Shadow of Doubt

by S L Beaumont

  Will nodded. “I know.”

  I looked up at him. His brow was furrowed and he looked as distraught as I felt.

  “Who would do such a thing? In the heart of London?” I asked.

  Jimmy and Dave returned from helping the two young women to an ambulance that had just arrived. Dave handed me back my raincoat.

  “Will, this is Jimmy and Dave, two of your new colleagues,” I said.

  “G’day, mate,” Jimmy said as he hurried past us and back towards the remains of the pub. “Can you give us a hand with this guy?” he called over his shoulder.

  “Sure,” Will replied, following him and taking the other side of a solidly built injured man who had staggered from the pub. Between them, Jimmy and Will helped him across the road to the square where more ambulances and paramedics were beginning to arrive.

  The smell of smoke and rotten wood intermingled with something sweet and sickly hit me as I helped an older woman away from the debris to relative safety. I wrinkled my nose and looked skywards; sunset was upon us. I noticed a police van arrive and several officers begin setting up spotlights on tripods pointed at what remained of the pub.

  We were busy for the next twenty minutes, helping the walking wounded from the ruins across the road to the square to be triaged and assisting the small handful of police officers to set up barriers until more of their colleagues arrived. At one point I found myself moving odd shoes, bags, documents and other personal objects thrown by the blast into the street, to an area at the edge of the square. The bomb squad arrived and we were all moved back from the site. We were beginning to feel surplus to requirements when a police officer approached us.

  “Anyone else is going to need either a stretcher or a body bag,” he said with a grim expression. “Thanks for your assistance, but I’ll need you back behind the barrier now. Leave your details with the officer over there as we’ll need statements from you all.”

  We nodded and walked across to the officer holding a tablet, at the edge of police cordon, and gave our names and contact details. I looked down at my white shirt; it had a blood stain on the sleeve and black marks across the front. I went to pull my raincoat on but noticed that it had drops of blood across the shoulders. I shuddered. I looked at my hands, they were blackened too. I hiccupped, the beginnings of a sob.

  “Come on,” Jimmy said, taking my arm. “Let’s head back to The Tower, I need a stiff drink after that. Will, mate, join us?”

  ***

  As we ducked under the hastily erected police cordon, a block back from the scene we noticed Aditi Sharma, the petite dark-haired BBC reporter, standing alongside the crews of a several other television networks, awaiting the signal from her cameraman as he counted her in. We paused to listen.

  “I’m reporting live from the scene of a devastating terrorist attack in the heart of London tonight.” Aditi paused and looked behind her at the remains of the pub, a smoldering pile of brick and plaster, dotted with a number of white sheets, covering the bodies of the dead. “Eye witnesses tell me that a car bomb exploded outside the Kings Arms Hotel on Cheapside at 8.05 pm tonight. No one has yet claimed responsibility for the attack at one of the City’s popular after work venues. There is currently no official death toll, but I understand that there are already eighteen confirmed dead and many more injured.”

  Aditi pressed her right hand to the earpiece in her ear as the news anchor in the studio asked her a question. A moment later she nodded.

  “Another incidence of home grown terror? We’re hearing those rumors here too. This is the third attack since the outcome of the Brexit referendum, but as yet there’s been no official comment. Witnesses describe the two men who parked the van containing the bomb and walked away ten minutes before the explosion, as white and in their twenties. We understand that police teams are pulling the street CCTV footage as we speak.”

  She paused, listening before continuing. “At this point no one has claimed responsibility, so we have no idea as to the motive behind the attack, but there is some speculation that this incident may be related to the recent Trafalgar Square and Windsor bombings. However, it does seem that this was a much larger device, so authorities will be desperately hoping that this isn’t an escalation of violence.”

  Chapter 2

  September 18

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention as I joined the crowds of office workers riding to the top of the escalator and striding across the shabby tiled ticket hall, and passed the armed police officers to exit the London Underground station. I glanced around me trying to shake the uneasy feeling I’d had since leaving the flat. Out on the street, a procession of black cabs, red double-decker buses and ubiquitous white vans streamed by as I waited for the lights to change. The sky was a slate grey dome, foretelling the winter that was just around the corner. I shivered and looked sideways at the people around me also waiting to cross the road. All suited and booted ready for another day at a desk, many scrolling through messages on their phones, others chatting with a colleague that they’d caught up with on the journey from home.

  Still, the feeling of being surveilled wouldn’t leave me and my gaze drifted across the road to where a high-visibility-vested workman wearing a white hard hat lazed against the window sill of a pub eating his breakfast from a paper bag. A straggly blond ponytail extended from beneath his hat and despite his nonchalant stance, there was something watchful and alert about him. The green walking man sign illuminated and I crossed the intersection still studying the workman. As I got closer I did a double take. I could have sworn he’d been at Sloane Square when I got on the tube twenty minutes earlier. The man caught my gaze for a brief instant and screwing up the paper bag, tossed it in a nearby bin before turning and hurrying away, pulling his phone from his pocket as he disappeared around the corner. I gave my head a shake; no one was following me. I was being stupid. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt such paranoia and each time I put it down to a weird reaction to what I’d seen at Cheapside. I should probably have talked to someone to get my head straight, but Colin’s reaction to anyone having any sort of therapy was derision, so I hadn’t.

