Free Good People by Ewart Hutton Page B

dumped the driver. Sod the pimp story, one of the group is driving. But that’s immaterial. They are heading towards the hills to continue the party.
    With an attractive white girl on board.
    And one black guy.
    What if Magda was turned on by Boon? She wouldn’t know the social pecking order here. Her first impressions are of a busload of rednecks and an attractive young black kid. Where’s the choice? So is this what gets Boon booted off the bus in Dinas? And, more importantly, what does it do to the group’s perception of Magda? Does it change the dynamic? Angel to slut?
    The telephone woke me in the early morning.
    ‘It’s Sally Paterson …’ A woman’s voice trying to contain urgency.
    ‘Sorry … ?’ I said groggily.
    ‘Boon’s mother. You gave me your number, I didn’t know who else to call.’
    I straightened up, adrenalin kicking in. ‘What’s happened?’
    ‘I’ve just got in from work. There’s a message on the answering machine from Brize Norton. Boon never reported in for his flight back to Cyprus. No one knows where he is.’

5
    Sally Paterson opened the door before I managed to knock. She had been watching for my arrival. Her hair, which had been pinned into a loose bun, was escaping in straggling wisps, and she was still wearing the sickly pink polyester housecoat that doubled as a uniform at the Sychnant Nursing Home. I followed her through to the kitchen, her handbag gaping open on the table where she had dropped it before checking the answering machine. She had shadows of fatigue under her eyes from her night’s work, and was speedy with worry, her heels working like castors, seeking solace from motion.
    ‘Did you make the calls I suggested?’ I asked.
    She nodded distractedly, and I guessed that she hadn’t picked up much comfort. ‘I went back to the Transport Officer at Brize Norton. No change there. Boon’s about to be officially classified as absent without leave.’
    ‘What about his base in Cyprus? It could be a simple case of army SNAFU.’
    She shook her head. ‘He never arrived. And he’s not on the way. There were no alternative travel arrangements. He was expected on the Brize Norton flight.’
    ‘Did you get in touch with the taxi company?’
    ‘I rang the one he usually uses. They didn’t get a call to pick him up on Saturday night.’
    ‘We’ll ring round,’ I said soothingly. ‘They may have been too busy.’
    ‘They would still have known if he had called,’ she snapped. She threw her head back and screwed her eyes closed tightly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sighed. ‘I mustn’t take this out on you.’
    ‘That’s okay.’ I persuaded her to sit down. She was frayed from trying to contain the arcing sparks of her anxiety. The night shift hadn’t helped. I made a pot of tea and sat down opposite her. ‘How did he get home?’ I asked.
    ‘Home?’ she replied, eyeing me blankly.
    ‘The minibus dropped him off in Dinas. That’s at least five miles away. How did he get back from there?’
    She shook her head while she was thinking about it. ‘I don’t know.’ She looked at me wanly. ‘Is it important?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘What do I do?’ she asked, trying hard not to let helplessness in.
    ‘The first thing you ought to do is try and get some sleep.’
    She shook her head in a vague protest.
    ‘Is there anyone you can get to come over? Family? Any friends you would like me to contact?’
    ‘My mother’s in Dorchester, but I wouldn’t want to worry her.’
    ‘Any special friends?’
    She smiled weakly. ‘You’re very tactful, Sergeant Capaldi. No. No special friends. Boyfriend. Or girlfriend.’
    ‘You can call me Glyn, if it helps.’
    ‘Glyn …’ She tasted it. Then nodded. She looked up, eyes suddenly alert now, as if she had reached a decision. ‘Do you know why he doesn’t talk to me any more?’
    ‘You don’t have to say anything,’ I said quietly.
    ‘No, I want to. I have to keep trying to understand this myself.’