15 #2
It had been a nasty shock when his dementia-ridden father had told him how he’d always detested Amelia Montrose and bitterly resented the poxy charity that she’d set up, especially as he always suspected that Glen had helped to fund it.
And how, after Monty’s death, he’d begun watching Deborah Simmonds carefully, having found out that she was the one who now had sole access to the charity’s bank accounts.
It hadn’t been easy, but he had found out what she was up to, finally confronting her at Monty’s funeral and threatening her with exposure if she didn’t go halves with him.
Which she had reluctantly done, giving Robert the chance to found his family business at the charity’s expense.
Which was why, when Lyssa Moore had first approached him about the book, he had become so concerned. For what if, whilst digging around about the Montrose woman, she found out the ugly truth about the defrauded charity? And now, it looked as if his worst nightmare was indeed coming true.
‘Hello – Earth to Mr Bannister,’ he heard Jack Flynn’s raised voice, followed by a nasty laugh. ‘Sorry, did you just zone out there for a bit, old man? What’s he like, eh?’ he sneered, turning to look once more at the silent man who was watching them both like a hawk.
Jack still didn’t like the look of him. And he didn’t like the old geezer’s stubborn silence either. It was time to stamp on any silly ideas this pair might be getting. He was in charge here. He might not look that bright, but he was smart enough to know when he was in the driving seat.
‘I’ve got the original books for this YMT thing, yeah?
’ he said aggressively. ‘And some diaries. I know my great-nan emptied the charity bank accounts, and then was forced to hand half of it over to your old man, Mr Bannister. Hell, she even kept proof of the bank transfers to your father’s account.
I reckon she was smart to do that. To hold on to proof, like.
With what they had on each other, both of ’em had to keep quiet, like, or they’d both end up in the nick, wouldn’t they?
And now here we are, all these years later.
Me, poor as a church mouse because my great-nan spent the money on wine and fancy clothes and who the hell knows what else, but you and your lot still living high on the hog.
Now that’s not fair, is it? I ask you? Share and share alike, that’s what I say. So now we need to discuss terms.’
Jack Flynn turned and gave the still silent man behind him a swift look.
‘And don’t you go getting any ideas. I’ve already put the stuff somewhere safe – somewhere you ain’t gonna find it, not even if you turn over my gaff.
And just bear in mind, I got friends, see.
Good friends. The sort that would take a monkey wrench to your kneecaps if I asked ’em nicely. ’
At this, Jonas swallowed hard. And slowly, his eyes met those of his security chief, which were, as usual, inscrutable.
By a little after nine o’clock the next morning, Lyssa was already up and about to start work. Before she did, however, she supposed she needed to have a chat with her client. Things were beginning to pile up, and she wasn’t sure who or what she could trust any more.
Someone had bugged her flat. And the timing of Justin Tillman’s accident was looking less like a coincidence and more like something far more sinister.
It seemed strange that he should have his fall just after he’d told her he was going to look for the film of Monty’s last party.
And if she was right about someone following her about, maybe the idea that someone had been watching him as well wasn’t so wild after all?
But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to confide these worries to Elizabeth.
Because, when it came right down to it – how much did she trust her own client?
No, best to keep her own counsel for now and just be professional about things.
Make like the book was the only thing she was interested in and concentrating on.
And if, a little voice piped up in her head, Elizabeth wasn’t to be trusted, the last thing she wanted to do was alert her to the fact she was beginning to have her doubts and suspicions. Right?
And with that in mind, she reached for her phone.
As she did so, however, she couldn’t help but remember that it had once been bugged and the realisation that someone had listened in on her private calls still made her feel slightly sick.
And even though, thanks to Nick Rattle, that was no longer the case, she still felt her heart flutter nervously every time she had to use the implement, and that was beginning to make her angry.
If she allowed herself to become afraid of communicating with people, she knew that whoever had bugged her phone would have scored a victory over her, and that she would not tolerate.
So she straightened her shoulders and determinedly punched in Elizabeth’s number.
With the usual greetings completed, they went on to talk about her recent conversation with the widow of Derek Jameson, the man who’d conducted the investigation into Monty’s death.
