‘Are you talking to me?’ laughed Diana.
‘You’d be hard pushed to find more spectacular scenery. It might be the break you need.’
‘I’m pregnant,’ she smiled, delighting at the word. ‘I don’t want to go dune surfing. But I know someone who might.’
‘I hope you’re not talking about me. I don’t want to get san
d-blasted in the name of fun,’ said Patty more softly.
‘No. My sister. She’d love it, and she needs a break after everything I’ve put her through.’
‘Everything she’s put you through,’ said Patty, raising a brow.
‘She doesn’t belong in London; she belongs in places like Ko Tao and Namibia,’ said Diana, remembering the first time she’d seen Rachel in Thailand, gleaming, relaxed and happy.
‘What about Julian’s investigation?’ asked Patty.
‘It’s over,’ said Diana quietly. ‘It’s time to move on.’
60
Rachel picked up the phone and ordered room service. The menu changed to a skeleton one after 11 p.m. and as she knew that it was going to be a long night, she ordered everything she fancied to keep her going as long as possible. A cheeseburger, a club sandwich, a Caesar salad, French fries, a milkshake, a pot of coffee and an interesting-looking ‘trio of desserts’ that sounded like something from one of Diana’s dinner parties.
She blinked hard. Not only was she tired, but she had watched the footage of Greg Willets leaving again and again until it made her head spin. Perhaps there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. But what? She had fast-forwarded the footage from all three security cameras and it looked as if Liam was right. Greg’s girlfriend had certainly not left with him. Nor was she seen leaving at any other time during the party. It was as if she had vanished into thin air.
Swigging at a glass of tap water, she opened her notebook and noticed that Greg’s number was one of the first things she had written in it after their lunch meeting in the City. She picked up her mobile and debated whether to call him. But what was she supposed to say without it sounding like an accusation? No, she would go through the tapes one more time before she ruffled any more feathers. She had to think this through, think about what it all meant.
Greg’s companion couldn’t just have vanished. The security cameras were angled towards the doors of the property to monitor entrance and exit of guests, which meant that the blonde must either have slipped out undetected or had not left the house at all. She felt a cold shiver all over her body, recalling her meeting with Carl Kennedy in Notting Hill, remembering something he had said: If it was foul play, then it must have been somebody already in the house.
At the time she had shamelessly thought of Diana, but what if it was someone else? She felt suddenly nervous. She went to the loo and splashed water over her face. What did she really know about Greg Willets other than that he was Julian’s best friend? They had met many times – holidayed even on trips to Ibiza and Tuscany. Then again, what did anyone really know about anybody else?
Think, she willed herself.
There was a knock at the door and she jumped. She peered through the spyhole, unchained and unbolted the door and opened it. A member of the hotel staff wheeled in a dumbwaiter laden with food. She tipped him generously, chained and bolted the door behind him and returned to her laptop.
There was no pithy Wikipedia entry for Greg Willets. Instead she had to do her own research. There were some details on LinkedIn, more still on financial newspapers and potted CVs from seminars he was appearing at around the globe. His company, Canopus Partners, was apparently a boutique investment bank, as opposed to a bulge bracket bank such as Goldman Sachs or J. P. Morgan. According to its own website it had a thirty-person team in London and a small outpost in New York. Greg Willets was listed as its founder, along with a brief history of his career and a flattering, unsmiling black-and-white photograph. There was a section listed ‘News’ which provided details of deals the firm had advised over the past twelve months, including an item about the Denver Group – selling their paint division to a German chemicals company for seventy-five million euros. A Companies House search was also revealing.
Greg Willets was successful. Everyone in their circle thought so. He had all the trimmings – a house in Chelsea, a place in Monaco and a vintage Ferrari, although he had won that off Julian in a poker game. And yet Canopus Partners did not look in particularly robust health, with current assets of under half a million pounds and heavy liabilities. Rachel was savvy enough to know that this was not particularly damning. Financial people were clever. Money was hidden offshore. She made a note to find out more about Greg Willets, but still, where would it lead?
His girlfriend had disappeared in the house. But did that mean Greg had had anything to do with Julian’s death? If Julian had been murdered, his killer needed a motive. Certainly it seemed to benefit Greg to have his friend alive, so that he could throw business his company’s way.
She went to the minibar and emptied it of all the miniature cans of Coke, pouring them into a tooth glass.
There was a notepad by the bedside cabinet. She tore off all the individual squares of paper and placed them around the table. On each square she wrote down a fact that she had learnt during her investigation. Julian wants to pull Rheladrex. Julian dies. Elizabeth Denver wants CEO job. Adam Denver sees Rheladrex report. Sale of Denver Chemicals going through. Julian helps Greg’s business. Greg’s girlfriend in the house?
‘What’s the motive?’ she asked herself out loud, staring at the notes.
Two bits of paper stood out. The sale of Denver Chemicals, and Julian giving Greg business.
She flipped back to her laptop and reread the Canopus website. The list of their areas of expertise wasn’t particularly narrow, but pharmaceuticals seemed to feature prominently. What if Julian had got Canopus to advise on the sale of Denver Chemicals? Alicia Dyer had said that her company was probably not in the running for the business, as Julian had his favoured bankers to deal with. Was that Greg Willets and Canopus? It was possible. Probable.
And if Julian had handed Greg the Denver sale, what did that mean? It meant a lot of money for Greg, that was for certain.
She sighed, crumpling up a ball of paper and throwing it in the bin in frustration. Her knowledge of the Denver Group and how these sorts of deal worked wasn’t up to joining the dots. She needed to brainstorm with someone who knew more than her. But who? Elizabeth Denver? She’d know the answers to all of these things, and more. But Rachel didn’t trust her. There was Adam – but she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him either. And there was Greg himself.
She had only meant to close her eyes for a second, but when she awoke, there was a crack in the curtain and pale morning light poured through. Her head was resting on the table and dribble from her mouth had trickled on to her patchwork of notes. She blinked hard and sat up, shrugging back her shoulders and stretching her arms in front of her. It was almost eight o’clock. She was tired and stiff, but noticeably less anxious than she had been the previous night.
She looked at the damp spread of papers; they were still no clearer than they had been last night.