rapid-fire Thai. Appearing unsurprised at her expression of total incomprehension, he stood quickly, and hurried through the door behind the desk. Behind her, the crowd jostled and chatted, ignoring her.
The young officer soon returned, followed by an older man, who was dressed in a more decorous grey uniform.
“Hello, how can I help you?” he asked in slow, heavily-accented English, gesturing towards the door behind him. She followed him through the door and along a narrow corridor to a rudimentary interview room.
Sitting in one of the blue plastic chairs, Grace explained her situation, feeling reassured by the grave expression on the officer’s face.
“Your friend. Where she stay?” he asked, looking down to his notepad, pen poised.
“She was due to fly into Bangkok five... no, six days ago.”
He looked up, waiting for her to continue.
She tried to think of more to add. Where had Kirsty been?
“Do’n know if she in Bangkok. In Thailand?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“I don’t know! She should be - she didn’t meet me at the hotel. I don’t know where she was flying from but she definitely had a flight booked, she told me, and...” Grace realised that she was babbling. “No, I don’t know if she’s in Thailand,” she admitted.
Sitting down at the grubby internet cafe computer, Grace discreetly tried to wipe the keyboard with hand sanitiser. She had been trying to figure out what to do all the way back to the hotel in the cab. For starters she needed a real screen, she decided: spending so long focussed on the tiny display on her phone the day before had given her a severe migraine, which she still hadn’t managed to shake. The police would be no help until she could provide them with more information as to Kirsty’s whereabouts. The officer was right: she could be anywhere, maybe she never made it to Thailand at all. But she had been preparing to leave for the airport, Grace thought, remembering their last conversation.
Opening the browser, Grace typed ‘Bangkok airport’ into the search field. Clicking on the first result, she navigated through to the list of arrivals. There were hundreds of flights with countless airlines. She tapped her phone looking for the call log, trying to remember the date Kirsty had last called her, before her heart sank with the realisation that they had spoken on her office line. Without a rough idea of the departure time, or the departure city, this was hopeless. Grace drummed her fingers on the table and opened Kirsty’s Facebook profile to resume her search for incongruities.
Twenty four new friends since she’d left, two months before. Status updates bearing no new information over and above what she’d already told Grace in her emails. Posts on her wall from people Grace hadn’t heard of before, mainly about places they’d been together and suggestions of new places to go. Full of what looked like little in-jokes. Grace presumed it must be intense, spending all that time with people in countries completely different to anything she’d experienced before. She was about to close the page, when a short post caught her eye:
Hannah Grimes: hola chica [Grace groaned inwardly], hope you and your sexy boy are having fun in Vientiene, my bus was late but I’m finally in Vang Vieng. Msg when I get to Vientiene xxx.
Head spinning, Grace willed the adrenaline to reach her brain and register the date. The old Thai man at the counter gazed at her inquisitively, looking away when she shook her head. Who was this sexy guy? Maybe it was just another one of those in-jokes, but deep down Grace felt otherwise. Kirsty was an open book where the opposite sex was concerned. If she had met someone significant, Grace would have heard all about him. Opening another tab in the browser for her email, she scrambled around in her bag for a pen, and pulled a piece of paper from the printer, scoring another curious look from the old man.
”I need to be methodical,”
The young officer soon returned, followed by an older man, who was dressed in a more decorous grey uniform.
“Hello, how can I help you?” he asked in slow, heavily-accented English, gesturing towards the door behind him. She followed him through the door and along a narrow corridor to a rudimentary interview room.
Sitting in one of the blue plastic chairs, Grace explained her situation, feeling reassured by the grave expression on the officer’s face.
“Your friend. Where she stay?” he asked, looking down to his notepad, pen poised.
“She was due to fly into Bangkok five... no, six days ago.”
He looked up, waiting for her to continue.
She tried to think of more to add. Where had Kirsty been?
“Do’n know if she in Bangkok. In Thailand?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“I don’t know! She should be - she didn’t meet me at the hotel. I don’t know where she was flying from but she definitely had a flight booked, she told me, and...” Grace realised that she was babbling. “No, I don’t know if she’s in Thailand,” she admitted.
Sitting down at the grubby internet cafe computer, Grace discreetly tried to wipe the keyboard with hand sanitiser. She had been trying to figure out what to do all the way back to the hotel in the cab. For starters she needed a real screen, she decided: spending so long focussed on the tiny display on her phone the day before had given her a severe migraine, which she still hadn’t managed to shake. The police would be no help until she could provide them with more information as to Kirsty’s whereabouts. The officer was right: she could be anywhere, maybe she never made it to Thailand at all. But she had been preparing to leave for the airport, Grace thought, remembering their last conversation.
Opening the browser, Grace typed ‘Bangkok airport’ into the search field. Clicking on the first result, she navigated through to the list of arrivals. There were hundreds of flights with countless airlines. She tapped her phone looking for the call log, trying to remember the date Kirsty had last called her, before her heart sank with the realisation that they had spoken on her office line. Without a rough idea of the departure time, or the departure city, this was hopeless. Grace drummed her fingers on the table and opened Kirsty’s Facebook profile to resume her search for incongruities.
Twenty four new friends since she’d left, two months before. Status updates bearing no new information over and above what she’d already told Grace in her emails. Posts on her wall from people Grace hadn’t heard of before, mainly about places they’d been together and suggestions of new places to go. Full of what looked like little in-jokes. Grace presumed it must be intense, spending all that time with people in countries completely different to anything she’d experienced before. She was about to close the page, when a short post caught her eye:
Hannah Grimes: hola chica [Grace groaned inwardly], hope you and your sexy boy are having fun in Vientiene, my bus was late but I’m finally in Vang Vieng. Msg when I get to Vientiene xxx.
Head spinning, Grace willed the adrenaline to reach her brain and register the date. The old Thai man at the counter gazed at her inquisitively, looking away when she shook her head. Who was this sexy guy? Maybe it was just another one of those in-jokes, but deep down Grace felt otherwise. Kirsty was an open book where the opposite sex was concerned. If she had met someone significant, Grace would have heard all about him. Opening another tab in the browser for her email, she scrambled around in her bag for a pen, and pulled a piece of paper from the printer, scoring another curious look from the old man.
”I need to be methodical,”
Similar Books
