Booked for Murder (27 page)

“I don't believe you just did that,” Lindsay said, outraged, the moment Sophie walked back into the room. “I do not believe you just did that.”

“One day is not going to make a blind bit of difference. If the cops were going to charge Meredith, they'd have done it by now,” Sophie said mildly, holding out the fresh coffee. “Believe me, you'll feel so much better for it tomorrow, the day won't have been wasted.”

“Huh,” Lindsay snorted, grudgingly taking the mug. “So what am I supposed to do? Play I-Spy with you?”

“Relax. Read a book. Have a bath. Watch some TV.”

“Boring.” Sulky as a teenager, Lindsay glowered at Sophie.

“Okay. So tell me about the investigation, all the things you didn't go into over the phone. Two heads are supposed to be better than one.”

“I thought I was supposed to be having a day off?” Lindsay grumbled. Sophie just stared her down. Eventually, Lindsay relented. “All right, sit down and I'll tell you all about it.”

She'd got as far as Lauren's tale of being bribed by Penny to get into Monarch's offices when the phone rang. Sophie rolled off the bed and raced out of the room, calling, “It's probably Helen. She said she'd check in to see how you were.”

At first, Lindsay could hear only a distant mumble from Sophie, then her voice grew clearer as she mounted the stairs, still talking into the cordless phone. “. . . quite a battering, so she's not in a fit state to do much . . . Yes, I appreciate that, and I know she'll want to know what's happened . . .” Sophie walked into the bedroom and held the phone out. “It's Meredith's solicitor. The police have taken her in for further questioning.”

Lindsay grabbed the phone. “Hello? Ms. Cusack?”

“Ms. Gordon. I'm sorry to hear about your injuries. No permanent damage, I trust?” Geri Cusack asked, her creamy voice as rich as a pint of Guinness on a winter night.

“I suspect I'll have to forget the modelling career,” Lindsay said drily. “But never mind me. What's this about Meredith?”

“The police hung on to her this morning when she reported in under the terms of her bail. I've just had them on the phone. I'm on my way there now.” That explained the background noises on the line. She was talking on a car phone, Lindsay realized.

“Why have they pulled her in?” she asked.

“According to the custody sergeant, they've got a new witness. Danny King, the boss of Monarch Press?”

“A witness to what?” Lindsay demanded.

“It's something and nothing. He's given a statement saying he saw Meredith hanging around outside their premises the last time Penny
was visiting. I'm sure it's nothing, but they're clutching at straws. Is there anything you've come up with I should know about?”

“As of now, I've got zilch,” Lindsay said, her bitter tone revealing exactly who she blamed for that. “But hang on a minute,” she added, puzzled. “How come it's taken till now for King to come forward with this statement?”

“I don't know. I agree it's odd.” The line started crackling, the static like emery board on fingernails. “I'll tell you what,” she shouted. “I'll call you back after I've spoken with Meredith.”

“Thanks,” Lindsay said. But the line was already dead, their conversation abruptly terminated. She looked up at Sophie and gave a lopsided smile. “What was that you said about one day not making any difference?”

“I have this funny feeling we're going to have to forget about the day off,” Sophie sighed. “I'll get the laptop.”

 

“Can't we print this stuff out?” Sophie complained after an hour of looking over Lindsay's shoulder at the laptop's tiny screen.

“I haven't got a lead that connects into Helen's printer,” Lindsay explained.

“So let's just stick the floppy into Helen's PC and print from that.”

Lindsay guffawed derisively. “Helen's PC came out of the ark. She hasn't upgraded since before you two split up.”

Sophie groaned. “Wrong size of floppy disk?”

“Got it in one. We're stuck with the migraine master here.”

With a sigh that made the mattress quiver, Sophie read on. “It's very different from the first draft.”

“Mmm. It's better, too. More hard-edged, more economical with the language. I just can't get over how good it is,” Lindsay said without taking her eyes from the screen. “One thing's for sure. Whoever tries to finish this has got a hell of a job on their hands.”

