Chapter Twenty One

How to keep the plates spinning? Savage grabbed a cup of tea from a tourist drinks stand in St James Park and took a seat on a bench. The scene of countless cold war spy movies, men in trench coats playing mind games with each other.

He sipped his tea. He needed to start closing off parts of this investigation before it all unravelled and went nowhere.

He took out his phone. Who first? He knew that Michael had been laundering or hiding money. He'd never found out what happened to Michael's money after his death.

He'd found Armstrong stealing too, but still had the missing millions yet to account for. He also knew that there was a pool of cash for Six Degrees but had no proof of its source or where the money came from originally.

No link yet. Think Savage.

He had a log-in for the man who commissioned Six Degrees. And it was still live.

Vi picked up on the third ring.

'John,' she said, straight to it, he liked that. 'I got your note. Interesting link. Where did you get it?'

He didn't think she needed to hear another of her husband's indiscretions.

'I found it in my breakfast cereal,' he said. 'What d'you come up with?'

'You wanted to know how you reached the link?'

'Tell me.'

'I had a junior go through the server logs to see if there was an obvious source. You're going to love this. It came from the CEO's profile on the intranet, and, get this, on the internet too. It's both public and private. It's not hosted locally but the logs say it is accessed regularly first thing Monday mornings and last thing Friday afternoons, every week.'

'By who?'

'It's a dynamically assigned IP address so I can't tell who's accessing it, but the node it's coming from is located on the executive floor.'

'Good work Vi.'

'There's more. Guess how you access it?'

'A roll over link at the bottom of his profile picture.'

She gasped. 'How did you know that?'

'Well, you're going to like this, the same log-in was used for its previous owner.'

'Who?'

'Michael Fincher.'

'Holy crap.'

'If Rosie could hear you now.'

'She'd say the same thing. What's going on John?'

'I don't know. Can you log in?'

A pause.

'Not yet. I tried all the obvious, but I don't have the man power.'

'Actually, think about it, you've got an unlimited budget.'

She hesitated. 'Six Degrees? God, you're right. Let me put a couple of guys on it.'

'Vi, whatever happened to the Six Degrees algorithm?'

'Nothing, we uploaded it to the server. That was the end of the job for my department.'

'Okay. Can you do something else for me?'

'Depends. What?'

'Check the logs to see where the money for Six Degrees is coming from.'

'It doesn't quite work the same way, it'll be—'

'Can you do it?'

'I'll give it a go.'

'If you weren't the mother of another man's kids I'd kiss you right now.'

'On a phone?'

'Well then, I'd kiss the phone. Thank you Vi.'

'No, thank you John. Even if next stop is state-side. Thank you.'

'See ya.' He hung up.

He wondered if he should call Morel and dangle the video carrot yet? No. He'd leave the cat to claw amongst the pigeons a bit more. He dialled another number.

'You owe me dinner.'

'Echo, I owe you more than dinner.'

'I'm hard to please.'

His phone beeped in his ear. 'Hang on, I've got another call.' He cut off her complaint and switched to the other call.

'Savage,' he said.

'John?'

A lump caught in his throat, 'Jo?'

'How are you John?'

'I'm—' How was he? Fine? 'I'm watching tourists feed squirrels. What is it with all the squirrels in this town?'

King of the pithy quip. That's John Savage.

'Don't knock the squirrels John. All I've got is mountains and snow.'

'Doesn't sound so bad.'

'It is. Alaska. Hairy arsed roughnecks and twenty-four hour sunlight.'

The sound of a 4x4s engine gunned in the background. She was on the road.

'I thought alpine lodges were more your thing?'

'They are. Good memory. But everything changed.'

'After Michael?'

'After Michael.'

'We had something for a moment there didn't we?' she said.

He nodded and then realised she couldn't see that.

'Yes.'

'I should never have shouted at you like that John. I'm sorry.

'It's okay.' Genius at work, stand back people. 'It was about time I left anyway.'

'Geez John, let me walk all over you why don't you? It must have hurt. I know you didn't kill Michael, that was an appalling thing to say. Especially in front of everyone like that. I was mad, upset. I'm truly sorry.'

He'd been the camel. That was the straw.

'Did you email the recording of his last call?'

Silence. A crackle. Had she heard him?

'We need to talk,' he tried again.

'About what? What are you doing back there anyway?'

'It's complicated. When are you in-country?'

'Not for a week or so. I'd have to check my diary.'

'What are you working on?'

'Well, ever since I've been persona-non-grata at the executive desk. I've pretty much been on the road. Three years—' the phone crackled and cut out. '—every backwater customer and market, call centres in the Philippines, mines in—' more static.

'Jo?'

'John?' She came back on. 'Reception is terrible. We're on the road to a refinery in the derrière of nowhere. One of our clients.'

'No problem. Listen Jo,' the familiarity back, 'do you remember what Michael was working on before he died?'

