He’s been smoking: the air stinks of tobacco. His bed is a tangled mess, strewn with clothes. Leaflets and notes cover the desk.
‘Put it on speaker,’ I tell him, as he calls the consulate.
A secretary answers and asks Tom to wait while she checks if Mr Dunne is available.
Tom leans against the edge of the desk, a pen in his hand, notepad at the ready.
I look out to where a bus, with a wooden frame like those old half-timbered Morris Minor Travellers, stops and a queue scrambles to board.
‘Mr Maddox?’ says Peter Dunne. ‘I was about to call you. I managed to speak to Superintendent Yin late yesterday afternoon and relayed the information from your email.’
‘And what did he say?’ Tom asks.
The slightest hiatus, then Peter Dunne says, ‘He is not at liberty to disclose details about the ongoing inquiry but the information you provided will be scrutinized.’
Tom grits his teeth.
‘They will talk to this student, Mr Du, again, won’t they?’ I say.
‘I’m sure that they will do everything necessary,’ Peter Dunne says.
Which is an evasion, not an answer.
‘But I was anxious to speak to you both,’ he goes on, ‘about the press conference. I have good news. We’ve agreed to a venue in Chengdu, the Rose Hibiscus Hotel for Thursday at ten thirty a.m.’ The day after tomorrow. ‘That means it should be carried on the news throughout the rest of the day. You’re both still willing to be present?’
‘Yes,’ we answer in unison.
‘And be available for follow-up interviews should requests be made?’
‘Yes,’ Tom says. I echo him.
‘Superintendent Yin will give an initial address, outlining the police search and inviting public co-operation. We’ll then have one of you making a direct appeal in English. We’ll need to approve the wording in advance, so if you could consider that and send me something through? Nothing too long,’ he adds.
‘Missing Overseas have guidelines,’ I say. ‘We can talk to them.’
‘Excellent. Have you had any response to the leafleting?’
‘Not yet,’ I say.
‘Well, hopefully the press conference will take things to the next level and we’ll reach a significant audience.’
‘Thank God for that,’ I say to Tom, when Peter Dunne has gone. ‘I was beginning to think they might be stalling.’
Tom doesn’t speak. He takes a cigarette and lights it. ‘But they expect us to sit tight, doing fuck-all, while Superintendent Yin decides if talking to the weirdo is worth a punt.’
‘What else can we do?’
‘Go and see him,’ Tom says.