They carried on reading in silence, Sophie swept away by her first close read of
Heart of Glass
, Lindsay marvelling at the improvements that fury and heartbreak had brought to her friend's novel. They were disturbed twice, once by Helen inquiring after Lindsay's health and revealing that, as she spoke, VAT inspectors were going through every
piece of paper in Guy and Stella's office, every file in the computer, and Watergaw's accounts. “They're going to have to explain where that EU grant went as well,” she said gleefully. “One of the inspectors stuck his head round the door half an hour ago to ask me about it. It turns out Stella was so sure of herself that she didn't erase the text of the forged letter from her personal section of the computer.”

“I like it,” Lindsay said, glad something she'd attempted had worked out. She didn't get long to bask in her success. Only minutes later, Geri Cusack had called back. Lindsay asked her to hold on while Sophie picked up the extension.

“Okay,” she said when she heard the click and the line quality changed subtly, “here's the meat. They're holding Meredith while they ‘develop their lines of inquiry' following Danny King's revelations. Apparently there's a supermarket opposite Monarch's offices and King's office overlooks it. He says he saw Meredith hanging around the car park, looking as if she was trying not to be conspicuous. She'd sit in one spot for a bit, then move and lean against a car, then move somewhere else again. This was when Penny made her last visit to Monarch.”

Lindsay clenched her eyes shut. “This does not sound pretty,” she said. “But how come it's taken him the best part of a week to ‘remember' this?”

“He claims he didn't know it was Meredith,” Geri said evenly.

“He didn't know it was Meredith? He's been publishing Penny for ten years and he didn't know Meredith?” Lindsay demanded. “Shit, I know they were in the closet, but I can't believe he never met Meredith. Baz knew her. How come Danny didn't?”

Geri sighed. “Meredith confirms she never actually met Danny. A couple of times, they were both at parties to celebrate Penny's books, but Meredith always kept a low profile.”

“Even so, her pictures were all over the newspapers after her arrest. I don't see how he can have missed that,” Lindsay protested.

“He says he only realized this morning. He claims Penny's editor was putting together the program for a memorial service, and they were going through her photographs of Penny to choose which one they'd put on the front. Among the photographs was one of Meredith
and Penny together. Danny immediately recognized the woman in the car park, he says.” Geri's voice was crisp, the warmth gone like a winter's day when the sun sets.

“You don't believe him either,” Lindsay said flatly.

“I can't think why he would lie,” she replied obliquely.

“To protect the killer?” Lindsay said.

“Or if he is the killer,” Sophie chipped in.

“Maybe it's nothing that dramatic,” Geri said. “Maybe he just wants to keep the pot boiling so Penny Varnavides and Monarch Press stay in the news? You've met him—do you think he's capable of being that venal?”

Lindsay thought for a moment. Then she said, “He's a wide boy. I'd say it's more likely than him taking a risk to protect somebody. How long can they hang on to her before they have to charge her?”

“Murder's a serious arrestable offense,” Geri said. “So they have an automatic thirty-six hours. But if they need an extension, I suspect they won't have too much trouble finding a friendly magistrate to grant it. Fugitive risk and all that. Look, I have to go now. If there's any development, I'll be sure and let you know.”

“Thanks,” Lindsay said dully. She heard the double click as Geri and Sophie both hung up. Lindsay ran a hand through unwashed hair that was already standing up in a halo of spikes round her head. She felt impotent, trapped as much by her inability to think of something to do as by her physical incapacity.

Sophie appeared in the doorway. “It doesn't sound good,” she said glumly.

“So we'd better get on with
Heart of Glass
.”

“It doesn't seem to be taking us much further forward,” Sophie sighed, coming back to squat on the bed beside Lindsay.

“I know, but what else is there?” With a profound sigh, Lindsay picked up the laptop and started to read again.

It was early evening by the time they'd finished the revised draft of Penny's final work. And nothing had leapt out at either Lindsay or Sophie to suggest motive or identity for her killer. Sophie stretched, thrusting her shoulders back and arching her spine, a soft groan escaping from her lips.

“See, I told you staying in bed was unhealthy,” Lindsay teased. “Look at the state of you.”

