“Has it occurred to you that he might have come back and taken it himself?” Corinne asked.
“Why should he? Where would he have taken it? Besides, his car’s still in the garage. He doesn’t own another, does he?”
“No. Just his darling Porsche. You’re right, if he went anywhere, he’d have taken the Porsche. He loves that car.”
“I don’t suppose he has another house, does he? Somewhere he’d go if he had to make a run for it? A villa on the Algarve, perhaps?”
“Roy’s not particularly fond of Portugal. And he doesn’t own a place in Tuscany or Provence, or anywhere else, as far as I know. At least he never took me to one. He loves travel and holidays, but he says it’s too much hassle owning property abroad. It ties you down to just one place.”
“He’s probably right.”
Corinne bit on her lower lip. “Now you’ve got me really worried.”
Banks put his hand on her shoulder, then took it away quickly, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. She didn’t react. “I’ll find Roy,” he said. “But let’s have a look at some of these files first. They might help us find out where to start looking. You know more about his business affairs than I do.”
“That’s not saying much. Anyway, there’s nothing here that looks even the remotest bit dodgy.”
“How can you tell?”
Corinne faltered a little. “Well, I don’t suppose I can, really. As I said, the drive isn’t protected or encrypted, and Roy’s hardly likely to write down references to importing heroin, is he?”
“So there’s no way of telling?”
As Corinne spoke, she opened and scanned various files. The printer was still running. “Not from these files. Everything looks aboveboard. I think if he were trying to hide that sort of thing, there’d be something to set off alarm bells. It’s not that easy. Besides, as I’ve been trying to tell you, Roy’s not like that.”
“What about the Money files?”
“Simple income and expenditure. Company profit-and-loss sheets. Investment returns. Bank statements. Some offshore banking. His finances are in pretty good shape.”
“Roy did a lot of offshore banking?”
“Anyone working at his level of income has to. It’s a matter of keeping tax liabilities as low as possible. It’s not illegal. Mostly we’re looking at memos and correspondence here. You are, of course, welcome to examine them all at your leisure, especially as you took them in the first place, but I’d say you’d be wasting your time. Roy’s on the board of a few hi-tech companies, mostly interested in miniature information-storage devices, like that USB hard drive, flash memory cards, that sort of thing. Given the way the world’s going, with mobiles, digital cameras, PDAs, MP3 players, and various combinations, it seems a wise enough area to be in. Smaller is better. As a board member, he’s paid dividends.”
“What else is there?”
“Recently Roy’s become interested in private health care. I remember him talking about it. Look.” She activated a PowerPoint presentation that extolled the virtues, and profits, of investing in a string of cosmetic-surgery clinics. “He’s on the board of a chain of health centers, a pharmaceutical company, a fitness club.”
“It all sounds very dull,” said Banks.
“I told you so. But guess who’s the one with the Porsche.”
“No need to rub it in. Is there more?”
“A few market-research reports on health and hi-tech, the kind of reports you buy, the expensive kind.”
“I was hoping for a few names.”
“They’re here,” said Corinne. “Memos and letters between Roy and various directors and companies he was involved with. Julian Harwood, for example.”
“I’ve heard that name.”
“You might well have done. He’s quite big in the private health-care field these days. Directs the chain of clinics Roy’s involved with. Anything from cancer to breast enlargement. Actually, Roy and Julian have been mates for years.”
“Harwood’s not a doctor, though?”
“No, a businessman.”
“Have you met him?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You don’t sound impressed.”
“Maybe because that’s exactly what he sets out to do. Impress people. Frankly, I always found him a bit boorish, but it takes all sorts. It still doesn’t make him a crook, though.”
“So you don’t think there’s anything in there to suggest that Roy was involved in any sort of illegal or dangerous business ventures?”
“You can see for yourself it all looks quite kosher. I don’t know about dangerous, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, just because it looks clean, that doesn’t mean the hi-tech companies he worked with weren’t selling illegal weapons guidance systems to terrorists, or that the clinics weren’t involved in genetic manipulation. Maybe the cosmetic-surgery clinics gave gangsters new faces.”
Banks laughed. “Like Seconds, you mean?”
Corinne frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s a film. Rock Hudson. A man gets a new face, new identity.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I suppose my point is that they’re not exactly going to announce things like that in letters six feet high, are they? It’s a wide-open world. You should know that. Even the most innocuous-looking enterprise on the surface can turn out to be a whole different matter if you dig a little deeper.”
Banks did know that, and it didn’t make him feel a great deal easier about Roy.
Corinne collected the pile of printed paper, put it in a folder and handed it to him. “Here. Be my guest.”
Banks picked up the folder, put it in his briefcase and stood up. “Thanks a lot,” he said. “You’ve been very generous with your time.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Corinne. “Just find Roy.”
“I will.”
“When you do, will you let me know?”
“Of course. In the meantime, you take good care of yourself. If you think of anything else, or there’s anything you need, well… you can ring me on Roy’s mobile. He left it on the kitchen table. That’s how I got your number.”
Corinne frowned. “That’s not like him,” she said. “Not like him at all.”
“No,” said Banks, and left.
Annie hadn’t seen anyone faint since she was about nine, when one of the women at the artists’ commune where she had been raised keeled over in the middle of dinner. Even then, she overheard some of the adults talking later, and the general agreement seemed to be that drugs were the cause. In the case of Kate Nesbit, it was most likely shock, and perhaps the heat.
Remembering her first aid, Annie placed Kate’s feet on a chair to elevate her legs above heart level to restore the flow of blood to the brain, then turned her head to one side so she didn’t swallow her tongue. She leaned close and listened. Kate was breathing without difficulty. Lacking smelling salts – never, in fact, having seen or smelled any – Annie just made sure that Kate hadn’t cracked her skull when she fell and then went over to the sink to pour another glass of water. She found a tea towel, dampened it with cold water and brought it over with the glass, then she got another glass of water for herself. Kate was stirring now, her eyes open. Annie mopped her brow, then lifted her into a sitting position so she could sip the water. As soon as Kate said she felt well enough, Annie helped her back into her chair, then cleared up the broken glass before continuing the interview.
“I’m so sorry,” Kate said. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“That’s all right. I’m just sorry I couldn’t find an easier way to break it to you.”
“But shot? Jenn? I can hardly believe it. Surely that sort of thing doesn’t happen to people like us?”
Annie wished she could say it didn’t.
“What was it?” Kate went on. “Robbery? Not… like that other poor girl?”