“What’s the other half of the problem?”
“Pardon?”
“You said children were half the problem in this country.”
He stops and apologizes. “You’ve got me on my hobby horse.”
“Trains are probably a nicer hobby,” I say, wanting to be outside, breathing different air.
He gazes at me with a formless smile. “I sense that you disapprove of my methods, Professor, but my daughter loves me. I’m just glad she didn’t go with those girls. She might have been kidnapped too. Do you have children?”
“Two girls.”
“It’s difficult… raising kids. The world gets more complicated every day. They’re getting information from magazines, TV shows, the Internet, social networking sites and instant messaging. We have to worry about net porn, cyber bullying and online grooming. They all want to be famous. They think they’re entitled. It’s scary out there.”
Out where, I want to ask him, but I’m tired of listening to his complaints and his paranoia. My left arm is trembling. There are too many fragile things around me; if I stumble I could crush entire buildings, ruin streets, derail trains…
“Do you mind if I talk to Emily?” I ask, moving towards the door. He gives me the name of the pharmacy where she works.
“Tell her I’m cooking linguini tonight. It’s her favorite.”
35
The sun seems to be resting on the rooftops, angling through the windscreen. Grievous drives cautiously in the glare, bullied by cab drivers and dark-colored BMWs and Audis.
Ruiz answers his mobile on the first ring. He’s out of doors, wheezing like an ex-smoker.
“Do you know how many abandoned industrial sites border railway lines in Oxfordshire?”
“Is that a trick question?”
“I’ve visited nine so far and every one should be bulldozed.”
“I thought Capable was going to get aerial photographs and maps.”
“You can’t see shit from an aerial map. A ten-story building can look like a tennis court.”
“So you’re climbing over fences.”
“I’ve been chased by two dogs and some old biddy threatened to have me arrested.”
“Charmer. I need another favor from Capable Jones.”
“And you’ve caught me in such a good mood.”
“I need a background check on Phillip Martinez. He’s a research scientist in the Biomedical Sciences Department at Oxford University.”
“Why the sudden interest?”
“He annoys me.”
“Is that all?”
“He’s a self-righteous spiteful social conservative, who treats his daughter like she’s a bank account he kept secret from his ex-wife in the divorce settlement.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“I was more polite.”
“You shined his shoes with your tongue.”
“It’s called being professional.”
Ruiz laughs and ends the call. My mobile rings almost immediately. It’s Julianne. She’s in the car and I can hear Emma, my youngest, singing along to a nursery rhyme CD. Whenever I hear Julianne’s voice I get a sort of aching bliss and I wish I could think of something to say to her, something that would fill her with excitement or wonder.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.”
“How are you?”
“I’m good.”
“I wanted to know what time you’ll be here tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Christmas Eve, silly. You’re coming to spend it with us.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“The girls want to hang their stockings when you get here—well, Emma does. Charlie still isn’t talking to me. I’m going to cook something nice. We’ll let them open one present before they go to bed.”
“Just like old times.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“No.”
“So what time?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, try to miss the holiday traffic and don’t buy me a present.”
“OK.”
She hangs up and I suddenly wonder what present I can get her. She’ll have bought something for me. She’ll have thought about it, planned ahead and whatever I do won’t match her efforts.
We near the pharmacy. Grievous pulls over and parks, pointing across the road.
“That’s the place. I’m going to get something to eat.” He pats his stomach. “I have the caveman gene—always hungry. My girlfriend has me on this diet until the wedding. She’s filled my fridge with healthy crap—celery, lettuce, cottage cheese… No beer. No pizzas. Right now I’d kill for a burger and a bowl of chips.”