Time After Time (18 page)

Hayley woke up with a start, immediately registering that she was in a chair, rather than lying in bed.

‘Did you seriously just nod off?’

Hayley whipped her head around and looked at the bald, goateed man sat next to her. The fluorescent lighting buzzing overhead gave off a dull sheen that made everything – including the top of his head – look slightly jaundiced.

She wrapped her arms around herself.

‘For fuck’s sake, get a grip,’ Goatee continued gruffly as he picked up his ballpoint pen and started writing on a thick pad of paper on the table in front of him. ‘He’ll be here in a minute.’

Hayley looked at Goatee, thinking she recognised him from somewhere, but unable to quite connect the dots. The orange plastic chair that Hayley was sitting on had moulded itself uncomfortably around her lower body and she shifted in the seat. She glanced down at her clothes; black suit and white shirt, leather court shoes, black briefcase on the floor next to her. The slender silver watch on her right arm told her it was exactly five minutes to nine.

Her eyes darted around the rectangular room that contained four chairs and the table she and Goatee were sitting at. The green metallic blinds obscured the small window in the only door leading out. Hayley looked up at the ceiling and froze. Pointing directly at them from the top right corner was a camera, and, she now noticed, a twin-deck stereo recorder sat on the far left side of the table.

The door opened and a young man’s head popped in through the opening. His pink, blotchy cheeks were covered in pockmarks, no doubt, Hayley thought, remnants from years of bad acne. He was probably in his early twenties, but could easily pass for fifteen.

‘Mr. Reed?’ he said.

‘Yes?’ Goatee sighed, barley looking up.

‘Michael Reed?’

Goatee sighed again, more audibly this time. ‘Yes.’

The young man smiled apologetically at Hayley and swallowed. ‘Superintendent MacMillan said it’ll be a few more minutes.’

‘Fine. Thanks Constable.’ Goatee aka. Michael Reed semi-waved, and the young man closed the door again.

Hayley’s eyes widened.

Superintendent? Constable? What the hell have I done?

‘I-I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I … I don’t think I –’

‘Chill out,’ Michael said, and resumed scribbling on his notepad. ‘I’ll do most of the talking.’

‘But … but why am I here?’

‘We discussed this already, Hayley.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘And I’m not discussing it again. Especially not
here
.’

Hayley fell silent while her mind did its best to process the situation. What could she have done to end up at a police station at nine o’clock on a Saturday morning?

Hang on … it
is
Saturday, right?

Then what was she doing here, in a sparse interview room, sitting next to a person –
oh hell, was he her lawyer
– who had the likability of a thrombosed haemorrhoid?

Her heart beat frantically as Hayley imagined the possible scenarios. Had she been arrested, or charged? And for what? She was still in her normal clothes, so it wasn’t likely that she’d been sentenced and sent to prison, not yet at least. Hayley gulped.
Prison
?

‘Oh,’ Michael said, looking at Hayley, ‘whatever you do, don’t call him –’

The door burst open, and with it, so did Hayley’s mouth. She recognised the man in front of her immediately. Head of thick, dark hair, angular face and a three-day stubble. The door closed behind him and Hayley continued to stare. His well-cut charcoal suit was lightly crumpled and his black shirt, open to the middle of his chest, revealed a fine line of chest hair.

‘Boots Borrello,’ Hayley said, far louder than she had intended.

‘I detest that name,’ he said, walking over to the table. As he kept his hazelnut eyes on Hayley, she noticed that the dark shadows beneath them gave him an edgier, more smouldering look.

‘What the fuck did I tell you?’ Michael hissed in her ear as Carmine Borrello sat down on the other side of the table. ‘Carmine, please excuse Hayley’s disrespect, it won’t –’

Carmine raised a hand, still staring at Hayley. ‘That’s no way to speak to a lady, Michael.’ When he finally looked away, Hayley realised she’d been holding her breath since the notorious – sorry,
alleged
criminal – had entered the room.

‘You’re right, Carmine. Forgive me, Hayley.’ Michael dropped his head like a school boy disciplined by the headmaster.

‘So,’ Carmine said, and smiled at Hayley. ‘Michael tells me you’re a genius when it comes to company structures. Mergers, acquisitions, trust funds, and so forth?’

