Gatecrasher (9 page)

Sarah sent a few quick replies to friends who had been gossiping and joking over email about what they had all got up to on their girls night out the previous Saturday. She had not been able to make it. She hated missing out on anything but at least she felt a little more involved with the girls copying her in on the banter.

The phone on her desk warbled. She hesitated a moment but then realised that she hadn’t altered her voicemail message to say she was out and in any event it might be urgent. It was only one call, she thought, and then she could go home.

‘
Good afternoon, Griffin Holdings. Sarah Knowles speaking.’

‘Hi there. Good afternoon.’ It was a man’s voice, slightly hesitant sounding, which pricked her attention, but young she thought and a nice voice, friendly. ‘I, uh, I wonder if you can help me. I’m just after some information about your company.’

‘Yes? What kind of information were you after?’ she replied trying to sound friendly back.

‘Oh, you know, just general company information. Structure, brief sort of trading history, what it is you do there. That sort of thing.’ The voice was trying to sound breezy and as if this were an everyday sort of request. It wasn’t and Sarah found herself frowning.

‘That’s a little, uhh... vague
sir,
’ she said. ‘What is it you are trying to find out exactly?’

There was a pause but before he could answer she cut in. ‘I’m sorry, where did you say you were calling from?’

‘Oh, sorry. Yes of course. I, uh… I’m calling from a local paper. Just a little thing really, doubt you know of us. But I heard about the break-in the other night and I’m looking into it.’

‘I see.’ She wasn’t convinced by that. He seemed to be talking a little too fast, trying to speed her into a response before she could ask any more questions.

‘Well, my editor wants me to. You know. Doing what I’m told really.’

‘Sure.’

‘Odd business though.’

‘I’m sorry Mr…?

Silence. She continued regardless. ’I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude as I’m sure you’re just doing your job but the company has released a short press statement regarding this matter. I can refer your enquiry to Mr Griffin if you’d rather but I’m not in a position to say anything further.’

‘Of course, of course. No need to trouble Mr Griffin. I wonder though if you could pop something in the post for me? Some sort of company brochure? Corporate literature?’

‘I should think that would be OK. Can I get your name and address then?’ Sarah tried a different approach, still suspicious. Something was odd.

‘And perhaps a copy of the press release?’

‘Statement. Of course. Your name and address?’

‘Well let’s see. I work from home a lot so may as well send it there
-
second thought, where are you based exactly?’

Sarah told him.

‘Right. That’s not too far away actually. Why don’t I just drop in there and pick it up?’

She paused for a moment before answering, intrigued. She didn’t believe the story he was telling. Sarah felt that she had a good antennae for liars and all the pauses and the umms and ahhs and the well-nows that gave people away we
re too obvious in the
reporter’s voice. He was definitely being evasive.

‘That should be fine. Just pop into reception and ask for me. My name is Sarah Knowles. And you are?’

‘
Owen,
’ said the voice. ‘Michaels.’

‘Sorry? Owen Michaels?’

‘Right.’

‘OK. When would you be planning to drop by Mr Michaels? It’s just that I was due to finish shortly…’

‘Oh I see. Well, maybe half an hour, an hour.’

She didn’t answer for a minute and considered leaving an envelope on reception for him and getting off home. But something stopped her and she shrugged and decided to sit it out. Might only be half an hour. ‘Alright then Mr Michaels. I’ll see you then.’

She had gone as far as filling an envelope with the paperwork, writing his name on it and putting it to one side on her desk before it dawned on her that he hadn’t actually told her which local paper he was calling from.

Tuesday
.
3.20pm
.

‘You look awful Daniel.’

That knocked
Campbell
off balance and it took a moment before he spoke. He was standing in the corner office of his boss about to ask if he could leave early and working up to a convincing performance but the other man had beaten him to the punch.

‘Yeah. Not doing well at all.’

‘Rough couple of days.’

‘Could say that. Look I’ve not slept very well the last couple of nights and I’m pretty stressed what with everything so it would be good if I could take off early. I’m all over the place.’

‘Sure. You’re probably not doing me much good in here in that state anyway. You alright?’

He nodded weakly in response.

‘
No, not really,
’ said his boss. ‘Listen, maybe you should take a day off. Get some sleep and rest up a bit.’

Didn’t see that one coming either. ‘Probably a g
ood idea actually. Maybe I will,
’ he replied, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. ‘I’ll call in tomorrow morning to let you know
-
if that’s ok?’

‘No need. Just get a good night’s sleep mate and don’t worry about getting up early to call in. Bye.’

‘Thank you.’

Striding out the door and swinging his jacket onto his shoulders
Campbell
caught his reflection in a window in the hallway and saw what his boss meant. He did look terrible. His eyes were ringed and dark and there was no colour in his face.

Inside forty minutes he was staring at a
notice board
in the reception of an office building where he finally found the name he was looking for and headed for the lift. Stepping out into another smaller reception area
Campbell
approached the desk purposefully, trying to mask his nerves with bravado.

‘Good afternoon.
I’m here to see a Sarah Knowles,
’ he announced with a smile.

‘Is she expecting you?’

‘Yes. In fact she may have left me something here for me to collect?’

