Chapter Eighty-Five

“Surely they’d want accountants as investigators?” I say. “Forensic accountants at that.”

My Master sucks at his teeth. “Maybe someone suggested to Barclay they needed an alternative arm for their fraud investigators, specialising in interview skills.”

Claudia nods. “Maybe so. But it still didn’t feel right to me. Okay, Pensby and Thurston worked according to their own methods. But you can see from that list, there’s hundreds of things they could have asked you. Instead, almost immediately, both jumped to asking the most deeply personal and offensive questions they could. Why get so intrusive when they’d only just come into the post?”

“Hook a big fish and start out in a blaze of glory?” I suggest. “Entrap the wealthiest man for a hundred miles.”

“That was my thought at first. But…” She screws up her face. “It still didn’t quite ring true. Richard’s an important influence in the City…” She ducks her head his way. His lips quirk… “… But he’s also known as a decent man. His reputation is good. Anyway…” She blows air. “… to cut a long story short, I followed them.”

I jolt forward. “What!“

She grins. “You heard. Pensby and Thurston. I followed them. Thurston first. I didn’t meet him the other day so I downloaded his photo of the New Appointments section of the City Hall website. Anyway, that was a waste of time. Didn’t lead anywhere. However…” Her eyes light up and she flashes brows. “… I struck gold with Pensby.” She pauses, with the air of waiting for a drumroll…

I exchange glances with my Master. His voice remains bland. “You have our attention.”

“I followed him for a couple of days. Trailed him from City Hall to his home. He lives in an apartment just off the city centre. Alone so far as I could see. But I shadowed him in the evenings too.” Claudia fishes in her bag, producing her mobile. “I’ve not printed any of this yet. Don’t want to risk anyone stumbling across anything inappropriate.”

She opens up on a short video clip. Pensby, exiting an apartment block, straightening his tie as he walks. The pudding-basin haircut is slicked back. The cheap suit is ill-fitting and badly chosen.

Claudia sniffs. “Doesn’t cut much of a figure, does he?” Her eyes sparkle, perhaps with humour. Or maybe with malice.

I lean in close. “No. He’s not exactly every maiden’s dream. Sometimes there’s a reason guys are single ” I also sniff. “Although, in this case, I’ll admit. I’m biased.”

My Master presses a forefinger to his lips. “So, what do we learn from this, Claudia?”

“This? Not a thing. But he went to a restaurant. Maison de Diamante.”

He arches brows. “Really? I’d have thought that was a touch above his pay grade.”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you. But the waiter was expecting him. Showed him to a booth, right at the back, well away from the window. And someone was waiting for him. A woman.”

“Okay… So, he’s single and he had a date, unlikely as that might seem. What next?”

“I followed him in. Picked a table where I could sort of see them. I ordered pesto linguine and a glass of red to...” She hesitates…

“To buy yourself right of entry?” suggests my Master.

She shuffles in her seat. “Well, if I’d simply walked in and flashed my camera around, I’d have been thrown out. So, I picked the cheapest item on the menu and then set up my tablet as though I were reading while I ate. And that way, I got my shots.” Swiping over the phone screen, she flicks through her photo gallery. Finally settling on one. “Scroll through from there. Zoom on the woman. Her face.”

The booth is shadowed, the pair angled away. The woman is blonde, expensively dressed and highly made up. A large floppy-brimmed hat and sunglasses lie on the empty chair next to her.

Claudia checks what I’m looking at. “Hang on. There’s a better shot.” She swipes along… “There. That one. Zoom in.”

My Master and I both lean in close as I scissor out the image…

Oh, my God…

It's Irene.

Irene Vandervoort.

My Master straightens up, hissing between his teeth.

The Mayor’s wife?

It could be innocent…

Then I look again…

She's stroking Pensby’s hand.

“I’ve got a phone full of images and quite a bit of video,” says Claudia. She looks between us. “What do you want me to do with them?”

