“Nope. Neither can you. It’s seductive, you know. Having a purposeful existence. And you understand what it means. We’re alike that way. How do you deal with it?”
“Exercise when I can. Thank God I don’t drink much. Yet, anyway.”
They sat in silence. Peter spoke first. “Look, I don’t want to seem aggressive or anything, but if you ever want to talk . . .”
“You should be careful.” She smiled at him. “You don’t know what you might get into telling strange women you’ll listen to them.”
“A man can be too careful for too long. You’re interesting, not strange.”
“Some would argue.”
He persisted. “Perhaps we can meet sometime? To talk. I’d like that.”
“Maybe. I need to go now. Thanks again. You’ve truly been helpful.”
He held the door for her. “Peter.”
“Peter,” she said.
So that’s his opening move, Elaine thought after she reversed out of the drive. I haven’t been the objective of a real man’s opening move in years. Not of anyone I remotely considered, anyway. Are you considering him, Lainie? And is he really interested?
She supposed she would find out.
FIFTEEN
Liz Barker liked to categorize people at first sight by assigning them a letter of the alphabet. A portly person might be an O. An athletic male might be a T, and possibly a V if he had a good back and shoulders.
Jackson Greene was a U, or rather, a stack of Us. His pasty jowls were covered with stubble, and the dark bags under his eyes gave his face the appearance of a letter U capped with an umlaut. His underhung physical motif continued downward to his paunch, which overhung a black leather belt that curved a too-thin line beneath it. A pair of red braces extended upward, bending around the bulge of his belly, as if Greene realized how precarious his modesty was with only a belt for support. He looked to be a physical wreck. Given his appearance and socially marginal clientele, Liz was sure that he traded his legal services for his clients’ stock in trade, enjoying as many cocaine-fueled threesomes, midnight lap dances, and tequila-blurred sunrises as he could wheedle.
Greene’s office wasn’t in much better shape than its denizen. Dingy, half-drawn curtains blocked much of the light that slipped through the window. Piles of papers covered and surrounded the desk, rising like clusters of stalagmites from the gray-brown carpet. Liz let Elaine take the relatively clean chair, then removed a takeout container and plastic utensils from another and reluctantly sat. She would have to add another few quid to this week’s laundry budget.
“How can I help you?” Greene sounded wary.
Elaine spoke. “We understand that one of your clients is a property company called Cambrian Estates.”
“I don’t recognize that name.”
“Cambrian Estates is the owner of an industrial estate in Leaside. Does that ring any bells?”
“I don’t keep track of every bit of property my clients own. I don’t represent every client in everything they do. Most of my clients are involved in multiple partnerships and ventures.”
Liz leaned forward to brace her notebook on the desk for taking notes. As she did, her elbow knocked a stack of papers to the floor. “Oh, please excuse me!”
Greene looked peeved and began to rise from his chair. Liz raised her hand to stop him. “Please don’t get up. I’ll take care of it.” She carefully gathered the papers together, shuffling them back into order, and then replaced them in their previous spot.
Elaine continued. “We think you may know something about this particular property. The leasing agent is a woman named Geri Harding. We understand that you engage her to represent your clients.”
Greene sat back. “Geri Harding? Yes, I know her. Leaside, you say? Ah, yes. Now I recall. Cambrian Estates. They contracted me to find someone to manage it for them. I think they are the UK entity for an offshore investment firm. I don’t know who. I’ve never met them personally, only through the mail and e-mail.”
“Is that normal in your practice?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s normal, but it’s not unusual, especially for an offshore business. If we don’t need to meet face-to-face, we don’t.”
“You have never met anyone from Cambrian?”
“No, I act as a go-between. Geri manages the property and sends me leasing contracts, invoices for any repairs, and the like. I review them and forward them on. Rents are usually deposited directly into a bank account, as are my fees. I’m just here to make sure that everything is handled. It doesn’t take much of my time.”
Liz moved her foot, toppling a paper stalagmite growing next to the desk. Its layers of paper slid across the floor like a slick deck of cards spread by the hand of a con artist. “Oh, I am so sorry again! I am terribly clumsy, aren’t I? I’ll gather them up.”
She slid out of the chair to her knees and began collecting the sheets a few at a time, regrowing the column next to the desk.
“Please. I’ll take care of it. Those are my client’s papers, and they are confidential, after all.”
Liz smiled and kept on gathering. “I’m restacking them. It’s only polite to clean up my own mess.”
Greene stood and gestured toward the door. “Look, if you don’t have any more questions, I would like for you to go. I’ve been as cooperative as I can be about this. What’s all this interest in a run-down Leaside industrial estate that one of my clients may or may not own?”
Elaine remained seated. “Our interest, as you put it, is that we believe it’s the place where a young girl was brutally murdered. We have a warrant, and our forensic officers are looking it over as we speak.”
The solicitor blanched and sat down. “Murder? I’m sure none of my clients is involved.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure, judging from what our Vice division has told us about your clients.”
Greene’s face hardened. “Leave now. I will answer no more questions. You can see yourselves out.”