  I joined Dave in the queue for coffee at the bank’s lobby café. The café, situated in one corner of the wide marble foyer, consisted of a single counter topped by a large shiny stainless steel espresso machine and a cabinet filled with an assortment of pastries. Clusters of small round white tables and chairs were scattered in a loose circle around the counter, with several two-seater sofas along the wall.

  “Jess, are you okay, mate?” Dave asked in his Australian drawl, turning and peering at me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.” His dark suit was a little crumpled and his hair looked as though it hadn’t seen a comb that morning. His shoes were scuffed, and he had several days’ growth covering his jaw. I marveled at his blatant unprofessionalism.

  I gave a weak smile. “Nothing a coffee won’t fix.”

  “Tell me about it,” he said, grabbing his takeout cup from the counter and giving the barista a nod of thanks. “You’re not alone; even though it’s been a couple of months a lot of people are still a bit jumpy after Cheapside.”

  “I know,” I replied. “Although the much larger police presence is supposed to make us feel safer, right?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Morning, Jess. Hey, Dave.”

  I turned as Will joined us. By contrast, his hair was still a little damp, but combed and styled; his shirt and suit were crease-free and his shoes shone. I glanced at Dave, but he seemed oblivious to the difference. Just as well he was so good at his job. He nodded to Will and wandered off towards the bank of elevators.

  “How have you settled in, Will?” I asked handing a few coins to the barista, who knew my order by heart.

  “Good. Jimmy has taken me under his wing,” he replied.

  “I’m sure he has. Just watch your liver, he’s a dangerous person to know,” I joked.

  Will smiled. “How are
things on the Euro team?”

  “Just the usual. It’s on a different scale to what you’ll be seeing on the US dollar book. You have the volume but we often have a little more complexity.”

  “Can you show me sometime?” he asked, flashing a devastating smile at me. I wondered if he realized how much he used it to get what he wanted. Part of me wanted to say no, just to see his reaction, but being churlish wasn’t really in my nature. Besides, Will had been nothing but friendly since he’d arrived, often stopping by my desk for a quick chat each morning. It wasn’t his fault that he was naturally charming, I needed to give him a break.

  “Sure, I’d be happy to,” I replied.

  “Great. Tell you what. I’m sure I’ll be volunteered to do the coffee run mid-morning, I’ll get you one to say thanks in advance,” he said. “Skinny cappuccino, right?”

  We travelled in the lift up to our floor together. I dumped my bag beside my desk and followed Will into the large meeting room at one side of the floor for our weekly team meeting.

  Most people were already seated around the enormous wooden board table and I slid into a spare chair beside my friend Marie.

  “You’re late,” she said, rolling her straight dark hair into an elegant topknot.

  “I couldn’t face this without coffee,” I said wiggling my cup.

  She grinned at me as Andrew strode into the room, closing the door behind him and lowered his large frame into his usual seat at the head of the table.

  “Just a couple of things this week, people,” he began. “Internal audit have given me their timetable.”

  There was a collective groan, but Andrew held up his hand. “Necessary evil, folks. And we have two of the middle office team visiting from New York later in the week, I trust you’ll make them welcome.”

  “That sounds like you just offered to put your card behind the bar at The Tower,” Jimmy said as everyone laughed.

  “One final item, the analytics whizz-kids have come up with a new derivative product that’s ready be tested. They need two people to run the testing, check that the systems, settlements etc. can handle it, make sure that it’s priced accurately and incorporated into the bank’s trading strategies correctly,” Andrew said. “And following that, you’ll be required to educate the front office traders.”

  Several side conversations broke out. A new financial product was always a source of excitement in any investment bank. It was a cut-throat industry and any competitive advantage was useful. In-house, being a new product expert was a good thing, as your expertise and advice was often sought, making you a more valuable commodity and less likely to fall victim to the restructuring cuts that regularly sliced through the banks.

  “Are you looking for volunteers?” Ramesh, one of my team, asked.

  “That’s good of you,” Andrew replied eyeballing him. Ramesh shrank back in his chair under the scrutiny. “I will need you to step up and cover Jess. She’s going to lead the testing.”

  There were several murmurs, both supportive and disgruntled, around the table.

  I was delighted, as I had begun to feel the need for a new challenge. However, my delight was short-lived.

  “Mmm… who to work with you?” Andrew mused, although I could tell he was teasing me, and had already decided. I just couldn’t quite see what the joke was. “I think Will could learn a thing or two from you.”

  “Great, thanks, boss.” Across the table from me, Will was enthusiastic.

  Jimmy caught my eye and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, while beside him Dave winked at me. I scowled at them. What was going on here?

  “Okay, back to work, you lot. Jess and Will stay behind.” Andrew dismissed the team.

  Passing behind me, my colleague Rachel, leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Ooh, a couple of weeks alone in a room with Will, lucky you.”

