Free Once a Killer by Martin Bodenham Page A

so late. I went down to the police station and gave them a statement.”
    Caroline leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I can’t imagine what you were thinking of chasing after them. They had a gun. You don’t know what they might have done.”
    “I know. It was instinct. If I’d had time to think about it…”
    She threw another log onto the fire and prodded about with it using the poker. “I tried calling you several times. I was worried.”
    “I know. I saw you’d called when I left the police station, but I’d left my phone in the car. I didn’t call you back. I knew it would scare you unless you could see for yourself that I was okay. Besides, I just wanted to get home as soon as I could and see you and the girls.”
    She grabbed his hand. “Just so long as you are in one piece.”
    He nodded. “I’m okay. It’s wounded pride more than anything.”
    “You’re not doing any work this weekend. I want you to rest.”
    That night, Michael lay awake, staring into the dark bedroom, trying to work out what he found worse: having been held at gunpoint by Rondell’s henchmen, or having to lie about it to Caroline.
    Thinking he could just ignore Rondell had been crazy. In his heart, he’d always known he was trapped. There had never really been a choice whether or not to cooperate with him. And if he was going to get any control over the situation, he had to start sharing deal information soon. It was the only way to avoid any harm coming to his family. In the end, that was all that mattered.
    He turned onto his side and closed his eyes. By this time next week, he would have breached a whole raft of SEC rules and, worse still, committed securities fraud. Not exactly how he’d imagined spending the first few weeks of becoming an equity partner at Dudek’s. But it was still the right thing to do.

Chapter 11
    R UNNING H IS F INGERS B ACKWARD through his hair had become second nature to Fabrizio Caravini. He didn’t even know he was doing it. It was only when he looked at himself in the mirror above the sink that he saw what he’d done.
    “Shit,” he said, taking a comb out of his inside pocket.
    He looked around the empty men’s room, then leaned over the sink and combed his thin blond hair forward to cover the receding hairline. In the last eighteen months, the hair loss had really begun to show. Many times, he’d thought about going to a male baldness clinic, just to find out if anything could be done. But so far, his pride and ego had stopped him. Why, at forty-two, did he have to put up with this indignity, when his father still had a thick mop, and he was now well into his seventies? He glanced at the door before taking out a small can of Consort Extra Hold from his attaché case and caking it onto his mane, locking it back it into place.
    “Much better,” he mouthed at his reflection. Now all he had to do was resist running his fingers through it again.
    After checking his teeth with a few practice smiles in the mirror, he straightened his tie, pulled his shoulders back, and power-strode out of the room. As he walked along the corridor toward the conference hall, the noise of the press pack grew louder. There was a slight twinge in his gut, but there was no time to return to the restroom; the press conference was about to start.
    “Looking good, Fab,” said a woman, catching up with him from behind.
    He turned, instinctively pulling in his stomach muscles, and flashed his expensive dental work when he recognized her as one of the friendly journalists from the New York Post.
    “Thanks,” he said, opening the door for her. He didn’t need to be told, but it was nice to hear all the same.
    Caravini dodged the flashing cameras as he sauntered up to the raised podium at the front and then patted his hands down through the air to quiet the audience. His eyes made a quick scan of the faces in front of him. All of the main newspapers and local TV channels were here. He cleared his throat and,