Maggie had left for work and Penny was getting ready to take Hannah to nursery, having been instructed not to wake Jack.
Penny was preparing Hannah’s orange juice and packing a little ham sandwich and a biscuit for her mid-morning break. The smoke alarm suddenly went off and she ran to the toaster. She had forgotten that she had put a slice of bread in it earlier and hadn’t checked to see if it had got stuck, which it often did. The toast was now blackened, and smoke was billowing out into the kitchen. She opened the back door and swung it back and forth, then took a tea towel and wafted it around the smoke alarm. The alarm eventually stopped and she sighed with relief. Penny decided after she had dropped Hannah at school she would go and buy a new toaster. She listened for any movement upstairs, and was relieved that the alarm didn’t seem to have woken Jack.
Jack eventually woke feeling totally disorientated, then looked at the bedside clock. It was 10.30 a.m. and he was about to jump out of bed when he remembered that he was on a night shift at the station. He rarely, if ever, slept late and assumed it was down to the sleeping tablets Maggie had offered him, although he had no recollection of having taken them. He shaved and got dressed, then went down to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. He was concerned to find the back door wide open, so closed and locked it. He made himself some fresh coffee and scrambled eggs and was about to put a slice of toast into the toaster when he saw the blackened piece left inside.
It was almost 11.30 a.m. when he went up to his home office, feeling energised. As he had some time, he thought he would do a bit of work on the Ridley investigation. He googled the top accountancy firms and scrolled through the results until he found the one Sandra Raynor had put on her CV. It was a big firm with an annual turnover of over a billion pounds. Their London headquarters were Cannon Street, but they also had offices in Brussels, Madrid, Paris and New York, employing over a thousand staff.
Jack was about to put in a call to the London office, but then changed his mind. Instead, he removed his t-shirt and joggers, putting on a fresh shirt and tie, and his good suit.
*
If Jack had been impressed by the company website, he was even more impressed as he approached the building after parking his car. The towering glass office block rose up between two older, less impressive, buildings, dwarfing them. The vast reception doors had polished gold handles and opened automatically as he approached. The reception was almost the size of an airport check-in area, with marble floors and huge sculptures. Three women sat behind a long, glass-topped reception desk and a gleaming corridor lead to polished steel elevators.
‘Good morning,’ Jack said pleasantly.
The receptionist he spoke to looked Chinese, her gleaming hair brushed back from her face and caught in an elegant comb.
‘I’m here to meet Ms Debra Smith.’
‘Which company does she work for?’
‘I’m not exactly sure, but I do know she’s employed here. It’s rather an urgent matter. Do you want to see my ID?’
Jack put his briefcase down and took out his ID, flipping it open and closed very quickly.
‘Detective Mathews,’ he said.
Her face expressionless, she tapped on her keyboard with long pink varnished fingernails then reached for her phone.
‘Ms Smith is on the executive floor. Please wait one moment.’ She spoke into the handset.
‘I have a Detective Mathews here for Ms Smith. It seems to be an urgent matter.’
After listening for a moment, she replaced the handset.
‘If you go up to the sixth floor, someone will be waiting for you.’
Jack gave her a wide smile before walking towards the mirror-like elevators.
The elevator moved so fast that it made Jack gasp. He then stepped out into a vast carpeted corridor with floor-to-ceiling glass windows at one end. An office with double doors opened and a young man in an immaculate suit looked towards him.
‘Detective Mathews?’
Jack nodded as the young man eased one of the doors wider with an outstretched arm. Jack walked past him into another wide corridor and paused for him to overtake.
‘Ms Smith is taking a call but will be with you shortly. This way please.’
Jack was ushered into an enormous boardroom with a highly polished oak table with gilt legs that was twice the size of the station’s boardroom table. Placed around the table were expensive-looking chrome and leather chairs and in the centre of the table were leather pots of pencils, a pile of note pads, and a state-of-the-art conference call set.
Against one wall was a long cabinet with trays of white china mugs, silver flasks, and trays of biscuits, as well as a small glass-fronted fridge that was filled with milk, fruit juice and cans of soft drinks.
‘Please help yourself. Ms Smith will be with you directly.’
As the door was closed Jack pulled out a chair, laying his briefcase on the table and taking out a file. He leaned across and took a few pencils and a notebook. After five minutes he stood up and helped himself to a coffee and two biscuits. A further five minutes later, as he was finishing the coffee, the door opened.
