Constable — or Sergeant — Orrel had suggested that ringing his wife’s acquaintances would be a good place for Bertie Banfield to begin. And at that point it was obvious to the abandoned husband that he was on his own.
On his own for Banfield meant hiring help. In this case, call Hayden Investigative Services.
But these details were not what occupied Charles Hayden when he visited Banfield House at noon on Tuesday. “There’s a bit of a problem with Mallory, Bertie,” Charlie had confided. “But if you wouldn’t mind coming to our house yourself, maybe we can get past it.”
Bertie Banfield didn’t understand what the problem with Mallory was, or why a visit to the Haydens’ home and office would help. But he was very tired from worrying about his wife, so he just agreed and called for his car. He’d known Charlie from when he was a lad — and his father before him. So if Charlie said it might help find Laura if he came out, then he’d come out. Charlie wouldn’t muck him about.
When Charlie entered Banfield’s study at four-thirty Tuesday afternoon, he saw that being back in familiar and comfortable surroundings had restored the old man to some extent. “So,” Banfield asked, “has this damn foolishness of your wife’s been sorted, then?”
“Not yet, I’m afraid. I’m sorry to have asked you to appear in person but it really was the best chance to get her on board.”
Banfield sighed and shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Charles. You and your missus have always worked well as a team.”
“I know that, Bertie. And I haven’t given up.”
“What is the bloody point of being married to a woman if she’s going to let you down?” Banfield held up his hands. “I know, I know. Mine has done the same. I don’t know what gets into their heads these days. Maybe for yours it’s because she’s a Yank, but I don’t know what Laura’s excuse can be.”
“I promise you, Bertie, I will give your case my full attention and I will find Laura.”
“Dead? Or alive?”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Perhaps not.” Another sigh. “So are you and Mallory splitting up?”
Charlie was surprised that Banfield had asked such a thing. But in response to the question he just spread his hands to say, I don’t know. At this point he felt himself to be the victim of something that he couldn’t control. However much his thoughtless actions had triggered the situation. And perhaps his general thoughtlessness over the years. But if Mal had been unhappy with things for so bloody long, she should have said something. Or had she and he just hadn’t heard it?
“You shouldn’t let that one go without a fight,” Bertie Banfield said. “Jolly clever, your girl.”
“I know. But look, about Laura...”
Banfield sighed deeply. “Laura, oh Laura. I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t come back. I rely on her.” He looked Charlie in the eyes. “Is this the way they tell you they’re breaking it up? Run off some damn place without saying?”
“Do you think Laura’s breaking up with you?”
“How would I know?”
“I have to ask, Bertie, did the two of you have a fight of some kind?”
“Not a fight. No, of course not.”
“But words?”
“We did have a disagreement. But it’s one we’ve had before.”
“About?”
“Winston — and don’t say ‘Churchill?’ just to be clever. You know damned well who Winston is.”
The Banfields’ only child. “Have you heard from him?” Charlie asked.
“After all this time? Certainly not. And if I had I wouldn’t bloody answer.”
Charlie knew little more than that Winston Banfield had rejected his parents’ lifestyle and values. But just as he was about to request a brief review of what had so alienated father and son, Banfield said, “Don’t ask. Blood’s blood and all that, but there are also times to cut your losses.”
Mallory would agree with that, Charlie thought. It sounded so cold when she said it. It sounded cold now, too, coming from Bertie Banfield. Getting back to the business at hand, Charlie said, “Could Laura’s departure have had anything to do with the disagreement about Winston?”
“As far as I’m concerned it could have had to do with just about anything, since I don’t know what it was about. But nothing new was said. And deciding it was about Winston won’t move you closer to finding her. Nobody knows if he’s even still bloody alive, much less where he is. They move their tepees all over the shop, don’t they, these hippy-dippy travellers?”
If Banfield had hired them to find Winston, chances were high that he and Mallory could have located him years ago, Charlie thought. But rather than persist with the subject of the missing son, he returned to the missing mother. “Have you looked in Laura’s effects for clues?”
“That’s your job, isn’t it?”
Delegation of tasks was all well and good, but if your wife is missing, doing a little looking for yourself seems an obvious step. Still. “So you don’t know for certain that she didn’t leave you a note.”
“If she’d left a note, she’d have put it where I’d find it, not in her knickers drawer. Mind you, I’m not so sure Laura even remembers how to write by hand nowadays.”
Charlie frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s Internet this and Internet that. She spends all day at her bloody computer.”
“Ah, she’s one of those.”
“Yours is too, I expect.”
“Mallory is technologically pretty savvy, yes.”
“And there’s that chappie you keep in the basement too, isn’t there? I’d have thought if he never goes out he’d be good at the Internet and all that kind of thing.”
The Haydens’ huge house had basement rooms in which a reclusive lodger lived. “Spike is an old friend,” Charlie said. “And he came with the property. All very complicated.”
“Your father, rest his soul, never liked things simple,” Banfield said.
“Tell me about it.”
“But this Internet lark... Must be ideal for someone who never goes out.”
“Yes, Spike is a much better techie than either Mallory or I.”
“And he’s good on the phone too, isn’t he?” Banfield looked like he was remembering something. “Lovely voice, as I recall. Helps on your cases sometimes.”
“I’m impressed you remember,” Charlie said truthfully.
“I’ve got a few candles burning yet.”
“Look, Bertie, I’ll need to go through the parts of the house where Laura may have left a diary, or letters, or...” Charlie shrugged inclusively.
“Look anywhere you bloody like. Anything else?”
“She left yesterday morning?”
“Yes.”
“Did anything else happen before she left?”
“Meaning?”
“Did she get a phone call? Or something in the post?”
“The post doesn’t come till nearly noon these days. But I have no way of knowing about a phone call. She has one of those... those little... whatdoyoucallthems...” He waved a hand. “They vibrate...”
“Mobiles.”
“Mobile phones, that’s it. Take bloody pictures, too. Are they mobile cameras, now?”
“Did the disagreement about Winston happen in the morning?”
“The night before. Sunday, not long after that God-awful televisual thing she keeps track of.”
“What thing?”
But Banfield, tiring, had lost another word. He waved a hand around. “Something... something to do with the queen.”