by J. L. Butler
‘And the domestic violence allegations?’ He said that more nervously.
‘I think that was Donna’s sister.’
‘Jemma?’ he said, raising his voice. ‘But she barely speaks to Donna. They’re not even remotely close.’
‘According to Inspector Doyle, she’s helping police with the investigation.’
Martin stood up and walked over to the window.
‘When did it start? Did she tell them? When exactly did my business partner start fucking my wife?’
‘Yes, I’d like to know the answer to that question myself.’
I spun round, heart jumping at the sound of a voice behind me.
‘Sophie,’ I breathed. ‘I didn’t realize you were there.’
‘No,’ she replied tersely. ‘Apparently not.’
She was wearing sports kit, with a gym bag slung over her shoulder. I’m sure that any other day she would have looked like a poster girl for clean living, but now her face looked ashen. The awkwardness shimmered around the room. Martin stood up by the arm of the sofa like a teenager caught taking a fiver out of his mother’s purse.
‘I thought you were playing tennis.’
‘It was called off. Thought I should come back and see you, but clearly I was mistaken.’
There was a faint tremor in her voice and it was hard not to feel sympathy.
‘How much of that did you hear?’ I said slowly.
‘Enough.’
‘I’m sorry if you didn’t know.’
‘I knew,’ she said, standing up straighter, as if she were trying to recover her dignity. ‘I knew what Alex had been accused of, anyway. As you can imagine, it was something the police brought up when they spoke to me – total fiction, of course.’
Interviewing Sophie wasn’t something Inspector Doyle had mentioned in the quid pro quo, but then I supposed that made sense, given that Sophie had apparently given Alex his alibi.
‘Not total fiction, Sophie,’ I said gently. The door was open and I knew I had to use this opportunity to get as much information out of her as possible. The law made you a predator like that. Spot the fault line and pounce.
‘One of my investigation team found out about Alex and Donna when we were evaluating the Joys’ financial settlement. I thought Martin deserved to know.’
‘Is that what qualifies as family law now?’ she demanded, eyes blazing, all the warmth of our previous meetings gone. I could hardly blame her for that.
She turned and looked back at Martin.
‘Alex denies it,’ she said with absolute conviction. ‘It’s up to you who to believe.’
I looked at her with a moment’s admiration. She was protecting her man, as I had made it my mission to look after Martin.
‘But I’m sorry we didn’t tell you we’d both spoken to the police,’ Sophie told Martin in a more measured voice. ‘We weren’t trying to deceive you or be dishonest. It’s just that we came to the decision we wouldn’t make this situation any more difficult than it needed to be.’
Martin rounded on her. ‘Difficult? This isn’t some bloody dinner party faux pas, Sophie. The police – the police – have said Alex had a relationship with Donna. If anything has happened to her, that gives him motive.’
‘Bullshit!’ she snapped back. ‘Alex said they’ve only ever been friends. And it’s not as if you’re a paragon of virtue, is it?’
I didn’t know what she meant by that. At that precise moment, I didn’t want to know.
‘Insulting each other isn’t helping. Maybe we just need to tell each other what we know about Donna in the week running up to her disappearance. Like how long were you at dinner with Alex on that Monday night?’
‘You’ve got a nerve,’ said Sophie, shaking her head. ‘You come into my home, accusing my husband of having an affair with one of my best friends, and then you insinuate that he might have had a window in his diary to slip away and kill her.’
I thought I saw a tear glisten in the corner of her eye, but I couldn’t be sure.
‘I know this is difficult, but we just want to find out what has happened to Donna.’
‘It’s not Donna you care about,’ she said, flashing a look between me and Martin.
She had a point, but I wasn’t going to stop now.
‘Please, Sophie. Just answer the question. Donna was your friend.’
She put down her bag and sank on to the arm of the sofa. She filled her lungs then let it all out, her shoulders sagging.
‘OK,’ she said and didn’t speak for another few seconds.
