The Deadly Truth

by Valerie Keogh

  Her fingers gripped the edge of her desk. Maybe there was one thing she could do. She couldn’t turn back the clock to that first meeting with Hugo and see him for the nasty conniving bastard he’d proved himself to be, but at least she could ensure he didn’t gain from his deviousness. She would tell Richard, confess what she’d done. If she did it now, perhaps he’d have a chance to limit the damage.

  Two minutes later, having impressed upon his PA the urgency of speaking to him, she was seated in the same chair she’d vacated so innocently over an hour before. ‘It was my fault,’ she said before he had a chance to ask why she was there. ‘I’ll tell you everything.’

  Ten minutes later, she sat back with a dry mouth. She could tell nothing from Richard’s expression. Even his long fingers, curled over the rounded arms of his chair, were still. ‘Hugo Field,’ he said, the two words growled out in his deep voice. He moved abruptly, startling a gasp from Melanie, and pulled over the keyboard of his desktop computer.

  He wouldn’t find anything. She could have told him but it seemed a better idea to let him find it out for himself.

  Richard Masters wasn’t a man who gave up easily so it was almost five minutes later before he pushed the keyboard away with a grunt of irritation. ‘Okay,’ he said.

  Melanie waited for the words she expected to hear. You’re fired. You’re a disgrace to the profession. A disgrace to Masters.

  ‘Let’s see if there’s a way out of all of this.’

  Her look of surprise must have been impressive. Richard Masters smiled. ‘What? Did you think I was going to throw you to the wolves?’

  ‘I’ve let you down, endangered the merger and the reputation of the company.’

  ‘Yes, you’ve been an absolute idiot,’ Masters agreed. ‘But coming to me as soon as you realised the truth was exactly the right thing to do. And it took guts.’ He smiled at her. ‘Guts impress me.’ He reached for his desk phone. ‘Now let’s ensure this Hugo Field gets what’s coming to him.’ Masters tapped out a number and sat back as it rang.

  ‘I want to speak to Detective Inspector Sam Elliot,’ he said when the phone was answered.

  Shock seared Melanie. The police! She felt tension rise as Masters gave the details of what had happened including a brief précis of what she had told him about her dealings with Hugo Field.

  ‘Fine, I’ll tell her to go home. It would be better to meet her there. Her address is…’ Masters raised an eyebrow at Melanie who obligingly reeled off her address.

  Masters put the phone down. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he said to her. ‘We’ve dealt with the City of London Police Fraud Team before. Sam Elliot is one of their best, we’ve worked with him a number of times.’ He saw her look of surprise. ‘I’ve been in this business a long time, Melanie, I could tell you tales that would make your eyes pop.’ His expression tightened. ‘Go home, talk to Sam. Give him whatever you can to help him catch this bastard. Meanwhile, I’m going to talk to people in CityEast and Fanton’s.’ He tapped a finger on the desk. ‘I’d guess that your pal, Hugo, was hoping to make a quick killing. I think I can safely say that the merger has hit a complication and will be delayed, possibly by several months.’

  That was one way to stop the bastard; inside traders tended to want a smash-and-grab-type of situation. ‘If they do catch him, though, I won’t be able to prove he opened my briefcase and took information.’

  Masters screwed up his nose. ‘Let’s worry about that after we find him. I bet it isn’t his first time to be involved in shady financial dealings.’

  There was nothing further to be said except, ‘Thank you. I will do whatever I can to make this better.’

  Back in her office, she told Rona she had an appointment and wouldn’t be available for the rest of the day. She put the phone down before she was asked any details, picked up her belongings and headed home.

  She’d always loved her apartment but when she opened the front door and stepped into the hallway, all she could think of was Hugo and the night he had spent there. In the lounge, she looked at where she’d put her briefcase – the same place she put it every single day. She imagined Hugo opening it and rummaging through with his greedy conniving hands. How stupid she had been; she’d handed everything to him on a plate – the knowledge of the reports and time to help himself to their contents while she slept in a post-coital glow.

  Anger surged through her but it had been replaced by a resigned sadness by the time the doorbell went. She opened the door to Detective Inspector Sam Elliot, a slim man with thinning brown hair, a pleasant, unremarkable face and kind eyes that instantly reassured Melanie.

