‘Hi.’
The plate, awkwardly balanced on top of the beer glass fell to the floor with a crash sending olives flying in every direction. The noise startled Tyler who’d been curled up asleep on the sofa, he barked first at West and then at the olives, before being picked up and put out into the hallway. He closed the door on him and stepped over the mess on the floor to sit beside Kelly who was curled up on the end of the sofa. The room was only lit by the streetlights outside but even in their shadowy light, he could see her face was tear-stained, her eyes swollen and red.
‘What the hell?’ he said, shocked. He pulled her into his arms. She was unresisting, almost limp. He held her for several minutes without saying a word.
It was Kelly who pulled away, wiping her face with her sleeve. ‘It’s just one thing after another, Mike,’ she said, her voice breaking.
‘What is it?’
She rubbed her eyes and then gulped before pointing to the coffee table. ‘Have a look,’ she said.
An envelope. He knew what was inside. Picking it up, he took the photographs out and looked at them. Similar, but different poses. ‘Where did you get them?’
She sat bolt upright. ‘You aren’t surprised?’ Slapping her hand to her forehead, she groaned. ‘You got them too?’ She dropped her hand. ‘Oh God, please don’t tell me they were sent to the station.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘here, this morning.’
‘Here,’ she looked at him suspiciously. ‘You weren’t going to tell me, were you?’
He shook his head. ‘No, Kelly, you’ve been through so much I wanted to...’
‘Protect me?’ she interrupted him. ‘There you go again, treating me like a child...or worse,’ she said standing and moving away to the window, ‘treating me like a victim.’
He dropped the photographs on the coffee table. ‘Tell me what happened.’
She stayed facing the window, her voice catching as she told him. ‘I had a call from Hugh this morning. My publisher,’ she reminded him. ‘He asked me to call in to see him; he was very mysterious and wouldn’t tell me anything over the phone.
‘When I got there, I knew immediately something was wrong. He wouldn’t look me in the eye, there was no offer of coffee, none of the usual courtesies I’d come to take for granted.’
There was silence for a few minutes. West could hear her cry and wanted to go to her but there was a chasm between them. Once more, whether she liked it or not, she was a victim.
‘He told me they were ending my contract, not just for the current book but for the children’s books I’ve written, and that they wouldn’t be looking to do business with me again.’ She turned then and looked at him. ‘I’ve known him for almost five years.’ She moved to the armchair and sat. ‘I was shocked, needless to say, so I asked him why. He just handed me those.’
‘But he must have known they weren’t photos of you,’ West said.
She smiled sadly. ‘I don’t think he really cared if they were or not. He’d had a phone call first thing from Books Inc; they’re the biggest supplier of books in Ireland. They’d also received some photographs and on the back of each was a list of the children’s books that I’ve written that are stocked in their shops. They weren’t too happy, as you can guess, and will be withdrawing all of them from sale.’
West tried to think of something positive to say. But he wasn’t a fool; in today’s world image was everything.
‘If I wrote erotica,’ she said, with a smile, ‘they’d use it to promote my books. But a children’s author has to be above all that sleazy stuff. My new novel is a family saga, it wouldn’t do much for that either.’
West’s stomach growled. He needed food. ‘I missed lunch,’ he said apologetically, deciding that saying that he’d also missed breakfast might be a bit of an over kill. ‘I’ll order a take-away and we can sit down with a bottle of wine and see what we’re going to do about this.’
He didn’t wait for a reply. The take-away menus were in a drawer in the kitchen; he pulled the local Indian one out, rang them and ordered an assortment of food. It was probably too much but his growling stomach egged him on.
An open bottle of red wine in one hand and two glasses in the other, he headed back to the lounge, pleased to see she had switched on some lights and looked a little calmer.
He opened the wine, poured a glass and handed it to her, waiting until she’d taken a sip before moving away to pick up the food he’d dropped on the floor earlier. He piled it on the plate and brought it into the kitchen where he dumped the lot into the bin. Tyler lifted his head expectantly, but one look from West made him reconsider moving from the comfort of his bed.
Returning to the lounge, he picked up his pint of beer and sat beside her. The silence was awkward, filled with things they both wanted and didn’t want to say.
‘I...’ Kelly started, turning to him, shaking her head and smiling when the doorbell interrupted her. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, nodding toward the door.
West put his beer down and left the room, returning minutes later with a bag of food hanging from each hand. He placed them carefully on the coffee table and left again to fetch plates and cutlery. She unpacked the bags, spreading the containers out and taking off the lids. Balti chicken, lamb rogan josh, vegetable pakora and her favourite, chicken chot poti.
‘There’s way too much,’ Kelly murmured, taking the plate he handed her and spooning a little of each onto her plate.
‘It’s always a bad idea to order a take-away when you’re starving,’ he grinned, opening a bag holding two naan breads and handing her one. He broke a piece from his and dipped it into the sauce on his plate.
Kelly ate little, playing with the food, pushing it around her plate, her thoughts on the photographs and who wanted to harm her.
West, feeding his hunger, kept one eye on her. He wasn’t sure how to say what needed to be said. Before his hunger was satisfied, he’d had enough and pushed his plate away.
