Fine Lines

Chapter Sixteen

It was only a few days after the meal that the two policemen came into the gallery. One was in uniform, the other plain clothes. Both Anna and I immediately stopped what we were doing.

“Miss Palmer?” the one in plain clothes asked. He was the taller of the two, a heavy set, military-looking man with a thick moustache several shades paler than his hair.

Anna had tensed. “Yes?”

“I’m Detective Inspector Lindsey, this is Sergeant Stone. Could we have a word with you please?”

All the colour had drained from Anna’s face. I doubt I can have looked very much better. I had my own fears. “Why? What about?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk in private?” The policeman glanced at me. I felt a nauseous touch of paranoia.

“It’s all right, you can talk to me here,” Anna said, interpreting the look. “This is about Marty, isn’t it?”

“It might be better in private.”

“There’s the office,” I said, but Anna shook her head.

“No, it’s all right, I’d rather you stayed.” I was too anxious to feel flattered, by no means certain I wanted to hear what he had to say. Anna turned back to the policeman. She was holding herself rigid. “Have you found him?” Her voice was deliberately calm.

The policeman looked away from me. From that point on, I ceased to exist for him. “No, we’ve not found him yet. But we do have a possible lead.” He paused. I could smell the sour, rotten smell of cigarettes on his breath. “This may be a little upsetting for you, but I’ve got to ask if your boyfriend has any homosexual tendencies that you’re aware of?”

Anna now looked more confused than frightened. “Homosexual tendencies? No. Not at all. Why?”

The policeman ignored her question. “Has he ever given you cause to suspect that he may be homosexual?”

“No, of course not! Why?”

Suddenly, I saw the connection. Blood rushed to my head as I struggled to keep the realisation from my face.

“We’ve received an identification from someone who claims to have seen your boyfriend in a gay club in Soho,” the policeman went on. I told myself it could not be the same club where Marty had met Zeppo. Surely no one would remember him from a single visit. But the thought did little to reassure me. I became aware that the sergeant was looking at me. I tried to ignore him.

“Recently?” There was a note of hope in Anna’s voice.

“Before he disappeared. We don’t have a definite date. But we’ve reason to believe he went there several times.”

Some of the tension drained out of Anna. She seemed suddenly disappointed. “Which one was it? The Pink Flamingo?”

Both policemen looked at her in surprise. “You know about it?” the senior one asked.

“Yes. Marty went there quite a few times. He went to one or two others, as well, but I can’t remember what they’re called.”

He stared at her. “I thought you said he hadn’t any homosexual tendencies?”

“He hasn’t. He didn’t just go to gay clubs. He went to other types as well. It was part of his research.”

“Research?” The very flatness of his tone conveyed his incredulity.

“That’s right. He’s taking a PhD in anthropology. He’s writing a paper on behavioural patterns in different types of nightclubs. How it’s affected by money, sexuality. That sort of thing.” She sounded as though she were reciting it by rote. It was similar enough to what Marty had told Zeppo to convince me she was.

The two policemen exchanged a look. “So your boyfriend told you he went to gay clubs as part of his studies?”

The colour was back in Anna’s face now. More than was normal. “He didn’t just “tell” me. That’s why he went. Marty’s not gay, if that’s what you’re trying to make out.”

“We’re not trying to make anything out, Miss. We just want to establish his reason for going. Did you ever go to any of these gay clubs with him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a girl. If Marty went with me, we’d attract attention. It would be obvious we were a couple. Marty wanted to blend into the background, so he could just... you know, observe without bothering anyone.”

“How far did he actually go in order to blend in?”

“I’ve told you, he used to sit and watch. That’s all.”

“But you never actually went with him.”

“No. Look, what’s the point of all this? I want to know “where Marty is now, not weeks ago!”

The policeman nodded, placatingly. “So do we, Miss. I know this isn’t very pleasant for you. It’s not for us, either, but it’s the first lead we’ve had, and we’ve got to see if it’s worth following up or not. I’ve got to ask you these questions, if only so we can discount it, you understand?” He waited for Anna’s terse assent before continuing. “Now, how often did he go to these clubs?”

Anna shrugged, sullenly. “I don’t know. A few times. Not often.”

“Once a week? Twice a week?”

“Less than that. I’ve told you, it wasn’t often.”

“Once a month, then?”

“Perhaps. Something like that.”

“Did he go on any particular nights? I mean, was it always on a Friday, or a Saturday? Or at a certain time of the month?”

“No, it varied. He went on different nights so he could compare them.”

“And did he ever mention anyone he had met?”

My heart jumped at the question. “He didn’t go to “meet” anyone!” Anna snapped. “He went purely as an observer. How many more times do I have to say it?”

“He never mentioned anyone in particular, then? No names?”

“No.”

“So he just used to sit in a corner and mind his own business? What if someone came up to him?”

