Page 69 of The Question of Us
“We can argue later. Make the call to Marty and then call the police. I’ll try and—sssh.” I spun at the crack of dry wood somewhere in the garden and pressed my phone to my chest. Nothing moved in the black shadows but my nerves were jangling ominously. I dropped my voice to a whisper. “I might have company. Make the call and I’ll text you when I can. Don’t ring me.”
“But—”
I hung up on his protest and slid deeper into the garden to crouch behind the trunk of a gum tree. Slowly, soundlessly, I set my phone and binoculars to the side and covered them withleaves. Then I curled in a ball to hide the paleness of my face and froze, senses hyper-focused on my immediate surroundings.
The raucous party continued below, but that was the only noise. Nothing from the garden itself. After a minute or so, I’d almost convinced myself that I’d been hearing things. Then a heavy footfall crunched on the gravel path and my heart bolted in my chest. A light tracked back and forth along the path at the edge of my vision, and I found myself sending a silent plea into the universe.Keep going. Keep going. Move along.The footsteps slowed, then stopped close by. Too close. Something cold, hard, and alarmingly familiar pressed into the back of my head and I felt a hysterical urge to laugh. Twice in a month. It had to be a fucking record of some sort.
“Get up. Slowly.” The muzzle pressed into my scalp, a reminder that the person wielding the gun could blow my brains out any time he wanted.
With that in mind, I did as instructed and found myself face to face with one of the security guards from the driveway.
He looked me over, frowned, and in a thick Scottish brogue said, “Who the fuck are you?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Madigan
I copiedMarty’s number into my phone from the business card with my heart pounding out of my chest so hard that I’d gotten it wrong the first two times.
“You’re the story guy, Mister Sherlock Homes,” I mocked, my hands shaking as I pressed call. “You want an ending, arsehole? I’ll give you an ending. Just you fucking wait until I get you both back to the motel.”
A man’s clipped voice answered on the third ring, catching me by surprise. “Who is this?”
I fumbled the phone and hit speaker. “Oh... hi. Is that Marty Klein?” I was aiming to sound half my age but who knew what the hell it came out like.
Marty answered cautiously, “Can I enquire who’s asking?”
I hesitated, cursing my stupidity in not coming up with a pseudonym before I called. Rookie mistake. From nowhere, I blurted, “Greg Watson,” and held my breath. It was a mesh of two Sherlock Holmes characters—D. I. Greg Lestrade and John Watson. Don’t hate me.
“Greg Watson?” Marty repeated. “Don’t think I know anyone of that name.”
“I’m a friend of Carey. ThisisMarty Klein, right? Carey gave me your number.”
A slight hesitation was followed by a clipped, “Yes, I’m Marty Klein.”
“That’s great.” I tried to sound relieved. “Carey told me he was heading to your party.”
The line went quiet for a long moment before Marty finally answered in a disinterested tone. “I invite a lot of people to my parties... Greg. You’ll need to be more specific. Carey... who?”
My stomach dropped. Marty was denying knowing Carey right off the bat, something he wouldn’t have done if he had nothing to hide. “Carey Hunter,” I rattled on like he hadn’t just sent me into a panic. “He was supposed to call me when he got to the party. Check in that he was safe. We have each other’s backs in that way. But he never called and he’s not answering his phone.” I hesitated. “I just want to make sure he’s all right.”
More silence, and I imagined Marty quickly working through his options. Was Gazza with him, I wondered? Would he guess it was me calling? What about Lee? And what the fuck was happening with Nick?
I shoved the questions aside and focused on getting through the conversation. Right then, nothing was more important than stopping whatever was happening or about to happen to Gazza in that house.
“Oh,thatCarey.” Marty managed to sound irritated and bored at the same time. “Yes, I believe he was keen to stamp his mark in the fashion world in some way. Not something I know anything about, but I told him I have a few contacts in the industry. Your friend asked if there was any chance of an introduction, so I invited him to the party and said I’d see what I could do. I did chat with him for a bit at some point, but thepoor boy couldn’t hold his drink and he eventually wandered off inside to sober up. A shame really.”
Another lie.
Marty spoke again but it wasn’t to me. “Freddie, do you recall what happened to the young man?”
That answered one question. Marty wasn’t alone and there was no party noise in the background. Freddie’s muffled reply was indecipherable, as it was no doubt intended to be. Marty couldn’t deny Gazza had been there, after all. With such a large number in attendance, he couldn’t bank on every one of them lying for him or telling the same story. And Gazza wasn’t one to float under the radar. He would’ve been noticed by most if not all the partygoers.
“My assistant says he saw your friend leaving some time ago,” Marty eventually replied. “Freddie said he tried to discourage Carey from driving but the young man was insistent, so what can you do? Sorry we can’t be of more help.”
Fuck. That sounded like a set-up designed to cover something untoward happening to Gazza in his car. “Oh,” I said evenly. “That doesn’t sound like him. He’s usually pretty careful not to drink and drive.” It didn’t hurt to stir things a little more. “Maybe Ishouldcall the police. Check if there’s been an accident or something.” I wanted to pile on the pressure. Get him worried. He’d already admitted Carey had been there, and sure as shit, his car was still there. I wanted them squirming.
Marty huffed like that wasn’t his business and I needed to stop wasting his time. “I’m sorry, but I really have no idea where your friend is. I’m not his keeper. But a man who looks like that has little trouble finding... company, wouldn’t you agree? Maybe Freddie is wrong. Maybe your friend got a ride with someone else. Maybe he found a warm bed for the night. Freddie did mention he was attracting a lot of attention.”
