Robert Young - Gatecrasher

Tuesday. 3.15 pm.

Sarah Knowles sat feeling a little self-conscious at her desk as she sorted through the emails that had accumulated in her absence.

She was uncomfortably aware of her shabby appearance and though she knew she probably felt worse than she looked she still thought that people were looking at her. As well as that she was about to stand up and walk out at least two hours before most other people would and she knew that would not pass without comment. People would feel put out if they thought that Sarah was getting special treatment from the boss. Fat chance, she thought to herself.

Sarah sent a few quick replies to friends who had been gossiping and joking over email about what they had all got up to on their girls night out the previous Saturday. She had not been able to make it. She hated missing out on anything but at least she felt a little more involved with the girls copying her in on the banter.

The phone on her desk warbled. She hesitated a moment but then realised that she hadn’t altered her voicemail message to say she was out and in any event it might be urgent. It was only one call, she thought, and then she could go home.

‘Good afternoon, Griffin Holdings. Sarah Knowles speaking.’

‘Hi there. Good afternoon.’ It was a man’s voice, slightly hesitant sounding, which pricked her attention, but young she thought and a nice voice, friendly. ‘I, uh, I wonder if you can help me. I’m just after some information about your company.’

‘Yes? What kind of information were you after?’ she replied trying to sound friendly back.

‘Oh, you know, just general company information. Structure, brief sort of trading history, what it is you do there. That sort of thing.’ The voice was trying to sound breezy and as if this were an everyday sort of request. It wasn’t and Sarah found herself frowning.

‘That’s a little, uhh… vague sir,’ she said. ‘What is it you are trying to find out exactly?’

There was a pause but before he could answer she cut in. ‘I’m sorry, where did you say you were calling from?’

‘Oh, sorry. Yes of course. I, uh… I’m calling from a local paper. Just a little thing really, doubt you know of us. But I heard about the break-in the other night and I’m looking into it.’

‘I see.’ She wasn’t convinced by that. He seemed to be talking a little too fast, trying to speed her into a response before she could ask any more questions.

‘Well, my editor wants me to. You know. Doing what I’m told really.’

‘Sure.’

‘Odd business though.’

‘I’m sorry Mr…?

Silence. She continued regardless. ’I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude as I’m sure you’re just doing your job but the company has released a short press statement regarding this matter. I can refer your enquiry to Mr Griffin if you’d rather but I’m not in a position to say anything further.’

‘Of course, of course. No need to trouble Mr Griffin. I wonder though if you could pop something in the post for me? Some sort of company brochure? Corporate literature?’

‘I should think that would be OK. Can I get your name and address then?’ Sarah tried a different approach, still suspicious. Something was odd.

‘And perhaps a copy of the press release?’

‘Statement. Of course. Your name and address?’

‘Well let’s see. I work from home a lot so may as well send it there — second thought, where are you based exactly?’

Sarah told him.

‘Right. That’s not too far away actually. Why don’t I just drop in there and pick it up?’

She paused for a moment before answering, intrigued. She didn’t believe the story he was telling. Sarah felt that she had a good antennae for liars and all the pauses and the umms and ahhs and the well-nows that gave people away were too obvious in the reporter’s voice. He was definitely being evasive.

‘That should be fine. Just pop into reception and ask for me. My name is Sarah Knowles. And you are?’

‘Owen,’ said the voice. ‘Michaels.’

‘Sorry? Owen Michaels?’

‘Right.’

‘OK. When would you be planning to drop by Mr Michaels? It’s just that I was due to finish shortly…’

‘Oh I see. Well, maybe half an hour, an hour.’

She didn’t answer for a minute and considered leaving an envelope on reception for him and getting off home. But something stopped her and she shrugged and decided to sit it out. Might only be half an hour. ‘Alright then Mr Michaels. I’ll see you then.’

She had gone as far as filling an envelope with the paperwork, writing his name on it and putting it to one side on her desk before it dawned on her that he hadn’t actually told her which local paper he was calling from.

Tuesday. 3.20pm.

‘You look awful Daniel.’

That knocked Campbell off balance and it took a moment before he spoke. He was standing in the corner office of his boss about to ask if he could leave early and working up to a convincing performance but the other man had beaten him to the punch.

‘Yeah. Not doing well at all.’

‘Rough couple of days.’

‘Could say that. Look I’ve not slept very well the last couple of nights and I’m pretty stressed what with everything so it would be good if I could take off early. I’m all over the place.’

‘Sure. You’re probably not doing me much good in here in that state anyway. You alright?’

He nodded weakly in response.

‘No, not really,’ said his boss. ‘Listen, maybe you should take a day off. Get some sleep and rest up a bit.’

Didn’t see that one coming either. ‘Probably a good idea actually. Maybe I will,’ he replied, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. ‘I’ll call in tomorrow morning to let you know — if that’s ok?’

‘No need. Just get a good night’s sleep mate and don’t worry about getting up early to call in. Bye.’

‘Thank you.’

Striding out the door and swinging his jacket onto his shoulders Campbell caught his reflection in a window in the hallway and saw what his boss meant. He did look terrible. His eyes were ringed and dark and there was no colour in his face.

Inside forty minutes he was staring at a notice board in the reception of an office building where he finally found the name he was looking for and headed for the lift. Stepping out into another smaller reception area Campbell approached the desk purposefully, trying to mask his nerves with bravado.

‘Good afternoon. I’m here to see a Sarah Knowles,’ he announced with a smile.

‘Is she expecting you?’

‘Yes. In fact she may have left me something here for me to collect?’

The receptionist shook her head as she looked over her empty desk.

‘OK. Well I guess she is still here then. I hope I haven’t held her up too much. Said she wanted to get off.’

The receptionist nodded politely but looked a little puzzled as to why he was telling her all this.

Talking too much again, he thought, but he didn’t want to have to tell another lie in case he gave himself away. The look on the receptionist’s face told him that he had no choice however.

‘Owen Michaels.’

‘Certainly sir.’ She tapped the numbers into the telephone and informed Sarah that a Mr Michaels was in reception. ‘She’ll be right out,’ she told him and then turned back to reading a magazine.

Campbell looked around and found a seat but his backside had no sooner touched the cushion than the door was opening and a young woman stepped out and looked at him.

‘Mr Michaels, hello. Sarah Knowles.’

Campbell was up straightaway and thrusting his hand out to shake hers. Suddenly he felt very conscious of his appearance, certain that his hair was a mess, his pallid skin and sunken eyes obvious to see. He found himself wishing that he’d stopped at home first to shower and change.