Both detectives stood, and Elaine handed Greene her card. “All right. You have my card. If there’s any more you’d like to tell us, give me a call. In any event, I’m positive we’ll be speaking again soon.”
Back in the car park, Elaine beeped open the door of her BMW, but hesitated before getting in. She looked across the top of the car at Liz. “I feel like I need to shower and change clothes before I get in.”
“What a wretched hovel. Do you think he hibernates in there?”
“Among other things. Did you get anything while you were shuffling his papers? Nice moves, by the way.”
Liz laughed. “Thanks. There were some interesting company names on those papers I picked up.”
“Give them to Cromarty when we get back to the nick. But before that, let’s stop somewhere. I need to wash my hands.”
* * *
Geri Harding forced her eyes open and moved her seat to the upright position. She was groggy and cranky. Whoever said she could sleep on the plane was a fucking liar. She didn’t even remember who it was. Raul, perhaps? No, she searched her brain for a visual. Pontus, she decided. Yeah. Pontus, that gorgeous Swede with the big pecs and the cock to go with them. Pontus. What a name, like a Roman general with an ego to match his dick. Sleeping sure hadn’t been in his plans. She didn’t recall if she’d taken the usual precautions. Christ. She’d have to find some time to get tested.
The pile of late notices and unpaid accounts inside her post box did nothing to improve her mood. The bank was on her back for everything she owned. She needed to find some money and find it quickly. Greene and the cousins accounted for about 80 percent of her business. Granted, she only saw her part of the picture, but there were things that didn’t add up. First, there was the fact that she had never met the cousins. She hadn’t asked too many questions when Greene first approached her, and she didn’t even know who they were, although they clearly lived and operated in the UK. Being an estate agent was a profession that relied on personal contact. All her estate a
gent friends dealt directly with the property owners except in rare cases. Even when the owners lived abroad, they could communicate using e-mail, fax, or the telephone.
Come to think of it, several times she had been told by Greene to not show a property because it was being renovated, but she knew that wasn’t the case because she had gone to see for herself. The secretive cousins and Greene had something going on that they didn’t want her to know about. And what was happening with that Leaside dump? It shouldn’t take a graduate of the London Bloody School of Economics to tell them that they’d never get a better offer than the one she had lined up for them. She needed to do some digging. Perhaps her files could tell her something that would help her put pressure on Greene. She would start tonight.
* * *
Peter spent much of Friday morning at the piano, quiet and lost, not buoyant enough for Cole Porter or Fats Waller or even the Count. After an hour playing Satie, he went out for a run to try to clear his head. He had looped around Queen’s Wood and was headed north up Wood Vale on his way to Alexandra Palace when his mobile chirped. It was Sheena, so he stopped and answered.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Hi, Peter. I wanted to tell you that we’ve gotten all of Hamid’s imaging back, and it’s confirmed what we thought. His parents want us to move ahead, so we’ve scheduled his surgery for Monday morning.”
“That’s good news. Let me know how it goes.”
“I was wondering. I thought about asking Lindsay if you could attend. Maybe you can watch from the observation gallery. Would you want to do that?”
“I’m not sure.” He thought for a moment. “Go ahead and ask, and then I’ll decide.”
“I’ll let you know. It will be the first time we’ve done this without you there, and . . . well, I’ll feel better if you’re handy.”
“Sheena, you’re ready. You know the procedure backward and forward. The team’s done it before. You don’t need me as a backup.”
“I will ask anyway and let you know.”
“Right.” He pressed the end-call button. It’s over, Sheena, he thought. It’s yours now and probably will never be mine again. He resumed the uphill run to Ally Pally. He was seriously out of shape.
Once he had reached the park grounds, he plopped down panting on a bench. What a view. He looked out over the huge, gritty, vibrant city he had begun to call home. To say that he had come here to be with Kate and their mother was an incomplete statement. True, he had needed both his mother’s almost whimsical joy of living and Kate’s big-sister down-to-earth practicality, and here also was where he felt closest to Diana and Liza. From a professional standpoint, London gave him the location, contacts, and opportunity to do the work he needed to do to rebuild his career. Moving here had been an easy decision.
But in this one rotten week, it had all turned to crap. He certainly hadn’t seen it coming. The arrest and the resulting loss of his position had taken away the half of his life that he had been successful in rebuilding. Shortage of funds wasn’t the issue. He had more than enough put aside to survive even an extended period without an income, but he needed to work. Experienced emergency room physicians and trauma surgeons were damned hard to come by in Britain, so he was reasonably confident that he could get a hospital job right away. Hell, Clayton would probably call him back in a week or two. They’d better hurry before someone else called.
The loss of the foundation position disturbed him more. He had hoped that he could use it to move away from the high-stress shifts in the A&E. Once he was back to work and the arrest was far behind him, he could begin to resurrect that part of his career.
In the meantime, what about the other half of his life? He knew that Mom and Kate would be solid as they had always been. They would be there for him until death. He wondered if they ever tired of being his crutches; did they think they were? They had never given any indication that was the case.