My Master stands. Paces. Scrapes a hand through his hair. “Claudia, who knows about this?”

“Just us,” she says. “I’ve not told anyone else.”

He cocks a brow. “Not your uncle? Editor in Chief.”

“No. He’d have insisted it be published.”

He inhales. Exhales again. “He surely would. A scandal like this. He'd sell out the first print in an hour.” Then, returning his attention to Claudia. “Do you want to publish it?”

She suppresses a smile. “Of course I do. But you two have been good to me, for no very good reason other than you’re nice people. So, I want to know what you would like me to do.”

My Master looks down, inspecting his feet for a moment. When he looks up again he’s smiling. “If I ask you not to publish, you would agree to that?”

She cocks her head. “I would. But why would you want to protect Irene Vandervoort? She’s a complete bitch.”

“Not Irene,” he says. “Jack. It would almost certainly topple him, politically.”

“The Mayor's not done anything,” I say. “Just because his wife…”

He glances sidelong. “Mud sticks. But Jack’s a decent man and a good mayor. He’s doing his best for the City in difficult times. He tries hard to get it right. And he’s enough of a centrist that his opponents can’t build up the political momentum to oust him, which is part of the reason he’s stayed in power for so long…

“… But that would change if this came out. There would be no taking it back. It’s one thing for Jack to have marriage problems. That’s his business. But his wife instigating something like this? That would end his career and cast a pall over the political life of the City for years to come. It would be a shame to lose the best Mayor we’re likely get because Irene is a viper.”

He ponders. “Claudia, how many times did you see them together? And when?”

“Just the once. Last night. But I charmed one of the waiters and he told me he's seen the two of them in that booth three times, always on Tuesday evenings.”

“How did she think she wouldn't get caught out?” I say. “It could only be a matter of time before someone blabbed. And what could she possibly hope to get out of it? The risk she took was huge. If what she did became public, she could lose everything.”

My Master interrupts. “Irene grew up rich, privileged and entitled. She believes, and always believed, that everything she had was her fair due. That’s how narcissists behave and think. It probably wouldn’t occur to her that she was taking a risk at all. She was simply taking steps to secure what she wanted…”

He levels a finger at me. “… Getting even with you for her stolen limelight. And with me for not playing her game.”

“And you think that’s motivation enough?”

My Master flips open the Sunday glossy magazine lying on the table, flicking through to the centre section. My own face stares out. “My Love, there was a time that it would have been Irene’s face on that page. You’ve ousted her.”

“I didn’t mean to. Or want to.”

He clicks his tongue. “Even so, to an ego-tripper like Irene…”

“I suppose…”  I mull this over for a moment. “Do we simply confront her? And make her back down to protect our own position. Or do we inform her husband?”

“I think we have to tell Jack,” he says quietly. “We have our own lives to live, but if Irene’s tries a trick like this with us, and gets away with it without consequences, she could try again, this time with someone who doesn’t have a…” He turns, giving Claudia a small bow of acknowledgement. “… friendly investigative journalist to call on. We can’t let this stand, simply defending ourselves. We have to see the bigger picture and do what’s right. I don’t believe we have another option.”

He stares into space. "Jack often turns a blind eye to Irene’s behaviour. It’s often petty and selfish. But what she’s done this time is a complete abuse of power.”

“She’ll try for denial,” I say.

Claudia huffs. “That won’t do her much good with the photos and video footage I already have.”

“All that proves,” he says, “is that Irene’s playing the field behind her husband’s back. It doesn’t prove criminal intent, not to legal standards.”

“On the other hand,” I say, “do we need proof to legal standards? For sure she wouldn't like it if her husband lost his position, or felt obliged to step down. That would be the end of the high life for her. The parties. The expenses. The credit card account with the boutiques.”

Claudia’s eye twinkle. “She’d get plenty of press exposure though.”

I chuckle. “True enough, although not the kind she’d hope for.”

“Got an idea…” She grins, looking between us… “… if you two are both game?”

*****