The receptionist shook her head as she looked over her empty desk.

‘OK. Well I guess she is still here then. I hope I haven’t held her up too much. Said she wanted to get off.’

The receptionist nodded politely but looked a little puzzled as to why he was telling her all this.

Talking too much again, he thought, but he didn’t want to have to tell another lie in case he gave himself away. The look on the receptionist’s face told him that he had no choice however.

‘Owen Michaels.’

‘Certainly sir.’ She tapped the numbers into the telephone and informed Sarah that a Mr Michaels was in
reception. ‘She’ll be right out,
’ she told him and then turned back to reading a magazine.

Campbell
looked around and found a seat but his backside had no sooner touched the cushion than the door was opening and a young woman stepped out and looked at him.

‘Mr Michaels, hello. Sarah Knowles.’

C
ampbell
was up straightaway and thrusting his hand out to shake hers. Suddenly he felt very conscious of his appearance, certain that his hair was a mess, his pallid skin and sunken eyes obvious to see. He found himself wishing that he’d stopped at home first to shower and change.

‘Miss Knowles. Thank y
ou very much for waiting for me,
’ he said as she took his hand and he found that he had no words to say momentarily as their fingers slid together, squeezed gently and then slipped apart.

‘That’s OK. I had
a few things to tidy up anyway,
’ Sarah said and smiled at him with her eyes. She held an envelope in one hand and was tucking a lock of her dark hair behind her ear with the other. Her eyes were locked onto his and for a brief second neither of them said anything.

‘I take it that’s what I c
ame for,
’
Campbell
stuttered and dropped his eyes to the envelope at her side. Moving his eyes down allowed him a chance to appraise her more fully and he leaned back as he noticed that they were still standing close from the handshake.

She wore black leather shoes with a small heel and he guessed that she must be about five nine in her socks. She wore tights and he noted the smooth curve of her calves as they disappeared into the knee length black skirt she wore which sat delicately on the sweep of her hips. A white blouse was buttoned one off the top suggesting at a cleavage where his eyes lingered a moment longer than they should.

He noticed that she hadn’t answered and he looked her in the face again, realising that he was staring now and rather obviously. He cursed his hormones. When he looked up though he noticed that she too had glanced down over his shoulders and chest before she met his gaze from beneath her eyelashes.

‘Oh. Yes. Couple of brochures like you said. I didn’t really know what else to give you. It would help if I knew w
hat you were trying to find out,
’ she said.

Be good if I knew too, he thought to himself and then said ‘Oh just a bit of background on the company, you know.’

She nodded but it was obvious that she didn’t know. ‘Might I ask what kind of article are you writing Mr Michaels?’

The pause was obvious, as was the slight raise of the eyebrows that made it clear that he hadn’t thought about that particular point. He was thinking fast of a lie to tell and they both knew it.

‘Not too sure yet. I mean the editor told me to look into the burglary, thinks we should cover that sort of thing, you know, local interest and all that. Depends what I find out really.’ He talked fast to try to cover up the pause but it did nothing to help. And then he found himself saying something that was against his better judgement but the words just sprang right out of his mouth. ‘Would it be alright if I contact you again Miss Knowles? If I need to. You’ve been very helpful.’

In fact she had not yet even given him the envelope. But it was the question that caught her off guard. Him too.

She handed him the envelope and then laughed nervously. ‘Its nothing really.’

‘Well I’m grateful anyway. I have your number so perhaps I’ll call again.’

‘Sure. No trouble at all.’ Sarah said backing toward the door. ‘Please do.’

Tuesday
.
6pm
.

George Gresham was sweating profusely and his face burned scarlet with exertion. Pumping his legs he pedalled hard on the exercise bike and stared off into nowhere, his mind working as hard as his body.

He was waiting to hear from Slater. It was over a day now since they had spoken about what they were going to do next and
Gresham
was anxious. Anxious because if this turned out to be a dead end, he had no idea where to go next.

Gresham
could hardly believe that they were in this mess and wondered with a shake of the head how on earth they’d got here. Of course he knew how they’d got here; a combination of bizarre meetings, circumstances and, if he had to be frank, fuck-ups.

He’d been introduced to a man named Drennan by Julius Warren
–
whom he trusted and who vouched for the man
–
saying that he’d known him years. Drennan had been a bit of a flash bastard; plenty of talk, and he seemed always to have a smirk on his face for some reason. Like he knew something.
Warren
didn’t have many friends like that and it struck
Gresham
as odd at the very least.
Gresham
had him pegged as a bit of an actor. He was always cagey with information, reluctant to say too much. It was a way of seeming important, of having the power.
Gresham
wasn’t taken in though.

But the man had offered him money and quite a lot of it for what sounded to him like a pretty easy job. Normally that would have got
Gresham
’s radar screeching for all sorts of reasons. Nobody just gave you cash for nothing. If you got offered ten times what the job seemed worth to do it, it was almost certainly worth ten times more than they were offering you. If they told you it was no big deal, then it probably was.

Despite the fact that he knew that there was more to it than Drennan was letting on (and he seemed often unable to resist alluding to how much more to it there really was) he needed the money badly. He decided that the risk was small enough in this instance. Do the job, grab the cash and get shot of Drennan.