‘You need to report this, Kelly,’ he said firmly, ‘make it official.’
She looked at him with wide eyes. ‘You have to be joking.’ Her laugh verged on hysteria. ‘Report it, and have people, maybe some of your colleagues, drooling over photographs they think are of me? Maybe copying them, putting them on-line. Are you out of your bloody mind?’
‘It won’t be like that,’ he said but there was no conviction in his voice. Secrets had a tendency to escape, no matter how hard you tried. ‘I’ll keep it between Andrews and me.’
She bit her lip. ‘He’s seen them then? Who else did you show them to? Who else,’ she demanded when he didn’t answer.
‘I needed to get them checked for fingerprints. I took them to one of my colleagues at the forensics office in the Park.’
‘And did he drool over them?’ she said, sneering.
‘She,’ he said, trying to stay calm. ‘Fiona Wilson, you’ve met her.’
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When she spoke, her voice was less ragged. ‘Did she find anything?’
He shook his head. ‘They were clean. Whoever’s doing this, they’re not completely stupid. We might have more luck with the ones that were sent to the bookshop. If he took the time to write on them, he might have left some trace. I’ll get someone to pick them up tomorrow.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want that. I’ll take care of this myself.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he snapped, frustrated, ‘this is a police matter. You, more than anyone, should know how dangerous it is to get involved with criminals.’
Standing she wrapped her arms around herself and moved across the room to stare out the window. ‘This is personal,’ she said softly, ‘and I think I might know who it is.’
He had to strain to hear what she said. ‘You think you know who it is?’ he repeated, unsure if he’d heard her correctly.
‘Aidan,’ she said turning around. ‘Aidan Power, the editor. He was so helpful when we communicated on line but wh
en I met him...there was just something not right. He made my skin crawl.’
She pushed her hands through her hair and stood there a moment, eyes wide, looking wild. ‘It’s not something I can explain. He just gave me a bad feeling.’ Dropping her hands, she smiled slightly. ‘Female intuition or as you and Peter might say, a gut feeling. However you describe it, he just made me feel uneasy.’
He held up his hands. ‘I’m not going to knock that feeling, Kelly. But what motivation would he have for trying to destroy you personally and professionally.’
She shrugged. ‘There isn’t always a motive, is there?’
West frowned. She was right. There wasn’t always a motive. Sometimes it was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But this didn’t fit here. Someone had gone to a considerable amount of trouble to make those composite photographs. And the recipients were carefully chosen to cause the most harm.
The photographs were addressed to him. ‘Does Aidan know about me?’
A shrug. ‘I don’t know. What difference would that make?’
West told her.
She frowned. ‘I suppose I might have mentioned you, maybe your first name, but I wouldn’t have used your full name. There was never a reason.’
‘But he knew you were living here in Greystones, not in Blackrock?’
Kelly frowned. Did he? She’d filled in forms, what address had she used? Embarrassingly, she couldn’t remember. ‘I don’t know,’ she finally admitted. ‘They may have my address here, but they definitely wouldn’t have had your surname. There would never have been a reason to give it.’
West smiled reassuringly. He knew she believed what she said. After all, he’d heard it so many times. People would swear blind they hadn’t told someone something, and get embarrassed when faced with proof that they had, but had forgotten. All it needed was the wrong person to get the right piece of information for it to cause untold damage.
Kelly picked up her wine glass, drained it and refilled it. She stood, swirling the wine around, and looked at him. ‘I mean it, I’ll handle this myself.’
Putting his empty beer glass down, he poured a glass of wine and sat back. ‘How about a compromise,’ he suggested. ‘You have a word with your pal, Aidan, and I’ll do a bit of a background search on him. Strictly under the radar.’
She frowned. It wasn’t like him to give in so easily but, if there was a catch, she couldn’t see it. ‘Strictly under the radar? So no official police investigation?’
‘No official police investigation,’ he said, nodding. There was no point in enlightening her. Many of their investigations were unofficial. There was no point in telling her that he was going to look into the others too. Hugh Todd, the publisher, and Owen Grady, her agent.
He hid a smile at how easy their names came to him once he was viewing them as possible criminals. He didn’t think she’d find it amusing.
17
Kelly contacted Aidan Power by email the next morning. Can we meet for a coffee? She wrote, leaving it at that, hoping he’d be intrigued enough to agree to meet.
He was, and immediately responded. Two o’clock, The Coffee Pot on Harcourt Street.
Perfect.
She took out the photographs and looked at them again, her nose crinkling in disgust at seeing her face attached to a body in such a compromising position. They were well done, if she hadn’t known better, she’d have been fooled. For a second, she wondered if West had been and shook the thought away.
Putting them away, she sat back in her chair and sighed. She should be writing but she couldn’t drag up any enthusiasm for it. Anyway, finding another publisher might be hard. A thought crossed her mind. Owen Grady. Had he received a set of the photos?
She picked up her phone to ring him and then dropped it. It wasn’t something she wanted to ask over the phone. How can you gently drop into a conversation, have you recently received compromising photos of me? She gave a dry laugh and ran her hands through her hair holding it away from her neck before dropping it. The best thing to do was to go and see him before her meeting with Aidan.
