Maloney's Law

by Anne Brooke

  At last, I come to the end of the papers, and I don’t know if I’ve gained much of use from them. Underneath those is the file I took from the office, the file from my lockable drawer that Jade doesn’t know about. I began keeping it there three weeks into my breakdown recovery regime, believing if I kept it at home then I would read it too much. Now it’s only in the flat at weekends, when it’s easier to update. In it are all the cuttings about Dominic and everything he’s ever done that’s been in the newspapers since two months after he and I started our affair.

  In front of me now lie pictures and articles about him, his family, his successes, his fortune, his public life. Still it tells me nothing about the man. It’s only at the end of my search that I find what I think I’m looking for, what I’ve only half-remembered. A small news item hidden in the corner of a page torn from The Financial Times, the date scrawled in biro across the top. Wednesday 6 March 2002: “Radical entrepreneur Dominic Allen, pictured here on the left [as if they needed to note that even], greets Blake Kenzie, MD of newly set-up IT games manufacturer, Delta Egypt, at the recent International Business & Marketing Conference held in Cairo. Mr. Allen says...”

  I put the cutting down. So Dominic already knew about Delta and was keeping it a secret from me. Why? He must realise I’ll find out. It’s in the public domain, no matter how brief the article. What’s he playing at? I’ll see if he tells me the truth when I meet him on Monday, but I won’t raise the subject first.

  For the rest of the morning, I gather information, think, make notes, and form a plan of sorts. By 3pm Jade’s file is no longer empty, but I’m starving. As usual there’s nothing in the flat, so I grab a pack of sushi and a bottle of orange juice from Sainsbury’s and come home again. It’s only when I’m standing in my kitchen arranging the sushi on a side plate and pouring the juice, that I clutch the nearest work surface, close my eyes, gulp once, twice, to keep myself steady as the wave, whatever it is, passes. I know it will pass, it always does, and when it does I wipe my hand across my eyes, blow my nose on a torn-off section of kitchen towel, and carry on preparing my meal.

  Food for a single person with no lover. They might as well have branded that onto the packaging. I balance the final arrangement onto a tray and transfer it into the living room where I sit at the table and pretend to eat. This isn’t where I expected to be by now, not here, not alone. Until Dominic, I’d had no regular partner, at least never for any longer than a couple of months, and never in a way that entailed not looking at other blokes, acting on it, too, but it hadn’t seemed to matter. I’d wanted to get serious with someone one day, become faithful, but there always seemed to be plenty of time. Then Dominic had punched himself into my existence like a chord of wild music to a man trapped in silence, and I’d learnt what being serious, being committed, had meant. Along with several other words, too: secretive, careless, cruel. Since then there’s been nobody. I’ve learnt in the end how to be celibate, and now I wonder whether there’ll ever be anyone in my life again.

  The scattered remains of sushi, only half-eaten in spite of my hunger, stare up at me from the plate. I drink the juice, throw the sushi away, and, after a while, head back to the office.

  Jade looks up when I enter, ‘Good to see you, Paul. The phone’s been hot while you’ve been out. You okay?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Just a memory trip, you know? I’ll recover. Who called?’

  Flicking through the pad on her desk, she names a couple of my regular clients, just checking up, I imagine, on what I’m doing for them. Right now I’m doing nothing. There’s also one newbie, and I tell myself I’ll contact him by the end of the day. Or maybe tomorrow. PI Rule Number Three: Never call straight back, or they’ll think you’ve got nothing to do. Make them wait.

  It’s the last call that interests me most. No name given, no message, just a number to call. A foreign code, not one I recognise.

  ‘What did this one sound like?’ I ask, leaning over her shoulder to study the information.

  She thinks for a minute. ‘Male. Terse. Any age. No social graces. When he’d given the number, he put the phone straight down. Didn’t even say goodbye. Oh, by the way, have you had time to catch the London paper yet?’

  ‘No. Should I have?’

  In answer, Jade unfolds her copy of today’s Standard, turns to Page Five and points. I pick it up and read.

