East of Suez Read Free Page B

and, judging by her obvious edginess, I could see she hadn’t quite come to grips with the idea of calling on a private investigator, even when the investigator was a former school friend. She was tall, with neatly cut black hair which she wore in a straight cascade down to her shoulders. There was a lot of straight hair about just then. I wondered whether they ironed it. She was dressed in a dark blue business suit with a white blouse and was wearing two pieces of jewelry, a pin and a bracelet, both made of jade. The effect was peculiar: a cross between the All-American Girl and the Orient. As I indicated the chair a second time, she smoothed her skirt, seating herself in front of my desk.
    “It’s been a hundred years, Benny!” she said, showing fine, even teeth. “Well, maybe only seventy-five.”
    “At least. What have you been up to? I heard you discovered Asia.”
    “Let’s see. I’ve been a bit of a vagabond since you saw me last, Benny. I’ve lived all over the place. A year in London, two in Paris, another in Mombasa. Another two in Germany. I worked in Singapore for a Canadian bank. I got married and had a family in Hong Kong. Jake ran scuba-diving trips to the reefs in the Andaman Sea, off the west side of the Malay Peninsula …” Her use of the past tense put me on my guard. Nobody calls on a private investigator with good news. I was thinking, “You poor kid!” as I tuned in on her again.
    “Did I tell you? That was in Takot, Miranam. Ever heard of Miranam? It’s between Singapore and Bangkok. That’s where we’ve been living for the last six years. I’ve only been back home for a few weeks. Our business grew to be a big operation for those parts. Too big. The government horned in and nationalized the business. They took over everything, wiped us out, but somehow wanted Jake to go on running it for them. That ended badly. I was lucky to get out of there with my life. I sent the kids off on the first available flight. My husband, in all probability, was murdered there. But I don’t know. I’m going crazy, not being sure. I need to know, Benny.”
    “You’re not sure?”
    “I couldn’t find out one way or the other. The authorities, you see. It was terrible. Every way I tried to get information, I hit a brick wall. I could write a book about the art of unhelpful bureaucracy. I couldn’t get away myself for days.”
    I was glad she’d tipped me off with her past tense along the way. I tried to find the right words. They were where I’d left them, on the tip of my tongue. “You poor kid. You’ve been through the wringer.”
    “I guess I have. And now, Benny, things are looking dark again because I can’t get help. I can’t go back there.”
    “I’m sorry, Vicky,” I said lamely. She smiled at my first use of her name.
    “About four and a half weeks ago, I got word that the kids, Moira and Teddy, were safe with good friends in Mombasa. They’re ten and eight. I phoned and they were put on the next plane home.”
    “Mombasa? Where is that? New Guinea? Australia? Africa?”
    She nodded, smiling, showing her good manners. “Africa. Kenya, on the east coast. They were safe there while I began to sort out this tangled mess.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “Well, Benny—”
    “Oh! Before you do, Vicky, I should tell you that I’m no longer in the business. I’m not a private investigator any more. I’ve retired. That doesn’t mean I’m not interested in your problems. I am. But I just wanted you to know where I’m at.”
    “I see.”
    “So while I’m willing to listen and give you the best side of a sympathetic ear, I … I can’t offer you much practical help. Advice? Sure. But you see, I came up to the office today to try to finish packing up.”
    She looked around her at the mess and confusion for the first time. “I see.”
    “I’m sorry. It’s a matter of timing. I’ve been sick. I was in hospital for … for a long time. I can’t remember names of people or