Silent Truths (42 page)

Surprised, she turned round, and might have overlooked the Mercedes parked on the other side
of the road, had the woman in the driver’s seat not called out again.

‘Are you Laurie Forbes?’ she asked.

Laurie nodded. The woman’s face didn’t look familiar, but there was something about the anxiety in her middle-aged features, and the neatness of her bobbed brown hair and gold-rimmed glasses, that inspired nothing more than concern and curiosity.

‘I’m Sandra Chettle,’ she said as Laurie drew close. ‘You want to talk?’

‘Yes, very much,’ Laurie responded. ‘How did you find me?’

‘I called your editor. I had to make sure you were who you said you were. We need to go somewhere private. Are you free to come now?’

Laurie’s hesitation was only momentary. She hadn’t actually told Wilbur she was coming in today so he was hardly going to complain if she didn’t turn up. ‘Where are we going?’ she said, getting into the passenger seat.

‘Actually, it’s a little way out of London. There’s something I want to show you. It should make a lot of things clear.’

‘I’m intrigued,’ Laurie responded, fastening her seat belt as they started down the street. When they passed Stan she waved and gave him the thumbs-up, letting him know it was all right. ‘I got your message last night,’ she told Sandra. ‘I was hoping you’d call again.’

‘I thought it was better to come in person,’ Sandra responded. ‘There’s a lot you need to know, and it’s not a good idea for me to be seen or overheard talking to you.’

Laurie’s mobile rang. Digging it out of her bag she checked the caller ID, saw it was Stan and switched on. ‘It’s OK,’ she told him. ‘It’s Sandra Chettle.’

‘Is her name on my list?’

‘It should be.’

Sandra glanced over at her, frowning.

‘Just my minder keeping tabs,’ Laurie assured her, putting the phone away.

Sandra’s eyes returned to the road. ‘Do you need one?’ she asked.

‘Not really. It’s a long story.’

For the next few minutes they exchanged platitudes about the weather and traffic until, sensing her silence might be more appreciated, Laurie turned to look out of the window. She didn’t mind; it was a good opportunity to clear her head and start structuring the many questions she needed to ask.

After a while she took out a notepad and began jotting things down, wanting to make sure she left nothing out. Then her mobile rang again. This time the ID showed a number she didn’t know.

‘It’s Liam. I’m coming back on the four o’clock flight,’ he told her. ‘We all need to meet.’

Laurie’s heart gave a skip of excitement. ‘Does that mean you’ve turned something up?’ she said.

‘Possibly. Murray’s calling in Sam deBugger tonight, so we’ll make it for nine in the morning. At the office.’

‘Can you tell me anything now?’

‘Just that a couple of the people I’ve been talking to were responsible for the initial investigation into the ex-minister who’s currently on trial. They’ve
been working on uncovering the corruption for nearly three years, and some of the names we compared matched. There’s more, I’ll fill you in tomorrow.’

‘Great,’ she said, and rang off.

‘Something interesting?’ Sandra enquired.

‘Maybe. It’s connected to this, so I’m hoping whatever you’re about to show me is going to move it even further along.’

‘I’m sure it will,’ Sandra responded.

Laurie looked out at the passing fields, hedgerows and scattered farms. They’d been travelling for quite some time now, and they were definitely out of London, so just how far out did they need to go?

‘Not much further,’ Sandra informed her, as though reading her mind.

‘Maybe I could starting asking some questions?’

‘I’d rather you waited. You’ll understand why when we get there.’

They drove on, through towns and villages, more countryside, passing signposts that directed them to places Laurie had never even heard of. Were they in Essex, she wondered. Or had they crossed over into Suffolk? It wasn’t a part of the country she knew, so it would all seem the same to her. In fact, she was starting to become vaguely uneasy now, and hoped Stan was managing to keep up, presuming he was there at all, after she’d told him it was all right.

This was ridiculous, she was thinking. Being too polite to ask again where they were going was like being too polite to exist. She had a right to know, and what was more, she was going to.

This time Sandra Chettle didn’t answer.

Unsettled, and starting to get annoyed, Laurie was about to demand a reply when her mobile rang again.

‘Laurie? It’s Stan,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t say my name. Don’t say anything yet, just make out I’m Elliot, or Rhona or someone. Nice and easy. Keep it casual.’

