Next Of Kin (Unnatural Selection #3) (7 page)

Then I
had a phone call on my weekly journey back from Milton Keynes—from
Andy. I hadn’t been in touch with him for at least a fortnight. I
couldn’t help feeling a little resentful that he had information
that might help me find Nick that he hadn’t shared. That he
couldn’t
share, of course. I never said
I was rational.

“Anton, is
there a chance we could meet up?”

“I’m on
my way into London now, actually. I could be at Islington in about
an hour?”

“That’d be
perfect.” He named a pub and I noted the details.

“You don’t
want to just tell me over the phone?”

“Better not.
I’ll see you soon.”

I hung up and
frowned. It had to be about Nick, but why be so secretive?

The pub was
the kind that appealed to lager drinkers and football fans, and was
not one I would have chosen for a quiet drink. Having been out with
Andy and Nick a few times, I wouldn’t have thought it was Andy’s
kind of place either. His wince as he walked in told me I was
right. I waved and he came over to the table I’d managed to
grab.

“Do you
want a pint?” he yelled over the
helium on speed voice of a football commentator on
the pub’s television.

I pondered the
options. “Glass of orange juice, actually.” The wine was bound to
be as disgusting as the ‘beer’ on tap.

“I’ll be right
back.”

I
studied Andy as he queued at the bar. His normal happy-go-lucky air
was missing, but he was nearly as overworked as Nick, and had a
young family to deal with on top of it. Stress was his everyday
reality. I couldn’t tell whether he had good news or bad news for
me. I wished I had told him not to bother with a drink at
all.

Finally he was
served, and brought the glasses over.

“Cheers,” I
said. “What’s going on?”

“This,” he
said, taking a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handing it
over. “You never saw this, I never gave it to you, and there won’t
be more like this.”

Confused, I
read the print out. It took a few moments to work out what I was
looking out, then I exhaled in shock. “Rio?”

“Yes. God
knows where he is now. I got that because I ‘forgot’ to turn the
Interpol alert off. I can get away with this once, but I daren’t
risk it again.”

“I understand.
Thank you.”

“Put it
away and for God’s sake, don’t flash it around or show that
detective of yours. You can tell him what you know, but not how.
Got it?”

“Yes. Why? I
mean, why did you ‘forget’?”

He grimaced at
me and took a pull from his beer. “Because it stinks. This isn’t
Nick. You know it, I know it, but we can’t prove it. I have no idea
what’s going on, but I want to find him too.”

“What about
the guy he was with?”

He shook
his head. “No information. I ran a check on him—he hasn’t got a
record, and no one’s looking for him. Don’t ask me his name,” he
added as I opened my mouth to do that. “I can tell you he didn’t go
to Rio with Nick though.”

“Thanks. Are
you sure it’s Nick using the passport?”

“No, but it
would have to be someone who looked enough like him to match the
digital image in the passport.”

“Is that
possible?”

“Technically. We don’t record fingerprints on British
passports, which would make it harder to get away with it. But the
simplest explanation is that Nick’s in Brazil. Or was five days
ago.”

“Why?”

“No idea,
Anton. The whole thing baffles me. Unless he’s gone barking mad, I
can’t make it out. It’s not his style at all.”

“No. At least
this gives me something to go on with.”

“I’m sorry I
haven’t been able to give you more. Thing is, I have to be so
careful—”

“It’s fine. I
understand, honestly. I really do appreciate this and the risk
you’ve taken.”

He
smiled wryly. “Not much. I wish I could do more. I
will
do more, if I can. Just ask.
I’d do anything for Nick, but I can’t lose my job. At least, not
unless it’s life or death.”

“Nick wouldn’t
want that. You have a family to think of.”

He shrugged,
and drank more of his beer. I was such a worm, blaming him for
something he couldn’t do without destroying his career. Nick was
important to me, and his friend. But it was enough that I had lost
a relationship. To ruin Andy’s life over this would be
unconscionable.

I asked
him about Michelle and the kids, and we made small talk for a few
minutes before he said he had to go. I thanked him again and he
nodded. I got the impression he wanted to say something else, but
he waved goodbye and slipped out. I gave him a few minutes to make
his way to the Tube without running into me again, then I headed to
the station.

The trip back
to Battersea had never seemed longer, and the second I was inside
the house I opened my laptop and logged into Nick’s bank account.
My hands shook as I typed in the password, and I held my breath
until the details came up. There had been recent activity—in
Rio.

I called
George. “Nick flew from Berlin to Rio five days ago. He’s paid for
accommodation in Rio and coffees, a couple of other purchases from
speciality shops, using his credit card.”

“How the
bloody hell did you find out about the flight?”

“Can’t tell
you. But the credit card stuff is through his online account
information.”

“This is
great. It’s possible the card’s been stolen, though, just to warn
you.”

“I know. What
will you do?”

“Contact our
local agents and ask them to confirm how the payments were made,
and if the merchants can describe the card holder. After
that...then someone may need to go to Brazil, if you want to pay
for it.”

A week
later, I flew into Galeão International Airport
in Rio de Janeiro. I had three weeks’
leave to spend looking for Nick, knowing that he—or at least his
passport and credit card—had been in Rio less than a week before
I’d arrived. George had cautioned me not to expect too much, but
had offered the services of their local agent to assist me as much
as they could. It had been a frantic seven days, making
arrangements for my students, making contact with Gabriel
Cavalcante who had agreed to act as my driver and interpreter,
transferring funds and instructions to him, and arranging for Karl
to take over the Nick monitoring activities and rerouting my
landline calls to him. Gabriel had been a photographer on Karl’s
earliest films, and I’d met him while we worked on the gay natural
history documentary. When he’d responded to my email positively,
I’d taken it as a good omen, even if my superstition wasn’t based
on much other than my desperate need to find Nick.