Anna’s colour had concentrated into two points of red on her cheeks. “Well, I suppose he spoke to some people, obviously. But he never used to go out of his way to talk to anyone. He only spoke to them if they came up to him first. Look, I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t like that!”

“Did he ever tell you what he talked about?”

“Yes, sometimes. It was always to do with his work.”

“But he never told you who he used to speak to?”

“I’ve told you, it wasn’t anyone in particular! He used to go and just.. just look, that’s all. And he’s not been for weeks, now anyway! If you don’t believe me, ask the university! They know all about it!”

“I’m sure they do. Did he ever stay out all night?”

“No, of course not!”

“Late, then?”

“No! I mean, sometimes it would be two o’clock, or something, but that’s all.”

“Have you any idea why he was interested in this particular field?”

Anna hesitated, searching for a concrete fact to repudiate the policeman’s insinuations. “He’s an anthropologist! That’s the sort of thing they do. He thought it was a... a worthwhile field of study, that’s all. The same as the other aspects of his thesis. This was only a part of it, you know.”

“Have you any homosexual friends?”

“No.”

“Did he keep notes about his visits to these clubs? A diary, perhaps?”

“He doesn’t keep a diary, but he makes notes about the clubs he visits,” Anna said. I felt my heart lurch again. That had never occurred to me.

“Are all his notes at the university?”

“Most of them, yes. Some of them are at the flat.”

“Would it be all right if we had a look at them?”

I could see Anna did not like the idea. I found myself wildly hoping she would refuse. “I suppose so,” she said, reluctantly. “But if you’re hoping to find anything incriminating, you’re wasting your time.”

“We’re not looking for anything incriminating, Miss. We only want to find out where he is, the same as you.” His tone was condescending.

“Well, trying to make out he’s gay isn’t going to do any good. I don’t know why he went, but it wasn’t because of that. I live with him, for God’s sake, don’t you think I’d know if he was?”

“I’m sure you would. But we’ve got to examine every possibility, haven’t we? It could be, for instance, that someone he met at one of these clubs knows where he is now.”

“You mean he might have run off with another man,” Anna said flatly.

“I don’t mean anything. At this stage I’m just keeping an open mind.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Look, Miss—”

“If that’s all, you’ll have to excuse me. I’ve work to do.” She turned her back and walked away. I heard her footsteps going upstairs.

The policemen looked at each other. The sergeant shrugged with his eyebrows. The inspector turned to me. “Can you tell Miss Palmer we’ll be in touch about her boyfriend’s notes? We’d like to look at them as soon as possible.”

I nodded, trying to gather myself. I did not trust my voice. But I could not leave it at that. “Do you think this could have some bearing on his disappearance?” I asked.

Upset by Anna walking out, he tried to intimidate me. He stared for a moment without speaking. “I really don’t know, sir. Have you any ideas on the subject?”

“Me? Oh, no, not at all. Well, except that Marty didn’t strike me as being gay.”

“Well, then, perhaps he’s not. We’ll just have to see, won’t we, sir? Thank you for your time.” His tone was so exaggeratedly polite it bordered on parody.

“How did you find out about the nightclubs? Is it standard procedure?”

“Well, it is and it isn’t,” he said. “Mr. Westerman’s description was included with a bunch of missing teenage boys by accident. The gay community’s like a magnet for missing teenage boys. Amazing how many of them end up there. As it turned out, your Mr. Westerman was the only one our source recognised.” He smiled coldly. It seemed designed to try and intimidate more. “So you see, not all police cock-ups are bad ones, are they?”

On their way out, the sergeant stopped and studied a painting. “My wife would love that.” It was the first time he had spoken. “How much is it?” I told him. He looked at it again. “Jesus Christ.”

They left.

I knew now I could not put off telling Zeppo any longer. I telephoned him that evening. For once he answered almost straight away. He seemed in an irritatingly good mood.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the poor man’s Tate. What can I do for you? Don’t tell me you’ve done something else stupid, have you?”

“No I haven’t. But I think we’d better talk.”

“Why? Is Anna begging for it already?”

“Just come over as soon as you can. I’m at home.”

He became more serious. “What’s wrong?”

“Probably nothing, but you still ought to hear about it.”

“Hear about what? What’s happened?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

I hung up before he could say anything else. I knew that was the fastest way of getting him over, and took the receiver off the hook as an afterthought. I did not relish the prospect of facing him with the news, but I could not trust it to the telephone.

He wasted no time in coming. “So what’s happened?” he demanded, before I had even closed the door. I took a deep breath.

“The police came to the gallery today. It seems that someone has identified Marty from one of the gay clubs.”

Zeppo closed his eyes and put his head back. “Shit! Oh shift He slapped his hand against the wall.

“It’s not as bad as all that—”

“Like hell it’s not! Where did they see him?”

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t the same club you went to. It was another one.”

“You’re sure?”