Hayley didn’t know how to respond so she said nothing.

‘Yes, she is,’ Michael said, and Hayley could tell he was making big eyes at her. He probably wished he had a cattle prod to zap her with.

Carmine pressed his fingertips together. ‘You see,’ he said and leaned forward, ‘I have to make sure certain people are taken care of.’

Hayley gasped and Carmine must have noticed the shock on her face because he laughed, his head tilted backwards, a glint in his eyes when he looked at her again. ‘Not
that
kind of taken care of. This isn’t
Goodfellas
. I mean financially taken care of.’

‘Oh, I –’

‘Don’t worry, Carmine.’ Michael jumped in before Hayley could say anything more. ‘She’ll go through the various details that were set up, check it was all done as, uh,
efficiently
as possible. That is if you approve, of course.’

Carmine nodded slowly and looked at Hayley, his hazelnut gaze never wavering. ‘Michael tells me you have a young family.’

‘Yes,’ she said, although unsure of which family exactly he was referring to.

‘Then you’ll understand my desire to protect mine from this,’ he waved a hand around, ‘
situation
. I agree with Michael that a fresh eye on my affairs will be helpful.’ His gaze shifted to Michael. ‘Particularly if I’m charged, which won’t happen. Correct, Michael?’

Michael cleared his throat. ‘Not if I have anything to do with it. The Crown is clutching at straws. They’ve tried to get you for everything under the sun and it doesn’t surprise me they’re now claiming fraud and tax evasion – it’s all they have left. Don’t worry, we’ll ensure these,’ he looked up at the camera and continued more loudly, ‘
ridiculous
charges are dropped.’ He rubbed his goatee before lowering his voice again. ‘Anyway, let’s discuss strategy separately.’ Hayley saw him nod his head sideways towards her. ‘Later. With the defence team.’

‘Fine. Well, that’s all for now. Thank you for bringing Hayley to see me,’ Carmine said to Michael. ‘I trust your judgement.’ He smiled, revealing his immaculately white teeth. ‘Otherwise I’d never pay Klingel’s outrageous fees.’

At that point things finally clicked into place. How could she have forgotten? She’d read the interview in
Lawyer Monthly
only a few weeks ago. Michael Reed worked at Klingel’s and was the most prominent criminal defence lawyer in London – possibly even in the entire country. Everyone knew of his reputation – a hard-nosed, uncompromising opponent who always went for the jugular and rarely missed. The Crown Prosecutors he jousted with in the courtroom often fled at the end of the day to tend to their wounds, if they survived at all.

Carmine looked at them both and smiled. ‘Now get me out of here, Michael. And Hayley, welcome to Team Borrello.’

*

Ten minutes later Hayley and Michael stood outside of the West End Central police station on Savile Row. She sucked in another lungful of fresh air, not that it was doing much to help clear her mind.

‘Sorry again for swearing at you back there,’ Michael said with a grimace as he set his briefcase on the ground to put on his coat. ‘After all these years Borrello still makes me jumpy. Glad he liked you though. I told you he always insists on meeting every lawyer in person.’ He wound his scarf around his neck and leaned in. ‘Did I tell you he knew you used to work for Charles Simpson? God only knows how he found out about our, ahem,
arrangement
with them. No matter. I know our secret’s safe with him.’ He laughed.

When Hayley found herself completely unable to formulate a properly constructed sentence she wrapped her arms around the black briefcase she’d retrieved from the floor of the meeting room inside, and followed Michael down the road.

‘I want you to go through all of the trust funds, offshores and shells we’ve got set up for him.’ As they walked towards Regent Street his expression hardened again. ‘Make sure Borrello’s assets are protected to the max, alright? It’s all on the cloud so you can work from home.’

Hayley put a hand to her forehead, remembering what Ian had implied about her handiwork. ‘No way,’ she muttered. ‘Not more illegal stuff.’

‘What?’ Michael stopped and grabbed her arm. ‘Wait. Who said anything about it being dodgy? Absolutely not. Find loopholes and exploit them.’

‘Loopholes?’

‘Jesus, Hayley. What’s with you?’ Michael shook his head. He exhaled, held up a hand. ‘Sorry.’ He started walking again. ‘Look, I need your report by nine tomorrow. You’ll have to cancel any plans you and Sean had.’

