“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” Rosie weighs up the question with her hands. “It’s just that someone seems to be going to an awful lot of trouble to make it look like you killed three people. Someone who knows where you are at all times. And I’m guessing Jeff knows where you are at all times?”
“Jeff’s on my side,” says Amy. “But someone is setting me up, and I have zero idea of why.”
Rosie shrugs. “I suppose the police, God bless them, didn’t solve the other two murders? The lady and the man in the tree?”
“They didn’t,” says Amy.
“Then perhaps you should find out who actually did kill these three people? To rule yourself out? And, as you said, we’re only about fifty miles from where Andrew Fairbanks was murdered. I mean, goodness, it’s a hop and a skip, isn’t it? It’s sort of our duty to go take a look?”
Another message from Jeff.
And tell me if Henk tries to contact you. Do not trust him.
Jeff and Henk used to run Maximum Impact together. Henk had tried to poach her when he first left Maximum Impact Solutions, but Amy knocked him back, and she hasn’t heard from him in months. Why would she hear from him now? And why shouldn’t she trust him? There are more immediate considerations at this exact moment, however.
“Rosie,” says Amy. “You are not leaving this island. Whatever is happening, there will be an explanation. I’ll go back to London in the morning, Kevin will take care of you here, and it will be sorted out.”
“Unless someone is out to get you,” says Rosie. “And then you’ll probably end up dead or in prison. Which I believe is very on-brand for Watford.”
“Rosie, no one is out to get me. We’ve got three dead clients already. If I take you over to the mainland, you’ll be an open target for Vasiliy Karpin. I’m not going to end up with four dead clients.”
“Four Dead Clients,” says Rosie. “Another good name for a book.”
12
From the Desk of François Loubet
ChatGPT, rewrite in the style of a friendly English gentleman, please.
Mr. Kenna,
The time has come, old bean. Everything is in place, I trust?
Please advise when Amy Wheeler is dead.
Warmest regards,
François Loubet
“Old bean”? Sometimes ChatGPT can be a bit much!
Rob Kenna is my murder-broker, very good, you’d like him. I don’t need him to tell me how Amy Wheeler is going to be killed; I simply trust that he is going to take care of it as a matter of urgency.
I almost feel sorry for her—she didn’t ask for any of this, did she? She’s simply the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Just another layer of security for naughty François Loubet!
13
Gary Gough is nodding. “Uh huh, uh huh?”
“Only it was a lot of money,” says Steve. “And the girl was terrified.”
“Not sure I’m getting you,” says Gary Gough.
“I just thought you might want to have a word with her,” says Steve. “Ask her to lay off?”
“Not really my business,” says Gary.
“Well, Lauren’s your daughter,” says Steve. “That’s sort of your business.”
“Kids,” says Gary. “They’ve got lives of their own. If she wants to make a bit of money on the side, fair play to her. You can’t watch them twenty-four hours a day. I’d rather she was beating up her classmates than on her bloody phone all day.”
Steve used to have to deal with the Gary Goughs of this world day in, day out. Look around the New Forest long enough and there are still a few of them about. The ones successful enough never to have been caught. Clever enough never to have been too flashy, smart enough to have got out at the right time. With their high hedges and their ride-on mowers, going mad with money and gin. Gary will still have a trick or two up his sleeve, but Steve has no interest anymore. When you arrest a Gary Gough, another Gary Gough pops up in his place, then another, then another, then another. A sea of Gary Goughs, just waiting their turn. Sometimes one Gary Gough will shoot another Gary Gough, then a third Gary Gough will seek revenge. It’s so bloody tiring, and so bloody boring.
But Steve can’t stand a bully, so he thought he should at least pay a visit.
“How much?” says this particular Gary Gough.
“How much what?” asks Steve.
“How much for you to go away? How much did Lauren nick off the girl?”
“Three hundred,” says Steve.
Gary laughs. “Christ, that’s what you’re here for, three hundred quid?” He opens his wallet and takes out a sheaf of fifties.
Steve waves the money away. “I gave her the three hundred; she doesn’t need your money.”