After a
fifteen-hour trip, I wasn’t at my brightest or cheeriest, even
though I’d always found it easy to sleep on planes so I’d caught
some kip. Clearing Immigration and Customs was lengthy and
tiresome, but at last I was through. I didn’t have to look for
Gabriel. His “Anton!
Cá!
”
and the frantic waving caught my attention as soon as I broke free
of the other passengers.

“Gabriel!” I let him wrap me in a warm hug.
“
Como estás?
” He looked much the same as he
had the last time I’d seen him. Hair a little shorter, and his
former tatty T-shirts had been swapped for a neat collared cotton
shirt. His wide grin was exactly the same as I
remembered.

“
Tudo
bem
.” He let me go
and stepped back to look at me. “I am sorry to hear of your
troubles.”

“Thank
you.”

“I
rented the car, as you said. I spoke to
Senhor
Alencar yesterday, and he gave me all the
documents.”

“You’re a
miracle. Thank you again.”

“I thought you
would prefer to go to the hotel, start fresh in the morning.”

“Sim
. My brain
has turned to mush.”

He grinned. “I
know the feeling. You only have the one bag? Good.”

The
night air was steamy and lush with unfamiliar scents. The city, as
we drove from the airport island, glittered with promised
excitement, yet I found it difficult to work up any enthusiasm for
being in this most famous of exotic locations.
It was my second visit to Rio, though the
first was only a two-day stay in preparation for heading out to
film in the wild. I’d enjoyed the rainforest and mountains last
time. This time, I doubted I’d have time to sightsee.

I’d asked
Gabriel to book us into the hotel in Santa Teresa where Nick’s
credit card had been used. Santa Teresa was a charming residential
suburb away from the main tourist areas. The hotel itself was quiet
and a little shabbier than I had expected, but comfortable. Just
what I would have chosen for myself—or Nick and me together. I
swallowed the pang I felt, and registered with Gabriel’s help.

“We’re sharing
a room,” he said. “You don’t mind, I hope.”

“Of course
not. You don’t?”

“Your
virginity is safe with me,
amigo
.”

I
snorted. Gabriel was straight, but gay friendly as they came. Not
something I could take for granted here, though Brazil was one of
the less hostile countries a gay man could visit in South America.
Was that why Nick had come here? But why South America at all? We’d
made jokes about going to Patagonia, but Nick had never mentioned
Brazil or anywhere with serious intent.

Before we left
reception, I produced two of the photos I’d brought with me. “Can
you please ask him if he remembers this guest?”

Gabriel showed
the receptionist the pictures. He selected one, clearly recognising
the subject, and he and Gabriel had a short conversation, with
Gabriel appearing to draw more information out. “He remembers him.
Stayed for two nights, and was on his own. He didn’t have any
special requirements.”

“Did he say
anything about his plans? Does this man remember how he
seemed?”

Gabriel asked
again. “Nothing about plans. He just said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.
He didn’t try to talk to anyone. There was nothing special about
his mood.”

Gabriel
said something else to the receptionist and the man gave me a sad
look. “
Eu
sinto muito.
”

“I told him
that this man is your good friend who has gone missing, and that
you are worried for his safety. He says he’s sorry.”

“Obrigado
,” I
said.

The
receptionist nodded to acknowledge me, then Gabriel steered me away
from the area towards the lifts. “Maybe Nick just wanted time for
himself?” Gabriel said as the lift doors closed. “You know,
umas
ferias
? A
vacation?”

“It’s
possible.” I waited to say more until we were in our room, and had
set my pack down. “The problem is, the photo the receptionist
picked out isn’t Nick.”

Gabriel
straightened up in shock. "
O quê?
"

I held
up the two photos. “
This
photo is an
English actor called Paul Bettany.
This
one is Nick.”

Gabriel
sat on one of the beds. “Okay, now I am confused.
Senhor
Bettany used Nick’s credit
card?”

“I doubt it.
This is Nick on holiday last year. It’s a good likeness. This is
his passport photo.” A habit I had learned early on was to keep
multiple colour copies of important documents in case they were
lost while I was travelling. Nick did the same, fortunately. “It’s
not really a good photo of him. They never are.”

Gabriel
looked at me, still puzzled, so I explained. “The man who used
Nick’s credit card and showed his passport as identification might
not have been Nick—just someone who is also a pale-skinned,
red-haired man with an English accent.”

“A trick?”

“I don’t know.
Have you got the copies of the credit card payment slips? With his
signature?”

Gabriel dove
into his bag and pulled out a plastic folder. He leafed through the
sheets and extracted one. “This one?”

I examined it,
and compared it to the photocopy of Nick’s driver’s license. “They
look similar. Do you agree?”

“Yes? Anton,
what—”

“Anyone who
had a copy of Nick’s signature could practise it well enough to
sign a credit card slip, and if that person looked enough like
Nick’s passport photo to pass, then the payment would be accepted.
It doesn’t mean Nick was here at all.”

“Ah,
entendo
. But why
do such a thing?”

“
I have no idea. But this is what we’re going to do tomorrow.
Ask questions, show both photos to different people, see what
answers we get.”

“It’s like TV!
We’re detectives on the CSI.”

I grinned. “I
guess. But now, a shower and sleep.”

“Está bem
.”

~~~~~

After
breakfast in the morning, there was a new receptionist on duty. I
took the opportunity to try out the photos on her, and again Paul
Bettany was identified as their guest from days before. She seemed
a little unsure, as if neither photo was like the man she
remembered. “
Please ask
her if she thinks maybe she might be mistaken.”

Gabriel
obligingly did so. The woman frowned, and pointed to the photo,
speaking rapidly. “She says the mouth is different maybe. But she
knows this face from somewhere.”