by SL Beaumont
“Lead the way, boss,” Kat said. “I think we’ve got a fair bit of work ahead of us.”
Stephenson nodded to the fire protection officer standing guard as they headed back down the stairs. They crossed the road, entered a plain modern steel and glass office tower and travelled to the fifth floor by lift.
Stephenson waved them into a meeting room, where there was an appetising spread of muffins and fruit laid out on a large conference table. The rest of the team were already seated around the table and rose to greet them. The receptionist followed them into the room and took everyone’s coffee orders.
“First things first, Kat, talk us through everything that’s happened since last Thursday,” Stephenson said, sitting down.
Over morning tea, Kat filled them in on the events of the previous few days, from the break-in at her flat, the intruder at Sara’s, the trip to Surrey with Adam, and their eventual capture and escape at South Hill Manor.
“And this Don Webster is someone you knew?” Stephenson asked when she finished speaking.
“Yes, he served in Afghanistan with my older brother Joe before his death. He knows our family quite well. I still can’t believe that he was behind all of this,” Kat said.
“Does anyone know how he got involved with CIP?” Nathan asked.
“DS Jackson has been looking into his background, and he and Eduardo Diaz went to school together. Diaz introduced him to Mary McFarlane, and it went from there,” Stephenson said.
Nathan shook his head. “Circles within circles.”
“Right, people, we have a money laundering case to put together,” Stephenson said, standing. “You all did a great job on this. I can see us working with the Financial Crimes Unit again.”
“How’s DS Jackson?” Shamira asked as she and Kat left the meeting room and walked across the plain open plan office to their new desks.
“He’s fine.”
“So why did you go down to Surrey with him?”
“He was concerned after what happened at Sara’s, and he wanted to keep an eye on me.”
“I bet he did,” she said with a grin.
Kat stopped walking and turned to her friend. “He has a wife, and she’s pregnant.”
Shamira’s mouth fell open. “Oh, Kat.”
“I know,” Kat said. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“Did the police work out who killed the security guard at CIP, and Henry Smyth for that matter?” Nate asked, joining them.
Kat nodded. “Mary McFarlane has decided to distance herself from the murders and has been co-operating,” she said. “Apparently she’d become suspicious that Henry had discovered Fund 4 and was going to expose them. She saw him returning to the CIP offices as she was leaving, on the night he died. She panicked and called Donny, who sent a couple of his guys over.”
Shamira gasped.
“The security guard interrupted them loading Smyth’s unconscious body into the lift and confronted them. There was a fight and poor Popov ended up being thrown over the railing into the lobby.”
“That’s so sad.”
“The men then drove Henry back to his apartment, administered the lethal dose and staged his death,” Kat said.
“How awful,” Shamira murmured.
“What about Adam’s mate, Jake?” Nate asked. “Has he been found?”
Kat shook her head. “Huntly-Tait claims Jake was still alive when he kicked him out of South Hill Manor on the night I saw him, and Donny isn’t talking,” she said looking at her watch. “I’ve gotta go. I have another interview with the police soon. They have more questions for me. I’ll see you later.”
***
Kat exited the building, looking up and down the street for a taxi.
“Can I give you a lift?” a voice to her left spoke.
“Adam?” she said, as he stepped into view.
Kat chewed her bottom lip and found that she couldn’t look at him. She scuffed the toe of her shoe in a small pile of leaves at the edge of the footpath.
“You haven’t returned my calls,” Adam said, after a moment of awkward silence.
“There’s nothing else to say,” she said.
“Can you at least look at me?”
Kat dragged her eyes from the ground to his face. His gaze drilled into hers for a moment before softening.
“Kat, there’s plenty left to say, if you’ll just let me.”
“Adam, you have a family to think about now, you need to forget about me,” she said.
Adam gave a heavy sigh. “I needed to check that you’re okay. I left in rather a hurry the other morning.”
Kat flashed a bright smile. “I’m fine, really. Let’s just leave things where they are.”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” he said.
“No.” Kat looked past him to where a black cab was trundling down the road with its yellow hire light turned on. She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Bye, Adam.”
She stepped around him and signalled to the taxi. It swooped to a stop and Kat opened the back door before climbing in. She gave her destination to the driver and sat back allowing herself one glance through the window. Adam stood still at the curb watching her drive away, his expression inscrutable.
Acknowledgements
First and foremost, thank you to my editor, Gary Smailes, for his sharp insight, guidance and encouragement. Many thanks to Julia Gibbs, copy editor extraordinaire and to my beta readers Sarah, Adie and Craig whose time and effort I hugely appreciate. Thanks also to Daryl and Deborah for patiently answering my police procedure questions. Any errors are entirely mine. The awesome cover is by Warren Designs.
My advance reader team has once again been massively supportive with their early reads and reviews. A big shout-out to Shannon, Michaela, Melanie, Judy, Eveie, Roger, Karen, Graham, Eileen, BJ, Suzanne, Susan, Helen, Kathy, Judith, Kathryn, Jackie and Milena.
