“Have I read it?” Susan asks. “No, it’s confidential.”
Jeff nods. Of course she’s read it; that’s okay. Susan reads everything, but she knows how to keep quiet.
On top of the file is the printout of an email message Jeff had sent to François Loubet a few months ago, before the killings had started. Evidence, if he ever needs it.
Mssr Loubet,
I trust this email finds you well. You will remember we carried out some work for you around two years ago. Your prompt payment was greatly appreciated. I write with troubling news, however.
If I might express myself plainly, two of my clients have recently been caught carrying large sums of money through international customs.
This leads me to believe that my firm is being targeted by a professional money-smuggling syndicate, and the only money-smuggler who has had any connection with Maximum Impact Solutions is you. Your urgent help is needed in providing information that could assist me. Can we talk?
I’m afraid I cannot let this threat to my company continue, and I will take all the steps necessary to protect my clients and my business. Which also means that if you yourself, François, are behind it, which I believe you are, I will hunt you down.
Yours faithfully,
Jeff Nolan
Jeff looks up from the printout.
“You know what François Loubet does for a living, Susan?”
Susan shakes her head. “Without looking at his file, I would have no way of knowing.”
“Perhaps you accidentally glanced at the file one day, though, while making copies, something like that?”
“If I had glanced at it,” says Susan, “and such things happen, I would say he was the world’s leading money-smuggler, is the number-one name on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, and has recently been in email correspondence with you.”
“That was a hell of a glance,” says Jeff.
“I do a lot of photocopying,” replies Susan. “I also understand that no one knows who he is?”
Jeff nods. “You see why I’m looking at his file now?”
“Andrew Fairbanks found with all that money?” Susan suggests.
“On top of everything else you might have accidentally glanced at in the file,” says Jeff.
“It’s certainly a situation,” says Susan. “But you’ve been in situations before, and you always seem to struggle free. I hope you’ll be able to do so on this occasion. It would be useful to identify him, so is there anything I can do to help?”
“Is there anyone with Amy Wheeler?” Jeff asks. “On the Rosie D’Antonio job?”
“An ex–Navy SEAL called Kevin,” says Susan. As always, she has the answer at hand. That’s why Jeff doesn’t mind her looking at documents. Not all documents, of course.
“He’s not one of ours,” says Jeff.
“Booked through a local affiliate,” says Susan. “Perfectly adequate, by all accounts, and a clean bill of health from the Lowesport Police Department.”
“Amy’s recent client history makes for interesting reading,” says Jeff. “Given the killings. What would your view be on that, as head of HR?”
“As head of HR, I would say you need to speak to her as a matter of urgency,” says Susan. “I would bring her home immediately.”
Susan has worked with him since his earliest days in the City. Jeff would say that she’s been with him through thick and thin, but, honestly, there hasn’t been all that much thin.
Jeff thinks about his next move. Amy will have worked out that the three murders mean big trouble for her. She will have realized that everything is pointing to her. He decides he will message her. Bring her back to London, and see her reaction.
Jeff picks up another piece of paper from his desk. “Thank you for the plot synopsis for Rampage 7, by the way.”
He had been reading it just before Max Highfield arrived.
“It was a pleasure,” says Susan. “Well, it was excruciating, but I live to serve.”
Jeff looks at Susan again. He would be lost in this place without her. His eyes and ears. His wise counsel. He owes her.
“I’m going to do something about Max Highfield,” he says. “His behavior is unacceptable.”
Susan stands. “I just want to do my job, Jeff. Now bring Amy Wheeler home; she might be in danger.”
“Mmm,” says Jeff.
Susan leans across and puts her hand on Jeff’s. “I love you, Jeff, but I don’t need you to save me from Max Highfield. I can take care of him myself—do you understand?”
Jeff understands, and is grateful. Max is worth an awful lot of money to him. He would be worth an awful lot of money to Henk too.
Henk van Veen. He and his old friend built this place together. Butch and Sundance, Cagney and Lacey. Then, three months ago, the split. Perhaps it was to do with Loubet? You never could tell with Henk.
Jeff looks over at a long mirror on the far wall of the boardroom. Behind it is Henk’s “secret den.” He would sit there, deadly quiet, in an armchair, tumbler of brandy in hand, and watch meetings through the mirrored glass. He said it was to add an extra layer of security to their business, but really it was to make sure no one was talking about him. That was Henk. Suspicious, paranoid. Useful skills in their business but irritating in a business partner.
