The Mystery of Martin Kelly

The following story is true but if you need verification, contact Matt Kelly, Scott McCartney or Ned Hawkins. None of the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

In the beginning of September, several of my Peace Corps friends and I met in Plovdiv to enjoy the fall weather and pass a mini vacation.

Ned and I arrived first and found a hostel for us to stay in. Then we met Matt and ate dinner. Upon returning to our room we discovered we were sharing it with a Northern Irish lad named Martin Kelly.

Martin Kelly was a young guy, about our age, who looked like a bit of a punk who could enjoy a rave. Nonetheless, he was a friendly dude and we invited him to spend the evening with us. We ended up staying out until 4 a.m. listening to Bulgarian professors rant about the history of the Balkans in this off-the-wall, western-style pub.

The next day we ate breakfast together, and we all gave him our contact information in the event that he happened to come to our various regions in Bulgaria (he was looking for property.) By noon we went our separate ways.

About a week ago, Matt wrote me a message on AIM.

"Hey," it said, "Have the Northern Irish police contacted you?"
"No," I said. "Why?"
"Well, you remember that Martin kid we met in Plovdiv? Apparently he's missing."
"What?"
"Yeah. He went missing on New Years Day and they went into his apartment and found the piece of paper with our info on it. I told them all I knew about him..."

We both thought it was odd, but then it sort of slipped our minds.

Tonight I was at Rosie's having my Bulgarian lesson when my GSM rings. I answer it with my best Bulgarian, "Alo?" because it is not a recognized number and I assume it is some Bulgo calling.

"Hello?" asks a confused voice with a bit of a lilt. "Do you speak English?"
"Yes," I say.
"Is this Rebecca Grudzina?" the voice asks.
"Yes, it is," I reply.
"This is Nicola from the Belfast Police Department. [I then recognized the accent.] Do you know a lad named Martin Kelly?"

Had Matt not alerted me to this a week ago, I would have had no recollection of the name.

"Why yes. I met him once in Plovdiv," I say.
"Well, he's gone missing," she says, in a tone that would imply he had won the lottery and they were trying to find him. "Do you happen to know where he might be?"
"No ma'am. I only met him the one time in September."
"Well, do you happen to know any of these people?..." She proceeded to sound out names like Bug-Gus and Slaiven...For a moment, I am lost.
"Oh!" I say, "Those aren't people. Those are names of cities near my village. I wrote them down in case he came to my area. Yeah, those are Bourgas and Sliven."
"Oh," she says, over a line that is rapidly deteriorating. "Well, if you hear from him, could you please call us?"
"Of course," I say. I take the number and hang up.

Rosie has heard all of this and is bewildered. I tell her the story, and she immediately starts thinking up the missing parts...Parts that include heists and get-aways and identity changes (she is the one to whom I give all of my Agatha Christie and Mary Higgins Clark novels when I have read them.) The obvious links are to the recent bank robberies in the UK, and we assume he has gone into hiding in the area of Smolyan (ironically, the same area I was in this past weekend.) Or he has been killed. But in the event he is hiding, Rosie is putting a friend of hers on the case who sells properties to folks from Ireland and the UK...Maybe they know someone who knows someone.

If this kid is in Bulgaria, he will be found. Mark my words.