Laurie had become very still. Her heartbeat was a thick, dull thud. This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. ‘Oh, hi, Rhona,’ she managed. ‘I’m fine. How are you?’

‘OK,’ Stan responded. ‘Now, you need to get out of that car as soon as you possibly can.’

Already fear was rushing at her in a way she couldn’t handle for long so this was not what she wanted to hear. ‘Uh, OK,’ she responded. ‘Um, why would that be?’

‘The woman driving it isn’t Sandra Chettle.’

Even though she’d known he was going to say that, his words were like an explosion inside her head. ‘Oh, I see. Then who?’ she asked sweetly.

‘I don’t know. We’re still tracing the car. But Sandra Chettle drives a Volvo and is, right now, at her desk in the City.’

Absurdly, embarrassingly, she suddenly wanted to cry. ‘That’s nice,’ she responded. ‘So where are you?’

‘Not where you want me to be. Is there any way you can tell me where you are?’

‘Oh no, not really,’ she said chirpily, her words sounding like a single high note breaking through the thunderous rush in her ears.

‘Country? Town?’

‘I’d say the first.’

‘Did you go east or west out of London.’

‘Again the first, then it seemed to go up.’

The woman was throwing her glances now, obviously becoming suspicious. ‘OK, well, thanks for letting me know, Rhona,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you later then.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Stan told her. ‘Just keep your head, we’ll find you – and first chance you get, bail that car and call me.’

Laurie rang off and stared out at the passing scenery, her hands clasped tight to her mobile. Who the hell was this woman, if she wasn’t Sandra Chettle? What did she want? Where was she taking her? She didn’t look at her, nor did she speak. She was trying to force her mind round what she should do, how she was going to get out of that car. But they were in the middle of nowhere, for God’s sake. How the hell was she supposed to know where to go even if she managed it?

Her chest was hardly letting in air as she looked round, casually, trying to spot the central door-locking button. She had to force herself to remain calm. She couldn’t allow her imagination any freedom at all, or she’d start to panic. The fact that her life was flashing before her eyes had to be ignored. It was an overreaction. She wasn’t really in any danger. The woman was probably some kind of government agent. The thought jarred in her brain, for there was no comfort in it at all – quite the reverse, in fact.

Get a grip
, she screamed silently at herself.
Just think about the dashboard
. Logic told her the lock release should be somewhere in the middle,
putting it well within her reach. But the connection between her eyes and her brain seemed not to be working, because though she was registering the buttons, they weren’t meaning anything. And even if she managed to jab the right one, the car was going much too fast for her to jump out. Then there was her seat belt. And what about her bag, and computer? Should she leave them? Oh God, she had to think faster because the car was starting to slow down. She might get the chance to jump. But what if the woman was carrying a gun? And even if she wasn’t, where the bloody hell was she going to run to? There was nothing but country lanes and fields, cart tracks, haystacks, isolated barns …

She noticed a car up ahead was pulled in to the side of the road. Please God, let there be someone in it she could signal to. She had to get the window down so they could hear her. She lowered her right hand to the panel between the seats, fumbling for the controls. The woman’s presence was overwhelming her, making her afraid to move. But no, it was her own fear doing that. The woman was only looking at the road ahead. She looked too, and saw two men getting out of the parked car ahead.

She was about to push hard on the window control when she realized the Mercedes was stopping. She turned towards the woman, then back to the men. They were standing behind their car now. The Mercedes was pulling up alongside them; the two cars were so close that the wing mirrors touched. There was no way Laurie could get her door open.

‘What are you doing? What’s happening?’ she demanded, anger breaking through her fear.

The woman’s eyes were on the rear-view mirror.

One of the back doors opened. Laurie spun round as the two men got in. Something close to terror was hammering her chest. ‘Answer me,’ she cried. ‘I thought we were going to talk.’

‘It’s all right,’ the woman told her, accelerating away from the parked car. ‘No one’s going to harm you.’

Laurie’s eyes were wild. ‘What do you mean? Harm me? What’s going on?’

‘We just need to ask you some questions,’ the woman explained.

‘About what? Who are they?’ Laurie’s voice was turning shrill.

