The Deadly Truth

by Valerie Keogh

  Quinn stared at her without speaking, his eyes assessing. ‘I can try. You want me to come back and tell you?’

  Did she? If he were seen coming in and out of her office, would that give rise to the kind of gossip she’d tried for so many years to avoid? ‘No,’ she said. ‘I have your card, I’ll ring you later.’

  Without another word, Quinn was gone.

  She moved back to the window and watched as Quinn exited the front door a few minutes later. He looked up and down the street before he approached the slouching man. From where Melanie stood, it was impossible to see either man’s expression. Initially, the man stayed slumped against the wall and showed no reaction to whatever Quinn was saying but then, to her surprise, he threw his head back… in laughter? The light from the office windows cast strange shadows, it was impossible to make out what was happening. But after a few minutes the man pushed away from the wall and he and Quinn walked off together and were soon outside her line of vision.

  19

  For only the second time since she’d started to work for Masters, Melanie left work at five on the dot. It was stupid to feel guilty; there was nothing else for her to do.

  Her coat hung on the back of the door. She took it down and slipped it on, belting it tightly, her mind on Quinn. The faith in her ability to make correct judgements about people had taken a battering thanks to Hugo, but Quinn struck her as one of the good ones. Or maybe she hoped he was. She sighed, grabbed her briefcase, switched off the light and headed out.

  Although she’d watched the slouching man heading away in Quinn’s company, she still hesitated in reception. She was reluctant to leave in case the unknown man had returned and was waiting for her. Dan, one of the security guards, was standing by the exit. He was always pleasant and friendly, she didn’t mind asking him a favour. ‘I’m trying to avoid an ex,’ she said quietly, ‘and I’m sure I saw him hanging around earlier, would you check outside for me?’

  Dan drew his shoulders back. ‘Of course, wait here.’

  Melanie moved to the window as he stepped outside. Instead of giving a casual check, she watched him walk to the end of the building and look around, then back to the other end to do the same. She smiled and took a deep breath. Another one of the good ones – she had to keep reminding herself they existed.

  ‘Coast is clear, Ms Scott,’ he said, coming back inside, a dusting of raindrops on his shoulders and cap.

  ‘It’s Melanie,’ she said, for the umpteenth time. ‘Thanks, I appreciate that.’

  He looked at her sternly. ‘You should go to the police if a man is stalking you, Ms Scott. You need to keep safe.’

  She rested a hand briefly on his arm. ‘Thank you, Dan. It’s not an issue, honestly. I didn’t want to have to speak to him today.’ It wasn’t the man outside you had to protect yourself from, she could have told him, it was the one you invited in. The one she’d trusted. She conjured up a warm smile for Dan and left before it faded.

  Outside, she swore softly. She should have ordered a taxi. The chances of an available one passing at this time of the day were slim, but she stood a moment in hope before shaking her head and heading towards the underground. As usual, it was noisy and crowded. She was eager to hear what Quinn had discovered about the man but standing in a packed commuter train wasn’t the time or place for what might be a nerve-wracking conversation. With her briefcase wedged between her feet, she quickly sent a simple text. Did you find out who he was?

  It wasn’t until she was walking the short distance between the station and her home, eyes darting right and left, feet clicking speedily along the pathway that her phone beeped. It was from Quinn, an irritatingly short and uninformative text. Yes, best we meet. She groaned in frustration. Why was nothing ever simple anymore.

  She tried to think of a suitable place to meet. Only a few days ago, she’d have thought nothing of asking him to her home. Not now though, no matter that she thought he was one of the good guys, it would be a while before she’d leave herself that vulnerable again. She didn’t know many places suitable to meet, in fact, she knew only one.

  She waited until she was inside her apartment before she replied. The Fulham Arms, on the corner of Fulham and Cassidy Road in an hour.

  There was no reply; she took it as agreement.

  The pub was only a ten-minute walk from her apartment. She changed from her work suit into casual jeans, a jumper and comfortable walking shoes – ones she could run in if necessary. Who she’d be running from she’d no idea but it seemed better to be prepared.

