Deadly Day Trading by Andres Kabel

Author:Andres Kabel [Kabel, Andres]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780648306825
Published: 2019-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 27

Early morning offices, Peter Gentle thought, were a recipe for depression. From Jim Van Kressel’s room, TPT’s empty cubicles and blank screens struck him as especially forlorn. He sighed at the memory of Harvey’s concerned parting wink.

Jim was at the window, brooding down onto Collins Street.

Peter joined him. “You seemed upset at Mick.”

Woolly clouds heralded showers. Two trams in tandem scraped around the corner from Spring Street. An orange-vested cleaner deftly manipulated a long pole to wash a high window. People milled around the news kiosk. The beauty of the ordinary, Peter thought.

“Well, he did give me a shock,” Jim said. “Never would have picked him as your partner. But who knows, maybe we need some muscle around here. God knows everything is going to hell in a handbasket.”

Jim’s glumness rendered him barely recognizable. His cheeks drooped, smudges rimmed bloodshot eyes. No rampant aftershave today.

Peter curbed a tapping toe. “I split up with my girlfriend yesterday.”

The chief executive hung up his jacket. “And that’s meant to cheer me up?” Jim took a deep breath. “It’s all for the best, anyway. I should have left her years ago. You should pray, Pete, that you never experience anything like last night.” He fingered his neck scratch. “I was lucky to get out with my bloody wallet.”

“Jim, I have to ask you this. Where were you on Wednesday night?”

Jim’s eyes flared. “You’re joking.”

“You can see it’s the way I work. The logic.”

“Logic, is it? Excuse me, Pete, but you can come across as a bit weird.”

“Maybe so.”

“Okay, okay.” The surge of irritation seemed to act as a tonic. “Just use your bloody logic to catch this bastard. The police have my alibi, Pete, if that’s the word to describe what I was doing when a close friend—for God’s sake, he was a movie buddy—when a buddy gets butchered. I attended an industry function, stayed on till eleven. I bet fifteen people can vouch for my every minute. Does that satisfy you?”

“Sorry, Jim.”

Jim sank into his chair and pressed his phone’s loudspeaker button. The dial tone filled the room, followed by the singing of number tones. “Listen to this.”

A wave of nostalgia brushed Peter. How long since he’d experienced the communal joy of speakerphones, the pleasure of urgent voices crackling from across the globe?

“Yes?” Peter recognized Alison’s huskiness.

“It’s me,” said Jim.

“Oh, Jim, come home. Please. I’m sorry, so so sorry.”

Peter couldn’t believe this was the woman he’d met twelve hours ago. He edged toward the door but an abrupt slash of Jim’s hand stayed him. He shuffled with embarrassment at Alison’s sob-laden litany, an endless sequence of entreaties and promises, all transparently bogus. When Alison asked after Belinda, Jim acted ignorant. But when she begged him to please, please, please meet with her, anywhere at all, please, Peter was staggered to hear a softening in Jim’s voice.

“Maybe, baby.” Jim’s eyes were shut. “I need you to talk to my friend Pete Gentle. Will you be in the gallery today?”

Peter’s disbelief remained while Jim settled for Alison to meet the investigators at noon and then brought the conversation to a close.

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