‘I met Alex after work,’ said Sophie. ‘Monday is generally our date night. We went for dinner at Locatelli’s, came home about elevenish and watched some television.’
‘What time did you go to bed?’
‘Around midnight. And before you start wondering if Alex somehow slipped out of the house when I fell asleep, I was awake because I left the bedroom to phone my mother. She lives in Chicago, with my step-father. It was her birthday. I hadn’t called her and didn’t want to miss out speaking to her on the big day. It must have been one thirty by the time I finally got back to bed. Alex was fast asleep when I got there.’
She paused and pressed her lips together. ‘As for anything else, any affair: I’ve never noticed anything strange about the way Donna and Alex have behaved. She’s a beautiful woman, obviously, and I’d be a liar if I said I’ve never been a little bit nervous when she’s around. Those summer weeks we’ve spent in Ibiza, Umbria, afternoons by the pool? Not many wives would feel completely secure lying next to Donna with her little bikinis and her perfect body. But you choose to trust your friends and to trust your husband. There’s no alternative, is there?’ she said in a cool, composed voice.
She looked at Martin.
‘Speaking of which, you should talk to Alex, ASAP, clear things up. We don’t want things to be uncomfortable here or at work, do we?’
Martin shook his head, looking down at the floor.
‘I should probably go back to my flat,’ he said.
Sophie’s response was immediate. ‘Don’t be so childish,’ she said, reverting to her crisp efficiency. ‘You said yourself the place is swarming with reporters. All right, so you’ve got to deal with an awkward conversation with Alex, but right now staying here suits all of us.’
I looked at Sophie, not knowing whether to pity or admire her. She was either in complete denial – which I had to doubt, given the woman’s almost pathological pragmatism – or she was being magnificently loyal to both of them: Alex, the man who’d almost certainly cheated on her, and Martin, the man who might well have murdered her friend. I watched as she stood, straightening her skirt and raising her chin defiantly. ‘Now I think we’d all benefit from a decent cup of tea, don’t you?’
Chapter 33
I left the Coles’ house before I was asked to leave. Besides, I couldn’t hang around. Vivienne McKenzie had emailed me first thing and requested a meeting at chambers and although I was dreading speaking to her, I knew I had no option but to return to work.
My plan was to slip into Burgess Court, undetected, during lunch. It was a Friday, when most of chambers scattered to local pubs. I figured I could sweep my office, catch up with Paul, speak to Vivienne and be gone before most of my colleagues got back at 3 p.m. The last thing I wanted to do was bat off pitying questions about my meltdown in court, when I had more important things to do.
I was on the bus, gunning towards Piccadilly, when my phone rang.
‘Francine?’
I didn’t recognize the voice immediately and Alex Cole had to formally introduce himself.
‘We need to talk.’
I was no real surprise that he’d called me, although my heart was racing hard. He was calm, but insistent that we should meet. I was annoyed that it interfered with my plan to swoop in and out of chambers, but when he said he could get there within the hour, I reckoned I would still make my two forty-five with Vivienne and leave Middle Temple before the pub cr
owd returned.
Our designated meeting spot, Riojas, was a wine bar on a Theatreland back street. It looked like a cross between a gentleman’s club and an East End boozer: dark wood-panelled interior walls, rickety captain’s chairs and marked tables that looked as if they hadn’t been replaced since the Krays stalked the streets of Soho.
Alex was already there in a corner table. There was a bottle of red wine in front of him, and a half-full glass of red. I approached him with the sinking feeling I used to get whenever I was sent to see the head teacher for a dressing down.
‘Hello, Alex,’ I said, sitting down.
He picked up the bottle to offer me some, but I shook my head.
‘Don’t you drink now?’
He looked at me as if this was both an accusation and a criticism.
‘I’m sure it’s good but I’m on my way to chambers.’
His lips were stained cherry red, but he didn’t look at all relaxed, quite the opposite.
