Concealment (23 page)

A bee in my bonnet. Why did everyone feel they had free rein to trivialise my thoughts and experiences, and attribute non-existent motives to me? Smithies had potentially sinister reasons for playing down my unease, but he had Dave Carmody wrapped round his little finger, so must have figured he’d get away with it.

‘Oh yes,’ I said, rapidly backtracking as I questioned the wisdom of confiding in Carmody. ‘At one point I did give some credence to Ryan’s idea, but not now. I was just speaking hypothetically.’

‘Oh, Ed will be relieved. And so am I.’

He put his hand on mine. I managed a weak smile, but Smithies thwarting my plan had sent my spirits into a tailspin. Mortified, I found tears coursing down my cheeks.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Sorry—there’s stuff happening on top of this Isabelle and Ryan business—and I’m so stressed out.’

He handed me his handkerchief.

‘Yes, Ed did say you’d been tense lately.’

And what right did Smithies have to trumpet his opinions on my state of mind?

‘You can’t believe everything he says,’ I said, dabbing at my cheek.

‘But he’s not wrong on this though, is he?’

‘I guess not,’ I reluctantly agreed.

‘You’re not a big fan of his, are you?’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘It’s been obvious from the off. I even asked him about it. He said that inexplicably you had a real down on him. He seemed mystified, and genuinely hurt.’

The odious man had covered every base with his Oscar-winning portrayal of the decent boss trying to fathom the irrational hatred of an unstable subordinate. Yes—he’d spread his poison far and wide—first Greg and now Dave. But convincing anyone of it was another matter altogether.

‘Hurt—unlikely—Ed has no feelings. And he’s trying to make everyone believe I’ve gone crazy.’

As soon as the words were out, I regretted saying them.

‘Why would he do that?’ Dave asked gently, in tones suggesting he’d completely bought into Smithies’ lies.

‘I don’t know,’ I snapped.

I never had understood Smithies’ rationale for selecting me as a victim, before even any suggestion of deception or murder. Had he merely scented weakness and gone for it? If so, his judgement had been impeccable. I cut a pathetic figure sitting here sobbing, while the anorexic bitches at the next table gazed at me in mock pity.

‘Frankly, I think you’re overreacting a bit, Amy. Ed’s anxious about your welfare and so am I. I hoped tonight might cheer you up. Heck, if I’d realised you were under so much strain I wouldn’t have given you the third degree in the interview. But I thought you were a real tough cookie…’

‘I am a real tough cookie,’ I sobbed unconvincingly. ‘Which is why he needs to break me.’

Dave shook his head.

‘That makes no sense at all.’

I quickly evaluated my options. Surely Dave wasn’t so much in cahoots with his new best buddy Ed that he wouldn’t listen to reason. I had to confide in someone not embroiled in the toxic Pearson Malone establishment, and could ill afford to throw my one lifeline away. Besides, I’d never hear the last of it from my teenage alter ego.

‘It does make sense if Smithies killed Isabelle.’

After an unnervingly long silence, he spoke.

‘Do you seriously believe that’s possible?’

Dave’s tone of voice and facial expression were professionally neutral and non-judgmental—but somehow I could tell he gave no credence to the suggestion.

‘Yes—based on what I know.’

‘That’s bonkers,’ he said, quickly ditching his tolerant façade now he saw I was serious. ‘He may not be your favourite person but…’

‘Are you aware that the finance director at JJ is Ed Smithies’ brother-in-law?’ I cut in.

‘I must confess I wasn’t.’ A puzzled expression clouded his features. ‘But I don’t see how that’s relevant.’

‘Isn’t it obvious? If Isabelle did discover dodgy dealings at JJ, then Smithies would have a motive for killing her—to protect his brother-in-law.’

‘But you just told me that Ryan’s suspicions were wrong.’

‘I lied, because I was afraid that you might alert Smithies. But then I thought better of it. I have to trust you, because apart from you there’s no one.’

Dave switched back to his open-minded mode, having decided that humouring me was his best option.

‘I promise I won’t say a word. Tell me more.’

‘Goodchild stands to lose millions in share options if the company sale falls through. I think Isabelle discovered something wrong and Smithies killed her to protect his family.’

‘That sounds a bit fanciful to me. What evidence do you have?’

