Читать книгу The Insider - Ava McCarthy - Страница 19

16

Harry huddled over a mug of tea and thought about optical illusions. Now you see me, now you don’t.

An image of the maze reared up inside her head, and her chest tightened. She shoved her tea away and scurried down the hall to check her apartment door. It was still locked. Then she prowled through the rest of the rooms, testing the windows, listening for unfamiliar sounds. It was the fourth patrol she’d made that morning.

Dillon had driven her back to the apartment the night before and stayed with her till she fell asleep on the couch. When she woke, she found a quilt pulled up to her shoulders and signs that he’d slept on the floor. He was already up, on his way to the office. He’d knelt beside her and stroked her hair, ordering her to take some time off.

She cast an eye over the empty apartment and shuddered. She’d spent the last few hours cleaning the place up, but it still didn’t feel like home.

Dillon had called the police from his car soon after they’d fled the maze, but by the time they got there, the intruder was long gone. The only trace the police had found was a rusty gate buckled at the hinges.

Harry reached out to check the window lock on the living-room sash, but at the last minute she clenched her fist. Goddammit, enough of the neurotic rituals. She marched back to the kitchen and brewed some coffee strong enough to juice up her brain. She paced the kitchen floor, gulping the coffee down. Her swollen knee felt stronger, her body less tender. The need for action jerked through her limbs like an electric current.

What she needed was hard information. What had happened with the Sorohan deal? Who were the other members of the ring? How had her father operated? If she understood the mechanics of her father’s insider trades, maybe she could work out where the twelve million euros had come from. And who the hell was after it.

As for optical illusions, she dealt in science and technology, not smoke and mirrors. The twelve million was no illusion. She’d seen it on the screen with her own eyes, and the bank had confirmed it. No Houdini tricks there.

Unless someone had tampered with her account records.

Harry’s pace slowed. But how would anyone do that? And why? Rigging the bank’s database to show a false lodgement wouldn’t make the money real. Sure, it would show up temporarily on a snapshot of her transactions, but the bank’s reconciliation procedures would soon catch the error. No one could ever access the money, not a sum of that size. Harry shook her head. It made no sense. The money had to be real. The question was, who put it there?

She hauled her satchel up on to the kitchen table and rummaged through it. Dillon had told her to talk to her father. He was right. She needed explanations, and what better place to start? But she couldn’t face it, not yet. There had to be another way.

She pulled a fistful of business cards out of the satchel and thumbed through them till she found the one she was looking for. She scrutinized it, chewing at her bottom lip. She’d already had a run-in with this guy and didn’t feel like asking him for any favours. But she had no choice. Apart from her father, he was the only investment banker she knew.

She dialled the number on the card and waited. He was bound to be there, even on a Saturday. Weekends didn’t mean much to investment bankers.

‘Hello, Jude Tiernan speaking.’ His voice was deep, like a woodwind instrument.

Too late Harry realized she hadn’t prepared her story. She’d have to play this out cold. ‘Oh, hi, this is Harry Martinez.’

The silence at the other end went on a shade too long. She prompted him. ‘I met you yesterday?’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I remember you all right,’ he said. ‘I just can’t believe I’ve got to have another conversation with you.’

Harry shut her eyes. Maybe she deserved that one. She decided to stick with the truth. ‘Look, I owe you an apology. I was probably out of line yesterday.’

‘You were more than out of line, you were downright slanderous.’

Harry’s eyes flared open. ‘Hey, I was seriously provoked, remember? Your colleague wasn’t exactly mincing his words.’

‘Felix Roche is a dickhead, I’ll give you that much. But, as I recall, your accusations seemed to include the entire room.’

Harry flopped down on a chair and sighed. ‘Look, can we start again? I’d really like to talk to you about something else.’ She picked at the corner of his business card. ‘It’s about my father.’

There was a pause. ‘Go on.’

‘I’d like to ask you some questions about what he did.’

‘Why can’t you ask him?’

Harry winced. ‘That’s a bit tricky. If I could meet with you this afternoon, I could explain.’

‘That’s not going to happen. I’m tied up all day and then I leave for the airport. So if that’s all –’

‘Yesterday someone tried to push me under a train.’ Damn, she hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. She aimed for a more businesslike tone. ‘The guy who pushed me said something about the Sorohan money.’

Another pause. ‘The takeover deal that got your father arrested?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t understand. And I certainly don’t see what you want from me. Have you told the police?’

‘Of course I have.’ She crossed her fingers at the lie. ‘But if I could just ask you a few questions, it would really help. I promise I won’t take up much of your time.’

He hesitated, and she knew she had only one last chance to hook him. He was an investment banker. He may not care about her, but he had to be interested in the money. She took a deep breath.