  ‘“Muswell Hill Author Charged with GBH?”’ I query.

  ‘No, you idiot,’ she snorts. ‘The one underneath that.’

  I turn back to the page and find the article she means. It’s only six lines long, so I’m not surprised I missed it. Obeying instructions, I read it out for both of us.

  ‘“Body Found Outside City Pharmacy: The body of a young woman was found abandoned last night outside one of the City’s major pharmacies. She is thought to have been stabbed to death, but so far no identification has been made. Police are continuing their enquiries...”’ I swallow once, telling myself not to be stupid. ‘Terrible stuff, Jade, of course, but what about it?’

  ‘Look where she was found.’

  The remainder of the article tells me the name of the pharmacy and quotes a brief, sympathetic statement from its manager. I put the paper down and give my assistant a questioning glance.

  She sighs, ‘It’s exactly opposite DG Allen Enterprises. Don’t you think that’s odd?’

  ‘You think Dominic killed her and is using me as an alibi?’ I can’t help but laugh at the idea. ‘He wasn’t covered with blood and sporting a wild look in his eyes when I saw him. Far from it.’

  ‘Yes, you go ahead and laugh. But I still think it’s strange that on the same night this poor woman is killed, Mr. Allen arranges to meet you again.’

  ‘It’s a coincidence, sure. Look, I know Dominic isn’t your favourite person, and he’s a businessman with a killer instinct — excuse the pun — but you don’t really believe he’d actually murder someone, do you?’

  I’m still laughing as she frowns and stalks back to her desk.

  ‘No,’ she says. ‘Not directly anyway, but there are other ways to kill, you know. Just be careful, will you?’

  I stop laughing. ‘Okay, okay. Listen, I’ve got an appointment with him on Monday. I’ll mention it then. See if he confesses, though he won’t as he’s got nothing to do with it. You’re too hard on him.’

  ‘Only because—’

  ‘I know,’ I hold up my hand and Jade falls silent. ‘Only because you’re being loyal. And I’m grateful, you know that. It seems to me there’s nothing we can do until Monday anyway, so I may as well get on with other work. Where’s that number you gave me? The foreign caller?’

  Jade hands me the information, and I perch myself on the edge of my desk. Putting the phone on speaker mode, I dial the number she’s written down in her large open handwriting. When the line is answered, a young female voice trills something incomprehensible into the air, followed by a pause and then:

  ‘Good afternoon. Delta Egypt. May I help you?’

  I share a quick glance with Jade, then explain I’ve been given this number to ring. There’s a pause, then the sound of an internal connection being made. It’s picked up, there’s a silence, but I know someone is there on the other end of the line, waiting. Waiting. Without even knowing why, I hit the disconnect button, push myself off the desk, and head to the window. It feels cool against my forehead. Outside the traffic is caught nose to tail in the beginnings of the rush hour.

  ‘Any thoughts?’ Jade asks at my shoulder. I hadn’t heard her get up.

  ‘Not yet. I expect I’ll have some soon though. Still, at least there’s one good thing to say.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘I don’t have to decide whether or not I take Dominic’s case. Someone else has already assumed I have.’

  Chapter Two

  The first thing I notice is Dominic has changed the colours of his office suite. Even though it doesn’t matter how I look, I’m wearing my best suit, bought with my f
ather’s money when I first started out in this business, inherited cufflinks, and a pair of shoes I have polished until I could have used them as a shaving mirror. My hair is smoothed down with gel, but I’ve been twice to the Gents to check it. I don’t recognise his PA and wonder what happened to the other woman, but already the new slim brunette is smiling at me and asking if I want coffee.

  ‘No. Water, thanks.’

  She brings me two bottles of cool water and a glass. ‘Mr. Allen tells me you won’t want ice. Is that right, sir?’

  I nod. ‘Yes. Yes, that’s fine. Thanks, again.’

  ‘He’ll only be a few minutes, Mr. Maloney,’ she sings out and returns to her typing. She’s faster than Jade, but it doesn’t matter. There are more important things than keyboard skills. Especially for someone in my business.