Then there was Elaine Hope. From the moment she had walked in his door that Sunday morning, his gut had told him there was something special about her. She stood well above average height for a woman, only a couple of inches shorter than he, and moved with a confident, loose-limbed grace, striding rather than walking. Her gold-flecked brown eyes looked into him, not at him. Truth, she had said. She focused on finding the truth. He chuckled to himself. He could picture her striding through the gates of hell in search of it. And he was as certain as he could be that she had never thought he was guilty. Why had he told her to call him Peter? It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. He had wanted to see her again, as long as it wasn’t under the same circumstances.
Then she had shown up at his door. She really did want more information. She must be under a lot of pressure from her bosses. Would they meet again? He wanted to find out more about her. He should give it a little time to see if the fascination faded. And if it didn’t, he knew where he could contact her. But he wouldn’t give it very long. He needed to know.
A hundred meters down the path, a tall brunette runner moved up the hill toward him, her long legs stretching out in front of her. She was not Elaine. He waited for her to pass, did some stretching, and started the jog home. Judging by the feeling in his legs, it was a good thing the return trip was all downhill.
SIXTEEN
Geri Harding glowered across the desk at Greene. “So are you I clear on what I want?”
“Crystalline. More money.”
“Isn’t that what we all want? It’s not like I’m asking for a handout. What I want is more marketing support and a chance to make my bonuses. Every time I have an opportunity to hit it big, you come up with a reason I can’t. I want you to stop lying to me about this cost or that budget. I can make a lot more for you and those cousins you keep talking about if you get out of my way and let me do my job right.”
“I assure you that I’m not obstructing you. The cousins run a very tight ship. They don’t give me much leeway at all.”
“Bollocks. I’ve been looking back through some of my contracts, and I keep very good notes. A number of strange little companies keep popping up. Little companies that no one has ever heard of. Then there are the renovations and sales that never happened, aren’t happening, and never will happen. I never asked any questions before, but that was when I was dumb enough to believe the bullshit you were throwing my way. I think I may do a bit of investigating on my own. A trip to Companies House would likely turn up some interesting information that Revenue and Customs might be interested in.”
Greene looked at her and rolled his eyes. “That sounds an awful lot like you’re thinking about some kind of extortion. I don’t recommend you doing that, given that the cousins and I are pretty much your only clients.”
“Really? What about the Leaside estate? I can’t believe they would buy it and then do nothing. We’ve had offer after offer. Good ones. Solid. And they just sat on it, even during the run-up to the Olympics, when they could have sold it for ten times what they paid. How many others like that have there been over the last three years? Don’t answer. I can tell you. Seven.”
She opened a notebook and began reading. “The industrial estate in Dagenham. Another in Charlton. The office block in Brent Park with the top two floors empty, even though I’ve brought several offers. Then there’s . . .”
“Stop.” Greene held up his hand. “You’re wasting your time with all this. There’s nothing to interest R&C in any of that. Everything is aboveboard.”
“You’re a lawyer. You know it doesn’t matter much if it is or isn’t. There’s always a detail or two the tax man might want to scrutinize.”
This time Greene’s eyes narrowed. “Like I said, I don’t recommend you pressing on this. It would not be wise. Still, if you have a particular promotion you want them to see, I’ll bring it up when I meet with them this afternoon.”
Geri opened her briefcase and extracted some papers. “Here’s the marketing plan I gave you last month. Don’t cock it up, Jackson. I need the money.”
* * *
The young man sitting in the corner of Anton Srecko’s office annoyed Greene immensely. He was young, stylishly dressed, and fidgeted too much. His wide-set brown eyes darted back and forth, from Greene to Anton then back to Greene. He sniffed constantly as he brushed at his trendy clothes, smoothing imaginary wrinkles and picking off invisible pieces of lint.
Cocaine? Greene wondered. As if I’m not nervous enough sitting here with Anton, I’ve got his idiot nephew to deal with. Greene shifted his attention to the papers on the table and tried to concentrate.
Anton didn’t lift his gray eyes from the sales contract in front of him. He spoke in a clipped Eastern European monotone. “Nilo, would you please go make coffee for Mr. Greene and me? Strong. And there is a box of tissues in the kitchen. Please use it. Thank you.”
Nilo sprang to the side of the table as if the chair had ejected him. “Sure, Anton. Cream and sugar? Would you care for any biscuits?”
Anton looked at Greene, who shook his head. “No, thank you. And please, take your time. Mr. Greene and I have something to discuss.”
Greene’s nervous gaze followed Nilo out the door and then refocused on Anton. Shit, what does he know that he needs to discuss in private? He cleared his throat. “What else did you want to talk about?”
“Nothing.” Anton spoke without looking up from the papers on the table. “I tired of the sniffling.”
Anton had finished reviewing the contract when Nilo returned with the cafetière, looking even more fidgety, if that were possible. He glanced at Greene. “Anton, there’s a woman in the lobby who insists on seeing you. She won’t go away and she’s creating a fuss, something about Mr. Greene won’t listen to her and she needs to talk directly to the cousins. I guess that’s you.”
Greene sighed. “Spiky bottle-blonde hair, big tits, heavy eye shadow?”
Souls of Men Page 12
