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Authors: Laurence O’Bryan
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with the package. He glanced at the entrance to BXH as he put the phone away.
He didn’t want to miss him. He had a message for George Donovan. All he had to do was work out how to deliver it.
20
This was all getting ridiculous, Sean wouldn’t have gone to a strip club – he was not that kind of man. But it would explain the late nights. The thought of Sean visiting that club left an ache in Isabel’s chest. The weekend in Paris didn’t matter now. He’d been the best thing in her life since they’d come back from Istanbul. She could almost feel his arms around her when she thought about him.
As the cab came up the street she saw a police car outside their next door neighbour’s house. A dark Ford was double-parked outside their house. She got out of the cab by the police car, and peered in. What was she expecting, Sean to be in handcuffs in the back?
He wasn’t. She fumbled for her keys. The black paint on their front door glistened. The glass was opaque. She could see a shape moving on the other side. She heard someone behind her, turned.
It was one of the neighbours. She was wearing a bobble hat. She glanced at Isabel, then looked away as she passed, as if she suspected that the police car had something to do with her. Isabel didn’t care. She turned back to the door. She wanted her old life back. Now.
She took out her keys. Her hand was trembling. The mist on her breath filled the air as she turned the front door key.
Before she even got a chance to take it out, someone on the other side yanked the door open, almost catching her fingers. A burly, hard-eyed policewoman was looking at her as if she were a criminal.
Isabel felt weak. Blood was rushing the wrong way inside her. Her knees had stopped working.
The police were in her house.
‘What’s going on? Where’s my husband?’ Her words came out in a rush.
‘Are you Isabel Ryan?’ the policewoman said. She’d have been able to find a place on a Soviet-era ice hockey team, she was that big.
‘Yes?’
The policewoman looked at her. For a heart-twisting moment Isabel thought she was going to say that Sean was dead.
Then another man, in plain clothes, said something Isabel didn’t catch, and the policewoman stepped aside.
‘I’m Inspector Kirby,’ said the man. His accent was from the north of England. He was tall and had a sickle-like jaw. He was standing at the bottom of their stairs, as if he’d just come down.
What was going on?
‘Don’t be alarmed, Mrs Ryan. Your cleaner let us in. We have a search warrant.’ He patted his breast pocket.
She didn’t want to see any search warrant. She had nothing to hide.
‘Is Sean okay?’ she said quickly.
‘We thought you might be able to help us with that, Mrs Ryan.’
The weakness in her legs came rushing back. She put a hand out, steadied herself against the wall. The policewoman reached towards her. She shrugged her away, straightened herself, and focused on the inspector.
‘Why the hell are you in my house?’ She knew she sounded angry, but she didn’t care.
‘We’re investigating some serious matters, Mrs Ryan.’ His voice had a passive quality, but his eyes were as hard as granite.
‘Under our search warrant powers we’re permitted to remove all the computer equipment in your home, and any papers or any other items related in any way to the matters under investigation. All these powers have been granted under regulations contained in the Financial Services and Markets Act 2000.’
It sounded like a set of words that he was well practiced in delivering.
‘Your cleaner showed us your husband’s office.’
‘Sorry, Mrs Ryan. There was nothing I could do,’ called out a weak voice from down the corridor. Sabrina’s head poked up over Inspector Kirby’s shoulder.
‘It’s all right, Sabrina. It’s to do with the bank.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. She had to focus. She couldn’t care about them being here.
‘You’re trying to find my husband?’ She
He didn’t want to miss him. He had a message for George Donovan. All he had to do was work out how to deliver it.
20
This was all getting ridiculous, Sean wouldn’t have gone to a strip club – he was not that kind of man. But it would explain the late nights. The thought of Sean visiting that club left an ache in Isabel’s chest. The weekend in Paris didn’t matter now. He’d been the best thing in her life since they’d come back from Istanbul. She could almost feel his arms around her when she thought about him.
As the cab came up the street she saw a police car outside their next door neighbour’s house. A dark Ford was double-parked outside their house. She got out of the cab by the police car, and peered in. What was she expecting, Sean to be in handcuffs in the back?
He wasn’t. She fumbled for her keys. The black paint on their front door glistened. The glass was opaque. She could see a shape moving on the other side. She heard someone behind her, turned.
It was one of the neighbours. She was wearing a bobble hat. She glanced at Isabel, then looked away as she passed, as if she suspected that the police car had something to do with her. Isabel didn’t care. She turned back to the door. She wanted her old life back. Now.
She took out her keys. Her hand was trembling. The mist on her breath filled the air as she turned the front door key.
Before she even got a chance to take it out, someone on the other side yanked the door open, almost catching her fingers. A burly, hard-eyed policewoman was looking at her as if she were a criminal.
Isabel felt weak. Blood was rushing the wrong way inside her. Her knees had stopped working.
The police were in her house.
‘What’s going on? Where’s my husband?’ Her words came out in a rush.
‘Are you Isabel Ryan?’ the policewoman said. She’d have been able to find a place on a Soviet-era ice hockey team, she was that big.
‘Yes?’
The policewoman looked at her. For a heart-twisting moment Isabel thought she was going to say that Sean was dead.
Then another man, in plain clothes, said something Isabel didn’t catch, and the policewoman stepped aside.
‘I’m Inspector Kirby,’ said the man. His accent was from the north of England. He was tall and had a sickle-like jaw. He was standing at the bottom of their stairs, as if he’d just come down.
What was going on?
‘Don’t be alarmed, Mrs Ryan. Your cleaner let us in. We have a search warrant.’ He patted his breast pocket.
She didn’t want to see any search warrant. She had nothing to hide.
‘Is Sean okay?’ she said quickly.
‘We thought you might be able to help us with that, Mrs Ryan.’
The weakness in her legs came rushing back. She put a hand out, steadied herself against the wall. The policewoman reached towards her. She shrugged her away, straightened herself, and focused on the inspector.
‘Why the hell are you in my house?’ She knew she sounded angry, but she didn’t care.
‘We’re investigating some serious matters, Mrs Ryan.’ His voice had a passive quality, but his eyes were as hard as granite.
‘Under our search warrant powers we’re permitted to remove all the computer equipment in your home, and any papers or any other items related in any way to the matters under investigation. All these powers have been granted under regulations contained in the Financial Services and Markets Act 2000.’
It sounded like a set of words that he was well practiced in delivering.
‘Your cleaner showed us your husband’s office.’
‘Sorry, Mrs Ryan. There was nothing I could do,’ called out a weak voice from down the corridor. Sabrina’s head poked up over Inspector Kirby’s shoulder.
‘It’s all right, Sabrina. It’s to do with the bank.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. She had to focus. She couldn’t care about them being here.
‘You’re trying to find my husband?’ She
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