Read Online A Soldier's Revenge: A Will Cochrane Novel by Matthew Dunn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Matthew Dunn
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Web site, hoping other contact numbers might be listed on the site. A message popped up on his screen saying the Web site domain no longer existed. He tried again, same message. Now he was starting to feel scared. The first contact with the headhunter had been the recruiter calling Sarah. The second, third, and fourth contacts had been via letters. Neither Sarah nor James had met the London-based man.
James’s breathing was wheezy, always a sign he was panicking. He sucked on his inhaler a couple of times to try to settle his lungs. Not knowing what to do next was sending him into a tailspin of bewilderment. He was anxious and very concerned for Sarah’s welfare. But if there was a perfectly normal explanation for all this, Sarah would crucify him for interfering at such a crucial and delicate juncture of her job applications. It could be the final nail in the coffin if he did anything that might derail her efforts.
Then again, he was her husband and had a duty to her. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he backed down from that duty simply because he was too scared to check on her. He had to put his mind at rest, and to do that he had no other option than calling the law firm she was being interviewed by.
For thirty minutes, he was on the phone to them. They had 126 offices spread across the globe, each operating with different management structures and to all intents and purposes autonomous businesses within a worldwide brand. He was transferred to the head office, then to regional offices, then back to the head office in London. Finally, he was connected to the firm’s global head of human resources.
She said to him, “Mr. Goldsmith—I can tell you with certainty that we have no record of a Sarah Goldsmith being interviewed by our company, or an authorized representative of our company, for any position in our firm. Something is not right. If I were you, I would alert the police.”
The inhaler was now a permanent fixture in his mouth as the dread consumed him. This wouldn’t be an elaborate ruse by Sarah, covering her tracks of infidelity. His wife had far too much integrity to cheat behind his back. Many times, she’d made it clear that she would rather get divorced than sleep with another man while married. And there was the crucial matter that she loved her husband dearly. His biggest fear was that she’d fallen victim to an elaborate fraud, something far more complex and clever than the scheme that had earlier this year drained five thousand pounds out of her current account.
He googled her name, unsure what he was looking for, yet beside himself with trepidation. He opened the BBC News site.
And that’s when he saw the headline.
SUSPECTED MURDERER WILL COCHRANE ATTACKS POLICE ON AMTRAK TRAIN
D isbelief hit him as he read the news story that contained updates about the murder in the Waldorf Astoria, the manhunt in the U.S. East Coast, the incident on the train, the fact he was being pursued though his whereabouts were unknown, and the unrecognizable female victim in the bathtub.
The woman in the bathtub.
James spat out his inhaler. “No, no, no, no!” he cried. His hands shook as he called the Scottish police emergency number. “Not Cochrane.” Tess was by his side, barking. “Anyone but Cochrane,” James said, before speaking to the police operator.
“My wife . . . wife . . . her name is Sarah Goldsmith. She’s in New York City, supposedly for a job interview. I think she’s been murdered. She’s been murdered by her brother.
“His name is Will Cochrane.”
CHAPTER 8
T hyme Painter and Joe Kopa ń ski were in Baltimore, grabbing breakfast in a diner a few minutes after it’d opened, at 6 A.M . They’d had no sleep and had come to Baltimore because everything suggested Cochrane was heading south. The night had been frenetic, with the detectives coordinating the manhunt and issuing instructions to local police units. But they’d found nothing. Cochrane had
James’s breathing was wheezy, always a sign he was panicking. He sucked on his inhaler a couple of times to try to settle his lungs. Not knowing what to do next was sending him into a tailspin of bewilderment. He was anxious and very concerned for Sarah’s welfare. But if there was a perfectly normal explanation for all this, Sarah would crucify him for interfering at such a crucial and delicate juncture of her job applications. It could be the final nail in the coffin if he did anything that might derail her efforts.
Then again, he was her husband and had a duty to her. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he backed down from that duty simply because he was too scared to check on her. He had to put his mind at rest, and to do that he had no other option than calling the law firm she was being interviewed by.
For thirty minutes, he was on the phone to them. They had 126 offices spread across the globe, each operating with different management structures and to all intents and purposes autonomous businesses within a worldwide brand. He was transferred to the head office, then to regional offices, then back to the head office in London. Finally, he was connected to the firm’s global head of human resources.
She said to him, “Mr. Goldsmith—I can tell you with certainty that we have no record of a Sarah Goldsmith being interviewed by our company, or an authorized representative of our company, for any position in our firm. Something is not right. If I were you, I would alert the police.”
The inhaler was now a permanent fixture in his mouth as the dread consumed him. This wouldn’t be an elaborate ruse by Sarah, covering her tracks of infidelity. His wife had far too much integrity to cheat behind his back. Many times, she’d made it clear that she would rather get divorced than sleep with another man while married. And there was the crucial matter that she loved her husband dearly. His biggest fear was that she’d fallen victim to an elaborate fraud, something far more complex and clever than the scheme that had earlier this year drained five thousand pounds out of her current account.
He googled her name, unsure what he was looking for, yet beside himself with trepidation. He opened the BBC News site.
And that’s when he saw the headline.
SUSPECTED MURDERER WILL COCHRANE ATTACKS POLICE ON AMTRAK TRAIN
D isbelief hit him as he read the news story that contained updates about the murder in the Waldorf Astoria, the manhunt in the U.S. East Coast, the incident on the train, the fact he was being pursued though his whereabouts were unknown, and the unrecognizable female victim in the bathtub.
The woman in the bathtub.
James spat out his inhaler. “No, no, no, no!” he cried. His hands shook as he called the Scottish police emergency number. “Not Cochrane.” Tess was by his side, barking. “Anyone but Cochrane,” James said, before speaking to the police operator.
“My wife . . . wife . . . her name is Sarah Goldsmith. She’s in New York City, supposedly for a job interview. I think she’s been murdered. She’s been murdered by her brother.
“His name is Will Cochrane.”
CHAPTER 8
T hyme Painter and Joe Kopa ń ski were in Baltimore, grabbing breakfast in a diner a few minutes after it’d opened, at 6 A.M . They’d had no sleep and had come to Baltimore because everything suggested Cochrane was heading south. The night had been frenetic, with the detectives coordinating the manhunt and issuing instructions to local police units. But they’d found nothing. Cochrane had
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