‘Hello?’
Zeb spoke cautiously. This landline rarely rang .
He said, ‘Yes. This is Lindisfarne Investigations.’ He frowned at Mumford and Mieke, miming the word ‘Ooh’.
He listened for a moment.
‘Oh my goodness me, nothing like that.’ He flapped his free hand, as if sweeping something away. ‘We do historical investigations. Very small scale. History of buildings, help with memoirs, that sort of thing.
‘Gosh. Heavens. We definitely don’t do murder.’ He pulled another anxious face.
‘Oh no!’ He whirled away to face the office window and started making sweeping hand gestures. ‘No no. No I have to stop … I’m sorry, I have to stop you there. Not your Lindisfarne. We’re the other one. In Tasmania.’ He swept a hand towards the window, which was pointless because the person he was talking to was, presumably, somewhere in Northumberland.
‘So confusing, I know.’ Zeb put two fingers to his forehead.
Mumford made a sniffing sound. Given any kind of audience, Zeb was inclined to behave as if he was in a 1930s screwball comedy.
He was in his late thirties, tall and thin and awkward in the limbs. His face was bony. He dyed his hair jet black. At the front it flopped into his eyes.
‘Tas-main-ee-yah. With the devils, but nothing like Looney Tunes.’
‘Actually Looney Tunes isn’t far wrong,’ said Mumford.
But Mieke was intrigued by Zeb. He had a strange kind of fragility, which was most apparent when he was showing off like this. She wondered what lay underneath it, this compulsion to perform.
‘Yes Australia, that’s the spot. We’re right down the bottom, last stop before Antarctica. You should come down! Tasmania is a glorious place. Lots of edgy art if that’s your thing.
‘And also miles of untouched wilderness. Mountains to die for. Quite literally sometimes.
‘And secret beaches with no one on them …
‘And pademelons, which is an animal, not a plant. And “potter-roos”. Which does not mean old people, although we have plenty of those too.’
To be fair, thought Mieke, Zeb had been assigned the job of answering that phone expressly because of the way he was, the theory being that if anyone other than Gabriel did happen to ring it, Zeb would confuse and annoy them into hanging up before they asked too many questions. So he was doing exactly what was intended.
He said, ‘Yes, maddening. But phone numbers that start with plus six one will always land you in Australia. … Oh Ducky, I hear you. And here’s me, still struggling with post codes.’
Who was he pretending to be? Maybe he was reflecting the age group of the caller.
‘So! Sorry to disappoint, but that’s who we are. Just three little amateurs…’ He turned to Aylin the others, relishing his lie. ‘Solving history puzzles at the far end of the world.’
IMAGES: Museum of Old and New Art (MONA) via Azure Magazine
Eastern Arthurs, Tasmania by Jason MacQueen
Safety Cove, Tasman Peninsula, Tasmania.
Long-nosed potoroo, Wilderness Australia
The Absent Answer 