  I while away the four minutes before my allotted appointment by admiring the new outer office décor. The PA’s desk is vast and pale and curved, the computer as thin as a sliver of ice, and the carpet a sea of soft lilac. The leather armchairs are a rich and earthy brown, and I make a mental note to upgrade my own furniture soon, if cash flow allows it. Five minutes and seventeen seconds after 2.30pm, the internal phone finally buzzes, and the PA picks it up. ‘Yes, Mr. Allen’, she says and smiles at me.

  ‘Please come through now, Mr. Maloney.’

  She opens the door to an empire of ivory-coloured panelled wood, contrasted with two red tapestries. Under my feet is a deeper pile of carpet, this time in champagne, that you could fall into and lose yourself, and straight ahead a desk with nothing on it at all except a slim, black laptop. On my left, a plinth of water falls safely forever in a sparkling sheet of movement. At the other side of the room, there are two other red leather sofas, three matching armchairs, a light oak wooden table, and a large drinks cabinet. This is where Dominic is standing, his back to me.

  ‘Thank you, Deborah,’ he says without turning round. ‘You may leave us now. While Mr. Maloney is here, I don’t want to be disturbed.’

  ‘Yes, Mr. Allen.’

  The door clicks shut and the two of us are alone. I stroll across the room towards him, my feet soundless, as Dominic finishes pouring drinks and at last swings ’round to face me. For a second, his eyes widen.

  ‘You look good, Paul,’ he says. ‘Nice suit.’

  ‘You’ve seen it before, but thanks. I didn’t want to look out of place.’

  ‘You never have. Please, sit.’

  It’s the first time I’ve seen him close up in the flesh, in daylight, since we split. An extra three years, four months, and four days have only improved what was, to me, perfect to start with. He’s a head taller than I am, and his dark blond hair frames grey eyes, an almost Roman nose, and full lips. I’m sure there’s not an inch of fat on his muscular body, not like me right now. Today he’s dressed in a charcoal suit from Jermyn Street — Dominic taught me well — matched with a blue silk shirt with gold cufflinks, no tie, and all I want to do — for starters — is ease my fingers down his face, kiss his throat, and begin to undo the buttons of that shirt. I hope he realises none of this.

  Exuding a shimmer of subtle aftershave and seductive power, he gestures me towards a sofa, but, instead, I choose one of the single armchairs and try to get comfortable. A second later, he has placed a jug of water on the coffee table, together with the two glasses, taken one for himself, and sat down on the sofa opposite me. The table lies between us, and the sunlight from the window frames him so he can see my face, but I can’t see his.

  I get up and choose the other chair instead. He turns to follow my movement.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he says, ‘a cigar is just a cigar. I would have closed the blinds.’

  ‘Eventually.’

  He shrugs. I take a sip of my water. ‘You’ve changed the décor since I was last here.’

  ‘Of course. We all have to move on. Do you like it?’

  ‘Sure. What’s not to like? And a new PA, too. What happened to...?’

  ‘Jacqueline? She left, ten months ago.’

  ‘What for? Better prospects? More money?’

  He leans back and gives me a cool, assessing gaze. ‘No. I asked her to leave.’

  ‘I thought you always prided yourself on choosing the right staff and keeping them.’

  ‘I had no choice. I was sleeping with her, and she became too emotionally involved. I paid her off to keep her quiet.’

  I gulp down my water and try not to choke. Dominic waits for me to recover but makes no move to help.

  ‘You never paid me off. Didn’t I merit it?’

  ‘Of course. But you would never have taken my money. You always had more pride.’

  This, I suppose, is true, though I’m surprised he thinks so. Especially after our last encounter. No, make that our last two encounters. ‘Thanks. So now you have Deborah.’

  ‘In a business sense only, thus far. I do intend to put our relationship on a more intimate footing in the near future, however, and, when I do, there’s one thing I’m sure about.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  He smiles. ‘She’ll be better in bed.’

  Than who, I want to ask. Jacqueline? Or me? But already Dominic’s mind has filed the conversation and moved to the next point.