After which Lyssa began to sound Elizabeth out about Jameson’s private doubts concerning the official verdict.
She was careful to downplay it slightly, as she didn’t want to come out all guns blazing about how she thought it should provide the focal point of the book.
After all, Elizabeth might think that raising speculation that Monty might have been murdered would be taking things a step too far.
There was also the very real possibility that the Montrose family might feel they had already endured enough publicity and scandal as far as Monty was concerned, and wouldn’t have any taste for another bout of it now.
‘I know it might be hard getting your head around the idea that what happened to Monty wasn’t an accident, but I think we should at least raise the question, right?
’ Lyssa pressed gently, holding her breath a little.
‘It could act as a very good selling point for the book,’ she pointed out, appealing to Elizabeth’s entrepreneurial spirit and literally crossing her fingers.
‘Huh? Oh yeah, I can see that,’ Elizabeth said vaguely. Some scuffling sounds were coming at her over the line now, and Lyssa was as sure as she could be that the other woman was in the process of lighting up a cigarette and thus might not have been paying proper attention.
She tried again. ‘It might change the whole theme of the book, though?’
‘Hmm? Oh, I’m not so sure about that. The whole point of the book is to do Monty justice, remember? To put right the slur on her reputation. Just concentrate for now on proving that she wrote the songs. That’s what really matters, because that’s what will validate her. OK?’
Lyssa swung her swivel chair from side to side, fighting back her surprise.
Was she really hearing this right? She’d just phoned her client to tell her that it was possible that the subject of their biography might have been murdered, and all she could focus on was proving that Monty wrote the lyrics for the songs?
All right, fair enough, she could see that was important too – but it hardly topped murder, did it? ’
Just what was going on here? What was she missing?
‘Lyssa?’ Elizabeth’s voice sounded sharply in her ear. ‘You still there?’
‘Yes! Yes, all right, Elizabeth, if that’s what you want, I can do that. And on that subject, I’ve managed to track down Luke Raines’ niece, and it’s possible she might have some of his papers. If anyone knew how the songs came to be written, it would have been him.’
‘That’s fabulous,’ Elizabeth said, sounding definitely pleased now.
‘Let me know the instant you find anything, yeah? And remember, we really need written evidence that she did, not just hearsay. I mean, it’ll be great if she remembers her uncle telling her that he’d just got back from Evergreen or somewhere, and that Monty was having trouble with the last lines of “Where It Hurts” or some such offhand remark like that, but it’s hardly set in stone, is it? ’
‘No, but it would all go to building up a general picture, don’t you think?’ Lyssa pointed out. ‘It’s little remembrances like that that could really help readers build a picture of what was happening in their lives.’
‘Oh yeah, sure, I’m not saying don’t include it. But . . . Oh well, never mind, just do your best. Look, I gotta get down to the office – I’ve a client who wants everything done out in grey. I keep telling her that boat’s sailed! We’ll talk later, OK?’
‘Yes, but,’ Lyssa began, about to ask if Elizabeth wanted to see the Jameson material, but already the dial tone was sounding in her ears. With a sigh, she ended the call and sat for a moment or two, staring out of the window.
Was she imagining things, or was her client acting weirdly? Why so little excitement – or even curiosity – about the possibility that Monty was murdered? And why was she so hung up on proving Monty’s authorship of the Lucky Cuckoos’ song lyrics? To her, Elizabeth’s priorities seemed very odd.
But then again – clients!
Philosophically, she got back to work.
It was just gone eleven, and she was beginning to get a firm outline of the shape of the coming book now.
A good biography, in her opinion, told the story of a person’s life in a linear, easy-to-understand format, which nevertheless had highlights, almost like a work of fiction.
She’d already gathered so much information she felt justified in setting out a very rough chapter-by-chapter synopsis and had settled on the order in which she’d present her findings and research to keep readers informed and entertained and wanting to read on, without them feeling as if they were being in any way manipulated.
She had a beginning, most of the middle, and everyone knew the ending, which was, in her opinion, a good start!