'Ask Sutherland,' she said. 'He and Michael were always up to something. He's hated me ever since. He's the reason I'm out here.'

'What do you mean?'

'He blames me.'

'Sorry to hear that. Listen, did Michael ever mention Six Degrees?'

Silence. He waited. Then realised the silence was a dead connection, not her response.

He tried calling back, an automated American woman told him the caller was presently unavailable, that they might be out of area or their phone switched off. He agreed with the tinny voice, he probably would try again later.

Echo had hung up in the meantime. He'd forgotten all about her the second he heard Jo's voice. Something about Jo Devlin had always pierced his defences, always made it seem as if they'd been best friends forever. He'd forgotten that too.

His phone pinged. A text message from Jo.

Sorry John. No signal. If this gets through. Let's speak when I'm back. Whatever you do don't trust Sutherland. I've missed you. So lame! X

That single X, not a triple XXX, the sex-rated sign off, just a tentative symbol, a sign of something else? Something more?

The weight of that X hit him. X marked the spot where the lie was buried.

Michael's death had only been part of his guilt. The part of Savage that believed he'd driven Michael to jump knew his investigation hadn't been the reason Michael chose his last phone call to be a terminal one with him.

It was because he'd started having an affair with the love of Michael's life. Affair was probably the wrong word for what they had.

It started when Savage called Jo in for routine questioning about Michael's activities. That's how you do things with internal investigations, everything on the quiet, non-disclosure agreements at the door. There are lots of delicate people in white collars.

She didn't seem like anything special at first, just another demure, number crunching, anally retentive mid-level exec. Just another drone.

But they both knew she was more to Michael than that. A lot more.

During the questioning Savage insinuated Michael had been unfaithful to see if he could get her to react.

'How could I possibly know anything about his external activities? That's a question for a man to ask another man,' she'd said.

Savage had tried not to laugh. He'd never been one for girly women who acted helpless in front of men. He tapped his pen on the table, 'Come on,' he said.

She gave him a lopsided smile, 'You're not dumb enough to take such inedible bait?'

Savage opened his mouth to answer.

'He dotes on me,' she interrupted. 'I fuck him now and again, but he's not, well, exciting. If anything he's a bit wet in private life, needy you might say.'

'Then why do you fuck him, miss?' Savage said.

'Have you seen the hours we work here?' she said. 'I don't have time to meet other people, speed date, go to the gym, or any of those other activities the nine-to-five minions take for granted. Right now I'm married to my job, but it's a sexless marriage. Even I need to fulfil my needs somehow, somewhere.'

She put her feet firmly on the floor and spread her slender legs to the extent of her skirt.

Hardly Sharon Stone's Bermuda Triangle but from someone normally so withheld, it was even more erotic. Especially when she looked at him directly, lips moistened, mouth open, eyes wide.

Once she'd seen his arousal she recrossed her legs and that was the end of the meeting.

After she'd left he couldn't stop thinking about her.

The Michael Fincher investigation was in reality going nowhere, there were lots of loose ends, too many things that didn't make sense. So he did the donkey work all over again, re-ran the numbers, put more surveillance out on him, twenty-four hours a day, and then on her as well.

From the time of his interview Michael and Jo were very public about what was going on between them, everyone said it was a perfect match, a corporate prince to her corporate princess. They still lived apart, when in the city, but Savage's search had revealed their names on a company register that owned a house in Buckinghamshire, a small super-yacht, some top marque cars, stocks, pensions, insurance policies. Not uncommon. But it was Savage's job to know.

He called her in for another Q&A, drip fed his findings to her, insinuated that she might know more about Michael's activities than she was letting on. She assured him Michael was very bad at being discreet, and if he had anything more salacious going on she'd know.

'You lied,' Savage said, 'about your level of involvement. You're more than fuck buddies.'

'I doubt you'd understand,' she said, 'you really don't earn very much money.'

'Actually—'

'Not compared to us. With us everything is open and above board, contractual, negotiated, as above, so below. How we behave in work isn't that much different to how we behave out of work.'

'By that you mean what exactly?'

'Mr Savage, Michael and I share a bed occasionally, and, in the future, we will also share tax burdens.'

She showed him the diamond on her finger.

'There's nothing untoward about this I assure you. If you were a rich man you would understand this, but you are not are you, Mr....? Oh, I seem to have I've forgotten your name already.'

Savage clenched his fists and rested them on the table. Glared at her.

'I just love it when you get mad,' she said.

And if Savage was honest, he liked her making him mad.

It was so much better than the polite acceptability of life with Tabitha. Was she lovely? Gentle? Beautiful? Absolutely. Exciting? Hardly.

Then one night while tracking the engaged couple to a restaurant he watched Michael impose himself on Jo, saw the body language, heard the dialogue. Michael mentioned that first night when they met at the club, she shushed him. How that passion had then carried over into the office. She shushed him again as if she knew someone might be listening in.

But Michael was insistent, she had brought him out of himself, he told her.

