False Impression (2006) Read online

Anna Petrescu was the sixth name on that list.

  By the time Tina had placed the list on Fenston’s desk, Anna had finally made it to Pier 11, by cab, bus, foot and then cab again, only to find a long queue waiting patiently to board a ferry to New Jersey. She took her place at the back of the line, put on a pair of sunglasses and pulled down the peak of her baseball cap so it nearly covered her eyes. She stood with her arms tightly folded, the collar of her jacket turned up and her head bowed, so that only the most insensitive individual would have considered embarking on a conversation with her.

  The police were checking the IDs of everyone leaving Manhattan. She looked on as a dark-haired, swarthy young man was taken to one side. The poor man looked bemused when three police-men surrounded him. One fired questions, while another searched him.

  It was almost an hour before Anna finally reached the front of the queue. She took off her baseball cap to reveal her long fair hair and cream skin.

  ‘Why are you going to New Jersey?’ enquired the policeman as he checked her ID.

  ‘A friend of mine was working in the North Tower, and she’s still missing.’ Anna paused. ‘And I thought I’d spend the day with her parents.’

  ‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ said the policeman. ‘I hope they find her.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Anna, and quickly carried her bags up the gangway and onto the ferry. She felt so guilty about lying that she couldn’t look back at the policeman. She leaned on the railing and stared across at the grey cloud that still enveloped the site of the World Trade Center and several blocks either side. She wondered how many days, weeks or even months it would be before that dense blanket of smoke dispersed. What would they finally do with the desolate site, and how would they honour the dead? She raised her eyes and stared up at the clear blue sky above her. Something was missing. Although they were only a few miles from JFK and La Guardia, there wasn’t a plane in the sky, as if they had all, without warning, migrated to another part of the world.

  The old engine juddered into action and the ferry began to drift slowly away from the pier on its short journey across the Hudson to New Jersey.

  One o’clock struck on the pier tower. Half a day had gone.

  ‘The first flights out of JFK won’t be taking off for another couple of days,’ said Tina.

  ‘Does that include private aircraft?’ asked Fenston.

  ‘There are no exceptions,’ Tina assured him.

  ‘The Saudi royal family are being allowed to fly out tomorrow,’ interjected Leapman, who was standing by the chairman’s side, ‘but they seem to be the only exception.’

  ‘Meanwhile, I’m trying to get you on what the press are describing as the priority list,’ said Tina, who decided not to mention that the port authorities didn’t consider his desire to pick up a Van Gogh from Heathrow quite fell into the category of emergency.

  ‘Do we have any friends at JFK?’ asked Fenston.

  ‘Several,’ said Leapman, ‘but they’ve all suddenly acquired a whole lot of rich relations.’

  ‘Any other ideas?’ asked Fenston, looking up at both of them.

  ‘You might consider driving across the border into Mexico or Canada,’ suggested Tina, ‘and taking a commercial flight from there,’ knowing only too well that he wouldn’t consider it.

  Fenston shook his head and, turning to Leapman, said, ‘Try and turn one of our friends into a relation - someone will want something,’ he added. ‘They always do.’

  17

  ‘I’LL TAKE ANY CAR you’ve got,’ said Anna.

  ‘I have nothing available at the moment,’ said the weary-looking young man behind the Happy Hire Company desk, whose plastic badge displayed the name Hank. ‘And I don’t anticipate anything being returned until tomorrow morning,’ he added, failing to fulfil the company’s motto displayed on the counter top, No one leaves Happy Hire without a smile on their face. Anna couldn’t mask her disappointment.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’d consider a van?’ Hank ventured. ‘It’s not exactly the latest model, but if you’re desperate.’

  ‘I’ll take it,’ said Anna, well aware of the long queue of customers waiting in line behind her, all no doubt willing her to say no. Hank placed a form in triplicate on the counter top and began filling in the little boxes. Anna pushed across her driver’s licence, which she had packed along with her passport, enabling him to complete even more boxes. ‘How long do you require the vehicle?’ Hank asked.

  ‘A day, possibly two - I’ll be dropping it off at Toronto airport.’

  Once Hank had completed all the little boxes, he swivelled the form round for her signature.

  ‘That’ll be sixty dollars, and I’ll need a two-hundred-dollar deposit.’

  Anna frowned, and handed over two hundred and sixty dollars.

  ‘And I’ll also need your credit card.’

  Anna slipped another hundred-dollar bill across the counter. The first time she’d ever attempted to bribe someone.

  Hank pocketed the money. ‘It’s the white van in bay thirty-eight,’ he told her, handing over a key.

  When Anna located bay thirty-eight, she could see why the little two-seater white van was the last vehicle on offer. She unlocked the back door and placed her case and laptop inside. She then went to the front and squeezed herself into the plastic-covered driver’s seat. She checked the dashboard. The milometer read 98,617, and the speedometer suggested a maximum of 90, which she doubted. It was clearly coming to the end of its rental life, and another 400 miles might well finish it off. She wondered if the vehicle was even worth three hundred and sixty dollars.

  Anna started the engine and tentatively reversed out of the parking lot. She saw a man in her wing mirror, who quickly stepped out of the way. It was less than a mile before she discovered the vehicle was built for neither speed nor comfort. She glanced down at the route map she’d placed on the passenger seat beside her, then began to look for signs to the Jersey Turnpike and Del Water Gap. Although she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, Anna decided she needed to put a few miles on the clock before she started thinking about food.

  ‘You were right, boss,’ said Joe, ‘she’s not going to Danville.’

  ‘So where is she headed?’

  ‘Toronto airport.’

  ‘Car or train?’ he asked.

  ‘Van,’ replied Joe.

  Jack tried to calculate how long the journey would take, and concluded that Petrescu ought to reach Toronto by late the next afternoon.

  ‘I’ve already fixed a GPS on her rear bumper,’ Joe added, ‘so we’ll be able to track her night and day.’

  ‘And be sure you have an agent waiting for her at the airport.’

  ‘He’s already been detailed,’ said Joe, ‘with instructions to let me know where she intends to fly.’

  ‘She’ll be flying to London,’ said Jack.

  By three that afternoon, Tina had been able to remove four more names from the missing list. Three of them had been voting in the primary elections for mayor, while the fourth had missed her train.

  Fenston studied the list, as Leapman placed a finger on the only name he was interested in. Fenston nodded when his eyes settled on the Ps. He smiled.

  ‘Saved having to do it ourselves,’ was Leapman’s only comment.

  ‘What’s the latest from JFK?’ Fenston asked.

  ‘They’re allowing a few flights out tomorrow,’ said Leapman, ‘visiting diplomats, hospital emergencies and some senior politicians vetted by the State Department. But I’ve managed to secure us an early slot for Friday morning.’ He paused. ‘Someone wanted a new car.’

  ‘Which model?’ asked Fenston.

  ‘A Ford Mustang,’ replied Leapman.

  ‘I would have agreed to a Cadillac’.

  Anna had reached the outskirts of Scranton by three thirty that afternoon, but decided to press on for a couple more hours. The weather was clear and crisp, and the three-lane highway crowded with cars heading north, almost all of them overtaking her