Читать книгу The Insider - Ava McCarthy - Страница 13

10

‘ETA fifteen minutes,’ Dillon said.

From the way he gunned the engine, Harry could well believe it. He swerved into the outside lane and she gripped the door handle with both hands. If he noticed she was bracing herself for impact, he didn’t mention it.

The Lexus coasted along the open motorway and soon she felt her limbs relax. The car was warm, the murmur of the engine hypnotic. Harry closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest.

She’d spent over an hour with the police in her apartment. Two officers had arrived, one the same young Garda who’d spoken to her in Pearse Station, the other a plainclothes detective who hadn’t been introduced. The younger one did all the talking. The other had just watched her with quiet grey eyes as she answered questions about the break-in and explained again how she fell in front of a train.

Harry shifted in the passenger seat. Her legs grew heavy and she felt herself drifting. By the time she opened her eyes again it was pitch-dark, and the motorway had turned into a narrow country road lined with thick hedges.

Dillon slowed the car and rolled in through a pair of wrought-iron gates. ‘We’re here.’

Harry peered out the window. Electric lanterns lined the driveway up to the front door. Light splashed upwards along trees and bushes, illuminating everything from below like theatre footlights.

Dillon crunched to a halt and Harry hoisted herself out of the car, gazing at the house that took centre stage in front of them. It was shaped like a gigantic L, with a steeply pitched roof and dormer windows perched along the top like eyes. She could smell the fragrant cedar incense from the conifers that stood on sentry duty by the front door.

‘Like it?’ Dillon said.

Harry looked back at him. He was watching her with a self-satisfied smile, clearly enjoying her reaction to his magnificent home.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you showing off?’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe. What can I say? No point in having money if you don’t know how to spend it.’ Then he guided her towards the door, his palm brushing against the small of her back. ‘Come on, let’s get you that brandy.’

The entrance hall was the size of her entire apartment. Dillon led the way to a room at the back of the house. Harry hesitated, suddenly aware of how she must look.

‘Maybe I should take that bath first. I feel sort of grubby.’

Dillon’s phone rang before he could reply. He checked the caller ID.

‘It’s Ashford, from KWC. You’d better hang on.’ He took the call. ‘Dillon Fitzroy.’

He stared at the floor, listening to the voice on the other end of the phone. Harry tried to read his face, and something squirmed inside her as she imagined what Ashford had to say. Then she remembered Felix’s belligerence and stuck her chin in the air.

‘Thanks, that’s very understanding of you.’ Dillon threw her a wry look. ‘Unfortunately, Harry’s been in a bit of an accident, but I’ll put another engineer on to it first thing Monday morning.’

Dillon winced at the response on the other end of the phone. Harry flapped her hands to object. Dammit, she could finish the job. But Dillon ignored her.

‘No, no, she’s fine, nothing serious.’ He shot a look in her direction, his expression puzzled. ‘Yes, I’m sure. No, she’s not in hospital. She’ll be available to hand things over to Imogen Brady on Monday.’

Dillon began to wind up the call and finally disconnected. He stared at her.

Harry kept her chin in the air. ‘I can do the pen test.’

‘Let’s not push it, okay?’

‘What did he say?’

‘He was full of apologies for today, said none of it was your fault.’ He folded his arms and considered her for a moment. ‘He seemed very concerned for your welfare. Quite shocked to hear you were in an accident. Do you two know each other?’

Harry frowned and shook her head. Then her brow cleared. ‘He knew my father. Old pals, apparently.’

‘Ah.’ Dillon checked his watch. ‘I need to make some calls. You take that bath. Upstairs, second room on the left. The wardrobe has plenty of clothes.’ He stepped into the room behind him and was gone.

Harry made her way up the stairs, checking out her appearance in the mirrors that lined the walls. Bed-hair, black streaks on her face and crumpled clothes. She looked like a teenage runaway up to no good.

Harry found the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Her eyes swept the room and she whistled. She’d stayed in five-star hotels that weren’t as plush as this. She flung her satchel on the queen-sized bed, and was about to stretch out alongside it when her phone rang.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, this is Sandra Nagle from Sheridan Bank Customer Services. Am I speaking with Ms Harry Martinez?’

Harry yanked the phone away from her ear as though she’d been scorched. Shit. The helpdesk supervisor she’d tangled with that afternoon. Had she tracked her down and called her to bawl her out? Then she remembered the woman couldn’t see her and put the phone back to her ear.