  Shutting the front door, she waved him into the lounge.

  ‘Have a seat,’ she said. ‘Would you like some tea or coffee?’

  ‘No, thank you, I’m good.’ Elliot took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair before sitting. His white shirt was neat, his tie decidedly bizarre, luridly coloured and wildly patterned. He saw her looking, picked up the end of it and looked down before dropping it with a wide smile. ‘My daughter bought it for my birthday. It’s pretty hideous but…’

  Suddenly, it didn’t look so bad. ‘You must love her very much,’ she said, relaxing a little and taking a seat on the sofa.

  ‘I do,’ he said. ‘Now why don’t you tell me everything from the beginning.’

  Fifteen minutes later, leaving nothing out, Melanie sat back with a sigh. ‘That’s it. That’s the whole sad, embarrassing, career-wrecking saga.’

  ‘Mr Masters didn’t give me the impression that your career was any way in trouble.’

  ‘I’ve only recently been promoted to junior partner, it comes with a three-month probation. What do you think my chances are?’

  Elliot tilted his head and looked at her. ‘I’ve known Richard Masters for some years. He’s a very fair man. I think he’d appreciate the quick acknowledgment of your part in this.’

  ‘He said he liked my guts in coming forward,’ she admitted.

  ‘There you go then. So, forget about that.’

  She felt a slight release in the bands of tension that had gripped her since she’d realised what had happened. ‘Okay, I’ll try. So, what happens now?’

  Elliot put his notebook away and ran a hand over his head. ‘I appreciate you want to help and I’m grateful you’ve told me your story.’ He leaned closer, his garish tie swinging forward. ‘But I doubt very much if Hugo Field is this man’s name so we have no way of identifying him. Chances are he’s bought the shares through a variety of proxies. I’ll search where I can, obviously, but I’m not holding my breath.’

  ‘I see,’ Melanie said. It all seemed to be a waste of time. ‘I suppose it’s too late to try to get fingerprints from my briefcase.’

  ‘A bit,’ Elliot said with a smile.

  She frowned as a thought came to her. ‘What about DNA? Could you find out who he was from that?’

  It was Elliot’s turn to frown. ‘If he’d been convicted of a crime it might be in our system, yes but…’ He held a hand up. ‘I suppose I don’t have to ask.’ He reached behind him for his jacket, put his hand into the pocket and pulled out an evidence bag. ‘Okay, here you go.’

  Melanie took it and left the room. She had to remove a couple of cotton face pads out of the way before seeing what she wanted. Screwing up her nose, she opened the evidence bag, picked up the clump of toilet paper with its disgusting contents, dropped it inside and secured the top.

  DI Elliot took it from her as if it were the kind of thing he was handed on a routine basis.

  His calm acceptance made Melanie smile. ‘Does nothing ever faze you?’

  ‘Very little.’ He stood, pulled on his jacket and put the evidence bag into his pocket. ‘Would you come into the station and work with a police artist to give us a likeness of Hugo Field?’

  ‘I don’t need to–’

  ‘The sooner we can identify him the better,’ he said, interrupting her.

  ‘No, I meant that I
don’t need to work with an artist. I have a photo of Hugo.’ Reaching for her phone, she brought it up. ‘I took a shot of the thumbnail photo on the website he had; I was planning to show Caitlin the handsome new man in my life.’ Melanie heard the edge of bitterness in her voice and sighed. ‘Anyway, there he is.’

  Elliot looked at it and gave a satisfied nod. ‘Perfect,’ he said, taking it from her, ‘I’ll send it to mine.’ He handed her phone back and turned to leave, stopping to peer at her bookcase. ‘I know her,’ he said, picking up a photo frame. ‘Caitlin Ballantyne.’ He put it down and looked back to Melanie. ‘A relative of yours?’

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘It’s good to have friends.’ Reaching into his top pocket, he took out a card and handed it to her. ‘If you think of anything else, anything at all, give me a buzz.’

  ‘You will find him, won’t you?’ she said, taking it.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said, and with a wave he was gone.