Debra Smith looked to be in her mid-fifties. She wore a grey suit over a white blouse and her well-cut wavy hair was iron -grey. With very little makeup, she had a very steely presence.
‘Thank you for seeing me, Ms Smith. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.’
She moved closer and nodded.
‘You say you are a detective; can I see your credentials please?’
Jack smiled and took out his ID, holding it up for a moment. Debra Smith was about to take it from him when he quickly put it back into his pocket.
‘I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me with a sensitive situation.’
Smith frowned and sat down on the opposite side of the table.
‘I was advised to talk to you by Eva Shay, whom I believe you have recently spoken with.’
‘That is correct.’
‘She asked you a question regarding a woman called Sandra Raynor, about whether or not she was employed here.’
‘Yes, that’s correct. As I told Ms Shay, to my knowledge we have never employed anyone by that name. Coincidentally, my assistant also received a query regarding the same woman from an officer in the Essex police, I believe. I’ve been here for more than 30 years and Sandra Raynor wasn’t an employee during that time, so if you are here to ask me the same question, it is a waste of your time, as well as mine.’
Jack nodded affably. ‘I would like you to look at this photograph please.’
Jack opened his file and pulled out the photograph that Sandra Raynor had given to the dating agency. He pushed it across the table and Debra picked it up with her well-manicured fingernails. She took her time, examining it closely.
‘No, I have never seen or met this woman,’ she said eventually.
Jack asked her to look again.
‘How old would you say that woman is?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Have a guess. It’s rather important.’
Smith sighed, pursing her lips.
‘Perhaps in her late thirties or early forties, I couldn’t really say.’
‘What if I was to tell you she was in her sixties?’
For the first time Smith almost smiled, then shrugged her shoulders. Jack continued.
‘Extensive plastic surgery, possibly done in the US. She is almost five foot nine, quite athletic, or she was.’ He let the statement hang in the air for a moment.
‘Well, I have no idea who she is or was. I’m sorry I can’t help you.’
Jack smiled. ‘I think perhaps you can. I want you to think back, not just a few years but maybe 20 years or more. Think of anyone in that age category who perhaps was plainer looking then, but the same height, someone exceptionally clever whom you can recall working here, who maybe left under strange circumstances?’
‘I’m sorry but you are asking me the impossible. The company moved into this new location fifteen years ago and there have been hundreds of employees during the time I’ve been here.’
‘What if I was to say that there might be a link with Brighton? Perhaps going even further back?’
Jack waited as Smith held the photograph up and looked closely at it. She then leaned across the table and picked up a pencil. She started scribbling on the photograph, then looked up.
‘I’m sorry, is it alright if I do this?’
Jack nodded. ‘Yes, it’s only a copy.’
She made a few more pencil strokes, then chewed at the end of the pencil. She reached for a notebook, tearing a page out and placing it across the photograph. Jack pushed his chair back and walked around to sit beside her.
‘This is a bit of a long shot, but it could be her. I’ve not heard from her or seen her in decades – I’m going back to the late 70s, early 80s. Brighton rings a bell and I think her name could be Leonie or Lorna, but I really can’t be sure. She was tall and she was a very good tennis player. She was rather plain looking and had very bad teeth, but I’m afraid I can’t recall her surname.’
‘Would you be able to find her name in the company records?’
She shook her head. ‘No, not that far back. When we moved here a lot of the historical files were shredded. If it is the girl I’m thinking of, then she was very clever. I think she had a First from Oxford before she became an accountant, so that would mean that when she joined the company she would have been in her early twenties. She was a workaholic and not very sociable, a bit of a loner with not many friends. Hang on, I’ve just remembered; it wasn’t Leonie, it was Lorna, and her surname was Elliot.’
Jack was buzzing as Debra Smith went quiet.
‘Do you know if she has any family?’ Jack asked.
‘My goodness, it was all so long ago. She may have had a sister because I do remember that she often used to stay in Brighton, so perhaps it was with a sister. I really can’t be certain, but I just remember how clever she was; actually she was quite brilliant. She quickly started moving up the ladder and was then head-hunted by another firm. As far as I can recall nothing unpleasant occurred when she left us, but by that time she was in a position way above mine.’
Jack was surprised when Smith suddenly pushed back her chair.