Thanks to my husband Craig, father Jack and my gorgeous boys Jude, Zak and Scott for your encouragement and excitement about my books, particularly if it means a trip overseas to do ‘research.’
Where would I be without the encouragement of my enthusiastic cheerleaders? Thank you so much ladies for the laughs and the serious discussions. Where would life be without Friday morning coffee?
Thank you to the book bloggers and reviewers who help to share their excitement for my books. And finally, a big thank-you to you, my readers, without whom I wouldn’t be doing something that I enjoy so much.
A Note from the Author
2020 has certainly been a strange year and no-one has been untouched by the pandemic that has swept the globe. I hope my stories provide you with a little light escapism when needed.
If you enjoyed the book and would like to help spread the word, I’d be so grateful if you could leave a review (as short or as long as you like) on the site where you purchased it and don’t forget to tell your friends!
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Thank you so much!
S
Keep reading for a preview of my award-winning novel Shadow of Doubt.
Shadow of Doubt
Chapter 1
July 10
“For God’s sake, get one of the others to do it,” I said, exasperated, as I looked up from my computer at my boss who was leaning on the wall of my cubicle.
“No. It’s your turn,” Andrew replied turning away, signaling an end to the conversation.
I sighed and stood up, stretching my back. Three hours straight sitting at a desk wasn’t good. I had been hoping to squeeze in a trip to the gym after work to loosen everything up, but it looked like my evening was going in entirely another direction.
Hesitati
ng only for a moment, I followed Andrew down the row to his cubicle, not willing to give in quite so easily. Andrew was a heavyset man in his mid-thirties. His thinning hair was cropped close to his head, but did nothing to detract from his good looks. He oozed charm and ruled his team of accountants and analysts in the derivatives division of the investment bank, Dobson Stone, with a mixture of fear and admiration. To be on Andrew’s good side was like being bathed in the warmth of sunshine, but do wrong by him and it felt like being exposed to the iciest of winters. Fortunately, I had only ever felt the heat of summer, which gave me the opportunity to push the boundaries. And now was when I needed one of those opportunities.
“Come on, Andrew. You know that you’re going to employ him anyway.” I flashed my most winning smile at him. “Let’s just skip this bit.”
‘This bit’ was the tradition in the team of finally vetting any new recruit by taking them out to a local watering hole and doing a ‘social’ interview. The derivatives team was a close knit, play hard, work hard group and Andrew was a big fan of team players. Ever since the disastrous recruitment of an accountant named Peter, who had been hired without the social interview, Andrew had deemed it mandatory. Peter had passed all of the other interview stages with flying colors, but once he joined the team his lack of humor, aversion to socializing with his colleagues and propensity to back stab had caused major problems.
“Need to make sure he’s not another Peter, Jess. And besides, William seems like the kind of guy who will appreciate a pretty face.” Andrew grinned, knowing full well that the latter comment would annoy me and distract me from my argument.
Putting my hands on my hips, I scowled at him and practically hissed, “I can’t believe you just said that. I will report you to the Diversity Committee. Maybe select me for my knowledge of the business or my social charm, but because of my looks? Give me a break.”
Andrew threw back his head and roared with laughter. He had one of those loud laughs which made people stop what they were doing and look in his direction, in case they were missing something really good. Jimmy looked up from the next cubicle, catching the end of my rant. He and fellow Antipodean Dave were always quick with a quip and up for anything. They were usually behind the many practical jokes that went on at the office and they never, ever, missed an opportunity to wind someone up.
“Watch out, Scotty is about to blow,” Jimmy called out to anyone in the team who was listening. Jimmy had an open, friendly face. At the tender age of twenty-four, he already had smile lines surrounding his mischievous eyes. He had the physique of the champion fighters in his family, but not the temperament. Andrew and I both glared at him. Still grinning, he held his hands up as if to protect himself and sat down again.
“Machiavelli’s Wine Bar, seven pm,” Andrew instructed and turned to pick up his ringing phone. I was dismissed with a wave of his hand.
I returned to my cubicle muttering about the appropriateness of the venue, and picked up my mobile to call my husband Colin. He answered on the second ring.
“Make it quick, Jess. I’m having a crazy day.”
“I have to work late, a recruitment interview in a pub of all things,” I said.
“Which one?”
“Machiavelli’s.”
“Okay. Good. Gotta go.” He was gone. I wasn’t even sure that he had heard me.
Jimmy and Dave stopped by my desk as I was shutting down my computer at the end of the day. Dave was the opposite of Jimmy physically, short and slight with a mop of messy blond hair, but he shared his friend’s sense of fun.
“Where are you meeting him?” Dave asked, picking up my stapler and twirling it around.
“At Machiavelli’s up by St. Paul’s,” I replied, taking the stapler from his hands and replacing it on the desk, only to have him pick up my hole punch instead. “I will know which kleptomaniac to come after if I come in tomorrow and there are stationery items missing,” I warned him with a grin.
Dave simply laughed, putting the hole punch back in its place, and swiped my favorite pen instead. I shook my head at him. He was incorrigible.
“We’ll be at The Tower if you wanna meet after,” Jimmy said, naming the pub closest to the office as we walked towards the bank of lifts to take us down to the lobby entrance of the building.