  16

  Melanie sat for a long time after he’d left. The prospect of the evening ahead obsessing over Hugo… what he had done and how he’d almost ruined her career… chilled her. She needed company. It wasn’t hard to decide who; of her few friends, it was Caitlin who would understand most easily.

  Melanie was in luck and the phone was answered on the second ring. ‘I’ve had a shit day,’ she said without preamble. ‘Can you come over?’

  ‘Have you any food in the house? I skipped breakfast and missed lunch so I could eat a scabby babe.’

  Melanie was used to her friend’s rather choice use of words. ‘Not a lot of food, but I still have the rest of the wine you bought last time you were here. I’ll order some food in. What would you like? Italian?’ She’d have preferred Indian but Caitlin, she knew, wasn’t that keen on spicy food.

  ‘Perfect,’ Caitlin agreed. Melanie scribbled down Caitlin’s preferences and hung up. She checked her phone for the number of the local Italian restaurant and rang to order. While she waited, she went to her bedroom and changed into jersey pyjamas. Comfort food and comfort dressing. It was almost the perfect evening.

  With a sigh, she put a bottle of white wine in the fridge and set the table.

  Caitlin arrived before the food, all effusive greetings and loud, cheery comments. She took the glass of wine Melanie offered and they sat at the table.

  ‘I needed this,’ Caitlin said, taking a large gulp. ‘I don’t know how bad your day was but it couldn’t possibly beat mine.’

  ‘I think Hugo used information he stole from me to buy up shares in CityEast.’

  Caitlin choked on her wine, coughing and spluttering, banging her hand on her chest. ‘What?’ she squawked as she continued to cough.

  ‘There’s been a run on shares, bad enough to have aroused suspicion. They suspected a leak somewhere but…’ Melanie swallowed a mouthful of wine. ‘I knew… almost immediately, I think, that it was him. He’d looked in my briefcase that night and got enough information from the notes I had there.’

  ‘Insider trading,’ Caitlin said, her voice back to normal. ‘Gosh, I’m so sorry. Maybe they won’t find out it was you, although it’s so hard to hide these things nowadays.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that,’ Melanie snapped.

  Caitlin held her hands up. ‘Whoa, I’m sorry. Listen, I know how hard you’ve worked, and for it to end like this is so tough.’ She reached over and gripped Melanie’s arm. ‘Did they fire you outright or suspend you?’

  The doorbell pealed. ‘It’s the food.’ Melanie stood, grabbed her purse and went to answer the door. She arrived back seconds later with laden bags. ‘I bought everything you asked for and a bit more,’ she said, unpacking it on the countertop.

  Caitlin moved closer and put an arm around her shoulder. ‘You’ll be okay,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ll find something else, maybe not in law, but there are other jobs–’

  ‘I haven’t been fired or suspended.’ Melanie handed her a plate. ‘Here, get some food and I’ll tell you everything that happened afterwards.’

  ‘Afterwards?’

  Melanie shook her head. It wasn’t until they were sitting at the table that she told her friend about her meeting with Richard Masters and the subsequent visit by DI Elliot.

  ‘Sam Elliot?’ Caitlin asked through a mouthful of pasta. ‘I know him, a well-regarded officer.’

  ‘Good, because he needs to find Hugo then I’ll be totally exonerated.’

  ‘But Richard didn’t even suspend you? That’s amazing. Fantastic. You’ve been so lucky.’

  ‘Lucky… yes.’ Melanie sighed, put her fork down and pushed the plate away. Caitlin didn’t know the half of it; didn’t know about Wethersham or that she’d once been a stupid, thoughtless girl called Anne Edwards who had done something so shockingly dreadful that it had never been forgotten. Melanie stood abruptly. ‘I need to go to the bathroom.’

  When she came back a few minutes later, Caitlin had finished her glass of wine and was reaching for the bottle. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yes, sorry, I’m fine.’ Melanie sat and reached for her glass.

  ‘You have a message.’

  ‘What?’ The word was dragged out of her, full of frustration and barely contained anger.

  Caitlin stared at her. ‘Chill. A message. Your phone pinged.’

