point telling himself that it could all be fake, that she could be rustling today’s Daily Record and some supermarket receipts.
She knew.
So what? he asked himself. He was Dr Graham Marshall and he would not be taken down by some lowlife scheming blackmailing bitch. Not now. ‘I’m sure you think that your points are terribly interesting, Miss,’ he said, ‘but really, it’s rather old news, don’t you think? Now, I’m assuming that this is all about money and that you’d rather have cash, as opposed to a cheque or money into your bank account,’ he laughed quietly, ‘but I do like to keep things civilized–who am I dealing with? What’s your name?’
‘Names only matter to some people,’ she hissed at him. ‘They’re not everything, are they? For some people, they can be changed as easily as a pair of socks; for others I guess they can be the key to their whole world collapsing around them.’
He felt cold. This needed to end. ‘Name your price,’ he said.
‘You’ve earned a fortune over these last years, haven’t you, Dr Marshall? And, in your game, reputation is everything. If you’re so sure that this is about money, why don’t you tell me what you’re willing to offer?’
‘Have you told your…employer what you’ve discovered?’ Marshall asked, playing for time until he felt more confident. His voice was cold and hard. He needed to know who had instructed her to delve into his past. All he heard was a slow clapping start from her end. A steady, irritating sound that only told him she was using a hands-free and that she was getting stronger, more confident as this conversation went on. It was a long time since anyone had treated him with such disrespect.
‘Well done, good question. What’s the answer, do you think?’ she asked. He heard her drumming her fingers impatiently on a hard surface.
His eyes searched all the parked cars, but from what he could tell she was nowhere in sight. Marshall stared unblinking into the distance and shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘The answer, my dear, is…’ He raised his forefinger to his lips. ‘That I suspect you’re too smart to share this tidbit with anyone else. You’re not working for anyone else at all, are you? Let’s just say I still think it’s our little secret.’ The blackmailer was quiet but her silence revealed nothing more to him. ‘One thing does bother me, though…’ He pushed a stray hair out of his eye as he spoke. ‘You seem very confident about all of this. About dealing with me.’ Marshall paused before he said the next words and they formed a question for himself as much as for his would-be blackmailer. ‘Why aren’t you scared?’
The woman seemed to wait forever before laughing into the phone. ‘When you want something so badly, so desperately, you don’t really care about anything else. You don’t feel fear, you don’t feel anything.’
He had no idea what her game was, but was very keen to believe that she was actually just a money-grabbing lowlife. If so, she would presumably have worked out how much would keep her going for life. Well, let her believe it. ‘I think that five hundred thousand would be fair, don’t you?’ he asked, to no reply. ‘I don’t have that kind of money just lying around,’ he continued, hoping that he sounded convincing enough to buy some time. ‘I need a few days to raise it, to liquidate it. How much time do I have?’
‘Once you’ve paid me exactly what I need, I’ll be out of your life. The sooner the better.’
She switched the phone off just before he whispered, ‘But I won’t be out of yours, sweetheart.’
A bare tree branch lashed against the kitchen window. The drumming noise made Pauline Pearson even more impatient to see her husband, to hold him, and tell him she was sorry. Very sorry. When he was away, she genuinely did feel guilty about the constant arguing–when he was there, she was more than happy to blame Alan for his fair share of it. But she really did miss him when he’d been on the road for a while and, each time, she would decide to make a renewed effort.
The Edinburgh to Newcastle road was a bugger at any time of the year, and in this weather it was even worse. She hoped a traffic accident wouldn’t make him even later. She peered out into the garden; it was a typical wet, windy November–just the type of night for staying indoors and snuggling up before a roaring fire. The boys were bathed and ready for bed. Pauline had prepared a special meal and romance was on the menu. Hopefully. She smiled. It was a long time since she’d done that–any of it: meals or sex. Even if she said so herself, the smell was delicious. She was supposed to be on a diet but tonight she’d make an exception for him. It was her way of apologizing. Pauline shuddered as she thought of the way she’d treated Alan over the last ten months or so. After all, as her mother had said this afternoon, the credit crunch was affecting everyone, and in Alan’s line of business as a financial consultant specializing in mortgages, it went without saying he would be one of the hardest hit of all.
‘The good times will come again,’ her mother had promised, before warning that this would only happen if she kept her man happy. Pauline blushed, even although there was no one around to see it. Keeping Alan happy in or out of bed had been the last thing on her mind since his income had dropped. It wasn’t just the money. He’d stopped taking care of himself, the pounds had piled on around his waist, and his hair had started to fall out. The doctor said it was stress. Pauline knew that sex would probably relieve the stress he felt, but the simple fact was she just didn’t fancy him any more. Who would? There was no sexual spark now and, unfortunately for their marriage, it was obvious. If only he’d try to get himself sorted out, do some sit-ups, cut back on stuffing his face in front of the telly every night when he was at home. He’d never been God’s gift, but surely it wasn’t hoping for too much to not have her stomach heave when she thought of him touching her? It was hard to know when she had stopped wanting him, but she was determined to do all she could to get things back to normal.
She walked to the window again and pulled back the curtain. Where was he? The boys wanted to kiss him goodnight and Jason had left his Newcastle United teddy in the car. Although he was seven, he slept better when he was cuddling it. Pauline tried Alan’s mobile again. No answer. She poured a glass of wine to calm her nerves. He wasn’t answering his phone because he was driving: he couldn’t risk the automatic points and fine and she didn’t like him using a hands-free kit because it might still affect his concentration. In spite of their recent difficulties, she did love him deep down.
The doorbell rang.
At last. Why wasn’t he using his key? Maybe he’d forgotten it; he was always losing things. She took another sip of wine, deliberately not answering the door, and tried to calm down; she didn’t want to snap at him just as he was coming through the front door. Pauline could feel her irritation rising; his finger was back on the bell and the noise was going right through her. She could feel her romantic mood dissipating.
A blast of cold air hit her in the face as she opened the door.
It wasn’t Alan.
Two police officers stood where he should be; one of them was a woman–that wasn’t a good sign, she thought.
‘Can we come in, Mrs Pearson?’ the female officer asked gently.
‘Well, I’m a bit busy, pet. My husband’s been away on business and I’m expecting him in any minute now,’ she replied. ‘So, no. No. I’m afraid not. No.’ She wanted them to go away. If they had something to say, she didn’t want to hear it.
The woman reached out and took hold of Pauline’s damp, very, very cold hand. Pauline Pearson thought she felt her heart stop.
‘Aye well, it’s Mr Pearson we’d like to talk to you about…can we come in now, pet, do you think?’
Pauline heard herself whispering ‘No’ over and over again as they came in. It made no difference whatsoever.