Concealment (32 page)

Lisa gazed at me, shocked that I’d been insane enough to show up.

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ I assured them. ‘I was involved in a minor road traffic incident on Friday, but I wouldn’t have missed this meeting for the world.’

Greg licked his lips nervously, assessing his options. He flashed an apprehensive glance at Jupp. I reckoned I’d been formally fired as JJ’s tax partner, so why didn’t they come out and say so and shoo me out? I guessed they were keen to avoid rousing Megabuilders’ curiosity.

‘Amy—it’s brave of you to battle on,’ he said, full of simulated kindness. ‘But for the sake of your health we must insist that you step down from this meeting.’

I fancied I heard the cogs in his brain whirring. A thought balloon above his head might have read ‘What the hell is she planning?’ He surely realised that I had no intention of sitting the meeting out in silence. But on the other hand kicking up about ejecting me might raise eyebrows.

JJ himself had no such inhibitions.

‘Ms Robinson has been removed from the Pearson Malone team. She has no role in this meeting.’

‘Why has she been removed?’ asked the lead partner from Megabuilders’ lawyers—Kevin, the shrewd little Scouse guy with the big mouth who I remembered from the last all-parties meeting.

‘Owing to ill health.’

‘
Do it—do it now.’

I reached for my bag, and stopped myself. I shouldn’t let him off too easily. These guys needed to understand my motives. They might choose not to believe me, but that was their funeral.

‘
Now—now!’

Little Amy stood behind Greg, wearing her school uniform again, perhaps in recognition that she was attending a formal meeting. She had no place in my life. I willed her to go away, but she stuck there resolutely.

‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘I’ll leave. But before I go, let’s clear up a few loose ends.’

‘This is grossly inappropriate,’ roared JJ. ‘I’m the client and I don’t want this woman here. Call security.’

Which would without question have been the outcome, had Kevin not intervened.

‘It might be easier to hear her out, don’t you think?’

‘But who can say what rubbish she might come out with—she’s been diagnosed with psychosis, you know.’

Quite how JJ had discovered this was a mystery to me.

‘We’re intelligent people,’ said Kevin. ‘If she’s talking rubbish then we’ll all recognise it as such, won’t we, Ms Robinson?’

I could have hugged him. In retrospect, I feel he suspected something was amiss.

‘As you’re all aware,’ I began, ‘there’s been some discussion on the availability of tax losses in the slate mine division, culminating in our conceding them to HMRC. You need to understand why.’

‘Pearson Malone got it wrong,’ said JJ triumphantly.

‘Did you ever consider why the Megabuilders tax due diligence team didn’t pick up on the issue?’ I asked Kevin.

‘I’m told it was highly technical—easily missed.’

‘Maybe so,’ I agreed. ‘But there is another reason they didn’t spot it.’

I paused for dramatic effect.

‘What?’

‘There was no mistake. At first I suspected that the JJ finance department had screwed up in implementing the reorganisation but I checked that out too. Those losses were available.’

‘What rot,’ said JJ, with total conviction.

‘I can prove it.’

‘But what would be the point of disclaiming usable tax losses?’ asked Kevin, his brow furrowed.

Blimey, if I’d written the script for this guy I couldn’t have done better myself.

‘That is a very pertinent question—one I asked myself. And shall I tell you what I found?’

Greg and JJ exchanged agonised glances, and Goodchild looked none too comfortable either.

‘Can we please take a break for five minutes,’ said Greg. ‘I need to have a private word with Amy.’

‘Not a chance—there’ll be no private word. Everyone in the room should hear what I have to say.’

‘
Before she kills you,’
added Little Amy.

‘But she’s in no state of mind to…’ JJ blustered.

‘No—let her speak,’ Kevin cut in. Whether or not he thought me crazy, I had his full attention.

‘What I found was strong indications of a fraud, which would be quickly exposed if the HMRC enquiries were allowed to run their course. Once the losses were disclaimed, the questions no longer needed to be asked.’

They stared at me as if I’d peed on the lawn at Wimbledon. I studied their faces intently. JJ was squaring up for a big shouting match, the power of his voice being his preferred weapon in any dispute. Goodchild tried hard to suppress his squirming, but didn’t succeed. He glanced anxiously at JJ and Greg, as though hoping one of them would salvage the situation. Greg tried his damnedest to stay in control. And Lisa, absentmindedly shredding a paper napkin, peered nervously at the others.