‘Not much further now,’ the woman assured her.

Laurie sat tightly in her seat, not knowing what else to do. This was about Ashby’s interview, of course, and the code. They hadn’t been able to break it, and now, just as she’d feared, they’d come to find out how much she knew. She could hardly believe how easily she’d walked into the trap. They’d set it up the night before with a phone call. Then this morning they’d just driven into her street, called her over to the car, right in front of Stan, and it hadn’t even occurred to her that the woman was lying when she’d said she was Sandra Chettle. All she’d thought of then was how good she was going to feel when she told Elliot that one of the Bank of England’s senior executives had talked to her. Dear God, what a fool! Just how naïve was she that she hadn’t seen through something so simple? But berating herself now wasn’t going to help. She had to think of a way out of here, and she had to think fast. Sobbing like a baby wasn’t going
to help, even though that was what she was very close to doing.

‘If you don’t mind,’ the woman said, ‘there’s a blindfold in the glove compartment.’

Laurie gaped at her. The last thing in the world she wanted was to cover her eyes.

‘Please,’ the woman said politely. ‘It’ll only be for a few minutes.’

‘Why? Where are we going?’ Laurie demanded.

The woman’s smile was thin as she reached over and popped open the glove box.

Laurie drew back. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘I’m
not
putting on a blindfold.’

The woman brought the car to a stop. Laurie lunged frantically at the dashboard, trying to release the door, but the seat belt held her back. She looked at the woman in dread. Was she going to force the blindfold on her? Oh God, just how bad was this going to get?

‘Please put it on,’ the woman said, taking it out and holding it towards her.

Laurie stared at it, but didn’t take it.

‘I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,’ the woman told her.

Laurie looked at her again, then gasped as one of the men in the back seat clamped her head between his hands and held it still. ‘Let me go!’ she seethed. ‘Let me go! I’ll do it myself.’

Though her hands were shaking as she put the blindfold in place, real anger, for the moment, was staving off the panic. The way Sophie Long’s name had been used as a warning was now ringing in her ears, and that Stan hadn’t been able to trace the car, they just weren’t things she could allow herself to
think about. She had to concentrate on how to handle this, try to get away if she could, and if she couldn’t then she’d have to pray to God that they didn’t resort to anything physical in order to extract information, when there was every chance she didn’t know enough to make them stop.

Elliot was in a Greenwich Village bar, drinking Diet Coke through a tall glass of ice when Tom Maykin, a short, wiry man in his mid-forties, arrived.

‘Elliot, it’s good to see you again,’ he said, appearing not in the least perturbed by the way Elliot’s superior height dwarfed him. ‘How’s tricks?’

‘Fair. What about you? What’re you having?’

‘Miller Lite,’ Maykin said to the barman, while looking round to see who else was in. Since it was a small place, with only a couple of tables over by the pinball, it was a quick scan that told him he and Elliot were the only early lunchtime drinkers. ‘So you’ve got wind of this euro business,’ he said coming straight to the point.

Elliot picked up his drink and gestured for them to go and sit at a table.

‘So how d’you pick up on it?’ Maykin asked.

‘Couple of different ways,’ Elliot answered. ‘One of them was a murder.’

Maykin slanted him a look.

‘Colin Ashby’s girlfriend,’ Elliot expounded.

‘Oh, yeah, right.’ Maykin nodded grimly. ‘Ashby’s girlfriend. Did he do it?’

‘I don’t know. He says not.’

Maykin gave a short laugh, then waited for the barman to put down his beer before picking it up.
He took a long sip, then said, ‘This syndicate you mentioned on the phone – I’ve being making some calls. Very discreet, you know, a question here, surmise there … Tell me, how much do you know about it?’

‘Just that it exists, and that its operatives or members seem to reach into virtually every field of government and finance there is.’

Maykin sucked in his lips.

‘What do you know about it?’ Elliot asked.

‘I’m not as up to speed as you are, but yeah, I can see your assessment has merit,’ Maykin replied. ‘And I get the feeling its upper echelon is going to consist of the kind of folk you don’t go messing with just to get next week’s headline.’

‘Do you know who any of them are?’

‘There are a few I’d find easy to suspect, but I don’t know any for sure. What about you?’