  I blushed and busied myself sorting through my papers, while Will sat there with a satisfied smile.

  Andrew ran through the testing plan and the timetable. We were to spend half of each day on the project for the next month, as well as covering the bare bones of our existing roles. As we gathered up the notes and left the meeting room, I took Andrew to one side.

  “Why Will? I could have done with someone a little more experienced,” I asked.

  “Jess, he has a Maths degree, he will be able to test the analytics in his sleep. And besides, I thought it might be a good team bonding exercise for you. I do recall that you had reservations about him. This way, you can get to know him a little better and put them to rest.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I muttered heading back to my desk to plan my work handover for the next month.

  ***

  “What the hell was that all about this morning?” I said to Jimmy as we walked out of the building and into the cool night air at the end of the day.

  He grinned. “Ah come on, just teasing you, Jess. Everyone knows Will is sweet on you.” This was news to me and my face must have showed it because he continued. “Buying you coffee, stopping by your desk to chat during the day and he’s always asking about you.”

  “Oh, Jimmy, people could say the same about us,” I retorted, and mimicking his Kiwi accent I added. “Always buying me a gin and tonic, making sure I get into a cab safely at night…”

  Jimmy patted my arm. “Not the same, Jess, and you know it.”

  Chapter 3

  October 25

  My phone chimed with several missed messages as I stepped out of the tube station and onto the crowded footpath for the short walk to the office. After a month of long days, the new product had been launched and all systems were operational. I’d had a well-earned night out with Rachel and Marie, and I’d overslept. My head was a little dusty and I was chugging down the first of what I suspected would be several strong coffees. Sighing, wishing that I was still tucked up in bed, I waited for the light to change so that I could cross. I pulled my phone from my bag and glanced at the screen. Will had been calling while I was underground. I listened to the first of his messages.

  ‘Where are you? JP is looking for you!’

  Shit. Jean-Pierre Roux was the very French, very arrogant and very powerful Head of Trading at the bank. He scared most people silly. Being summoned to his office to explain something was never good. But to have him come looking for you was disastrous.

  I called Will back.

  “Where the hell are you?” he answered.

  “Late. What the heck does he want?”

  “Dunno, Jess, but you better get here soon. I have stalled him, but I don’t know for how long.”

  “Shit, I’m nearly there.”

  I entered the lobby of the building at speed and ran across the marble floor towards the bank of lifts at the rear of the vast atrium, waving my access pass at the security guard who held an entry gate open for me when he saw my haste. I acknowledged him with a grim smile.

  “Come on, come on,” I urged the elevators, punching the lift call button several times with my finger, but the metal doors remained resolutely closed and I watched in frustration as the lights above each set of doors illuminated showing the elevators to be climbing, rather than returning to the lobby. My phone rang.

  “He just called again. I told him you were on your way to his office now. I’ll meet you at the lifts on his floor,” Will said.

  “Thank you,” I breathed, hanging up. Just as I was contemplating heading for the stairwell behind the lifts, one arrived.

  I took a few steading breaths on the ride up to the eighteenth floor and shucked my raincoat ready to hand over to Will.

  The lift doors opened and he was waiting for me with an anxious smile. I handed him my coat and bag.

  “What does he want? It’s not the new product, is it? It should be working fine, we’ve tested everything over the last month,” I said.

  Will shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

  “How do I look?” I asked running my hands over my hips. Typical, just the day I hadn’t worn a business suit. The
ruby red and black wrap dress looked fabulous with my knee-high black boots and ribbed tights, but it felt a little frivolous and with too much cleavage on display to wear into the Head of Trading’s office.

  “Great,” he muttered. “Now, off you go. I’ll wait here.” He gave me a little push towards the trading floor.

  I took a deep breath and tapped the intercom next to the doors.

  “Yes,” a disembodied voice asked.

  “Jessica McDonald to see JP,” I said hearing my voice sound a little high-pitched. I cleared my throat.

  The automatic door leading onto the noisy open plan trading floor swished open as my access was granted. I stepped into a cavernous space filled with row upon row of desks and computers. Some of the traders were sitting in front of their screens and others were standing, either talking on their phones or shouting across the rows at one another. The noise was quite unbelievable. It reminded me of the volume of a school playground at interval but trebled.

  Set on a mezzanine level at the far side of the floor were three glass-fronted offices, belonging to the Head of Investment Banking, the Head of Asset Management and the Head of Trading. I took a deep breath and started walking down the wide corridor separating the rows of desks. On a quiet day, this was known as the catwalk and it took a brave person to walk it, but as luck would have it, it wasn’t a quiet day, so no one gave me a second glance. However, JP stood at the window of his office watching me walk down, tapping his fingers on the window ledge.

  I will not run. I will not run. I chanted to myself. I refused to let him see that he intimidated me, especially if I was about to be fired.

  After what seemed like the final walk of a death row inmate, I was at the steps leading up to the mezzanine. My heart was beating so hard in my chest, it felt as if it would hammer right out. I took a deep breath and climbed the stairs, knocking on JP’s open door when I reached the landing at the top.