“Okay, see you there in fifteen minutes,” I said, only half joking. Seriously, I was going to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.
◆◆◆
The rain had stopped and the early evening sun bathed the city in a soft glow. The old fashioned wrought iron streetlamps that lined the road towards St. Paul’s Cathedral hadn’t yet turned on. Machiavelli’s was on a corner and had floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows wrapping around both street views. It was already busy for a Wednesday night, with groups of men and women dressed in business attire gathered around tables chatting and laughing.
I stepped off the street and entered through the open doors. The bar itself was brightly lit with strings of tiny lights draped from one corner of the room to the other and back again forming a crisscross pattern across the entire ceiling. The heels of my shoes beat out a loud rap on the polished wooden floor, as I walked towards the bar, my eyes scanning the room. Andrew had said that William Johnston was tall and dark-haired. “You should have made him wear a rose,” I had suggested to Andrew as I was leaving the office, which had only earned me a glare; at this rate summer would be turning into autumn.
Ah, that had to be him, leaning against the bar, fiddling with his mobile phone. He was tall, as Andrew had described, with thick dark hair, which curled over his collar and hung across his forehead. He was well dressed in a dark blue suit. As if aware of my scrutiny, he straightened up and looked towards me with a questioning tilt of his head. Over-confident, I thought, deciding in that instant that I disliked him. I stopped in front of him.
“William?” I asked, returning his cool questioning gaze.
“You must be Jessica.” His accent was English, well-educated. I shook his hand. “Call me Will. Can I get you a drink?”
“I think it’s me that’s supposed to offer that. What can I get you?” I asked.
“A Becks then, please, Jessica,” he replied leaning back against the bar and studying me.
I signaled to the nearest barman. “A bottle of Becks and a skinny gin and tonic please.”
We found a couple of empty armchairs in one corner and Will turned on the charm. First, he helped me take my raincoat off and laid it over the back of my chair, then he waited until I had sat down before taking a seat himself. Old manners, unusual in the politically correct equal opportunity business world, but still, I refused to be charmed. I wasn’t here to make friends. Will adjusted the cuffs of his pale blue double-cuff shirt beneath his suit jacket. His cufflinks were gold dice; I noted the satirical choice for a career in investment banking, where so much was speculative.
“So, what’s this then? Get me drunk and see if I will spill all my deep, dark secrets?” He smiled.
“Actually, it would save me a lot of time and money, if we can skip the drunken bit and you just tell me your secrets,” I replied.
Will leaned forward and looked up at me with a glint in his blue eyes. “So, Jessica, what exactly would you like to know?”
I spluttered on my drink. Holy crap, this guy was super confident. Flirting with the interviewer didn’t usually get you a job.
I sat back in my chair and tried to adopt a neutral expression and ignore the fact that he had my attention. “Well, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”
“Okay, I grew up in Sussex. Obtained my Maths degree from UCL and Chartered Accountancy with EY,” he answered. “But I’m sure you know all that.”
I had expected him to wax lyrical about himself, given that I had left him with such an open-ended question. The fact that he didn’t, showed he was clever. There was more to him than just the charm. I finished my drink as we chatted a little about the work he had done and who we both
knew at EY.
“Anyway, enough about me. How did a nice Scottish girl like you end up working in the cut-throat world of investment banking?” Will asked.
Okay, so maybe I was wrong. There was that awful charm again.
“Who said anything about me being nice?” I growled.
Will, to his credit, laughed and raised his empty bottle. “Next round is definitely on me,” he said.
I looked at my watch and acquiesced. It would be rude to end the interview after just twenty minutes, even if I did consider it a farce. “Okay, but just one. I have to get going.”
Will nodded and made his way to the bar. I watched him go. He had broad shoulders and carried himself in a way that spoke of someone at ease in their own skin. He stopped and shook hands with a guy standing at a tall table and leaned over, kissing the cheek of the woman with him. As much as I hated to admit it, he would be a good fit in the team. Easy to get on with and charming enough to deal with the odd difficult trader. I didn’t have to like him. Hell, I didn’t really have to even work with him. My job here was done.
“So. What else are you supposed to glean from me tonight?” he asked with a grin as he placed my drink on the little table between our chairs.
I sat twisting my wedding and engagement rings around on my finger. “Nothing, I think I’m done. I guess you’ll be hearing from Andrew tomorrow. Do you have any questions for me?”
Will tilted his head, a little smile playing around his lips. “Just one.”
“Sure, fire away.”
“Will you have dinner with me?” he asked.
I wasn’t expecting that. “No,” I replied, trying not to sound prim. “You do realize that I am married?”
Will nodded and shrugged his shoulders. “Just thought I’d ask,” he replied.
◆◆◆
I arrived at The Tower around eight pm. The doors of the old pub were wide open and Jimmy and Dave were holding court out front, surrounded by a group of people. From the peals of laughter coming from their audience, it sounded like they were trying to outdo each other with the funniest anecdotes; nothing new there. Jimmy caught my eye as I walked closer and broke away from the group to greet me.