‘There is someone here who might know more than me, and you’re in luck because although he’s semi-retired he happens to be here today. Can you wait for one minute?’
Jack nodded enthusiastically. After nearly fifteen minutes Debra Smith returned, opening the double doors wide to allow a wheelchair to enter. The occupier was an elderly gentleman who appeared to have some kind of throat problem as there was a microphone taped to his neck above his immaculate shirt and tie. A cashmere rug was folded over his knees and his shock of white hair and neat moustache made him look as if he had walked off a film set.
Smith introduced them. ‘Mr Quentin Henderson, this is Detective Mathews.’
She pushed his wheelchair towards the table as Jack eased back one of the leather chairs. She explained that Quentin Henderson was one of the original CEOs of the company, and had been there for as long as she had.
‘Thank you so much for your time, Mr Henderson,’ Jack began. ‘I’m investigating a woman who called herself Sandra Raynor, but may have been employed by this company under the name Lorna Elliot.’
Henderson remained expressionless as Smith pushed the photograph across the table.
‘It was many years ago,’ she said, ‘but with extensive plastic surgery, this could be the girl I remembered.’
Jack wished she would stop talking so Henderson could focus on the photograph. Suddenly he heard a distorted guttural voice.
‘Nothing-like-her.’ Each word had a gasp between it.
‘Do you remember a girl called Lorna Elliot?’ Jack asked.
‘One-that-got-away,’ the distorted voice gasped.
It was clearly a huge effort for him to talk, so Jack waited patiently for him to explain what he meant.
‘She-was-head-hunted-by-a-com-petitor,’ Quentin gasped. He adjusted the contraption around his neck. ‘But-did-not-remain-went-on-to-another-company-then-with-Anton-Lord.’ He was now really struggling to breathe.
‘Do you know who that is, Ms Smith?’ Jack asked.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t. Quentin, who is Anton Lord?’
‘Partner . . .’ he stuttered.
‘Ah, I see, so this Anton Lord was her partner; you mean business or personal?’
‘Both-they-opened-their-own-company-sale-of-leases. Lot-of-money. Russia.’
Jack had been making notes in one of the company logo notebooks. He was concerned that Quentin was quickly becoming exhausted.
Smith shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know anyone called Anton Lord, detective.’
With a trembling hand Quentin tried to pull a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the spittle from his lips. Smith quickly assisted, gently wiping his mouth.
‘No-good-crook!’ He spat out the words and waved his handkerchief to indicate that he wanted to leave.
As much as Jack would have liked to try and glean more information, he recognised that the old man was completely drained by the effort of talking. But at least he now had two names to work with. Smith turned the wheelchair round as Jack opened the double doors to help them leave. He was taken aback when the hoarse distorted voice box suddenly cackled: ‘Never-trust-an-ugly-woman!’
As the boardroom doors closed, Jack gathered up his papers. He had just closed his briefcase when Ms Smith returned.
‘Quentin is an amazing man with an incredibly retentive memory. I hope you found it useful talking to him.’
‘I did, Ms Smith, and I’ll forward the information onto the Essex team right away. Thank you so much for your time. And please pass my thanks on to Mr Henderson, especially as he’s clearly not in good health.’
‘He’s ninety-three but still likes to come in once in a while. He’s actually the reason I’m still here and not retired.’
Jack nodded. ‘Just one more thing, Ms Smith, what do you think he meant by that last comment – “never trust an ugly woman”?’
She considered for a moment. ‘I would imagine that’s connected to his first comment about “the one that got away”. He would have been grooming her for a senior role in the company, but she left to join a competitor. As I said, she was a rather unattractive woman, with buck teeth. That she could have transformed herself into the very glamorous woman in the photograph is amazing, but these days who knows what the surgeons can do. I hope we have been helpful to you, detective.’
Jack shook her hand and thanked her again as Smith ushered him into the corridor. She waited with him for the elevator doors to open and Jack descended to the ground floor.
He got back home at 1 p.m., running up the stairs two at a time to get into his home office. He opened his old laptop and began transcribing the conversations with Ms Smith and her old boss, Quentin Henderson. He then accessed the Holmes database and put in the names Anton Lord and Lorna Elliot. Although it was illegal for him to have this database at home, he knew that many officers did the same. As with so many things, Jack mused, you just had to be careful not to get caught.