‘Sophie said that you’d been round to the house today,’ he said finally.
I thought about Mrs Cole’s grown-up speech about all pulling in the same direction, but I knew I had been right: her loyalties were to Alex and I couldn’t fault her for that, even though I’m not sure I’d have felt the same way.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I nodded. ‘I had some information to give Martin. I assume you know what that was.’
‘The same information you gave to the police,’ he said tartly.
He downed the rest of his wine, lifting the bottle to pour a refill before he’d even swallowed.
‘I could have told the police things too, Fran. About your relationship with Martin. But we didn’t.’
‘We?’ I asked, raising a brow.
‘Sophie talked me down.’
‘I don’t suppose that was done entirely altruistically.’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ he said simply. ‘We did it for the business.’
A waitress came to take my order, looking uncomfortable, as if she had intruded on a lovers’ tiff. I asked for a glass of water and she hurried off to the bar, glancing back until she thought it was safe to return.
‘The Gassler Partnership has over a billion pounds under management, were you aware of that?’ said Alex, slurring his words slightly. ‘Our investors are names you’ve probably heard of. We have an algorithmic trading method that is the envy of the trade. But above everything else, we have our reputation,’ he said, his hand balling into a fist on the table.
‘Our reputation as investment managers is tied to the return our investors think we can give back to them. Without that, we’re nothing. So what do you think happens when you’ve got one partner arrested in connection with his wife’s disappearance, and another one hauled in to the police station because someone said he was screwing his partner’s wife? We’re ruined.’
Angry spittle had beaded on his lip and as he wiped it away he tried to compose himself. For a moment I saw the dark side of the alpha male.
‘Do you think it’s come to that?’ I asked calmly. I’d acted for a lot of bankers but I didn’t know that much about the financial sector and the fine details of how it worked.
‘We have at least two private equity groups interested in acquiring a minority stake,’ said Alex, lowering his voice but pointing a finger for emphasis. ‘They’re still circling. But one investor has already hinted they might pull out their money if there’s any more “embarrassment”’ – he used hooked fingers to book-end the word – ‘and it won’t take much to bring the whole house of cards tumbling down. We have to keep everything locked down, Fran. Everything.’
He sat forward, peering at me.
‘Do nothing without speaking to me or Martin, so we can run it past our crisis-management team. I mean it.’
I shrugged, then nodded, pondering his choice of words. House of cards.
‘In which case, can I ask you a question?’
He shrugged, his narrow eyes almost disappearing into thin black slits.
‘Did you have an affair with Donna?’
‘No,’ he said finally.
‘You’re not speaking to your wife now. Or the police.’
He puffed out his cheeks, glanced down at the pink-stained tablecloth and then back at me.
‘Look, something happened. Once. A drunken kiss, maybe a year ago. It was at a friend’s summer party in the country. I’d had some coke, so had she. It was a warm night, lots of those lanterns hanging everywhere to make it look romantic.’
He said the word with disdain and looked into the distance as if he was thinking about that night with equal contempt.
‘We didn’t sleep together,’ he said, looking back at me. ‘Frankly, there wasn’t time. And there was no relationship once we got back to London. I’m not stupid. Donna is my business partner’s wife. And I am also married. Divorce and the dissolution of my business doesn’t feel like a good trade for a quick fling. Besides, I love my wife and I love Martin like a brother.’
I let that statement slide.
‘So where is Donna?’ I asked. ‘What do you think happened that night?’
I’d had this conversation with myself over and over. I’d talked about it with Clare and Phil, but none of us knew Martin as well as Alex Cole did.
He looked less self-assured now, as if the wine had drained his confidence rather than bolstered it.
‘Martin is a brilliant man,’ he said, staring at the stem of his glass. ‘I knew that the first day I met him at uni. In our group, he just stood out. He had more confidence than the Old Etonians, he was smarter than the postgrad brains. We got taken on by the same bank as part of their trainee scheme. At first I cursed my luck that I was in his intake, that I could never shine when he was among us, but then I decided to ride on his coat-tails.’