JJ broke the silence.

‘How ridiculous,’ he said. ‘These are serious allegations. How dare you bring this nonsense up at this late stage in the proceedings?’

‘I’m afraid Ms Robinson is, as we warned everyone, ill,’ added Greg. ‘I think it would be appropriate if you left the meeting, Amy.’

‘No—she should stay,’ said Kevin.

‘That’s not your decision,’ said JJ.

‘OK, but I’m left worrying about what you guys have got to hide.’

‘Well let me tell you,’ I chipped in. ‘JJ Slate has been raising bogus invoices to artificially inflate the company’s share price.’

Now everyone listened intently. While these might be the ravings of a madwoman, they indisputably livened up the meeting.

‘Now this is some lunatic idea Amy’s raised before,’ said Greg, at his most patronising. ‘And I can confirm that the debtors she’s referring to were all paid post year end.’

‘But on Friday you
agreed
with me.’

‘Hardly. We never discussed the matter—you were far too agitated to have any kind of rational conversation. You must have imagined it, along with all the rest of your delusions,’ he lied.

The Megabuilders team viewed him with suspicion. The cracks had begun to show.

‘You might ask where the money to repay the debts came from,’ I went on.

‘Where?’ asked Kevin.

‘Incredible as it sounds, there’s a cannabis farm in a disused shaft of the slate mine. The drug money was funding the fraud.’

The tension snapped and everyone roared with laughter, although I fancied the merriment to be somewhat artificial in the case of Greg and Jupp. Goodchild laughed too, in amazement. Judging from the expression on his face, unless he was an Oscar-winning actor, he’d known nothing of any dope growing before now. The professionals relaxed—the deal was safe—I was after all a crazy woman spouting off her stuff.

So what—I hadn’t expected them to believe me.

‘Gentlemen,’ said Greg, ignoring the presence of Lisa and two other women. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to listen to this arrant nonsense. Amy, regretfully I must ask you to leave. You’re plainly unwell.’

‘Top man,’ said JJ. ‘Never heard such gibberish in the whole of my life.’

‘Yes, this woman is
insane
,’ agreed Goodchild.

I didn’t care anymore. Crazy bought me the freedom to say and do what I liked. Hell, I might be wrong about all this but it didn’t matter. At last I’d been released from the tyranny of passing as normal.

‘I shall be complaining in the strongest possible terms to Eric Bailey,’ JJ blustered on.

‘Don’t worry,’ I told them, as I observed Greg dialling for security. ‘I’m leaving in a moment. But I haven’t finished yet.’

‘No—you are done!’ cried JJ.

‘I’m not done by a long chalk. Finally, I want you to know that this man Greg Kelly is a murderer. You see, I wasn’t the first to notice the anomalies in the slate mine accounts. Isabelle Edwards got there first and now she’s dead. An innocent man committed suicide in prison while his brother, the real killer, went free. And all because he didn’t have the guts to come forward when he discovered the scam—because he was determined to save his own career.’

Greg shrugged off the comment—he’d recovered his composure now everyone had decided not to take me seriously.

‘Well your career is over, I shall make sure of it,’ said JJ. ‘I’ve never seen such disgraceful, unprofessional behaviour in all my years in business. You won’t work in the City again.’

‘So what?’ I said. ‘I don’t give a shit.’

‘
Now—do it now.’

The moment had come.

I reached for my bag, and stopped myself. A harsh realisation brought me up short. Something about being egged on to kill by a figment jarred. In its own way, the idea was just as nuts as hoarding up a house with junk and blinding yourself to your kid’s discomfort. They’d allowed me out of hospital because I recognised I had issues, not to embark on a nihilistic orgy of destruction.

‘
Now—now! The bastard deserves to die. And you’ll get off anyway, because you’re crazy.’

I reached into my bag. My hand gripped the handle of the knife…

It hadn’t been plain sailing. The CCTV data showed no sign of Greg’s Ferrari and it was only at the last moment that Carmody had realised why. Of course—Greg had used his wife’s car, a Ford Fiesta—far less conspicuous than the Ferrari. After re-checking, Carmody was now armed with enough evidence to arrest Greg Kelly.

