Reading Time a short story PART 3

At the office next day he clockwatched until it was time to go to the park. The girl was already there when he arrived.

"I was hoping I'd see you today" she said. "You see, I'm certain I've come to the right town. You know I mentioned an MG... well, how's this for amateur sleuthing?... There's the car's number."

A muscle in his cheek began to twitch rapidly as he read what was in her notebook. His MG's number. But how had she...? The newspaper report said there had been no eyewitnesses.

"I'm missing the middle one or two digits in the numberplate —but it's enough."

"Very cloak-and-daggerish" he said, forcing a smile. "Have you tried the local Vehicle Registration Department? Perhaps they can help."

"Oh yes. No luck, though. But guess what? I've got a photograph of the car."

The park seemed to spin. He gripped the bench with both hands."You all right?" she asked.

"What? Oh yes. Just a twinge of indigestion."

"Well, I haven't actually got the photograph," she went on. "I've only seen the negative. I'm having a ten-by-eight print done from it."

"You have been busy!" His voice sounded unreal. "Look, that friend of mine from Elmston. I've just remembered. He had an MG. He could be who you are looking for... I might still have an address for him at home... Have you got a phone number where I can contact you? Better still, an address in case I miss you here tomorrow."

She wrote down both in her notebook and tore the page out for him. "Now I must be off," she said. "I've got more sleuthing to do. l'll look out for you here again tomorrow."

He gave her a minute or two's start, then began to follow her. Her first stop was at a photographic shop near the main square. She came out carrying a large buff-coloured envelope.

That would be the MG print, he thought, as he observed her getting her bearings. He kept about fifty yards behind as she crossed the town centre to the offices of the Evening Gazette. He followed her through the revolving doors, keeping the public newspaper stands in the foyer between himself and the point where she was talking at the enquiry counter. Pretending to leaf through the week's back numbers, he could hear snatches of conversation above the din of typewriters and telephones."... wedding report twenty-one years ago... would it be possible to..."... archives are on the fourth floor... first door on the right as you come out of the lift..."

He watched the girl take the lift. Time passed. People came and went. He felt clammy and conspicuous. Eventually she reappeared out of the lift. The receptionist smiled. Had she found what she had been looking for? Yes, she had. He was in a cold sweat now, but he had no difficulty keeping her in sight, for he knew the town like the back of his hand. Where would she head next? Oh God, he thought, don't let it be the police station.

"Robert! Long time no see!" He started. It was a man he knew from the Parks Department. He felt like a schoolboy caught playing truant. 

"Stretching your legs, eh, Robert?"

"Oh, er, yes." He could see the girl disappearing down a side turning. "Popped out for cigarettes."

The man was grinning. "Some looker, eh?"

"What?"

"That girl you were staring at."

"Oh," he forced a smile. "Look, can't stop now. Let's have a drink next week. I'll ring you."

When he finally got away the girl was nowhere to be seen. He spent the rest of the afternoon fretting at his desk. Whose wedding had she looked up? And why? 

It was not until he and Margaret were watching TV that evening that the answer came to him; in fact, it was staring him in the face...On the piano was an ornately framed picture of him and Margaret on their wedding day. Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? The other photos in the family album: there was one of the MG.

He found the album and flicked through it. There it was —the pair of them, snapped in the MG as they were leaving the reception to go off on honeymoon. He stared at himself from twenty years ago: thin face, unlined, thick curling hair. Now he had a double chin, was balding, wore a moustache and bifocals. Unrecognisable! 

On the back of the MG was a 'Just married' placard, which obscured the middle two digits on the rear number plate.

The girl must have gone to every photographer in the district until she found the one who had taken their wedding pictures. The negatives would have been on file, probably in a storeroom.The girl had got a print. Then she had searched the Evening Gazette's back issues for the paper's own picture of the same couple in the MG... which would tell her the names and parents' addresses. And there the search would stop, for Margaret's parents had emigrated long ago and his own parents were dead. 

He was safe.Then it struck him like a blow. 'The electoral roll,' he said out loud. 'She simply goes through it, street by street, until she finds my name...'

'Did you say something, Robert?' Margaret called.
'What? No, nothing.'
It would be only a matter of time now before his skeleton was out of its cupboard. He would be branded a child-killer, all the more heinous because he had covered his tracks (he had sold the MG immediately they had got back from honeymoon). He would get at least five years for manslaughter. He would lose his job; his reputation would be ruined; everything he had built up over the years... down the drain!
He knew he had not got the strength of character to begin all over again; he was too set in his ways...
'I think I'll go to The Swan for a pint, love. Don't wait up. I might be late.'
'Oh, all right. I'll leave something out for your supper.'
At times like this, he mused, it was positively an advantage having a conventionally predictable spouse.