‘She was supposed to call when she arrived.’
‘And she didn’t?’
David shook his head. ‘It’s warm in here. Do you mind if I take off my coat?’
‘You’re not staying,’ Blair said. ‘Why didn’t you call her?’
‘I did. Well, after a couple of days. I thought maybe she...’ His voice trailed away. ‘I don’t know what I thought. But I did think she would call eventually.’
‘So, finally, you phoned the hotel yourself and she wasn’t there.’
‘That’s right. They said there wasn’t anybody called Lisa Elliot registered. I called a few times, but always the same response.’
‘And she didn’t even book in the day she arrived?’
‘Well, I don’t know. They weren’t very forthcoming. It’s difficult getting information when you’re six thousand miles away.’
Blair seemed thoughtful, gazing away through the window across the river. Finally he looked back at David, almost as though surprised to find him still there. ‘And?’
David shrugged. ‘And — that’s it? I thought maybe since you’d given her a contact there...’
‘I didn’t encourage her to go,’ Blair said. ‘She’s a very determined young lady.’
‘I know,’ David said with some feeling.
‘Give me your card.’ Blair held out his hand. David fumbled in his pockets before finding a tattered business card and handing it to the Scot. Blair glanced at it. ‘I’ll make some inquiries and give you a call.’ He drained his glass, placed it on a low coffee table and strode out into the hall. David hurried after him.
‘When?’
‘When I hear anything. If I hear anything.’ He opened the door to let in an icy blast of night air. ‘Goodnight.’
David looked at him, clearly unhappy. ‘I suppose that’ll have to do.’
‘Aye, it will.’
David stepped out into the dark January night.
‘And stick to chasing ambulances in future, son. It’s a lot safer.’ The door slammed, closing off the light that had spilled out across the front lawn, leaving David frustrated and dissatisfied.
He walked up the path to where his car was parked under a street lamp, and cursed his own inadequacy. His initial confidence in his researches, his concern over the lack of contact with Lisa, had made him almost arrogant on the doorstep, until the unexpected force of Blair’s response had left him floundering like a novice poker player who shows his hand too early. The rest had been humiliating. Why, then, he wondered as he slipped behind the wheel, did his cocktail of emotions include a substantial quantity of relief?
He sat for a moment, toying idly with his key ring, not wanting to admit to himself what deep down he already knew. That somehow he had passed on the responsibility. If Lisa wanted to go running off to the other side of the world on a wild goose chase, then he could hardly be held to blame if she got herself into trouble. He’d put responsibility firmly back in the hands of the man responsible for her going off in the first place. There was nothing else he could do. He checked the time and realized he would be late for his shift.
From the darkness of his front room Blair watched David’s car drive away, then he drifted through again to the back of the house. Automatically, almost without thinking, he sank back in his armchair and relit his pipe. He pulled on it several times, letting smoke drift lazily from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth. For a long time he sat wrapped in a black cloak of winter depression. He felt the burden of guilt weigh heavily upon him. He should have tried to talk Elliot out of going in the first place. He should never have told Lisa where her father had gone.
Quite suddenly he laid down his pipe and rose to cross to his bureau and search among an untidy pile of paperwork for a number scribbled on an otherwise blank sheet of paper. He sat down, pulled on a pair of wire spectacles, and lifted the phone. The number took for ever to dial but rang only three times. A girl’s voice sounded in his ear, shrill and staccato.
‘Sam Blair,’ he said. ‘I’d like to speak to Tuk Than.’
He waited impatiently for half a minute before he heard Tuk’s oily voice on the other end of the line. ‘Mister Blair. Good to hear from you.’
‘Didn’t get you out of your bed, did I?’ Blair glanced at his watch. It would be nearly one a.m. in Bangkok.
‘No, no. I am in a business meeting.’
‘Strange hours you keep, Tuk.’
‘Was there something you wanted, Mister Blair?’ There was irritation in Tuk’s tone.
‘Just thought I’d check on that job we discussed a few weeks back.’
‘No problems. Your friend was very pleased with the merchandise.’
‘He got away alright, then?’
‘Oh, yes. Two weeks ago. No problem getting away. Problem getting back, I think.’
‘Yes, I think so, too. The news is not good.’
‘Not good.’ Tuk sighed audibly.
‘You haven’t heard anything, then?’
‘Nothing. And I’ll be honest with you, Mister Blair, I don’t expect to. You must excuse me now, I’m very busy.’
‘Sure.’ Blair was working hard at keeping his voice casual. ‘Just one other thing...’
‘Yes?’
‘You haven’t had any contact with his daughter?’
‘His daughter?’ Tuk sounded surprised.
‘Lisa. She was trying to reach him. I gave her your address.’
‘That was not very discreet, Mister Blair.’
‘Perhaps not. She hasn’t contacted you, then?’
‘No.’
Blair waited for something further, but nothing came. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That’s fine. You’ll let me know if you hear anything? About my friend — or his daughter?’
‘Of course. Goodnight, Mister Blair.’ The line went dead.
Blair put down the receiver thoughtfully and took off his spectacles to rub his eyes. He shook his head. Tuk was lying. The tension in his voice had been unmistakable. All the usual ersatz bonhomie absent. He replaced his spectacles, opened a small drawer on the left of the bureau and lifted out a well-thumbed passport. He flipped it open and a younger version of himself stared back at him. He turned another page. Still valid for two more years. Another drawer yielded a London telephone directory and he made a call.
‘British Airways.’
‘I’d like to reserve a seat on the first available flight to Bangkok.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Grace sat on the edge of a hard leather chair, gazing bleakly around Tuk’s spartan study. There was no warmth in the room, even in the light of the reading lamp on the desk. She was tired, her eyes gritty. It was almost forty hours since she had last slept. The desire to lie on, pressed close to Lisa’s warm young body, had been almost irresistible. But she had forced herself to leave the temptation of the girl’s room, knowing that she had to act fast if she was to save Lisa’s life.
She had heard Tuk speaking on the telephone in the hall, but it was several minutes since he had hung up and still he had not reappeared. The call had come at an infuriatingly inopportune moment. When she arrived, Tuk had been mellow and relaxed, and she guessed that he had been smoking — there had been that glaze about his eyes. He had listened to her, sipping an iced whisky, gazing off into the distance, his mind on other things. The fate of Elliot’s daughter seemed unimportant. His interest lay elsewhere.
The girl was unaware, Grace told him, that the General had bought her virginity. She thought she had been raped. She had no idea of Grace’s role, or Tuk’s, so she posed no threat to either of them. What harm would it do if they let her go, gave her back her passport and put her on a plane? She was only a child, after all.