Savage read her lips through the sheer glass window. A two word command, said with contempt. No listening devices needed.

There were so many ways he wanted to tell Michael to stop behaving, seeking her approval for everything, it repelled him.

When Michael asked she told him no, he would not be coming home with her.

When he begged she excused herself and left him with the bill.

Savage stayed with Michael and waited to see what he would do next. Then Savage's phone rang.

'If you are actually following me Mr Savage, then you'll know I am about to leave the restaurant. My appetite for what's available here has dwindled.

'There are other things I need though. At home. And if I don't see you there, well then, I'll know you're doing your job properly.'

When he arrived outside her house, one of those giant Chelsea piles with the shared central garden the size of a small park, he idled the motor near the furthermost fence.

His usual spot.

She let herself in and turned on all the lights. Put on some music, poured a glass of wine, then moved to the window.

She let her hair down, undid her blouse to reveal, not much, just enough to make Savage's heart beat a little faster.

She posed one hip higher than the other, long legs reaching out from under her skirt, and stared out through the window to where he sat in the dark.

He read her glistening lips.

'I can't see you,' they said.

He hesitated, drummed his hands on the steering wheel, then stepped out of the car.

She still stood there, the blood red of wine on her lips, waiting.

He climbed the fence, pushed through the trees at the back of the property, leapt over the small balcony onto the patio. He saw her clearly, she arched her body forward, when she saw him.

He strode out of the dark towards the patio doors and with one movement, kicked them open, smashing them in their frames and shattering the small panes of glass.

'You could have tried the door handle,' she said, grinning wickedly, she prepared to pounce, he strode on towards her, threw the wine glass from her hand, grabbed her and kissed her, they groped hungrily for each other and fell to the floor.

She wore nothing under her skirt, she undid him, 'Inside me,' she said, 'Now'.

From that moment on, the investigation changed. His passion for her grew despite himself.

She told him her feelings were the same.

But what about Michael?

Well, what about Michael?

It was true he had even more money than normal she told him. I know he spent some time in the Cayman Islands last year, never told me why. Perhaps you should start looking there?

He did. He knew there were transactions on Michael's accounts that made no sense. But he looked at the company records in more detail, there were two, not enormous, but not unhealthy transfers to a bank in the Caymans. He hired a private detective on the main island to find out more for him.

The account was linked to someone who had been assassinated in central Europe. And there the trail went cold again. Savage told the detective to keep digging.

By this time Michael had become alert to the surveillance and more suspicious. He was followed to an internet café and used a VPN for a conversation. No one knew who he was talking to or what about.

But that afternoon he walked into Savage's office and with the door open, told Savage to leave him alone, to stop following him, he screamed and shouted. Savage tried to calm him down. But apparently Savage had ruined everything.

Gossipy staff pointed fingers. There were reprimands. Not helped by the covert nature of the investigation. No one else apart from a few key members of security knew about it.

It was one of Savage's hunches and they had always played out before. So the bosses went with it. But when tongues wagged it was damage limitation time.

Next day, the surveillance team informed him Michael and Jo were viewing apartments.

That stung. He'd told himself she was just showing a respectable public face. Self justifying nonsense he knew now.

That was when he called Michael. He wanted to bring him in, not so he could investigate further, but so that he could apologise, make amends somehow for what was happening between him and Jo. Call it off maybe. Even though he didn't want to.

Instead, Michael said, 'Are you listening?'

Savage heard her scream and another shout in the background, cut off by the rushing sound. The beginning of something, followed by nothing.

That's how it all started.

He couldn't go down that same road again. She'd betrayed him too.

If she'd felt the same as he had, she wouldn't have called him out in front of everybody. She wouldn't have said the things she said. She wouldn't have ruined his life. She wouldn't have made him who he was.

He texted Jo back:

We need to speak before then. Call when in signal area.

Then he dialled another number. Time to let the past slide.

'You left me hanging, fuckwit.'

'Echo, I'm sorry. It was important.'

He could hear the sounds of the office behind her.

'Are you busy?'

'Very.'

'I need you.'

'Ahuh, what for?'

'I want you.

'What?'

'Now.'

'Oh,' a breathless pause. 'Let me see if I can reschedule.'

*

The must-answer ping meant he had a message. He checked it. His name was in the system. In green. Then the phone rang, the must-answer ring tone.

Kevorkian hit connect.

'You messed up,' the woman said.

'I know.'

'You're supposed to be the fail-safe when things go wrong. You don't go wrong.'

'Let me fix it.'

'How can we trust you again?'

'You can’t, not until I prove myself to you. And it won't cost you a thing, this is all part of your money back guarantee. The fail-safe always works.'

'One chance. You'll have to report in.'

His name disappeared from the list.

'I—' he never had a chance to finish his sentence. The line went dead. He'd do exactly as he’d been told. Kevorkian knew the power of what he held in his hand.

He could do bad things, sure, but you couldn't hide from everyone.

And he liked his new job.