‘I have evidence—some dodgy invoices and other stuff. I can show them to you if you want.’ I held off mentioning the cannabis farm—if he thought what I’d said so far sounded fanciful, it might strain his credulity too far.

‘But nothing to tie Smithies into the murder, apart from a potential motive?’

‘Not directly, no.’

Dave sipped at his champagne as he contemplated the best way to handle me. I regretted now having suggested that Smithies might be the culprit—which appeared to undermine the integrity of the rest of my allegations.

‘I’m sorry to pop your balloon, but Ed Smithies has a cast iron alibi for the night in question.’

‘Well he would have, wouldn’t he?’ I retorted.

‘It’s been verified. And besides, I’ve come across plenty of murderers in my time and in my opinion, Ed isn’t one of them. He’s a typical City type, streetwise and politically astute, and though some of those guys would do all sorts to advance or protect their own position…’

‘That’s just it,’ I said. ‘He’d do
anything
to protect his position, or rather his sister’s.’

Dave shook his head.

‘Guys like him don’t tend to kill. They have much more effective ways of neutralising a threat.’

‘But that’s what he’s doing with me—neutralising the threat. He can’t take the risk of killing another person, but he can demolish my credibility.’

‘I have to say, this sounds so flaky that if you don’t watch it you’ll demolish your own credibility.’

As if I wasn’t painfully aware of that already.

‘But what about the fraud? Aren’t you interested even in that?’

‘I might be, but what do you expect me to do?’

For a deluded moment, I believed he might actually help me.

‘Investigate it, of course.’

‘Amy, if you truly suspect any criminal activity, I’d advise you to follow your firm’s procedures and contact your Money Laundering Reporting Officer.’

If I’d thought clearly, it should have been obvious all along what the answer would be.

‘Ha,’ I snorted. ‘Do you realise how impossible that is?’

‘Why?’

‘Because everybody’s got such a vested interest in JJ. Apart from the Smithies connection, our CEO Eric Bailey is Jim Jupp’s best friend. Pearson Malone has a multi-million pound fee resting on a successful completion of the company sale and the Corporate Finance Partner is my ex-husband. So for one reason or another they’re all desperate for JJ’s books to balance. Nobody will listen to me, because everyone’s perfectly happy that Ryan’s taken the rap.’

‘But the MLRO is independent,’ Dave protested. ‘That’s the whole point.’

‘No—he’s not—you don’t get how it is with him. He’s another one who’s a big buddy of Smithies.’

‘Buddy or not, ignoring your report if he thinks there’s any substance to it would be a criminal offence. Pearson Malone is a highly reputable firm. He wouldn’t take the risk.’

‘So you’re refusing to help me.’

‘No, no—I
am
helping you. If you give me the evidence I have to disclose where I got it. If your firm find out you haven’t been through the proper channels they’ll go nuts. Does that make sense?’

‘I suppose so,’ I said grudgingly, wondering if he was really obliged to reveal his sources. For I was acutely mindful of Dave’s possible motives. If I handed the documents to him, he’d be compelled to act. The revelation that he’d arrested the wrong man would hardly aid his promotion. Whereas if, as I expected, Pearson Malone buried my report, who would be any the wiser?

‘But I have to say, you’ve got Ed Smithies all wrong,’ Dave went on. ‘He
is
concerned. Why—he called me up specifically to ask me not put you under undue strain. He told me your mother was unwell, that she had a hoarding problem which you were sorting out.’

So much for Smithies’ assurances about absolute discretion. I could just about forgive him mentioning the hoarding to Greg, but this was unforgivable.

‘He had no business to mention that.’

‘But it might help you to talk about it.’

‘I severely doubt it,’ I said. ‘And you don’t care anyway. You believe I’m barking mad too.’

‘That’s not true,’ he protested. ‘But I wish you’d open up a bit.’

‘I can’t open up—it’s not in my nature—I’m not the same as you. In Daly’s, you explained how you’d been found as a baby. That’s an incredibly personal matter to bring up in a first meeting. I simply wouldn’t do it.’

‘But it’s my unique selling point—I tell everybody about it—people are interested. Perhaps you should regard the hoarding in the same light.’

‘But the hoarding’s over—it’s not part of who I am now.’

‘I beg to differ. It’s a huge part of you and much better to recognise that and integrate it into the rest of your life.’

