Deception aka Sanctum

I was well practiced now, having given the story to a few people, and I started in on my spiel. “Ah, I see, well, the thing is, I’m trying to get hold of her because I have a necklace. It’s silver and she-”

“Oh God…” The woman stifled a sob.

“I’m sorry?” I said, mentally racing back through everything I had just said. Was it the necklace that upset her? Had she been necklaced? “Are you all right?”

“It’s a shock, I’m sorry. You…” Her voice dropped, and she whispered as if broaching a terrible truth. “You’re from Glasgow, aren’t you? I can hear it in your voice. You are, aren’t you?”

I hesitated. “Yes?”

“Oh. Are you a relative of Brenda’s? Does she have a family there?”

I thought the woman was Brenda’s mother, and the question made no sense. I didn’t know what to say, so I stumbled on with the story I’d rehearsed. “I, um, I have a necklace for her. It belongs to her. She lost it when she was in Leicester and I want to give it back. We are talking about Brenda who was in Leicester, aren’t we?”

“She was there for a short while last year. She was transferred with her job, but then left. How did you get this number?”

“Well, Brenda gave it to me.”

The old lady’s voice lightened. “She gave you this number?”

“Yes, she gave this number.” It wasn’t a lie really, it was the number on the letter.

“Oh!” The woman was crying. “I can’t tell you what that means to me… We haven’t seen her for over a year.”

She wept openly now. I apologized, but she sobbed that there was no need to be sorry. It wasn’t my fault. It was no one’s fault. She should have told Brenda sooner. I didn’t want to pry, so I asked if she was Brenda’s mother. She gave a little squeaky yes and shuddered as she inhaled.

“We got Brenda when she was just five weeks old. We hoped she would settle. We put off telling her she was adopted, but she was always a strange little girl, always cold and withdrawn. It sent her off the rails when we eventually did tell her. She was twenty. She left university and just disappeared.”

I thought about Margie and what I’d probably want to hear if she turned against me and couldn’t be found. “She loves you very much-” I said off the top of my head.

“I know.” I heard a hankie being dragged across the receiver and a slight nose-blowing episode.

“She loves you very much indeed.”

“I know. She’s just got a fu

“But she does love you…”

“You’re kind. What’s your name?”

I didn’t want to give my own name. “Um…,” I said. “Morris.”

“Morris Roberts, then, is it?”

I hmmed again noncommittally. “Mrs. Rumney, did you receive a call about a year and a half ago from either Susie Harriot or Harvey Tucker at Su

Confused by the change of topic, she hesitated. “Yes. I didn’t know where she was calling from, but a Dr. Harriot did call.”

“And what did she ask you?”

“About Brenda contacting her mother. I thought she was from the adoption people. Brenda was upset about the whole thing. We should have told her earlier. She just disappeared.”

“Mrs. Rumney, you don’t have an address for her in London, do you?”

“No, she wouldn’t give me one.” She blew her nose. “She doesn’t want me going after her, you see. She’ll only”- she paused to blow again-“only have contact on her own terms. She does phone here sometimes, but there’s a lot she won’t talk about. I’m surprised she’s not in touch with you. I didn’t know she had a relative up there.”

“Well, you know. I’d love to see her again.”

She tutted. “Our Sean met her old boss at the football, and he said he’d been asked for a reference for her. She’s working in the sweets department of Selfridges in Oxford Street. Is Mary-A

It took me about ten minutes to put the two names together, and when I did, I felt sure I knew more about all of this than anyone else, more than Susie, more than Gow, more than Stevie Ray.

Mary-A

chapter forty

YENI WASN’T PLEASED AT ALL, EVEN THOUGH IT WASN’T OVER-nightthis time, just a day. Down at nine, back at six, home by eight with no delays. I gave her two hundred quid this time and promised to make her di

I came through the gates at Heathrow and was met by a driver dressed in a perfect, crisp gray suit and hat. Carrying my briefcase, he escorted me across the road to an enclosed parking garage and showed me into the comfy backseat of a large silver Benz. I sat there, anxious about the interview to come, watching the outskirts of London pass by the window. People must live like this all the time, I thought, be driven everywhere, be provided for, have teams of people to attend them. If I had all of Susie’s money, I could have someone to drive me all the time. I could pay for a na

I asked the driver how long it would take to get into town, and after telling me about twenty minutes, he said it depended on the traffic, you know. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad, you know, more often bad nowadays. He said he’d been in Glasgow for a wedding once and we sure knew how to drink up there, eh? I said yeah and looked out of the window.

It wasn’t long before we were passing the Ritz hotel, crawling along toward Piccadilly Circus. The driver pulled the graceful car across the traffic, down a side street, and into a bay in front of the hotel. A doorman in a top hat and gray tailcoat opened my door, and I stepped out onto the marble concourse. My driver stood up and told me he’d park and wait to take me back to the airport, just ask the doorman, he’ll find me. The doorman tipped his hat.

The hotel lobby was clean and smart but nothing special. A gaggle of fat tourists gathered at reception, either checking in or checking out. They were surrounded by suitcases and suit bags. They seemed to be having a dispute among themselves. A young woman behind the desk called me aside and asked if she could help. Alistair Garvie had taken a room on the eighth floor and was expecting me. Go right on up.

The mirrored elevator had posters for Cats and Starlight Express and Les Miserables on the walls. I smoked a cigarette on the way up, trying to get my heart rate up a bit, get ready for a fight, but I needn’t have. Margie could have beaten Alistair Garvie in an arm wrestle.

He is tall and ski