TEST WATCHED THE entrance to Jon Merryfield’s office building from her Peugeot parked down the street.
Merryfield had offered a reasonable answer for everything. And every answer he’d told her was possible. Even likely, in normal circumstances. But these were not normal circumstances.
He might have left the bathroom because he needed fresh air. He might have come back inside sweating and looking upset because he’d gotten sick out back. There was CCTV on the back door, but it only showed him coming out of the door and going back inside. Whatever he’d done had been off camera.
Perhaps he did have a client to see tonight. She had not asked who the client was because she knew he’d claim client confidentiality, and the only clients it could be, if true, were Gregory and Scott. He was meeting someone, she was convinced. But not a client. The look he had when he’d last eyed his watch was one of panic that did not come with running late. She wasn’t buying the story of why Victor Jenkins visited him either. And then there was her mention of Randy Clark. Upon hearing the name, Jon Merryfield had been unable to stop his jaw from dropping, however briefly, as a look of horror passed over his face like a dark shadow.
Test would wait. When Merryfield came out, she’d follow. If he visited someone other than his Gregory Sergeant or Scott Goodale, she’d take him in for questioning. North would go nuclear on her. Until he saw the CCTV footage. Particularly the part she had not shown Merryfield. He was linked to the murder of Jessica Cumber, somehow. He’d either killed her or was an accomplice, or . . . What? Damn it. What could his motive possibly be? There was none, unless he’d had an affair with the girl. But neither his nor Jessica’s phone or e-mail or other computer records showed communication between the two. Still, Test knew: If she found the motive, she’d have Jon Merryfield.
She looked up. Merryfield was slipping out of his office building and sneaking across the street to his Land Rover. He started the vehicle and drove off quickly.
Test turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. In her earlier hurry to chase after Victor when she’d spied him coming out, she’d left the lights on.
The battery was dead.