sights. Sevi told the police that he and Melanie argued before
her departure for the War School. On January 9, Sevi said, he tried to visit Melanie at the War School, calling her mobile
to tell her he was there, but that she refused to see him. Melanie’s mother, meanwhile, told the police that her daughter
was thinking of breaking off her relationship with Sevi. But without any proof of wrongdoing, it was difficult for the police
even to describe Sevi as a suspect. In any case, if one did view him as a suspect, he had an alibi for the evening of Melanie’s
disappearance. He had been attending a public lecture on eating disorders in the Institute of Psychiatry’s Wolfson Lecture
Theatre. He had gone on to a party afterward near Elephant and Castle. A minicab driver confirmed he had picked Sevi up at
five minutes past midnight and taken him to his home in Greenwich.
My mobile rang. It was Finney, sounding busy, lowering his voice and carefully avoiding mentioning any names.
“Yes, he was instructing her group that day, and no, they had no knowledge of any prior relationship,” he told me.
“So what are they going to do about it?”
“Look, are you sure he didn’t make a mistake?”
“I just went and looked. Amsel’s right. It’s Darling.”
“Still, there’s nothing they can do,” Finney said. “He’s left the country.”
“Didn’t Bentley make that up?”
“Apparently not. He’s been in Cambodia clearing land mines for the past four months.”
“Clearing land mines?” I echoed. “So . . . four months . . . that means he left just after Melanie disappeared. What a coincidence.”
“There’s no reason to think it wasn’t.”
“So why did Bentley seem so defensive?”
“Darling annoyed Bentley by leaving on very short notice, as I understand it. But as you saw, Bentley is defensive about the
whole thing. A woman disappeared from his estate, and he’s already seen clients canceling because of that. The last thing
he wants is to have journalists raising doubts about his staff. Anyway, the police will interview Darling on his return.”
“Which is?”
“In another two months.”
“Oh, come on. He’s never coming back.”
“There’s something else. He was seen talking to her just before she disappeared. In the bar. He was the last one to speak
to her. So they’ve already questioned him, and they were satisfied he had nothing to do with it.”
“Yes, but the fact that they knew each other and he kept quiet about it changes all that, surely.” I ignored Finney’s instructions
not to jump to conclusions. I hung up. Then I went to find Ivor Collins and sweet-talked my way past his secretary and into
his office.
“So,” he said, tipping his head in what I was coming to recognize as his way of asking a question.
“Melanie knew one of her instructors,” I replied, placing the photograph on the desk in front of him. “His name’s Mike Darling.
He was chatting to her in the bar before she disappeared. He’s lied to the police. He told them he’d never met her before,
but look at this.”
Collins was gazing at the photograph where it lay. He had not touched it. He looked concerned.
“I see,” he said in the rasp that always made me think he was ill, frowning up at me. “Have you told the police?”
“I have, but Darling is abroad for two months, they say they can’t do anything until he comes back.”
“It’s certainly an interesting development. I would like to have something to tell Melanie’s parents.” He spoke slowly. “Where
is he now?”
“He’s clearing land mines in Cambodia.”
“Really?” Collins’s eyebrows rose. “Well, I’ll give it some thought, but I don’t see what we can do except wait, do you?”
he said.
I returned to the office, impatient that the first clue Melanie’s disappearance had given up led to the other end of the earth
and exasperated that neither the police nor the Corporation seemed
her departure for the War School. On January 9, Sevi said, he tried to visit Melanie at the War School, calling her mobile
to tell her he was there, but that she refused to see him. Melanie’s mother, meanwhile, told the police that her daughter
was thinking of breaking off her relationship with Sevi. But without any proof of wrongdoing, it was difficult for the police
even to describe Sevi as a suspect. In any case, if one did view him as a suspect, he had an alibi for the evening of Melanie’s
disappearance. He had been attending a public lecture on eating disorders in the Institute of Psychiatry’s Wolfson Lecture
Theatre. He had gone on to a party afterward near Elephant and Castle. A minicab driver confirmed he had picked Sevi up at
five minutes past midnight and taken him to his home in Greenwich.
My mobile rang. It was Finney, sounding busy, lowering his voice and carefully avoiding mentioning any names.
“Yes, he was instructing her group that day, and no, they had no knowledge of any prior relationship,” he told me.
“So what are they going to do about it?”
“Look, are you sure he didn’t make a mistake?”
“I just went and looked. Amsel’s right. It’s Darling.”
“Still, there’s nothing they can do,” Finney said. “He’s left the country.”
“Didn’t Bentley make that up?”
“Apparently not. He’s been in Cambodia clearing land mines for the past four months.”
“Clearing land mines?” I echoed. “So . . . four months . . . that means he left just after Melanie disappeared. What a coincidence.”
“There’s no reason to think it wasn’t.”
“So why did Bentley seem so defensive?”
“Darling annoyed Bentley by leaving on very short notice, as I understand it. But as you saw, Bentley is defensive about the
whole thing. A woman disappeared from his estate, and he’s already seen clients canceling because of that. The last thing
he wants is to have journalists raising doubts about his staff. Anyway, the police will interview Darling on his return.”
“Which is?”
“In another two months.”
“Oh, come on. He’s never coming back.”
“There’s something else. He was seen talking to her just before she disappeared. In the bar. He was the last one to speak
to her. So they’ve already questioned him, and they were satisfied he had nothing to do with it.”
“Yes, but the fact that they knew each other and he kept quiet about it changes all that, surely.” I ignored Finney’s instructions
not to jump to conclusions. I hung up. Then I went to find Ivor Collins and sweet-talked my way past his secretary and into
his office.
“So,” he said, tipping his head in what I was coming to recognize as his way of asking a question.
“Melanie knew one of her instructors,” I replied, placing the photograph on the desk in front of him. “His name’s Mike Darling.
He was chatting to her in the bar before she disappeared. He’s lied to the police. He told them he’d never met her before,
but look at this.”
Collins was gazing at the photograph where it lay. He had not touched it. He looked concerned.
“I see,” he said in the rasp that always made me think he was ill, frowning up at me. “Have you told the police?”
“I have, but Darling is abroad for two months, they say they can’t do anything until he comes back.”
“It’s certainly an interesting development. I would like to have something to tell Melanie’s parents.” He spoke slowly. “Where
is he now?”
“He’s clearing land mines in Cambodia.”
“Really?” Collins’s eyebrows rose. “Well, I’ll give it some thought, but I don’t see what we can do except wait, do you?”
he said.
I returned to the office, impatient that the first clue Melanie’s disappearance had given up led to the other end of the earth
and exasperated that neither the police nor the Corporation seemed
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