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‘Too right, the smooth little sod. I followed him from his place to the party. He definitely went alone.’
‘They spend a lot of time together during the evening?’
‘Couldn’t see much. Bad access round the other side of the house. When I saw him saying goodbye to his mates I skipped round the block as fast as I could. It took about ten minutes. But, hey presto!’
Denton leaned back in his chair, downing a bitter. D’Andrea worked his way through the photos, puzzled. It didn’t seem like Treiger’s style to pick up women at parties and take them back to his place; he was too buttoned-down. But the evidence couldn’t be disputed. D’Andrea came to the shot of the two of them in Treiger’s kitchen, the curtains wide open, the lights full on, and the two of them standing very close together.
‘Come back to my place for coffee, me darling.’ Denton’s mouth twisted in a sly smile.
D’Andrea had never found Denton’s East End wit even mildly amusing. Denton had long-since decided that d’Andrea was a miserable old geezer. But he paid top dollar.
‘And after this?’ D’Andrea was waving the photo.
‘They went round the other side of the house. But the lounge curtains were closed. I hung around – thought they might go upstairs to his room and give me a free floor show. But when they went up, he closed the curtains straight off, antisocial git!’
D’Andrea looked across at him seriously. ‘You’re absolutely sure she stayed the night?’
Denton nodded vigorously. ‘No doubt about it, guv. After he closed the curtains, the light stayed on about half an hour. Then I went round the front again, thinking I might catch her when she left. By three a.m. she’d still not come out. I called it a night – I’d been up twenty-four bloody hours.’
r /> ‘Hmm.’
D’Andrea leafed through the photos again till he came to the best one of the girl. She was in the kitchen. The lighting was excellent and it was a direct, full-face shot. As he sat, staring at the picture for a while, he mulled it all over. There was definitely something odd about this. On an intuitive level, he knew the story Denton was telling him didn’t stand up. It might be part of the truth, but not all of it. Denton probably didn’t know the full story himself.
And there was another thing that bothered him: the girl’s face. It looked somehow familiar, as though he’d seen it recently but he couldn’t place it. D’Andrea didn’t just have a good memory, he possessed a remarkable aptitude for recalling faces, names, dates, biographical details – in his job he needed it. Maybe the girl was just some arbitrary pick-up, but on the other hand, perhaps she had already flickered across the Monitoring Services radar screen. He would soon find out. Tomorrow morning, he’d take the photograph into work and have it cross-checked against a picture library which included over three thousand women in the City, media, and PR industry. If she was anyone on file, he’d soon know all about her.
Knocking back the last of his Bloody Mary, d’Andrea shuffled the photos together, placing them in an envelope which he slipped into his inside pocket. In the same movement, he retrieved a separate, brown envelope, which he handed over to Denton. ‘The usual,’ he grunted.
‘Uh-huh.’
D’Andrea scraped back his chair as he stood up. ‘Keep on Treiger’s tail and stay in touch.’
Denton glanced up at him with a wink. ‘Pleasure doing business with you, guv.’
No sooner had Chris Treiger stepped into his office the following Monday morning than Charlotte was there to meet him. ‘Elliott North’s been trying to get hold of you,’ she told him hurriedly, ‘he’s rung three times in the past half hour and hasn’t sounded friendly.’
He glanced at his watch. Eight-fifteen. Late start. But with Project Silo out of the way he’d reckoned he could ease up a little for the next few days. He was irritated to be caught napping by North. Picking up the phone he dialled three digits.
‘My office. Now,’ North ordered him, after he’d announced himself.
Glancing over at Charlotte, he made his way swiftly to the door. ‘You’re right,’ he murmured. ‘Very unfriendly.’
Instead of waiting for the lift, he raced down the stairs. Was North as pissed off as he sounded, he wondered, or was it just Monday morning-itis? And what had provoked him? Nothing he’d done, not that he could think of. Maybe North hadn’t had a chance to read Project Silo over the weekend – when he had, Chris expected a rather different reception.
North’s was the last executive office on the first floor behind the Pit, which was an open-plan frenzy even at this time on a Monday morning. Chris had only ever been in the office once, and had immediately been as aware of the minimalist decor – white walls, no pictures, functional office furniture – as he had been of the pungent aroma of fruit. North ate fruit throughout the day; discarded apple cores, banana and orange skins steadily piled up in the metal dustbin under his desk, lending the place a ripe miasma. As he stood at the door of North’s office this morning, Chris was surprised by the fetid aroma so early in the day.
‘Morning, Elliott,’ he greeted him.
North looked up, glowering.
Whatever it is that’s eating him, I’m not going to let it get to me, decided Chris, as he stepped into the office to sit opposite him. North pointedly stood up and stepped round behind Chris to close his door, before returning to his desk. In the middle of the desk, Chris couldn’t help noticing, was North’s copy of Project Silo. As he sat down, North slammed his hand on the report. ‘What exactly are you trying to prove, turning in this crock of shit?’ He fixed Chris with a furious expression.
Chris was so surprised by the reaction that for a moment he didn’t know what to say.
‘Four weeks,’ North’s voice rose. ‘Four weeks you’ve had to work on this. Your first major project at Lombard. And all you can come up with is a whole pile of marketing bullshit!’
Chris’s mind was reeling. He could hardly believe North was talking about Project Silo; his best work ever. Shock quickly turned to anger, and when he did eventually speak, he had to fight to keep his voice even. ‘I was actually very pleased with the way it turned out.’ He looked North in the eye. ‘What exactly didn’t you like about it?’
‘Jesus Christ!’ North brought his hand down on the desk with a thump. ‘This stuff reads like some academic treatise. What we’re after is real meat.’