  ‘Have you had any thoughts about Delta Egypt?’ he asks. ‘What do you intend to do next?’

  ‘You mean, am I going to take the case?’ I say.

  His response is a quick smile. ‘Yes, if you like. Are you going to take the case? I would appreciate it very much if you did.’

  ‘How much?’

  He names a price. I double it, and after a few minutes we reach a negotiated figure, not including reasonable expenses, which will keep Jade and me going for a good six months. Dominic won’t even miss it.

  ‘So,’ he says again after we’ve shaken hands on it. ‘What do you intend to do next?’

  ‘Ask you again whether you have any practical basis, apart from business gossip, for your suspicions about Delta Egypt. Do you, Dominic?’

  For two heartbeats, he doesn’t answer. Then he says, ‘I’ve hired you only to give me peace of mind and a clear path for takeover. No more. No less.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘In that case, what I’ll do next is the usual. Carry out what initial investigations I can here, then make contact with Delta, pose as a buyer, fly out, and pretend to do business with them. I’ve always fancied visiting Cairo anyway, so if it’s a wasted trip and they’re as clean as you hope they are, then at least I can take in some of the sights.’

  ‘Do. It’s a unique city.’

  ‘You’ve been before?’

  ‘Of course. I never do business with people I haven’t met.’

  I see another chance and use it. ‘Any prior knowledge of Delta at all? I don’t mean recently, but you IT types must meet up at all sorts of events, conferences, whatever, and if so any impression you might have got at the time is bound to be useful.’

  He doesn’t even blink. ‘No, I can’t help you there.’

  The way he’s phrased both his answers means he still hasn’t broken his record of honesty with me, but even so the glass of water in my hand doesn’t seem to taste so good any more. I put it back on the table and spring to my feet.

  ‘Okay, it was worth a shot. If there’s nothing else?’

  ‘No. Keep me informed of your progress.’

  ‘I will. You’re a client now.’

  I’m almost at the door when my memory clicks in. I turn, and he’s still sitting, just watching me. ‘I almost forgot. There is one thing.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Nothing to do with the case, but I see a woman was killed and left in the street outside last week. The night we met up. Turning out to be an unusual week for you.’

  His expression remains the same. ‘Rather, an unusual week for the pharmacy.’

  ‘Yes. An unfortunate coincidence.’

  ‘Indeed so. Paul?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘W
hen you fly, I expect to pay for Club Class tickets, not Tourist. And stay at the Mena House Oberoi. The views of the Pyramids are unparalleled.’

  ‘Fine by me.’ Knowing I’ll get no more information from him now, I place my fingers on the door handle, my body ready to go.

  ‘And, before you go...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Please believe me when I say I’m sorry for what happened before, for how we ended it.’

  ‘The usual?’

  Jade smiles and drops her Lulu Guinness handbag down onto the corner table we always try for at The Bell and Book on a Monday evening. ‘Please.’

  I nod and shoulder my way to the bar through groups of mixed Germans and Greeks, shirt buttons undone and sleeves rolled up, all raucous with laughter. What they’re doing in Hackney is a real mystery. The dark side of London, maybe. Our work local is more East End pub than wine bar, and there’s always a distinct smell of warm beer and the barman’s sweat, but it’s cheap, friendly, and asks no questions. Much like my taste in men. Apart from when it comes to Dominic. Damn him for his throwaway comments. I’d been doing well, too, Mr. Professional PI, all business sense and cool assessment, but one mention of our affair from him had kicked my façade away. If only on the inside. I’d started shaking though, once out on the street. Now as I wait to be served, I glance around the dirty counter, the old, dusty beams, the faded carpet, its original pale green long since lost, and wonder what my ex-lover might think if I asked him here. Not that it matters; he’d never come.

  ‘What’s it to be then tonight, sir?’

  A couple of moments later I’m weaving my way back to Jade, clutching a bottle of Waggledance and one chilled Chardonnay, dry but not too dry. She greets me with a smile that lights up the dusty air.