“They said it was The Pink Flamingo. The one he went to regularly. That’s the only reason he was recognised. And even that was only by accident.” Zeppo’s hand was still on the wall. He was staring up at the ceiling. I went on quickly. “There’s no reason for them to link him to you. In fact, this could turn out for the best. From what the police were asking Anna, they seemed to think that Marty was homosexual, and that he might have run away with another man.”

Zeppo stopped gazing at the ceiling and looked at me. “Are you really that stupid? Turn out for the best? Do you know what’s going to happen now? Eh? They’re going to go around every gay club in London to see if anyone else remembers him. And what happens when they get to the club I met him in? Suppose someone there remembers seeing him with me?”

“That’s not very likely. It’s not as if Marty was the sort to stand out in a crowd.”

“No, but I fucking am!” He pushed himself off the wall at me. Spittle flecked my face. “What do we do if they flash his photograph, and some queer says, “Oh yes, I remember him, he was with this big, dark-haired hunk”? What the fuck do we do then?”

I tried to sound unconcerned. “Why should we do anything? If the worst comes to the worst, if they ask questions at that particular club, and if someone happens to remember a face from one night weeks ago, then even then all the police will have to go on will be that he was at a table with a tall, dark-haired man. Of which there are hundreds. You didn’t see anyone there you knew, did you?”

“No, but—”

“So let’s not get too hysterical, shall we? I know it’s a shock. It was for me at first. But then, once I had time to calm down and think about it, I realised that there was no reason for it to be. How long were you in there with Marty for? An hour? If that? I know you think you’re something special, Zeppo, but really, do you think you’re so good that even your companion will be remembered weeks after the event? If they even manage to find anyone who was there that night and saw you?”

His cheek muscles worked. “Perhaps not.” He sounded grudging. I pushed my advantage.

“Besides which, what is there to possibly link him with you? How many people know about... well, about your earlier activities? As far as most people are concerned, you’re the epitome of masculinity. So why should anyone link you with a gay club in Soho?”

“What about Anna? If the police get my description, she’ll know it’s me.”

“Of course she won’t! Zeppo, as far as the police are concerned, Marty has run away. Voluntarily. They’re not worried about him. They won’t be issuing an all-points bulletin on the six o’clock news with a photo fit picture of you. All it will be, if it’s anything at all, will be a description. Of someone everyone will assume is a homosexual. And since Anna doesn’t think of you like that, she won’t make the connection. Think about it. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, to link you with someone who met Marty in a gay nightclub. No motive, no reason. Nothing.”

He was calmer now. “You better be right.”

“I am.” In fact, I had rationalised it so well that for a moment I felt as confident as I sounded. Then I remembered Marty’s notes, and the sudden wash of fear instantly undermined my new confidence. In that second I knew I was not going to tell Zeppo about them.

But whatever I felt, it could not have shown in my face. At any rate, Zeppo seemed completely reassured. “In that case I think I’ll let you give me a drink now I’m here,” he said. He began to walk toward the lounge. Suddenly I could not stand the thought of him being there a second longer.

“No. I’d like you to go now.”

He turned and looked at me in surprise. “What?”

“I said I’d like you to go.”

An astonished smile spread across his face. “Getting a little tetchy, aren’t we, Donald? What the fuck’s eating you?”

“Nothing’s eating me. I just want you to leave, that’s all.”

“What about your duties as a host? You insist I come here, and then five minutes later you want me to go again. That’s not very hospitable, is it?”

“I’m not in a very hospitable mood.”

“Then you shouldn’t have asked me over, should you?” I could see he was beginning to enjoy himself. That only irritated me more.

“I asked you over because I had something to tell you. Now I have, there’s no reason for you to stay.”

“Donald, you mean you dragged me all this way just for that, and now you want me to leave without even having a drink? You could have told me on the telephone and saved me the journey.” He held up his hand. “Sorry I forgot. The phones are all bugged, aren’t they? You don’t like the CIA listening in.”

“For someone who was having a panic attack a moment ago, you’ve suddenly become very blasé. And no, I don’t like using the telephone for something like this. I have no desire to end up in prison because a housewife in Tooting Bee happened to get a crossed line.”

“You’re getting very agitated all of a sudden.”

“Perhaps that’s because I’ve had enough of your attitude. I’m tired of having to put up with your tantrums. I didn’t force you to get involved. You chose to of your own accord, for money, not as a favour to me, and I’ve had enough of you holding me responsible whenever anything doesn’t go quite according to plan! We knew there would have to be some kind of investigation, and it’s me who has to bear the brunt of that, not you. So I can well do without having to contend with a... a homicidal model threatening violence every time there’s the slightest hiccup!”

Zeppo had listened with his head slightly tilted to one side. “Does this mean you don’t love me any more?”

“It means I would like you to leave!”

“Okay, Donald. If that’s the way you feel about it.” He went to the front door, an amused expression on his face. He opened it and turned to me.

“By the way,” he said. “Your flies are undone.”

I simply stared at him. Smiling, he went out. I looked down.

They were.