Perhaps, but could I bear to announce to the world that I grew up in a trashcan? No—I’d shrunk from telling Dave, and wouldn’t have voluntarily confided in Smithies even if he’d pulled out my fingernails one by one with pliers. Bad enough that I’d confessed all to Lisa.

My Dover sole arrived, but I had little appetite. Now I’d established that Dave wouldn’t assist me, only politeness kept me there. And politeness didn’t stretch to sitting meekly listening to impractical advice on how to live my life.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I have to leave—I can’t talk about this stuff.’

‘What’s eating you? Are you scared that if you reveal too much of yourself, I’ll go off you?’

‘No,’ I lied, ‘but I’ve had my fill of people who drag me down and belittle my feelings. I’m sure you had an ulterior motive in asking me here. I have no idea what it is, but I suspect you’re using me.’

‘Who are you to talk?’ he said. ‘Looks to me like your only purpose in meeting me was to avoid making an internal report of this hare-brained conspiracy theory of yours.’

‘Yes—you’re right, as it happens—and since you’ve refused to help, the meeting is pointless.’

I stood up and walked out of the restaurant, ignoring both his pleas to come back and the supercilious stares of the other diners. And I vowed I would never, ever see him again.

Flouncing off had been immensely satisfying, but I was no further forward.

Despite my anger I recognised the sense in Carmody’s advice. I should follow the correct procedure and make a disclosure to James Potter, the firm’s MLRO. If he blabbed to Smithies or Bailey, or chose to ignore my report, too bad. And if anyone criticised me for daring to report, ditto.

I had plenty of choices if they screwed me over. It beat me why I’d suffered for so long. Lisa’s foray into the job market suggested that our rivals Brown & Taylor were seeking new partners. While I’d no desire to go back there, other firms must be hiring too. I’d spent too long in this poisonous environment and it was time to fill my lungs with fresh air.

‘
So—go and see Potter.’

The next morning, that’s exactly what I did.

Potter was a bespectacled highbrow, who’d found that the cut and thrust of client work aggravated his dyspepsia. Consequently he’d gravitated towards one of the few jobs in Pearson Malone which required a purely intellectual judgement on a set of facts. But would the web of allegiances in this case allow him to use his intellect to the full? I still had my doubts, particularly given his friendship with Smithies.

It was a surprising alliance, as superficially the two men had little in common. But I’d heard that Potter had helped Smithies out of the poo at least once, and that Smithies had been instrumental in Potter’s move into his current role. The bond was built on mutual benefit and respect, but would Potter have the guts to stand up to pressure from his friend, or from Bailey? That wasn’t my problem—it was Potter’s judgement call to make a report to the authorities. For me, it would be like confessing to a priest and absolving myself of all responsibility.

All psyched up to go, I sat in the waiting room outside Potter’s office, proud that I’d been able to conquer my fears to follow the correct path.

Then disaster struck.

Bailey walked in, knocked on Potter’s door and entered without being bidden. Two minutes later he emerged, minus the piece of paper he’d been holding. In the intervening time, I’d held myself together by dint of a superhuman effort, but my resolve was rapidly unravelling.

‘Hello, Amy—here to see Potter, are we?’

‘
Dumb question—why else would you be waiting outside Potter’s office?’

‘Hopefully not about our friends at JJ,’ he quipped.

‘No, no absolutely not,’ I replied with a tinkling laugh, as my newfound daring melted away like ice in a heatwave.

And I established, in a moment of frightening mental clarity, that I couldn’t do this, wouldn’t have done it even if Bailey hadn’t put in an appearance. Once again, I’d been deluding myself.

It was a simple matter to analyse my reluctance. I could live with the consequences if everyone accepted my story—they wouldn’t be pretty but I’d take that on the chin. But the point was that nobody would believe me—they would all band together to mock and discredit me to avoid the truth. And that would be unendurable.

Potter beckoned me in through the glass door. I knew I couldn’t just cut and run without making an excuse, so I pleaded an urgent conference call I’d just been summoned to join.

‘I’ll contact you later to make another appointment,’ I lied.

‘
Cowardy custard,’
said Little Amy.

Lisa was in my office when I arrived back, armed with several reports for me to sign off.

I’d been trying to reach her for more than a day to discuss prepping for her partnership assessment, and I suspected she’d been avoiding my calls.