Rage sets my jaw tight, boils in my belly. ‘We are trying to find our daughter,’ I say.
‘We all want the same outcome, Mrs Maddox, but trespassing on the purview of the PSB will only alienate the authorities and risk jeopardizing your cause. I trust I can have your reassurance that there will be no repeat of such conduct. Believe me, Mrs Maddox, you do not want to be regarded as an obstacle to the work of the PSB. Our best hope rests with them.’
‘I understand,’ I say. ‘Goodbye.’ I ring off. ‘Arrogant prick.’
My eyes sting.
We get off the bus and I repeat all I can remember to Tom who effs and blinds and throws his arms about in response.
‘Why did Mr Du have to complain?’ I say. ‘Surely he must understand how desperate we are.’ I take a breath. ‘Perhaps it’ll be easier once we’ve had the press conference. It almost feels like it’s being hushed up, you know, her going missing.’
When we reach the hotel, Tom says, ‘You want to go out and eat?’
I think of the constant noise, of the struggle to decipher a menu, the chaos of it all. ‘Not really. I’ll just eat here.’
‘OK, so let’s do that. An hour?’ he says.
The hotel is like a cocoon, calm and quiet, reassuring. Bland, perhaps, but bland is, oh, so welcome.
Over dinner, we keep coming back to Mr Du’s discomfort, Peter Dunne’s reprimand, how much power or influence the consulate actually has, and whether or not Superintendent Yin is any good at what he’s doing. We share a bottle of Great Wall Cabernet Sauvignon, made in China, which is surprisingly good. Tom orders a second.
‘If Mrs Tang leaves Chengdu on Sunday afternoon and isn’t back until Thursday night, she can’t have been Lori’s first subject,’ I say.
‘Not your general run-of-the-mill hobby, taxidermy,’ Tom says. ‘Very popular with the Victorians.’ He laughs. ‘Lori follows this account on Twitter, Crap Taxidermy. I’d show you but…’
But Twitter is banned.
‘All these bizarre creatures,’ he says, ‘atrocious workmanship. Some of the poses.’ He pulls a face, grimacing, exposes his teeth, closes one eye. I smile.
‘Sometimes you can’t even tell what animal it is. Let’s hope Mrs Tang has the knack.’
‘Trust Lori to find someone like that on the doorstep,’ I say.
‘It’ll be good for her to keep up her photography,’ Tom says. ‘She’s got a great eye. They don’t hand out firsts to just anyone.’ He fills our glasses. ‘Mind you, these days, everyone’s David Bailey.’
‘She can write too,’ I say. ‘The blog’s great. It’s not like she has to pick one job and stick at it for the next twenty years.’
