Neagley’s shoulders came down a fraction, as though she’d been expecting a chewing out. We were sitting at a table for four, with Ella on a booster seat next to her mother. Simone gestured to the spare seat and the private investigator slid into it gratefully. Close up, she looked tired, strained.
I caught the eye of a passing waiter. “Can we offer you something to drink, Ms. Neagley?”
“Thank you, ma’am,” she said. “I don’t suppose they serve Tab here, do they?”
The waiter shook his head and Neagley reluctantly accepted Diet Pepsi as second-best. A glass appeared in front of her almost immediately. The service throughout the hotel was slick and unobtrusive.
Frances Neagley smiled vaguely at Ella, who was mutely watching her every move while dunking toast and grape jelly into the yolk of her poached egg. She was occasionally washing this concoction down with great gulps of fresh orange juice, picking up the glass in both hands as she drank. I expected her to throw up at any moment and, from Neagley’s expression, I wasn’t the only one.
“So, do you have any news for me?” Simone asked when the waiter had departed. The question burst out of her, like she’d been doing her best to wait a decent length of time, but she couldn’t contain it any longer.
Neagley had just lifted her glass towards her mouth with the reverence of someone who has been too long deprived of caffeine. When Simone spoke she hesitated a moment, then put the drink down again, untasted, with the barest hint of a sigh.
“Not at the moment. We’re assuming Barry-that’s my partner, Barry O’Halloran-well, that he had his case notes with him when he went into the river,” she said, with a sideways glance at Ella to check how much she was taking in. Neagley didn’t sound Bostonian to my ears, but I wasn’t familiar enough with American accents to place her beyond that. “Lotta the stuff inside his car was washed away. They haven’t found his briefcase.”
“He went into the water?” I asked.
Neagley turned and regarded me fully for a moment without speaking, as though trying to gauge whether I warranted the information or not. Then she saw Simone’s expectant air and said, reluctantly, “Yeah. He was driving back down from Maine. It was late at night and the last fall of snow was just getting started. The cops reckon he most likely hit some ice on a bridge and just went off the road.”
There was doubt in her voice, though, or maybe it was just a little disbelief. Everybody thinks they’re a good driver until an accident happens to them.
“Surely he would have kept copies — duplicates, backups — of his files?” Simone said.
Neagley took a hurried swig of her Pepsi and her face pinched.
“Look, I’m sorry, Ms. Neagley,” I said quickly “I know this must seem heartless to you, but you have to understand how important this is to Miss Kerse.”
Neagley now included me in her distaste, but after a moment she nodded slowly and let her unconscious bristling subside.
“Barry had been away for a few days,” she said, almost grudgingly. “Last time I heard from him he was in Freeport, Maine. Said he’d gotten a promising lead but it had led nowhere. I would have expected him to file a full report when he came back, if he’d come back,” she added quietly.
“So we’re back to square one,” Simone said, trying not to sound too disappointed and not succeeding.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Neagley said stiffly. “I’ll do what I can to find out where Barry went and who he saw, but it could take a little while. How long do you plan to stay?”
Simone met my eye, steely “As long as it takes,” she said.
Six
At the concierge’s suggestion, later that morning we went to the Aquarium to fill in some time. We’d left Frances Neagley my mobile number in case of developments and, besides, Simone was going stir-crazy sitting around waiting in her suite, however sumptuous.
The New England Aquarium was not far from the hotel, just a short walk along the harborside. The sun was out, giving a pale penetrating winter light, and the air was still cold enough to see your breath. The snow that had fallen overnight was lying thick across the whole city, muffling both the sight and the sound of it. It had snowed just before we left London, little more than a mean dusting that was nevertheless causing havoc with the transport system. Over here it seemed to be expected and embraced.
Ella was eager to be out scuffing her booted feet in the white stuff and had to be forcibly restrained from running off to investigate the seagulls loitering at the edge of the brick-lined wharf. There seemed to be only a length of heavy chain strung on bollards between her curiosity and the frigid water.
She was boisterous and demanding of Simone’s complete attention, but at least Ella obeyed the instruction to hold her mother’s hand, even if she pulled and dragged at her most of the time. I thought one of those retractable dog leads would have been a good idea, and she was certainly small enough. Let her get so far away, then just reel her in. But I didn’t voice the suggestion.
I walked a few paces behind them and to the right, keeping my eyes roving over the people who approached us. It was bright enough to make sunglasses unobtrusive, and I slipped mine on. It made it easier and less obvious that I was watching hands and eyes. Every now and again I glanced behind me with what I hoped was the casual air of a tourist, just taking it all in. The whole of the waterfront seemed to be lined with renovated offices and brand-new condominiums valued, so we’d been told, well into seven figures. And sometimes into eight.
Nobody appeared to be paying our little group any undue attention. I spotted a couple of guys who seemed a little out of place. Nothing specific, just a subtle sense of awareness about them, something that didn’t quite jell. Both of them passed us by without a second look.
At one point I found Ella watching me covertly over her shoulder. I would have thought she would have been more curious about why this complete stranger was suddenly shadowing their every move, but Ella had seemed to accept me without comment. Every now and then, though, I’d find her watching me and frowning, like she was remembering me knocking her daddy flat on his back in the restaurant, or the way the photographers had lunged at her outside her kitchen window. Like none of this had happened before I came into her life and I was somehow to blame. I thought kids that age were supposed to have the memory span of a goldfish.
Unfortunately, it seemed Ella was the exception to the rule.
The Aquarium was housed on the edge of Central Wharf, a starkly modern, almost thrown-together building, all sharp angles of steel and glass. As soon as we got inside, the first thing that hit me was the smell of fried food from the cafe upstairs, particularly of what seemed to be fish, which I thought had a somewhat cruel irony in the circumstances.
Inside, the building was dimly lit and the bare concrete walls reminded me of a multistory car park with a major damp problem. In the center was a huge pool for the penguins. Ella was captivated by them- Africans and rockhoppers and little blues that didn’t look fully grown. I would have liked to spend time reading the information, but I wasn’t here for my own amusement.
Ella asked constant questions, which Simone did her best to answer as though she were talking to an adult. It was often a pleasure to watch the two of them interacting.
I couldn’t believe how busy the place was. Everybody seemed to be taking pictures with little digital cameras no bigger than a credit card, which nevertheless had built-in flash that would have put a lighthouse to shame.
And the place seemed to be heaving with small children, which had Ella pulled in all different directions at once and made me nervous. She was naturally gregarious and keeping her at Simone’s side became more and more difficult.