His boss hadn’t been overly enthusiastic, though.

‘
Shame you didn’t think of this before,’ he’d said, leaving Carmody fearful his promotion might be in jeopardy.

So be it.

Out of courtesy, he’d informed NCA of his plans, in view of the potential link to their operation. They’d freaked when he told them—they weren’t ready to pounce on JJ and his son quite yet—hoped to suck some others into the web. But pragmatism had won the day.

They’d also been more forthcoming with information than before. They’d had the warehouse at East Grinstead under surveillance for a while, in addition to infiltrating the slate mine. Their sham company Impex was the jewel in the crown of their ambitious operation, set up to offer money laundering services to drug barons while gathering information for their prosecution. Darren had been working undercover, posing as a company director.

Carmody questioned the legality of it all—perhaps that’s why NCA had been so coy. After all, where do you draw the line between crime detection and using illegal entrapment? He felt relieved he didn’t have to answer that question.

Amy’s antics had been most impressive though. Effectively, she’d single-handedly exposed a covert operation which had fooled an army of sophisticated criminals. They’d only latched onto her for two simple reasons. Firstly, Amy’s car registration had been logged down by the van driver who’d picked her up in East Grinstead—one of their surveillance team. Secondly, her searches on Impex and its directors had generated an alert.

And she’d been right about Greg Kelly too—eventually.

He didn’t believe for a moment that Amy planned to spend a quiet afternoon watching the television. As a woman of action, it wasn’t her style. So they’d put a tail on her, and sure enough, she was headed to the Pearson Malone offices, probably to confront Greg.

Anyway, whatever she planned to do, they wouldn’t be far behind.

Carmody burst into the meeting room, accompanied by an entourage of other officers and two security guards. That moment of vacillation had cost me dear.

I couldn’t begin to imagine how he’d caught up with me so quickly, but I was resigned to my fate.

‘Ah, well done, Chief Inspector,’ Greg said smoothly. ‘Ten out of ten for anticipation.’ Relief was etched deep into his face.

‘Ms Robinson,’ Carmody said. ‘Would you kindly allow me to pass?’

I stood, stunned and cowering as the party advanced past me and towards Greg. He froze, horrified—no surely not.

‘Greg Kelly, I’m arresting you for the murder of Isabelle Edwards. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you do say may be taken down in evidence and used against you.’

‘There,’ he said softly to me as Greg was led out by his subordinates. ‘I knew you’d want to see me do it. Although I wish to God you’d stayed watching the telly like you promised.’

The remaining participants in the meeting stayed rooted to their seats, mesmerised by the unfolding drama. Even JJ’s blustering spluttered to a halt as the inevitable consequences of Greg’s arrest began to dawn on him. Goodchild sat, rigid and ashen. And Lisa, shaken to the core, quietly sobbed into her handkerchief.

And me—I silently thanked whatever deity had intervened to save me from myself.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ I said, smiling sweetly. ‘This meeting is now concluded.’ And I hobbled out, without looking back.

I hailed a taxi from the rank outside the office and switched off my phone before it began buzzing. I had zero desire to speak to Smithies, Lisa, Bailey, HR, Potter, Carmody, the psychiatrist, the press, or any other bugger who believed they had a claim on my soul. Sod them all—I was the only person who mattered now.

The cab driver waited as I nipped into Sainsbury for the essentials of life – pizza, gin and cigarettes. On finally arriving home I deadlocked the front door behind me and unplugged the landline.

Despite the dire warnings, the meds combined with the gin quite nicely as the pizza cooked. The analytical part of my brain switched off and an eerie calm descended over the rest.

The outcome of the day had evidently disappointed Little Amy, but I knew now that she wouldn’t be happy until I’d destroyed myself.

‘
You fucked that up,’
she scolded.

OK—time to take a firm line with her.

‘Politely—will you please piss off? You must realise I don’t need you anymore.’

‘
But you do—see how I’ve helped you.’

‘
Helped
me—because of you I nearly killed a man.’

‘
Don’t you think he deserved it?’

‘No—actually I don’t, and I can’t believe I was ever so brutal as you.’

‘
Well you were.’

‘I don’t care—I want you gone—now.’