Alex Gray - The Riverman

What the hell was going on? Did he phone this woman every time she left the house? Maggie’s head began to thump. To confront him with this or not? That was what she must decide. As she sped through familiar streets, Maggie Lorimer felt as though her body had become light and insubstantial with the sudden weakness of emotion. What should she do? What the hell could she do? There was no answer, just a blankness in her mind.

I mustn’t let this take take me over, she told herself, trying to regain her normal composure. This evening she had a job to do and many parents were waiting for her undivided attention. Other things would just have to wait.

The day dawned a pearly pink against the thin line of hills in the distance. Graham West stretched and sighed. Only a few more minutes and he’d get up for work.

His arms stiffened as the dreams that had peopled his sleep faded. This would be his last day, he thought. He’d prepared everything he could. Sitting up, West saw the mess of papers and books strewn across the floor. Well, he wouldn’t be here much longer to see it. He’d packed only essentials into a rucksack, his passport now in its outside pocket. The flight had cost a fortune but paying by credit card was something he could still do. He’d simply not be here when the bill landed on his doormat. Tomorrow’s early morning BA flight to London connected with the long haul to Singapore. Then he would take another plane to Sydney. By the time they’d found he was missing he’d be sunning himself on Bondi Beach. But not as Graham West. He’d decided to leave everything behind him, even his name.

He gave a frown suddenly. That wee nyaff of a dealer. Did he have his name or not? His brow cleared as he remembered. No. It had just been the licence plate of the Porsche that had identified him. It seemed so long ago now, the day that it had all started. If he’d known then what was about to happen, he’d have thrown the stuff over a hedge and faced the consequences. Or would he? The temptation had been too great and the risks had seemed minimal. Face it, West, he told himself. You did what you had to do then, and you’ll do what you have to do now.

Kicking a muscular pair of legs over the edge of the bed, he threw the bedcovers on the floor and headed for the shower. He’d wear his best Armani suit today, since it was the last time he’d ever be in the office. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror. That wasn’t a man who’d ever admit to failure, now was it? No. That was a man with a future.

Forbes Macgregor looked just the same as it always did, he thought, swinging his briefcase as he entered the building. It had the same solid familiarity, its sandstone facade towering over the banks of the river. He felt like whistling today and had to stop himself grinning inanely as one of the trainee CA’s slipped into the lift by his side. These guys would have to start all over again too, but they didn’t know that yet. He hugged the secret to himself and walked out of the lift with a jaunty spring in his step.

Once inside his office, Graham West began a meticulous trawl through his personal papers, what was left of them from the previous evening’s shredding exercise. There was nothing incriminating now. Only work in progress. Even the accounts for Jacobs Betting Shops had somehow found their way into the main filing system under the other partners’ names. He smiled. Malcolm, Catherine and Alec would have a bit of explaining to do to the police if they ever cottoned on to that sleight of hand. Sure, his sudden disappearance would make them all point the finger at him but that wouldn’t last too long once those documents were uncovered.

‘Coffee in the boardroom, five minutes.’ Catherine had popped her head around his door before West realized she was there.

‘Aye, fine,’ he murmured, pretending to be distracted by the papers on his desk. Then she was gone. Coffee at this time of the morning? What was up? Were the police back again, perhaps? West felt the sweat tingle upon his palms. Maybe he had been too quick with the self-congratulations. Hubris had a funny way of rearing its ugly head, he thought grimly.

Alec Barr was not in the boardroom when West arrived, only Catherine and Malcolm: the latter looking pale and anxious. Catherine, however, was pouring coffee from the jug on the hot plate, her back to him so that he could not see her face.

‘Alec not joining us?’ he asked, then coughed trying to cover up the nervous strain apparent in his voice.

Catherine turned and smiled, her expression calm. ‘No, just the three of us. I wanted to talk to you both while Alec was out of the office.’

West sat down at the table, his fingers drumming on the edge of the polished wood. Malcolm glanced at him then looked away. Suddenly West was reminded of juries in murder trials. They avoided eye contact with the accused when they had found him guilty, didn’t they?

‘What’s up, then?’ he asked staring at Catherine, deliberately making her look at him full on.

‘It’s Shelley Jacobs,’ she replied. ‘She’s been to see the police.’ There was a pause as she let her words sink in. It was Malcolm who broke the silence.

‘And?’ he asked.

‘And it seems she had someone snooping round her house. She’s also had threatening phone calls.’ Catherine looked at each of them in turn as if to assess their reaction. Finding none, she sniffed. ‘Big brother Joseph Reilly’s started to stir things up about Tony,’ she went on. ‘And that could mean trouble for us.’

‘D’you mean us or do you mean Forbes Macgregor?’ Graham West wanted to know.

‘Comes down to the same thing in the long run,’ Malcolm murmured.

‘Yes, it does,’ the woman replied. ‘If one of us goes down, the whole damn firm goes down. Jacobs being killed like that should have made us more careful.’

‘But Alec said everything was fine!’ West protested. ‘Nobody’s going to pin anything on us!’ He spread his hands in a gesture that was intended to look innocent but Catherine Devoy gave him a baleful look from under her brows.

‘The police aren’t wasting their time. With three murders on their hands they’re probably looking at us as potential killers.’

Graham West gave an involuntary start. ‘You are kidding, aren’t you?’ He glanced from Catherine to Malcolm, relieved to see the Malcolm’s eyebrows drawn up in scepticism.

‘Why d’you think they want to interview each of us separately?’ Catherine let the question dangle for a moment, eyeing the two men. She kept her gaze fixed on them, determined to provoke some reaction. West frowned. Let her think that his cage had been rattled, he thought. Malcolm had dropped his head and seemed to be deeply engrossed in some stain on the boardroom carpet. West watched as Catherine hunkered down, meeting Malcolm’s eyes, forcing him to look at her. ‘What’s wrong with you , for instance? You’ve been acting oddly ever since Duncan’s death.’

Malcolm swallowed hard. ‘It’s nothing really. A stomach ulcer. Might need to go into hospital for some stuff, that’s all,’ he muttered, his eyes flicking hopelessly from one partner to the other.

Catherine smiled. ‘Poor you! And here we were thinking you might be suffering remorse of conscience.’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Well, that’s one way to keep out of sight. Take to your sick bed.’

Graham West patted Malcolm’s shoulder, a gesture of male solidarity designed to annoy Catherine.

‘Look, what I’m saying to you both is be very, very careful,’ she scolded. ‘Someone out there is desperate enough to take lives and Jacobs worked with some funny people.’

‘Well Forbes Macgregor didn’t seem too worried about taking him on as a client in the first place,’ West blurted out. ‘They knew his reputation, didn’t they?’