The Locker by Adrian Magson Page B

household computer had been on her list of things to do, but that was clearly not an option. She wanted to ask why, but Vaslik beat her to it.
    â€œYou don’t like technology?” he said. He sounded shocked.
    â€œMichael doesn’t trust it,” Nancy explained. “He prefers to use the library if he needs to access the Internet.” She shrugged. “We get by. I don’t need one apart from at work so it’s never been a problem, but I suppose Beth will want one someday—” She stopped suddenly, realising what she was saying, and looked down at the teddy.
    â€œShe will,” said Ruth firmly. She pointed at the book where some of the names listed had ticks against them. “What do the ticks mean?”
    â€œI put them there. I got into the habit whenever Michael went away of ticking off the name of the agency he was working for.” She looked a little wistful and even guilty. It became clear why. “He would rarely remember to tell me who the latest assignment was for, so I decided to keep track myself. But after a while I realised it was pointless.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause Michael does his own thing. He changes his mind at the last minute. He says it’s because he feels different priorities—places where he’s needed more and where he can do the most good.”
    Sounds a regular saint, Ruth thought drily. “Didn’t he realise that was hard for you, disappearing like that without a word?”
    â€œSort of. But it made no difference. He’s so committed … it took over his life. Our lives.” She twisted her fingers together. “I rang a couple of agencies once when I needed to get in touch with him. Beth was really unwell and I was panicking because nothing I did seemed to do any good.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œI was told he wasn’t working for them. At first I was sure I’d got the numbers wrong. Then one of them said he’d failed to turn up as planned, and called to let them know. I found out when he came back that he’d switched agencies to help someone out.” She shrugged at the memory, pushing it into a deep recess.
    â€œWhat did he say?”
    â€œHe wasn’t very pleased. He accused me of checking up on him. So I stopped.” She looked like a little lost girl who’d been caught out with her hand in the biscuit box.
    Ruth slipped the address book in her pocket, wondering if there was any significance in what Nancy had told her. Probably not. The man was an idealist and, by the sounds of it, as selfish as hell. But the list of agencies might bear studying later. Whether it would turn up any ideas was doubtful but right now it was all they had.
    â€œThere’s one other thing,” she said. “Back at the beginning, you didn’t seem to know much about the Safeguard contract, other than having to ring a number and give a reference code if something bad happened.”
    â€œCode Red, yes. You must think I’m a helpless woman.” She looked Ruth in the eye and said, “You’re probably right. All I knew was what Michael told me: if anything happened, ring the number.”
    And that was good enough for you?”
    â€œOf course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
    Ruth felt like telling her she wasn’t a doormat, that was why. Instead she changed tack. “Earlier you agreed that all the household finances and official dealings are in your name.”
    â€œBecause Michael’s away so much, yes. So?”
    â€œWhere is your bank account held?”
    â€œIn Edgware. I’ve had one there for years and never got round to changing it.”
    â€œAnd Michael?”
    â€œWe use my account for everything.”
    â€œSo he doesn’t have one?”
    â€œI—That’s right.” She paused as if realising for the first time how odd that might seem. “It’s a little unusual, I suppose, but that’s the way we do