Free Disorder (Sam Keddie thriller series Book 1) by Paddy Magrane

enquiry.
    *
    An hour and a half later, their near silent journey – punctuated by short exchanges of information about the route they were taking – was nearing its destination. They drove down a street past thatched houses, a cluster of Victorian cottages, a school, hall and shop.
       ‘Where’s this bloody boozer?’ muttered Eleanor impatiently.
       They rounded a corner and there was a sign just ahead for the pub. They turned into the car park. Jane Vyner had said she’d be standing by a silver BMW. They got out and surveyed the car park. There were about fifteen cars but, as they soon realised, no silver BMWs and certainly no-one waiting to meet them.
       ‘Do you think she got cold feet?’ asked Sam.
       ‘I don’t know,’ said Eleanor. ‘But I’m not letting her off this easily. I’ll give her ten minutes, then if she hasn’t turned up, God help her.’
     

Chapter 20
     
    Reading, Berkshire
     
    Jane Vyner distinctly remembered the moment Charles Scott’s death was announced. The team had been called into the boardroom and told by the Chief Executive. Everyone had gasped, hands were placed over open mouths. The Chief Executive gave them a minute to absorb the news, then ploughed on. Tragic though the Minister’s death was, the project would not be derailed.
       A little later, locked in a cubicle in the ladies toilet, Jane had given into a flood of emotion. She sobbed, the tears accompanied by great heaves of her shoulders. Her nose ran uncontrollably. Waves of nausea swept through her stomach.
       Afterwards, she examined herself in the mirror. Her face was red and puffy, her cheeks stained with mascara-blackened tears. Rooting in her handbag and retrieving her make-up, she set to work to repair the damage.
       It was amazing what a little foundation, lipstick and mascara could achieve. Her eyes were still red but then whose weren’t? They’d all been working incredibly hard to ensure the biggest deal in the company’s history went through. Late nights had become the norm, with meetings either here at head office, or up in London with various mid- and high-level members of the Government.
       At that moment, looking at the mask she’d applied, she realised something. It was all about the face she presented. She had to remain calm and measured. What had happened had to stay secret – unbearably painful though it was. This had the potential not only to destroy her, but the firm as well. A piece of information that could bring a mighty FTSE company to its knees at the very moment when it should have been riding high.
       She’d only recently patted herself on the back for maintaining such a composed demeanour, for so skilfully compartmentalising the sadness she felt.
       And then she’d got the call.
       She’d expected a journalist, or maybe her boss. But Scott’s daughter?
       She’d hardly been able to sleep last night, as her mind went over and over the potential outcomes of today’s lunch. Now, as she walked towards the lifts that would take her to the reception of Future Systems’ huge corporate headquarters, she returned to the same treadmill of thoughts. Denying it – claiming that the two of them had simply been friends – was not an option. The chances were that Eleanor Scott already knew. Why else would she be calling?
       She tried to calm herself. This wasn’t necessarily a disaster. Eleanor Scott had not sounded hostile. She probably just wanted to talk to someone who’d been close to the man she missed.
       Jane reached a bank of lifts and pressed the button. There were a handful of colleagues she knew but she acted as if she were deep in thought – head down, brow furrowed – in the hope she wouldn’t be disturbed.
      What if Eleanor Scott blamed her for her father’s suicide? What lengths would she go to to make her pay? It was something Jane had considered herself numerous times since she’d heard the awful news. She’d repeatedly been