She’d have to dress carefully. More than ever, she needed to portray an efficient professional image. It would take a while to get those photographs out of her mind. For a moment, she felt ill at the thought. She’d waited such a long time for the success that had been within touching distance, and now it had been destroyed. Someone was going to be held accountable. Straightening her shoulders, she took a deep breath.
In her room, she opened the wardrobe and searched for an appropriate outfit. She discounted anything frivolous, anything colourful and certainly anything anyway revealing. Eventually, she pulled on navy trousers and a navy polo-neck cashmere jumper. When she pulled on a navy coat, she checked herself in the full-length mirror. It was a little severe and definitely a stark contrast to the wanton woman in those photos. Would they see it as a case of the lady protesting too much?
She’d pinned her hair up in a tight knot. Undoing it, she shook her head, ran her fingers through it and checked again. Much better. Grabbing her bag and her keys, she headed out.
The car park in Greystones was, as usual, full. Giving up after a few useless circuits, she decided to drive into the city. Maybe she’d do a bit of shopping. With that idea firmly in her mind, she drove into Stephen’s Green and parked in the shopping centre.
The idea that Own Grady had seen the photographs was preying on her. She couldn’t relax until she knew one way or the other.
The walk to Harcourt Street took her through the Green. Even this late in the year, with a cold breeze biting, it was full of people sitting, hanging over the bridge taking photographs, or people, like herself, taking the most scenic route from one place to the next. A vacant seat overlooking the pond beckoned her to sit for a while, but she ignored it and walked briskly to the agent’s office.
The receptionist was surprised to see her but was as cordial as she had been the previous visit leading Kelly to believe the photographs hadn’t been sent to her agent. A sigh of relief escaped her as she took the seat the woman indicated while she checked to see if Owen was available.
‘He’ll be free to see you in ten minutes,’ the receptionist said when she returned a minute later, adding with a smile, ‘help yourself to coffee.’
Kelly returned the smile and looked around for the coffee. The vending machine was hidden behind a large, leafy and very artificial plant, and it served surprisingly good coffee. Ten minutes later, her coffee finished, there was still no sign of the agent so she helped herself to a second cup. She’d taken her first sip when he appeared through a door to her right, a slight frown between his eyes when he saw her.
It was hard to know if the frown indicated a state of disapproval or not. She didn’t know him well enough to tell. Sighing, she guessed she’d be second-guessing many things from then on.
‘Come on through to my office,’ he said, standing back to allow her to pass into the narrow corridor.
His office was as she’d remembered or maybe a little more untidy. She sat without invitation and waited for him to take his seat behind the desk.
‘You were lucky,’ he said, his voice giving nothing away. ‘I’d planned to be out this morning but a meeting was cancelled. So what can I do for you?’
Kelly had been so sure he’d have seen the photographs that she hadn’t planned what to say if he hadn’t. She laughed nervously. It was only a matter of time before he heard from Todd’s, it was better if he heard it from her. Damage limitation, wasn’t that the term they used?
‘There’s a problem,’ she said, and watched as his frown deepened.
‘You’ve signed a contract,’ he said, tapping his pen on the desk,
It was her turn to frown and then she shook her head. ‘It’s not that,’ she said, ‘I’m happy for you to continue as my agent.’ She gave another nervous laugh. ‘Unfortunately, you may not feel the same.’
He leaned forward. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me what t
his problem is.’
There was no easy way to tell him. Reluctant as Kelly was for anyone else to see the photographs, showing them to him was the easiest way.
Grady took the envelope she handed him and looked at the contents with a raised eyebrow. ‘Well,’ he said, putting them back. ‘I can see how this could be a problem. I’m just not sure why you’ve come to me. If someone is blackmailing you, you should go to the gardai.’
‘They’re not photographs of me,’ she said, horrified. Reaching out, she snatched the envelope from his hand.
He shrugged. ‘It looks like you.’
‘It was made to look like me, but I can assure you,’ she said, lifting her chin, ‘that it is most definitely not me.’
There was a moment’s silence broken only by Grady’s pen tapping on his desk. ‘I’m still not sure why you’ve come to me with this.’
Kelly sighed loudly. ‘To be honest, I thought you’d have already seen them.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘Similar photographs were sent to Hugh Todd, Books Inc and my partner.’
‘Ah,’ Grady said, dropping the pen and sitting back. ‘I’m sure Mike wasn’t too happy. And Books Inc definitely wouldn’t have been too pleased to see one of their children’s authors in such compromising photographs.’
‘They rang Todd’s and said they were pulling all my books.’ She felt tears well and fought them back. ‘Hugh Todd rang me. He’s cancelled my contract for both the children’s books and the new saga. It seems there’s something in the small print that states I must refrain from engaging in activities that could bring me or the publisher into disrepute.’
He nodded. Exclusion contracts were common. If the photographs were in the public domain most publishers wouldn’t touch her. ‘It’s a shame you don’t write erotic fiction,’ he said, ‘they could use it to promote you.’
Death in Foxrock Page 13