‘Sean?’ She’d completely forgotten about him.

‘How are you getting home?’ Michael asked as they turned the corner. ‘Tube or taxi?’ He looked at her, waiting for a reply, and when she didn’t answer he raised an arm, catching the eye of a passing cab driver. ‘Better make it a taxi.’

Hayley clambered into the back of the car and Michael leaned over, one arm on the roof of the car. ‘We’ll speak tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Right, I’d better start navigating through this shit-storm. See you.’ He slammed the door shut.

The man behind the wheel turned down the radio and smiled warmly. ‘Good morning, Miss.’ His voice had an almost musical quality to it and, according to his driver’s ID, his name was Sahir. ‘Where can I take you on this fine day?’

Hayley opened and closed her mouth a few times. ‘I … I’m not sure yet,’ she said. ‘Could … could you drive for a bit while I get my head straight?’

‘Certainly, Miss,’ Sahir said as he briefly looked at her the rear-view mirror and smiled again. ‘There is no rush. You tell me when you are ready. Okay? I will just drive down the road a few minutes. We’ve got such nice weather today, it is a wonderful day for a drive.’ He turned the radio back up again and started humming along to a tune Hayley didn’t recognise.

She opened her briefcase, pushing the neatly labelled folders to the side. When she spotted an iPhone she pulled it out and pushed the home button. The screen lit up and she slid her fingers across it, scrolling through the contacts until she got to the one called My Phone.

‘I know where I’m going now,’ she said, looking up at Sahir, a slight tremble in her voice. ‘Wembley.’

It would take a good thirty or so minutes to get there, given the state of the traffic. Hayley hoped it would be enough time to calm the nerves that had slammed into her gut with the force of a hungry great white attacking a seal. Only this time, she realised, they had absolutely nothing to do with meeting a slick mobster.

*

Hayley gave Sahir a small wave as he left before she turned to face the red-brick, semi-detached house where she now stood. She looked at the house with its white garage door and window frames, it’s small but neatly trimmed lawn, and the blue front door. The leaves on the elm tree in the garden were bright orange, and rustled gently in the breeze.

She pulled out the set of keys from her briefcase and went about fitting one of them into the lock. Her stomach fluttered and, unable to wait any longer, she turned the key, pushed open the door and found herself in a small hallway, in front of a staircase leading to the first floor.

‘Hello?’ Hayley called out. No answer. ‘Anyone home?’ Silence.

She kicked off her shoes and put down the briefcase, then padded upstairs. There were four doors to choose from, all slightly ajar, so Hayley walked to the nearest one on her left.

The first thing she noticed in the room was the large picture hanging above the double bed – the Giant’s Causeway at sunset. One look at the dramatic waves spilling over the tops of the columns and the last shades of doubt about who lived here disappeared.

A red chair was in the corner, the one she’d had in the den of her flat in Hammersmith, the chair she’d put in the bedroom she shared with Rick. Hayley spotted two rings next to a pot of hand cream on the bedside table. A solitaire engagement ring with a gold band, not too dissimilar from the one Rick had given her, and a classic gold wedding ring. Tentatively, Hayley slipped them on her left ring finger and couldn’t stop her smile.

It shouldn’t feel this right, should it?

She sat down at the dressing table and hunted around in the drawers for some make-up. Quickly, she retouched her mascara and eye-shadow, not wanting to overdo it, and then brushed her hair, which fell in soft waves to her shoulders. She swallowed hard, turned away from the mirror and pulled open the wardrobe, swiftly exchanging her business attire for a pair of dark jeans and a purple V-neck sweater. She sighed with relief when she saw they were her usual size, although she would have been happy to be as toned as she was the day before.

You do realise you’re trying to make yourself look nice for Sean, don’t you?

Hayley brushed the annoying voice in her head aside, left the bedroom and pushed open another door on the landing, her heart pounding loudly as she took everything in. A boy’s room. Blue painted walls and stick-on, glow-in-the-dark moons and stars on the ceiling. Posters of motorbikes and racing cars, curtains with speed boats and a duvet covered in pictures of rocket ships. A big bucket of Lego in one corner and next to it a collection of rubber dinosaurs. She put her hands over her stomach.

We have a son … Wait! Does that mean I didn’t …?