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She tried to disguise her alarm. ‘Does anyone know which company?’
Patrick shrugged. ‘Who knows. Could be anything in the manufacturing sector.’
Then, taking another gulp of Guinness: ‘I don’t set very much store by the stories. If they’re true, it’ll be the first time that murder was used as a financial PR technique.’
She tried to smile at his gallows humour. ‘Do you have any idea where the stories are coming from?’
‘You know how it is,
they just do the rounds. But I did see Merlin’s girlfriend not so long ago. She had to come into the office to collect his things.’ He shook his head. ‘Not very easy. We only spoke briefly. She’s convinced there was more to it than there seems. It wouldn’t surprise me if some of the stories have come from her.’
Kate shook her head in sympathy. ‘That was … Denise?’
‘Denise Caville,’ he confirmed. ‘Runs her own catering firm.’
Back behind the closed door of her office, later that afternoon, Kate put down the phone. She had just spoken to Denise Caville, and it hadn’t been an easy call. She’d vacillated for several hours before even making it: could she, an outsider whose name Denise may not even recognise, really justify intruding into the woman’s grief? But on the other hand, it seemed that Denise was searching for certainty. Not knowing what had really happened would be the worst of it. And perhaps, somewhere down the line, Kate could help.
As it happened, Denise did remember who Kate was, but remained guarded. Yes, she told Kate, she believed it was murder. Merlin had uncovered some controversial facts about a company, and she reckoned he’d been silenced. But she wouldn’t say which company it was, or how much more she knew. All she did say was that, having exhausted all possibilities with the police, she’d put the matter into the hands of an investigative journalist whom she knew Merlin had trusted. She didn’t say who the journalist was. But, by then, she didn’t need to. Replacing the receiver after her brief conversation, Kate stared ahead of her, the alarm bells ringing loud and shrill. She and Merlin often used to talk about the different financial reporters and what they’d written about various companies. They’d concurred on some writers and disagreed on others. And there was one reporter, she knew, whose investigative skills Merlin rated highly. The same reporter, surprise, surprise, who had recently been asking questions about Starwear.
She got up from her desk, and strode straight from her office up the stairs to Monitoring Services on the third floor. Although the fact wasn’t generally known in Lombard, Monitoring Services had originally been Kate’s idea. When the agency had still consisted of a dozen consultants in three rooms, she’d come up with the thought of having a dedicated executive to monitor media output and keep tabs on journalists who were frequently changing their jobs.
Monitoring Services was established and subsequently mushroomed in scale and scope. Since starting out as an administrative function, it had long outgrown that role. Kate had no particular interest in its day-to-day workings; all she ever sought from Bruno d’Andrea and his team was a good steer on journalists. Although she found his manner unusual, he’d never disappointed her.
She found him now, as always, sitting behind his desk in his semi-dark office, reading through a document.
‘Judith Laing?’ she asked, stepping inside.
He rolled his eyes. ‘What now?’
‘What do we know about her?’ She perched on the edge of a chair opposite him.
‘You’ve seen the intranet biography?’
She nodded. ‘Has it been updated since then?’
He leaned back in his chair, so that his eyes were in shadow. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘At the last Starwear traffic meeting someone said she was interested in the company. We arranged for her to see Mark Hunter. I was just wondering if anything’s come of it? There’s been no coverage so far …’
For a long while d’Andrea stared at her without saying a word, before gesturing ponderously with his spotted hands. ‘We’re monitoring Judith Laing very closely at the moment.’
‘On behalf of Starwear?’
‘Not only that – although you are right, she does have a keen interest in the company.’
‘Do you know what exactly about Starwear interests her?’
He tilted back his head. ‘I couldn’t tell you.’
‘You said “not only that”?’
‘Ah, yes.’ He leaned back over his desk, meeting her expression with those pale grey eyes. ‘But you will have to keep this to yourself. Your new boy …’
She looked puzzled.
‘Chris Treiger. He and Judith Laing.’ He held up his hand, two fingers twisted together. ‘Like this.’
‘What?’