‘Ms Martinez?’

‘Sorry, yeah, that’s me.’ Harry perched on the edge of the bed.

‘Our reports have shown up a slight anomaly on your current account. I need to check some of the details with you, if I may?’

Harry blinked. ‘Anomaly?’

‘I just need to confirm the size of the lodgement you made today.’

‘What lodgement?’

There was a pause. ‘Our records show that twelve million euros was lodged into your current account this afternoon.’

Harry’s eyes widened. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Is the amount incorrect?’

Was she out of her mind? ‘Of course it’s incorrect. I didn’t make any lodgements.’

‘Perhaps it was lodged by a third party.’

A third party. Something cold dropped into Harry’s stomach. ‘I don’t know anything about that money. Surely your records must show where it came from?’

Sandra cleared her throat. ‘Well, that’s the slight anomaly, I’m afraid.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Our records seem to be incomplete. Your recent transactions are on the screen here in front of me, and the lodgement is there, but it’s not coming up with any other information. Usually we can tell whether it’s a cheque, an online transfer and so on, but that part is blank.’

‘Doesn’t it tell you anything? A branch number? A name?’

‘No, just the amount. Twelve million.’

Harry flopped back down on to the bed. What the hell was going on?

‘That twelve million euros doesn’t belong to me,’ she said. ‘I don’t want it in my bank account.’

She could almost hear the other woman draw herself up.

‘I’m afraid I can’t do anything about that,’ Sandra said. ‘The money has been credited to your account.’

‘This is ridiculous.’ Harry closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose. ‘People don’t just lodge twelve million euros without leaving some kind of record. Don’t you have any limit checks on what goes in and out of your bank? Wouldn’t someone query an amount like this?’

‘Normally, yes, which is why I’m on the phone to you now.’ Sandra’s teeth sounded clenched. ‘There’s obviously some problem with these transaction details. I’ll put the system-support team on it straight away. But in the meantime, the money stays in your account.’

‘Can you send me out a bank statement? I’d like to see a record of this.’

‘Of course.’ The woman was all service.

Harry hung up. Then she grabbed her satchel and whipped out her laptop, hooking it into a phone jack in the wall. Within minutes she was online, logged into her Sheridan bank account. She clicked the balance option and stared at the screen. Then she refreshed the web page, checking it again. Same answer.

€12,000,120.42

Harry sank back on to the velvety bed. It had to be a mistake, a hitch in the bank’s paperwork. These things happened, didn’t they?

She examined the palms of her hands. The cuts from the gravel were like a row of teeth marks. She sighed and sat up. Who the hell was she fooling? She may not want to face it, but everything that had happened today just had to be connected. And her gut told her the connection was her father. If she was honest with herself, she’d known it from the minute the guy in the station had whispered in her ear. Sorohan was a name that had resonated with significance for her ever since her father’s arrest.

She remembered the newspaper headlines: Insider Trading Ring Exposed Over Sorohan Fraud; KWC Ring Leader Charged by Stock Exchange. A hard knot burned inside her chest. That was almost eight years ago: 7th June 2001, to be precise. The day the shutters had slammed down for good between herself and her father.

But who the hell would lodge twelve million euros into her account? Not her father, surely. He was locked up in Arbour Hill prison, and she doubted that online banking was a facility the inmates enjoyed. She slammed her laptop shut. Not only had someone stashed a chunk of money in her account, but somehow they’d done it without leaving any tracks. It didn’t make sense.

She pushed herself up off the bed and trudged into the en-suite bathroom. Too tired to deal with a complicated-looking Jacuzzi shower, she made straight for the sunken bath in the corner and spun the taps on to full blast.

Harry stripped off her clothes and surveyed herself in the full-length mirror. Her legs were splotched with dark bruises, like blackening bananas. Her sooty face was hollow-eyed and anxious, with grazes along the cheeks. She looked like one of those waifs they used to send up chimneys.

She lowered herself into the steaming water an inch at a time. Then she closed her eyes and let her mind drift. She found herself thinking, not of her father nor of the twelve million euros, but of Dillon. And not the Dillon who was downstairs on the phone cutting a deal, but the boy of twenty-one who had once sat in her bedroom and held her by the hand.