Dying for Millions (27 page)

‘I understand,' said Chris, making me jump, ‘that you were not at your desk at William Murdock and had not notified your line manager where you were. A message was left on your answering machine. Officers were warned to keep a watch on you. We followed you as far as the hospital, but—'

‘My line manager knew perfectly well where I was. I was at his bedside, in a ward at hospital. No, you people have put me at considerable risk, and I'm very far from happy.'

The room became icy with tension: there was a terrible silence. Andy stared stony-faced at the floor; Ian, his mouth a thin line of disapproval, stared at a point six inches over my head. Whatever Chris was doing, he wouldn't be beaming encouragement: at least, not at me.

‘Do you wish to make a formal complaint, Ms Rivers?' Stephenson asked.

It took courage for her to ask that. She moved her hands to her lap, but I'd already seen her clenching them so the knuckles whitened.

‘Not a formal one. I don't want to louse up anyone's career. I'm angry, not vindictive.'

Another silence.

‘I think that just about wraps everything up,' Chris said, getting to his feet. ‘Are you doing anything for lunch, Sophie?' His tone wasn't especially inviting.

I looked across at Andy.

‘I'll be on the M5 as soon as they've finished with me,' he said, the relief in his voice only too apparent.

‘Then I've no plans, Chris,' I said.

I'd suggested the Italian restaurant, which was suddenly full of potted plants. I didn't investigate; Chris was too grim for such frivolity.

He waited until coffee before spreading the airport papers in front of me. ‘What are these all about?'

‘You've been in my room!' Righteous indignation, not guilt: I must keep it that way.

‘You didn't want me to see what you were doing on the computer last Friday. You were edgy all weekend. You talked in your sleep – of course I looked.'

‘Next time, ask first.' My voice was rational, reasonable – the sort of voice someone innocent would use. ‘Gurjit thought her boyfriend might be committing fraud. I checked the paperwork. I found no evidence that he was doing anything wrong.'

‘Would the Fraud Squad?'

‘I wouldn't think so. Don't you think I'd have told Dave Clarke if I'd had my doubts?'

‘Or me. I rather think you did. I'm not sure if a confession made in your sleep would stand up in a court of law, however. Come on, Sophie. Someone's been nicking odd items from the airport on Wednesday evenings for the last eight weeks. If I looked at a print-out today, what would I find? No – don't bother. You're not a good liar. My theory is that you've found out who's behind it and you want to protect this person. I assume you have a very good reason.'

‘I also want to stop the crimes,' I said. ‘There will be no more thefts – I can guarantee that.

‘There's only one person you'd be prepared to do it for. And only one person who'd want quantities of medical supplies. Oh, Sophie.' He put his hands on mine. Anyone watching would have seen him as a lover, but I felt the steel in his grip.

My throat was tight. ‘If any restitution had to be made, I would make it.'

‘Jesus, Sophie! You haven't this sort of money! Oh, you have, haven't you: George's money. I don't think he'd have approved.'

‘I can't think of anything he'd rather it was spent on. Saving the lives of the poorest people in the world!'

‘So you've wiped the evidence, stopped the crime, and want Andy to get off scot-free. Wouldn't do his reputation a lot of good, wouldn't it? Funny – he's succeeded all by himself in putting his future in jeopardy where that madman Malpass failed. Ironic, I call it.'

I said nothing.

‘What you want me to do is forget it, right?'

‘What you have to do is forget it. There's no evidence you can use.' There were still the Swiss files, of course, but I could deal with them tonight; and if I couldn't, I'd bet my teeth that Griff knew a man who could. ‘And as you say, a confession I made in my sleep might be a bit suspect.'

‘You wouldn't confess while you're awake?'

‘What is there to confess?' I smiled blandly and gathered up my things.

He winced. ‘So I do nothing and we'll all live happily ever after. Right?'

My insurance policy covered me for a hire-car while mine was awaiting repair. I'd retrieved my tapes, and sat in the rented Fiesta wondering why I felt so miserable. I tried to examine each strand of emotion. Anger. Yes, anger with myself for having been so careless. Chris would always have a hold over Andy now. And me, for that matter. Not that I expected to see much more of Chris. When we'd got to his car, he'd thrust at me a carrier bag containing all the odds and ends I'd left at his place. Fine. I'd post his tomorrow.

I selected a tape at random.

I wasn't weeping for Chris.

I wasn't angry with Chris.

I wasn't weeping for Chris, but at something he'd said: ‘We'll all live happily ever after.'

Chris would. Andy would. But what about me? How could I live happily? Chris had been right: there was only one person I'd have lied and cheated for. Andy. And why? Because I was in love with him. Always had been. Because I'd always loved him more than I could ever love anyone else. And now Andy didn't need me any more.

It was a Bee Gees tape. The music started. Voices in close harmony.
We are ordinary people living ordinary lives
.