  It was too early to leave; she didn’t want to sit alone in the pub so she made coffee, sliced chunks of cheese and sat watching the news, one eye on the kitchen clock. Quinn struck her as the kind of person who would arrive on time. She left the apartment five minutes before the appointed hour, then walked briskly, eyes constantly scanning.

  The Fulham Arms was an old pub whose only attempt at modernisation was the introduction of a limited menu of pie and chips or beer-battered haddock and chips. But the banquettes and chairs were comfortable, the place was clean and the lighting soft and subtle. She’d only been inside once, several years before, on a first date with a guy she’d met at a conference. She couldn’t remember his name, or why she’d never seen him again.

  Inside, the place hadn’t changed. The lighting was as she’d remembered, perhaps a little dimmer. With her eyes adjusting to the light, she looked around for Quinn. The pub was quiet, background music, murmurs of conversation, the occasional guffaw from a man in the corner trying too hard to impress the woman beside him. Melanie’s eyes flickered over them all nervously before seeing the man she was looking for. He’d taken a table opposite the door in a corner lit by a lamp to one side. Its shade was smoked glass and gave little light. It hid his expression and, wary, she hesitated before approaching.

  He’d been early, the pint glass on the table before him almost empty ‘Can I get you another?’ she asked as she reached him, in lieu of apologising for being late.

  She turned away without a word when he nodded. At the bar, she ordered a mineral water for herself. ‘And whatever it is he’s drinking,’ she said, pointing to where Quinn sat.

  As the barman pulled the pint, she could feel Quinn’s eyes on her, checking her out. It was an uncomfortable sensation, but two could play at that game and she gave him the once-over as she made her way back to the table. He’d taken off his jacket, loosened his tie and looked like a man comfortable in his skin, a self-confidence she’d noticed the first time they’d met. ‘Here you go,’ she said, putting the pint on the table before taking the seat opposite.

  ‘That looks very much like water you’re drinking,’ Quinn said as his fingers circled the pint.

  ‘Good detective work.’ She didn’t need to explain her choice of drink. This wasn’t a date, a getting to know you first meeting. This was business. ‘So,’ she said, ‘as you’ve noticed, I’m not into pleasantries, what have you to tell me about the man?’

  Before he answered, he lifted his glass and took two long swallows, half-emptying it. He wiped his mouth with a hand and looked across the table. ‘It was the man whose work address we found for you. Eric Thomas. Edgware Motors.’

  She had her fingers around her glass of water, they tightened automatically when she heard the name. That was who it was! She hadn’t recognised him, fooled by a heavy coat and a stupid hat.

  ‘What he said didn’t mean much to me but maybe, since you know him, it does to you.’ Quinn looked at her intently. ‘He said… and I’m quoting verbatim here… “I wanted to reassure her that I’d no intention of causing her any harm, that I never had”.’

  That was it? That’s why she’d been going crazy? She picked up her glass and took a mouthful of water. Perhaps if she hadn’t had Hugo so firmly in her head, she would have recognised Eric when he’d stood outside her house. She swirled the water around the glass, a frown creasing her brow as she thought about what Quinn had said. Wasn’t there something a bit od
d about this? She hadn’t needed the reassurance; she’d believed him when he said he hadn’t been involved. Now, it was almost a case of protesting his innocence too much.

  ‘He was surprised he’d worried you,’ Quinn went on. ‘You gave me the impression he’d been stalking you but he insisted he’d only called to your house once and this was his first day to call to your office.’ He leaned forward. ‘Did you think it was someone else?’

  She sighed. ‘Initially, I did, I thought it was… someone I didn’t want to see again. It never crossed my mind it would be Eric, perhaps it should have done.’ The missed calls, she’d given him her phone number, it must have been him trying to contact her. She played with her glass, rolling it between her hands.

  ‘When I told him I’d pass his message on, he said you wouldn’t hear from him again.’ Quinn crossed his arms. ‘I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what it’s about, are you?’

  She shook her head. ‘It was nothing, a mix-up over something that happened a long time ago.’

  Quinn didn’t look convinced but instead of pressing her he switched the conversation. ‘This other guy? He’s been bothering you?’

