agreed with George, and with my permission, offered some pieces to
foreign magazines and websites to run, and even allowed himself to
be interviewed by a couple. I wasn’t sure if I could put myself
forward that way. My most recent experience of fame had ended with
Nick coming very close to being killed, and I didn’t want to start
that up all over again. It was bad enough that a couple of my
students had seen the appeal and had emailed me to offer their
sympathies, so my secret was out at work. I had worked hard to live
down the notoriety of being the victim of a stalker in my own
workplace. No one had blamed me for Piers Montgomery’s actions
three years ago, at least not to my face. Nonetheless, Prof Carter
had received the news that I was stepping back from presenting for
the moment with an understated enthusiasm that told me he thought
the department could do with a long quiet break.

Still,
his disapproval of another drama in my private life was nothing set
against the relief I would have from knowing Nick was okay, even if
he was out of love with me. If Harry said an interview with me
would make a difference, then I’d find the courage and do
it.

After a
week, no clear pattern had emerged from all the emails, no cluster
of sightings that George could pursue. No one had taken a photo of
anyone verifiably Nick, though there had been over twenty of people
who definitely weren’t him. I wished I had the name and photo of
the man he was with. That would have given us better leads. George
continued to advise patience and persistence. I continued to do as
he said, and fret quietly while I did it.