thirty-five

Nancy’s eyes widened in alarm. “What? Where are you going?”

Ruth winked at Vaslik, careful to not let Nancy see her, then turned back and said to her, “Listen, lady, I don’t know what you think this is, but you called us in because your daughter has been kidnapped, right?”

“She has—I told you!” She looked at Gina and Vaslik. “You know it’s true!”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Ruth countered. “But if you want to get her back, you’d better stop hiding stuff from me. Somebody obviously thinks you have some kind of value, and if they’ve taken your daughter it’s because they’ll want to do a trade. Now, as we’ve said before, we have to know what that value is, and I can’t start helping you until you level with me. That means about everything; you, your husband, your life—how many times a week you have sex and what you eat on Sundays. Have you got that or do we walk out of here?”

“Wait! Don’t go —please. I’m sorry.” Nancy scrambled out of the chair and gripped Ruth’s arm, forgetting Michael’s warning not to trust these people. “Please. I need your help. All of you.”

Gina had stepped into the kitchen and Vaslik was by the door, poised to go. Ruth waited nervously, wondering if this sudden change of tactic was a move too far and likely to pitch the woman over the edge. She said nothing, allowing the silence to build its own tension.

Finally Nancy spoke, her voice tiny. “I’m sorry I don’t … say a lot about us. Michael told me to start being careful of letting people know too much. That we might have to move again.”

“When was this?”

“I don’t remember for certain. He came back from a trip a few months ago and said we both needed to watch ourselves as there were some dangerous people out there. I thought he was talking about muggers and drunks, or that he’d been affected by the places he went to. I went along with it because I trust him.”

“So this was a recent thing, this warning?”

“Sort of. But he’s always been careful like that.”

“Secretive?”

“I suppose so. But after that trip, he changed. Became more …cautious.” She shook her head. “I wish I could speak to him. Then everything would be all right.”

“Where was that trip to?”

“I don’t remember. Somewhere in Africa, I think.”

“Have you spoken to him?” Gina spoke from the kitchen doorway. The kettle was roaring in the background, muffling the talk.

“No. How could I? You won’t let me use my phone, will you?” With that she turned and walked out of the room.

Nobody tried to stop her.

The three of them gathered in the kitchen with the radio on. They heard Nancy leave the bathroom and enter her bedroom, closing the door. The atmosphere felt leaden.

“That was interesting,” Vaslik murmured.

“How?” said Gina.

“Well, I know a bit of Polish, but not enough to get in a fight with someone. It sounds like our guy speaks another language. Who knew?”

“More bloody secrets.” Gina looked annoyed. “The woman’s a head case. And so’s her control freak of a good Samaritan husband. It’s feudal, the way he is. Something’s not right here.”

“You’re right,” Ruth agreed. “And it gets worse.” She told them about the women they knew as Clarisse clearing out Tiggi’s possessions and paying the back rent. They said nothing. She looked at Vaslik. “What kind of woman do you know uses Krav Maga?”

He looked surprised at the switch in conversation. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” She explained what Andrew had told her about Clarisse’s reaction to him coming onto her.

“She was probably feeling hormonal,” Gina muttered dryly. “I feel like decking guys like that on a regular basis.” She gave Vaslik a sideways look.

He ignored her. “Krav Maga. That’s hard core. Could he have been saying that to make himself look good? One style overcoming another?”

“I don’t think so. From what he and the receptionist said, Stephenson took him apart before he could blink. He admitted what set her off might have been something he said, but he couldn’t remember what it was.”

“A chat-up line that misfired?” Vaslik pulled a face. “Sounds a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“Exactly. And it doesn’t answer the question: how come a part-time admin worker knows that kind of fighting style well enough to take down a bigger, experienced opponent in the flick of an eye?”

Just then her phone rang. She took it out and answered.

“Hi. Is that Ruth?” Talk of the devil. It was Andrew.

“What have you got?”

“I think I remember the line of the conversation we were talking about. But it’s nothing, really.”

“Let me be the judge of that. What did you say, word for word?” She signalled for the others to stay.

“Well, she wasn’t English, but I have a lot of foreign students in the classes so it didn’t stand out. But there was something about her accent … I was making conversation, you know, trying to find common ground?”

“Smooth. Go on.”

“One of my previous fitness students had the same way of talking. It sounded American at first, you know? Like West coast but with a throaty touch … an accent. I thought it was really sexy.”

Jesus, she thought, he was a sex-nut on legs. No wonder he’d taken a kicking. But he was spot on. Clarisse had talked with a slight American tone, too. It was a match.

“And?”

“It was a simple enough question, right? All I did was ask where she came from.”

“Then what?”

“I remember now what she said, just before … you know. She said I asked too many questions. Then the lights went out.”

Ruth felt disappointed. It might be nothing after all. Simply a case of male hormones overtaking common sense and imagination. Out of a feeling of desperation, she asked, “So where did this former student of yours come from? Or did she kick your head in, too?”

Andrew chuckled. “No way. She was really friendly. She came from Haifa in Israel.”