“I blame the airline seats,” Sophie said, dotting a kiss on Lindsay's undamaged cheek and getting up. “I'm going downstairs to start some dinner for us all. Helen and Kirsten should be home in a couple of hours or so. You fancy pasta with a Provençale daube?”

“I fancy you, but my face hurts too much. Not to mention the crucial damage to upper arm and elbow . . .” Lindsay smiled sadly.

“Not the pathos again, please, spare me the pathos! Do you fancy coming downstairs now?”

“In a bit,” Lindsay said. “There are some other files on here that I want to have a look at. Look, these ones that end .LET. They're probably letters. And these other ones. God knows what they are. Probably nothing to do with anything, but you never know. I might as well finish while I'm stuck here.”

“Glutton for punishment,” Sophie said, rumpling her lover's hair and pulling a face. “Perhaps a bath wouldn't be a bad idea later. Blood, sweat and tears is not a great recipe for hair care.” She went downstairs and investigated cupboards, fridge and vegetable rack. Half an hour later, she was about to deglaze the caramelized onions with balsamic vinegar when she heard Lindsay's voice shouting urgently.

Hurrying to the bottom of the stairs, Sophie called, “What is it?”

“I said, I think I've found it,” Lindsay yelled.

Chapter 20

L
indsay pointed to the screen. “Look there,” she said, indicating with the cursor what she wanted Sophie to pay attention to. “It wasn't the manuscript of
Heart of Glass
that the killer was after. It was the notes for the next one. ‘Structure: five sections, alternate POV between Sam McQueen and Martha Denny:
The Invisible Man, The High Cost of Living, The Ghost Road, The Information, Crime and Punishment
,' ” she read out. “One of the few pieces of paper left in the flat had those titles written on it. I thought it was a reading list when I first saw it, but she was obviously starting to think about a new novel. She was going to call each of the sections after a book.”

Sophie nodded. “Yeah, so far so clear. But what's that got to do with Penny's death?”

Lindsay scrolled down further. “
Outline
,” Sophie read over her shoulder. “
Chicago??? NYC??? Sam McQueen: early thirties, Irish/Italian, third-generation respectable face of the Mob, has legitimate front business—???magazine publishing??? Hits on a way of cleaning up the lives of serious criminals. He turns his publishing house into a money laundry. Step one—makes Mob figures respectable; hires them as commissioning editors on huge salary. Every month, the company pays their salaries into offshore accounts, then the money comes back into their US-based accounts from the offshore bank. But what really happens is Sam's firm pays the money into an account in Sam's name offshore. And the ‘employees' bring in their
own dirty money from offshore into their domestic bank account, thus making dirty money look clean. Not only that, but they are legitimized in the eyes of the government—they pay taxes, they have Social Security numbers, they pay insurance, and they earn hugely inflated salaries because they are shit-hot editors—ho, ho, ho!”

“My God,” Sophie breathed. “That's bloody clever.”

“You're not kidding. It gets better, though,” Lindsay said drily, flicking the “page down” key to bring up a fresh screen.

Sophie looked up and grinned admiringly. “That is wicked,” she said. “That is so clever. Where on earth did Penny get an idea like that? I never heard her show any interest in that kind of scam, did you? She was always much more interested in the psychology and sociology of lawbreaking than the mechanics.”

“Read on,” Lindsay said, gesturing towards the screen. Sophie scrolled down and carried on reading. “
Sam's a keen yachtsman, likes racing yachts. One weekend, he's sailing and he meets a woman who's crewing on the yacht he's helming. Martha Denny. Twenty-nine, undercover Treasury agent working on anti-racketeering crackdown. She's infiltrated Sam's social world to try and gather information on Mob-related activities. He thinks she's a photographer, and he falls for her. Soon, they're lovers—Martha battles with conscience as government agent, but figures he's clean, his company is clearly legit. Then odd things start happening. He gets his magazines to commission her to take pics, so she's around the office a lot. She notices a lot of calls come in for people who are never there; messages get taken, and presumably passed on, but she never meets the guys attached to those names. Then she finds out they all supposedly work on the mysterious tenth floor—in a nine-story building???