“I thought maybe her parents left her the house?”
“Her parents are alive, Jeff,” says Amy. “She brought them to the staff picnic last year.”
“I left early,” says Jeff. “You know me and people.”
“When’s her birthday?”
Jeff shrugs. “How would I know that?”
“Yours is the twenty-fifth of February,” says Amy. “What did you buy her for Christmas?”
“For Christmas?” Jeff asks. “Nothing. She didn’t ask for anything.”
Amy nods. “And how did she score on your Psychopath Test?”
“Ninety-six,” says Jeff. “Same as me. That’s why she’s head of HR.”
Amy nods. “What did Henk score?”
“Like twelve or something,” says Jeff. “He’s surprisingly sane.”
“That’s why you were a good team,” says Amy.
Amy’s phone starts to buzz. Looking into the boardroom, she sees that Susan is ringing her. She answers, quietly.
“Tell me the worst,” says Amy.
“It’s Jeff,” says Susan. “All of those payments were authorized from his personal laptop, and the emails from Loubet were from his own laptop too. He put the whole thing together. Amy, I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”
“Okay,” says Amy. “What should I do? Police?”
“After everything he’s done?” Susan says. “I don’t know. He killed people, Amy. And for what? Money. Doesn’t he have enough?”
“Money does unusual things to people,” says Amy.
“And he was happy to see you die,” says Susan. “Happy to set you up, happy to set Max Highfield up. I think there’s only one thing you can do.”
“Report him to HR?”
“Kill him,” says Susan. “You’ll have my full support.”
Amy puts down the phone and looks at Jeff. “You know the odd Christmas present might have made all the difference? You have to make people feel appreciated—even I know that.”
“You know one day I’m going to have to shoot you back?” says Jeff.
“I know, skipper,” says Amy, and she and Jeff share a hug.
96
“So you were François Loubet all along?” Steve says to Mickey Moody, plonking two honest pints of British bitter on the table. Steve has just let Mickey finish a phone call.
“Who’s François Loubet?” asks Mickey, raising his pint an inch in thanks.
“The world’s greatest money-smuggler,” says Steve. “It’s you, eh?”
“How do you work that out, then?” laughs Mickey. “Taking a bit of a leap?”
“So you’re just a good, old-fashioned scrap-metal dealer from Billericay?” says Steve.
“Until anyone can prove otherwise,” says Mickey. “Which they can’t. You fancy watching the Man City match?”
“You’re sure no one can prove anything?” Steve asks.
“Deadly sure,” says Mickey. “And I’d be very careful if I was you.”
“Oh, Mickey, I’ve been careful for years now,” says Steve. “Hasn’t got me anywhere. You need to take a risk or two in life, don’t you?”
Mickey laughs and sups his pint. “Amen to that, Steve.”
“You heard Rob Kenna was killed,” says Steve.
“Another one gone,” says Mickey. “I’m running out of mates.”
“You are,” says Steve. “Who have you got to talk to now except your wife?”
“That’s enough for me,” says Mickey.
“Why don’t we talk to each other for a bit?” says Steve. “Couple of old men?”
