Page 47 of Go Now
‘We’re just trying to establish whether he’s alive or dead,’ Kate said.‘Then we can worry about his connection to the sculptures and the killings.’
Suddenly, Marcus’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, his expression instantly changing. Without a word to his companions, he picked up the phone and walked out with it.
‘What’s that about?’Chen asked, as yet more dishes arrived on a trolley.There seemed to be greens in a pale, garlicky sauce, a whole duck, a staggering quantity of dumplings.
Kate shrugged.She had a suspicion about Marcus’s sudden exit, but she didn’t share it.‘So you’re a believer in “the love of a good woman”, I guess?’
‘I think people change in relationships,’ Chen said.‘And I think sometimes, all the stuff that’s gone on before – all the trouble they’ve been getting into – it’s because they haven’t sought out the right people to be with.Once they do… they can change dramatically.’
'I can see that,' Kate said.'But it only ever seems to be one way.It's always some poor, exhausted saintly woman putting everything on the line to fix some messed-up guy. No one ever talks about "the love of a good man", do they?Most guys are too selfish to get involved.'
Chen gave a kind of non-commital nod; not agreeing, notnotagreeing.She glanced around.‘Speaking of… Do you think Marcus is coming back?I’m pretty darned hungry but I don’t think we can eat all of this!’
She received an answer, though not the one she wanted, a few moments later, when Marcus strode back in, his jaw set tight, his eyes troubled.
‘Guys, I hate to do this.But I’ve got to leave you to it.’
‘What’s happened?’Kate asked.
‘I can make it back to Portland in five hours,’ he said, distractedly.‘I’ve only had one beer.’
‘Marcus.What’s going on?’
He blinked, as if suddenly noticing Kate was there.‘It’s Cheryl,’ he said.‘She’s been in an accident.’
+ + + + + +
Kate actually enjoyed working Sundays.There was something almost cozy about a field office over the weekend.There was no constant rat-a-tat-tat of keyboards, no ringing of phones, no slammed doors or tardy elevators.If you brewed a pot of coffee, you stood a very good chance of being able to drink it yourself.If you had a task to accomplish, then it was your fault if you didn't finish it; no one else's.
And a more uncomfortable truth: Kate didn’t really know what to do with herself when she wasn’t working. Sundays still carried the ghosts of her childhood, that leaden feeling in the pit of her stomach as she packed textbooks and gym kit into her backpack.She hadn’t disliked school – there’d been a couple of mean girls here and there, but nothing she couldn’t handle.The problem had always been with leaving home. Her mom and dad had made home such a nice place for their only daughter, so warm and safe and loving, that she didn’t ever want to leave.Maybe that was part of the reason why she was still living there, most of the time. But she couldn’t exactly blame her parents for that.What should they have done: be less nice?
She sighed and returned to her tasks. She’d achieved a lot since arriving at the office two hours ago, but the list was long. Top of the pile was making contact with Marcus, but she knew she could only push that so far. First thing this morning, she’d sent him a message:
Hope all is ok. Let me know.Kx
But she had to leave the ball in his court now. She was aware what the mind – her own, post-traumatically stress-disordered mind, anyway – got up to when there was a lack of information.She dialled it up to eleven. Imagined the absolute worst.Cheryl was dead.Marcus, like some latter-day Romeo, had committed suicide over her fallen body. It was laughable the way she did this.Well, itoughtto be laughable.But whether she knew she was being ridiculous or not, all that stress still did the same damage. It wore grooves in the surface of her brain, making it that much easier to imagine further catastrophes, the next time she found herself in a comparable situation.
She jumped when the elevator dinged, signifying its arrival at the basement floor.She suppressed a flash of irritation.She really hoped it wasn't Captain Ahab.Captain Ahab was the name she'd given one of the civilian staffers who worked in the building: a loud, short, thickly bearded IT guy who liked to tell long stories about his encounters with famous people. There were rumors about Captain Ahab, or more accurately, there was certain advice passed from woman to woman, largely about not ending up alone with him, or not accepting his, ostensibly friendly invitations for an after-hours drink. So Kate was relieved when the lift doors swooshed open and Chen hopped out.
‘I hate Sundays,’ Chen said.‘They remind me of being at school.’
Kate filled her in on the progress she’d made so far. ‘We’ve got an account statement from the IRS, detailing the back taxes and assorted penalties, all paid off by Grandma Blackstone, as per her daughter’s testimony.’
‘How much?’
Kate showed her the figure.
‘Ouch!’
‘I asked the Blackstones if they’ve got any of Ray’s statues, so that forensics can do a comparison with those left at the crime scenes.Due to the ongoing sell-off of their properties, they’re in storage, but they’re on the case.They also pointed me towards the gallery where that one exhibition took place in 2017.If any statues were sold, then we’ll be able to contact the buyer or buyers.Meanwhile, the family’s supplied us with photographs of the prodigal son going back to his childhood.That’ll help the software to create a decent image of what he looks like now.’
She clicked on a photograph of Ray Blackstone, aged somewhere between one and two.He was in the bath, grinning unselfconsciously, a quiff of bubbles sitting high on his head.
‘Sad, isn’t it?’Chen said.
‘Well, we don’t know if he’s dead.’
‘I know.But he’s obviously had a chaotic, unhappy life, hasn’t he?You look at that kid there, and you think… well, nobody deserves that.’
