I watch Gabe’s forehead crease as he takes that in. ‘Well,’ he says after a beat, ‘we have evidence to the contrary.’
I hand him Max’s card. ‘He wants you to call him.’
‘I bet he does.’
‘He knows you didn’t tell the police that you knew Amanda. So, he has that over us.’
Gabe swears under his breath.
‘What are you going to do?’ I ask.
He’s staring down at Max’s card, lost in thought. After what feels like a lifetime, he says, ‘I guess I’m going to call Max.’
56
PIPPA
THEN
Gabe’s moods continued to ebb and flow. I was getting used to it, as much as one could get used to living with constant uncertainty. He was better, I found, when he had something meaningful to consume his attention. More often than not, that meant work. I was okay with this. If he was going to direct his hyperfocus somewhere, work was as good a place as any.
His latest project was a challenge. His company wanted to get into streaming, and for that they needed money – lots and lots of it, and as the head of investor relations it was up to Gabe to find it. He worked day and night. I never asked too many questions about his work. The truth was, I had only the most rudimentary understanding of what Gabe did, and when he talked about it I understood less rather than more.
What I did understand was that with every project, Gabe worried that he wouldn’t get the finance together in time. It was practically a prerequisite for any acquisition; an investor would drop out at the last minute, or there’d be a price increase, or some other crisis that would send Gabe into a tailspin. I’d come to realise that the drama of this was part of the fun, so I didn’t worry too much when, days before the streaming deal was due to take place, he started the usual talk about how he might not be able to get the money together.
‘This is different, Pip,’ he said when I reminded him that this happened every time. （He also said this every time.） ‘It’s really different.’
Indeed, he was working incredibly hard. On top of the late nights there seemed to be a lot of hushed phone calls and clandestine meetings. There was even a meeting one Saturday night. I remember it, because it was raining and Gabe had gone out in his waterproof boots. I’d joked that this was not what I’d expected an executive job to entail.
He didn’t arrive home until four or five in the morning. When I got up the next day, I saw his boots outside on the rack, upside down and freshly cleaned. I remember being impressed that he’d thought to clean them at that late hour. Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought to wipe his muddy boot prints from the laundry floor. As I dropped to my knees to do it myself, I noticed that the dirt and mud was tinged with something else. It looked a lot like blood.
The next day, I called Dr Ravi.
It wasn’t just the bloody boot prints, which Gabe explained away. （A dead animal on the road, he said.） It was everything else. The compulsive online shopping. The fact that he’d recently told me he wanted to start an Uber service on the moon. I’d laughed, but he stayed serious. Lately I found it difficult to tell when he was joking. The line between normal and not normal had always been so thin for Gabe; sometimes I didn’t know if I was talking to a genius or a madman.
I’d been having my doubts about Gabe’s ADHD diagnosis. Yes, there’d been a brief period when he’d seemed to improve, but those days were long gone.
‘Thank you for your call, Pippa,’ Dr Ravi said. ‘But before we chat, I need to be clear that I can’t talk specifically about Gabe or anything he has divulged to me, as it would breach doctor–patient confidentiality.’
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘But I’m not sure who else to talk to.’
‘What’s been going on?’
I told Dr Ravi about the compulsive spending, the Uber on the moon. I told him everything else I’d stored up, details that seemed insignificant on their own but were worrying when presented side by side. The fight I’d overheard between Gabe and a workmate, in which Gabe had accused his colleague of spying on him. The poetry he’d written about grief, and how it was the only path to true spiritual enlightenment. How he sometimes cried because he was so happy, and it frightened the girls.
When I finished talking Dr Ravi was silent for a long time. Finally he said: ‘I agree that sounds concerning, Pippa.’
There was something so gratifying about hearing that, after thinking for so long that I was making a big deal out of nothing, I felt a lump in my throat.
‘And he’s been taking his medication?’
‘Every day.’ I swallowed. ‘I’ve checked.’
I could hear Dr Ravi tapping at his computer. ‘I’d like to see him, today if possible.’ He paused. ‘I see he missed his last two appointments. He didn’t even call to cancel. Do you think you can persuade him to come in?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. But I did. I already knew he wouldn’t come. Why would he? According to him, he’d never felt better.
The tears started to flow now. They filled my throat and blocked my nose until it felt like I was drowning.
‘Unfortunately, I can’t do anything if I don’t see him myself,’ Dr Ravi said. ‘Unless I have reason to suspect that Gabe is a danger to himself or to others. Do you think that’s the case, Pippa?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘He’s not dangerous.’
But then I thought of that bloody boot print, and I wondered if I’d told the truth.
57
AMANDA
AFTER
Max has only just got the heating going when his phone rings. He takes a seat in an armchair before answering the call.
‘Max Cameron,’ he says.
Gabe is at home, pacing the living room. Pippa is sitting on the couch watching him. Her hands are steepled in the prayer position. I wonder if she’s actually praying.
‘Max. It’s Gabe.’
Max is as impressed as I am by how quickly Gabe called, but he waits several moments before responding. It is, I assume, a strategy designed to unnerve the other man. Judging by the look on Gabe’s face, it is successful. ‘Gabe. Thank you for calling.’
‘Pippa said you wanted to talk to me.’
A number of emotions are evident in Gabe’s voice. There is the hot tone of protectiveness for his wife. Irritation that he has been put into the position of having to make a call he doesn’t want to make. Also, fear. Max holds the cards here, and Gabe knows it.
‘Pippa is correct,’ Max says. ‘I want to know what happened to Amanda.’
Gabe stops pacing. He looks through the glass sliding doors out to The Drop. ‘I assumed the police would have told you.’
‘They did.’ Max’s voice is slow and careful. ‘But it’s extraordinary what the police don’t know.’
He lets that hang there for a moment. I’d forgotten how good Max was at creating an air of tension to give himself the upper hand.
‘Look,’ Gabe says. ‘I’m really sorry about Amanda. I can’t even imagine what you are feeling. But I don’t have any information that you don’t already know.’
‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.’