  She met his eyes; they were kind, sympathetic even. A brace for her backbone, isn’t that how she’d viewed his strength the first time they’d met? ‘The police are dealing with it.’

  ‘The police?’ His voice was surprised, eyes narrowing. ‘So more serious than just bothering you?’

  How did they end up talking about Hugo? ‘He stole something from me,’ she said. It was the easiest way to explain.

  Quinn seemed to process this, his eyes growing hard. ‘He broke in?’ Her silence appeared to be enough of an answer. ‘You let him in?’

  ‘I let him in,’ she agreed. ‘Foolish perhaps, but not a crime.’ She had to keep reminding herself of that. Stupidity wasn’t a crime. Hoping and believing in happy ever after wasn’t a crime.

  She stared down at her glass, tilting it backwards and forwards to make the water swirl. It was a few seconds before she looked up and caught his eyes. They were looking at her with such sympathy and sadness that despite her reservations, she found herself telling him about Hugo. ‘I was ghosted,’ she said, finishing her story. ‘A whole new experience for me.’

  ‘I suppose, in the way these things usually go, he’s hidden his tracks well?’

  ‘Fake email address, fake website, probably a fake name too for all I know.’

  ‘These days, every bugger knows how to set up fake accounts.’ Draining his pint, Quinn nodded towards her glass. ‘Would you like something stronger?’

  ‘A whisky,’ she said, deciding she needed it. ‘A Lagavulin if they have it?’

  If he seemed surprised by her choice, by her exacting request, he didn’t show it and returned a few minutes later with another pint and a small glass that he set down in front of her. ‘I’m glad you’re paying me well,’ he said, ‘you’ve got expensive taste.’

  Picking it up, she sniffed the amber liquid. ‘I don’t drink much but I was in a pub recently and asked the barman to recommend something. This is what he suggested.’ She took a minute sip; it was as good as she remembered. She felt his eyes on her and looked up. ‘What?’

  ‘There’s a lot of new terminology bandied about to cover social media experiences, both negative and positive. You mentioned you’d been ghosted–’

  ‘Isn’t that what it’s called?’ she interrupted. ‘Years ago, I’d simply have said I was dumped. But the way he appeared to vanish sounded like what I’d read about ghosting, and my friend Caitlin agreed.’ Melanie took another sip of whisky. ‘I’d read about it, but never thought I’d be a victim.’

  ‘I’m not sure you and your friend were right,’ Quinn said, picking up his pint.

  ‘She’s a detective inspector with the Metropolitan Police service. She knows what she’s talking about.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘I’m sure she does but perhaps she didn’t know about the theft of the information at that stage. It sounds to me more like a case of catfishing.’

  ‘What the hell is catfishing?’ Melanie had seen catfish once, on a holiday in India, twenty or thirty of them in a pool waiting to be fed, an open-mouthed frenzy that had given her the heebie-jeebies. Surely there wasn’t a connection?

  ‘It’s another social media problem,’ Quinn explained. ‘A predator fabricates a false identity in order to deceive or defraud. They normally target specific individuals – the lonely, wealthy woman, for instance. Or’– he waved a hand towards her – ‘someone who may be in possession of potentially lucrative information.’

  Melanie picked up her glass and knocked back the remainder of the whisky. Hadn’t she thought from the start that Hugo had been too good to be true? Now she knew why. He’d targeted her from the very beginning. Sadly, it all made perfect sense now.

  ‘Were you able to give the police a good description?’ Quinn asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  ‘I didn’t need to.’ She reached for her phone, brought up Hugo’s photo and handed it to him. ‘It’s the one that was on his website, I’d taken a screenshot to show my friend so I was able to send it to them.’ She saw Quinn’s suddenly alert expression and frowned. ‘Do you recognise him?’

  ‘No,’ he said, but the frown didn’t fade. He handed her back the phone, picked up his pint and drank deeply. ‘Don’t be too disappointed if the police aren’t able to locate him. They’re usually limited by manpower and resources. Anyway, if the merger is delayed, this Hugo person will probably offload the shares for something more instantly lucrative. These guys are rarely in it for the long haul.’