He swilled the remains of his wine around the bottom of his glass.
‘Martin wanted it more than any of us,’ said Alex, his voice quiet. ‘That’s what always gave him the edge. He was always prepared to work harder than everyone else, go that little bit further.’
‘What are you saying, Alex?’
‘What I’m saying is that I don’t want to think about what happened that night.’
‘You believe he could have hurt Donna?’
He snorted softly.
‘Speak to some of our business associates. If you told them Donna was after half of his money, they wouldn’t be surprised that she has disappeared.’
‘What business associates?’
Alex had almost polished off the entire bottle of red wine. He glanced anxiously towards the bar like a junkie after his next hit.
I looked at him, urging him to focus.
‘Hedge Funds bet on the market,’ he conceded. ‘Our fund invests in different ways: bonds, stock, currencies, gold . . . We buy, we sell, we short. Algorithms help – spotting anomalies in the market. But really we’re only as good as our information.’
He hesitated.
‘Two years ago we were given a tip. Martin had a friend. Richard Chernin. He promised Martin a tip about a billion-dollar merger in exchange for a loan. Martin gave him the money, but the tip didn’t come. He must have got cold feet about breaching FSA regulations. But he kept Martin’s money.’
He paused for dramatic effect, sinking the last of the wine. I bit my lip and waited.
‘Chernin claimed he was being intimidated and threatened to go to the police. A few days later he was the victim of a hit-and-run. He ended up with two broken legs.’
‘You’re saying Martin was involved?’
Alex continued as if I hadn’t spoken: ‘Chernin arranged to meet me, in confidence. He was convinced it was Martin who had organized the accident hit, said he’d threatened to kill him if he didn’t return the money. With interest.’
I looked at him and found him worryingly convincing.
‘If you really believe that about Martin, then why are you letting him stay at your house?’
‘What was I suppo
sed to say? No? Besides, we don’t know that anything has happened to Donna. She might be fine,’ he said, in a tone that suggested he didn’t believe it.
‘I’m just telling you this because you’re his lawyer and I want you to know the full facts. Forewarned is forearmed and all that. If you know what negative information is out there on Martin, you know how you can firefight it. I’d appreciate it if you did me the same favour. If you hear that Martin is going to be charged. I need to know.’
He pulled out his wallet, took out two twenty-pound notes and put them on the table to pay for his wine.
‘Love hurts,’ he said as he stood up and touched my shoulder. ‘Good to see you, Fran.’ And he walked out of the bar.
Chapter 34
Fleet Street was busy as I headed towards Middle Temple. People were already leaving work and I could easily spot the lawyers in their staid suits, pilot cases stuffed with case files for the weekend; their working day not yet over, just changing location from office to home. That was my life once, not so long ago. The thought had been casual, but it struck me so hard that I stopped mid-stride, almost colliding with the red-faced businessman coming up behind me.
I mumbled my apology and carried on walking, getting more and more nervous as I approached Burgess Court. Vivienne MacKenzie had asked me to come in to ‘discuss the ongoing situation’. At least she saw me as ‘ongoing’ which was better than ‘erased from all records’, but still, I wasn’t looking forward to our meeting.
It struck me that, however politely Vivienne had framed her email, there was a very real chance of me being asked to leave chambers. It would then be only a matter of time before word got around that I had been kicked out and once that happened, it would be almost impossible to find another set to take me on. Everything I had worked for over the years, every rung of the ladder I had dragged myself up, every mind-numbing Hansard volume I’d crammed would all be a complete and utter waste. I had thrown everything – everything – away for a fling with a man I barely knew.
I put one foot in front of the other, tried to ignore the grey sky and the rain in the air, tried not to see them as omens until I got to Burgess Court. The first person I saw as I entered the building was Helen, our receptionist. At least she was a friendly face.