Amy thinks about how nice it would be for Steve to come through the door right now. He would know what to do. Amy is at a loss, because Jeff’s training is her training; they each cancel the other out. So what would Steve do?
“Put it down, Amy,” says Jeff. “And let’s talk. Persuade me it wasn’t you.”
Amy shakes her head.
“Someone was helping Max Highfield,” says Jeff.
“Please let me call the police,” says Susan. “I’m sure they’d happily ask Amy all of these questions.”
“No,” say Jeff and Amy again.
“It’s all there in the files, Amy,” says Jeff. “I should have seen it before. You worked with Highfield, you worked with Loubet.”
“So did you,” says Amy.
“I’m not going through all that again,” says Jeff.
If Steve was in the room, what would he do? What would he notice? What’s wrong here?
“But why didn’t you notice thirty-five separate payments to Max Highfield, Jeff?” asks Amy.
“None of my business,” says Jeff. “Why would I even look? That’s what Susan’s for.”
“Don’t drag me into this,” says Susan.
Amy is making no progress here. So perhaps the time for “What would Steve do” is over. Sure, Jeff trained her, but hasn’t she learned a few things of her own? Perhaps it’s actually time for “What would Amy do?”
Here goes nothing.
“You recruited those clients yourself, Jeff,” says Amy. “That’s what I think. You set Max Highfield up to cover your own tracks. You set up those payments to him, in case somebody came snooping. You set up a deal with Vivid Viral, because you always take care of the little details. And, of course, you were in contact with François Loubet all along.”
“You think I sent emails to myself?” says Jeff. “You think I paid someone to drive a car through the windows of Bruno’s?”
“That’s exactly what I think,” says Amy, then speaks to Susan without turning away from Jeff. “Susan, if we looked at those files, could we tell if all those payments to Max Highfield were authorized personally by Jeff?”
“We could,” says Susan. “But it would take half an hour or so. Why don’t you both put the guns down, and I can—”
“No time,” says Amy. She lowers her gun to the floor, then raises it a notch and shoots Jeff Nolan in the leg. Jeff fires back as he falls, but the bullet misses wildly. Amy is on him in an instant, and cable-ties his hands as he thrashes on the floor.
“Get up,” says Amy, gun pointed at his head. “We’re going for a drive. Susan, if I hear a police siren at any point, I kill him—understand? I need you to look at the files again.”
“Amy,” says Jeff through clenched teeth, “you’re wrong.”
“Too late, Jeff,” says Amy. “Let’s go.”
Jeff’s checklist came good in the end. Point Six: Act decisively.
The next ten minutes will tell her everything she needs to know.
92
Rob Kenna reaches the ninth tee.
“You got any isotonic water?” he asks his caddy. “I’ve only got normal, and I can’t drink that because of all the estrogen in it.”
Of course Rob’s caddy has isotonic water. She hands a bottle to him.
Rob hits his tee shot right, flirting with the deep rough that lines the fairway. He gives a sigh of relief as it pulls up short of a thick line of trees. He’s avoided some trouble there.
Rob prefers playing with other people, but there’s not always the option, is there? Nelson Nunez will be here tomorrow, and he plays, so that’ll be nice. Bit of golf, bit of business.
And it’s nice to be able to think from time to time. He needs to cut ties with Loubet. He understands that Loubet has to stay under the radar, but, really, if you’re doing business with someone, you have to be able to look them in the eye once in a while. You have to protect yourself.
Rob reaches his ball and asks his caddy for a nine-iron. That should do it. No breeze today, so just float it up there. He can see it in his mind’s eye, landing dead center on the green, curling down a little toward the hole. Doesn’t always work that way, but lovely when it does. Makes everything else worthwhile.
His caddy starts whistling. Rob gives her a glare. When has she ever whistled before?
“You bored?”
“Sorry, boss,” she says, long red ponytail swinging in the light breeze.
She probably is bored, to be fair. She came to him via Mickey, and via Davey before that. She was just a caddy, but Rob has given her more responsibilities. She’s been around the world a fair bit recently. She’s the only person Rob trusts to meet and greet his targets. She knows his business. He’s even asked her if she’d fancy turning her hand to the actual killing at some point, but it’s not for her.
She whistles again. Rob raises his palms to her in objection, then settles behind the ball.
There is a rustle in the trees on his backswing, so Rob begins his setup again. Lots of stray cats living in these woods.
He has started his backswing when the first shot rings out. It hits him full in the chest. He drops his club and staggers backward. There’s someone in the trees. Okay, yeah, there’s smoke too. Rob falls to his knees. Someone is screaming. He thinks it must be his caddy, but he can see her running in the distance, red hair flowing behind her, so it must be him. More gunshots.
