Recovery and the Return of Ethan Hart Read Online Free PDF Page B

proxy. A slightly misplaced symbol, maybe—the gaiety, the liveliness—but never mind.
    Do not forsake me oh my darling .
    The sergeant checks the computer for anybody of my description recently fed into it. We watch without speaking. I realize I’m drumming my fingers on the table by my chair.
    The computer gives us nothing.
    â€œOkay, then,” says the sergeant. “The card index at the Yard. I’ll phone and have them do a run-through.” He hesitates; it’s as though he’s apologizing in advance. “You see, Tex, missing persons only get priority if it’s known they may be ill or vulnerable in some way…people can go walkabout for weeks. Or months.” He shrugs and looks to Tom, wryly, for confirmation. “Years.”
    But I’m the one who answers.
    â€œVulnerable? I suppose mere amnesia doesn’t count, then?”
    The sergeant says, “Yet who would know you’ve got it? Apart from us?”
    â€œI can’t remember.” This is intended to sound as bitter as some of my remarks earlier on, but they think I’m being funny—and reluctantly I also end up smiling. “Naturally you mean apart from us, a textiles company, a fashion school, a barbershop, a sandwich bar and the receptionist working late at the dental practice opposite.”
    â€œOpposite?”
    â€œOpposite Tom’s office.”
    Tom, once more, explains all this. “We were trying to discover what Tex was doing in Foley Street.”
    â€œA dentist, for God’s sake?” says the sergeant, as if a fashion school were quite to be expected.
    â€œWe guessed he hadn’t just received treatment; but it could have been a checkup.”
    â€œAmericans on holiday have checkups?”
    â€œHow can we even feel certain Tex is on holiday? He might be working over here. And yes, before you say it, the embassy is most definitely one of our next ports of call.”
    â€œOh, he’s incredibly thorough, your friend Tom.” For the second time I think I intend only irony, but there’s a trace of pride there too. “We even went into a pub, several shops, whatever offices were still open, a café, a Spanish restaurant…”
    â€œOkay! Okay! Stop!” The sergeant holds up his palms as if to ward off blows. “I’m convinced of it. Half of London knows you’ve got amnesia. But that still hasn’t got you onto the computer. Not yet, at any rate.”
    â€œAnd I don’t understand it. If I’ve left my jacket behind, along with my passport and all my money and traveller’s cheques, wouldn’t my wife, or my parents, or others on the same tour—I mean, if I am on vacation—wouldn’t someone have realized by now that something’s wrong?”
    But nothing can alter the fact I don’t appear on that damned computer.
    Nor in that damned card index at the Yard. (The sergeant’s call had been speedily returned.)
    He tips back in his seat. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for anything that comes in.”
    Tom produces the picture he took earlier…“in case you can’t get hold of us and—with any luck—are called on to put someone out of their suspense. We shan’t be at the office; a message at home will probably reach us faster.” He jots down details to do with nationality and appearance. “How are Bridget and the girls?”
    â€œBridget will want to know when you’re next coming to supper.”
    The sergeant shakes my hand again.
    â€œRelax, Tex. Think how in time you’ll laugh at all of this and even see it had a purpose—that’s what my granny used to say.”
    It’s rather a sweet thought: great big Sergeant Payne learning at his wise old granny’s knee.
    On the sidewalk Tom takes more photos.
    â€œBut why? You say that, anyway, all the hotels and boarding houses would get in touch with the