Free The Manhattan Puzzle by Laurence O’Bryan Page A

belly.
    ‘
Secunda quattuor invocare unum
,’ she whispered.
    That was when he felt something cold and sharp touch his belly.

22
    ‘What’s all this about, Inspector?’ She tried to sound collected. The hesitation in her voice didn’t help though.
    Inspector Kirby was holding a silver pen as if it were a baton, and he was about to conduct an orchestra.
    ‘We don’t want to alarm you, Mrs Ryan, but we need to speak to your husband, urgently.’
    ‘That makes two of us, at least.’
    He smiled.
    ‘Has he done something wrong?’ She dreaded the answer, shifted her body back a little, as if it was a blow she was expecting.
    The inspector shrugged, noncommittally.
    ‘I don’t know, Mrs Ryan. We believe he has information that could help us with our enquiries.’
    She let out her breath.
    ‘What enquiries?’
    ‘I work for the City of London Financial Crime Unit. We’re investigating activities at BXH.’
    ‘What activities?’
    ‘I am not at liberty to discuss that. Let’s just say our investigations, since the eurozone crisis, now cover the management and the supervision of all financial institutions.’
    ‘What the hell does that mean?’
    ‘I’m not here to defend or describe our investigations, Mrs Ryan. But we do have the power to carry them out. The public expects robust supervision and that is what we provide.’
    It sounded like a pat answer he’d learned by heart. She licked her lips. They were dry, rough. At least he hadn’t said they were investigating him for murder.
    ‘Can you tell me the last time you saw your husband, and the last time you spoke to him, please?’
    ‘I saw him yesterday morning before he left for work. We haven’t spoken since. He sent me a text message telling me he was going to come home late last night. But he never turned up.’
    ‘And you’ve tried his mobile phone?’
    ‘Lots. It must be switched off or the battery’s dead.’
    ‘Is that unusual for him?’
    ‘Yes, totally.’
    ‘Did your husband discuss his work with you, tell you anything about what’s going on at BXH?’
    Had other men’s wives, who he’d interviewed, told him everything they knew, just because he’d asked them so politely?
    ‘No.’ She shook her head, took her hands from the edge of the table, rubbed them across its waxy surface, taking comfort from the reassuring smoothness.
    The inspector had an I’m-glad-I’m-not-you expression on his face.
    ‘Why are there so many police officers in my home?’
    ‘We need to do a proper search, Mrs Ryan.’ He shrugged, as if none of it was his doing.
    She felt a blast of icy wind coming from the corridor.
    He turned, looked over his shoulder. Then he stood.
    ‘Wait here, please.’
    She did as she was told.
    She heard voices, the sound of people creaking the floorboards upstairs. She stood, then sat down again. A part of her wanted to fight them, ask them all to leave, shout at them. But she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them.
    The policewoman came into the kitchen. She dominated the room, smiling at Isabel as she sat down. It was her turn to ask the questions.
    She started by questioning Isabel about her relationship with Sean, whether he had gone missing before. Isabel told her what had happened a few weeks ago. The policewoman took notes. Then she asked Isabel whether Sean told her much about his work.
    ‘No, he doesn’t talk about anything to do with BXH. I told your colleague.’ She leaned forward. ‘Why aren’t you concerned about his safety? He’s missing. Anything could have happened to him.’
    The policewoman’s expression was not sympathetic.
    ‘We are concerned about your husband, Mrs Ryan. A missing persons alert has been issued. If we find out what has happened to him you will be notified.’
    ‘What do you do when someone’s reported missing?’
    ‘We check out all the likely places, hospitals, police cells, the river police, the security people at his