  Melanie nodded. It was the outcome they were hoping for. Suddenly curious she asked, ‘Could you find him?’

  Quinn considered her request for a moment before tilting his head side to side. ‘I’d love to be able to say yes, to claim James-Bond-style powers, but the reality is, probably not. From what you’ve told me, this guy is intelligent. He’ll have covered his tracks well.’ He gave a slight shrug. ‘I could give it a try.’

  Find him, tear his eyes out, make him suffer. She sighed, felt his eyes on her again, warm with understanding. ‘No, it’s not necessary. He’s finished with me now and moved on, I’d be better off to forget about him.’

  ‘That’s one of the reasons these people get away with it,’ Quinn said, sounding as if he were disappointed with her reply. ‘Con men like Hugo wreak havoc with people’s lives without ever being brought to justice. You should take a stand.’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly, ‘it’s best to leave it to the police.’ She reached for her jacket and pulled it on. ‘If they can’t, well so be it. Now, I must go. Thank you for that information and for dealing with Eric. And as before, I’d appreciate if the invoice for your time is sent to me personally and not to the Masters account.’

  He shrugged. ‘No problem. At least now, you know he’s nothing to worry about.’

  She had to bite her tongue on the words she wanted to say. Wanted to beg him to walk home with her, maybe even to stay so that she could wrap his confidence around her, steal it to keep her safe. Instead, she turned and walked through the now-busy pub to the door. Outside, it was colder and heavy rain bounced off the pavement. Passing cars sent up a spray of dirty water, windscreen wipers going shush, shush, shush as drivers battled to see in the deluge.

  It was only a ten-minute walk back to her apartment. The lurking man had been Eric trying to reassure her. Everything was okay. According to Quinn, she’d nothing to be afraid of.

  But, of course, he didn’t know everything. Time to pay. She had every reason to be very, very afraid.

  20

  It was only a ten-minute walk, but the heavy rain ran down Melanie’s showerproof jacket and soaked into her jeans. She walked quickly, ignoring the puddles underfoot and the discomfort of cold rainwater soaking her feet. Her eyes were never still. On a night like tonight everyone looked suspicious. People were mummified with hats and scarfs, they peered fr
om behind umbrellas, and aggressively hogged the inside of the pavement to avoid being splashed by the passing traffic. Wet surfaces shimmered in both street lights and car headlights, causing the shadows that lay across the path and roads to flicker and dance.

  It was all scarily unsettling. Finally reaching her front door, she gave a last anxious glance around before pushing it open and hurrying to shut and lock it behind her. Twenty minutes later, wrapped in her robe, she remembered her promise to ring Caitlin and picked up her phone. She was unable to resist checking her emails, relieved to see there was nothing new.

  ‘Hi,’ she said when it was answered.

  ‘Hi yourself,’ Caitlin said. ‘I was about to ring. You got through the day okay?’

  ‘Yes, it was fine. Nothing’s going to happen with the merger now for a while so it’s relatively quiet.’ The conversation slipped into general chit-chat but Melanie’s mind was on the meeting she’d had with Quinn. Could she really trust him? She waited until Caitlin finished a long involved story about one of her colleagues and the affair he was having with a married junior minister. ‘It’ll come out, these things always do,’ Melanie said. She looked at her phone in annoyance when it beeped. ‘My battery is going flat, can you ring me on the house phone?’ She hung up when Caitlin agreed and picked up the handset when it rang.

  ‘You need a new mobile,’ Caitlin said and proceeded to launch into a description of the latest on the market.

  Melanie contributed a hmmm and uh-huh now and then, waiting for the opportunity to slip her request into the conversation. Finally, into a lull, and as smoothly as she could, she dropped, ‘By the way, you know that private investigation service we use, Rabbie and Henderson?’

  ‘Sure, they’re one of the best around.’

  ‘They’ve taken on a new investigator, I met him in the staffroom earlier.’ The lie came easily. ‘Seems like a nice guy, an ex-copper, I wondered if you’d heard of him. Liam Quinn. Tall, broad-shouldered guy with grey eyes.’