  Melanie looked across the room to where her phone sat on a shelf. She desperately wanted to look at it. Crossing the room, she picked it up, keeping her expression carefully neutral.

  ‘Something important?’

  ‘Only spam,’ Melanie said, dismissing it. With the phone in her hand, she came back to the table, picked up her glass and headed to the window. ‘I thought I heard rain and I was right, it’s chucking it down. You’d better get a taxi home.’

  ‘Never mind the weather,’ Caitlin said, ‘what are you going to do now?’

  ‘My job. The merger may be delayed but it’ll still go through. It’s more important than ever that the rest of it is smooth and trouble free. I owe it to Richard.’

  ‘Yes, I think you do.’ Caitlin sipped her wine. ‘I’m really surprised. From what you’d told me about him, I wouldn’t have expected him to be so reasonable. I would have thought he’d have flayed you alive.’

  Melanie looked into the rain-washed darkness of the window and saw her friend’s reflection. Distorted by rain, it looked for a moment as if she were sneering, her face screwed up and angry. She turned with an exclamation on her lips, to ask what she’d done, stopping in time when she saw Caitlin’s expression as it always was, pleasant and open. She shut her eyes, and quickly turned back to the window. It was she who was twisted and screwed up, she who constantly made a mess of things. She wished she could confess to her friend that this business with Hugo and the shares weren’t what was churning her gut and sending shivers down her spine. The merger would eventually go ahead, and Hugo would either be caught and punished, or what was more likely, disappear.

  It is said that confession is good for the soul, but how could it be? She liked the version of herself that Caitlin knew. Melanie Scott not Anne Edwards. Telling her about it all, the emails, Cherry’s suicide, and her part in Matthew Thomas’s death would destroy everything she’d tried to make of herself, everything she was, everything she wanted to be.

  Her mobile felt hot in her hand. She didn’t need to look at it again to remember the email that had come. As with the others, it was short. The words, once read, were hard to forget.

  Only three words. But with the power to terrify and to put everything else into second place.

  Time to pay

  17

  Melanie shook her head when Caitlin offered to stay overnight. ‘Thank you, but honestly I’ll be fine.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ she said, giving Melanie a hug. ‘Promise me you’ll ring if you’re the slightest bit worried or anxious. Or anything.’ She gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. ‘Even if you simply want some reassurance, ring, okay?’

  �
��I promise.’ Melanie pushed her out the door and walked to the gate with her when the taxi drew up outside.

  ‘Okay, I’ll ring you in the morning to check you’re all right.’ Caitlin gave her arm a final squeeze before climbing into the waiting taxi.

  Melanie waited until it had pulled away, her hand raised in a wave that tried very hard to be casual, dropping as soon as the car was out of sight. It was late. Streetlights cast strange shadows that seemed to move in the soft breeze that blew. Did shadows normally move? Walking backwards to the front door, she almost tripped over the step, stumbling and righting herself without taking her eyes from the shapes that continued to flicker.

  ‘Idiot,’ she mumbled as she shut the door and slipped on the safety chain. They were merely shadows, nothing more. Nevertheless, she peeped through the bedroom shutters, her eyes sweeping up and down the street. She should have let Caitlin stay. One night, it wouldn’t have done any harm.

  Back in the lounge, Melanie switched out the lights and sat to look out over the garden, but suddenly there were too many shadows, too many dark corners where something might lurk. Time to pay. She jumped up and dragged the curtains across, holding them clasped in her hands as she rested her forehead against them. Then, from behind, she heard the ping of her phone. She wouldn’t look. Couldn’t look without falling apart.

  Avoiding even a glimpse in its direction, she hurried from the room. The bedroom door didn’t have a key. There was no logic in her action, but she dragged the chest of drawers across the door before scurrying under the duvet and pulling it over her head. She didn’t sleep. In the dark cave of the bed, she was terror’s hostage, her imagination interpreting the three words in evermore brutal and graphic ways, the images switching and flickering constantly, technicolour one minute, grainy black and white the next. It wasn’t until light seeped around the edges of the duvet that she pushed it back, then exhausted, she slept for a while until a loud cry woke her. She sat up, startled, listening, sinking down again in the realisation it had been her voice, her cry. Her pain.