Meeting with Andrew Cuthbertson was not as simple as I had hoped it would be. Despite my explaining the death threat and the deadly timetable to the receptionist, Andrew’s PA and Andrew himself, AGP were having difficulty excusing the accountant from an allegedly important meeting. It took a call from Toby to ensure that Andrew met us at all, and when he did he did not look at all happy.

We were sitting in another anonymous conference room almost identical to the one we had just left. Even the view across London was similar. Andrew strode into the room and threw his pad down onto the desk before sitting opposite Dee and myself. He wore an expensive suit and a cream linen shirt, finished off with a red silk tie. His cufflinks matched his tiepin. His brown hair was immaculately styled, as if he’d just auditioned for a shampoo commercial. He was good looking in a rugged sort of way, and usually his brown eyes twinkled with friendliness, but not today. The accountant did not exchange any pleasantries, nor did he ask who Dee was or what she was doing there. Instead, he glared at me and spoke harshly.

“OK, Josh, you have managed to drag me away from a very important meeting for fifteen minutes, so I’d start talking, if I were you.” Andrew looked at his watch and pressed a button on the side of the watchcase. I guessed it was a timer, but it was also meant to signal to us that he would not be staying a minute longer than he had to. Dee was looking puzzled, as I had described Andrew Cuthbertson as a friend, an easy going squash partner and sometime five a side teammate. The man sitting opposite was wound up like a spring and frowning as if trying to win a prize for gurning. Faced with this hostility I kept cool and spoke quietly but assertively.

“Andrew, as you have heard I’m being blackmailed by someone who has an intimate knowledge of my finances...”

“So I hear,” Andrew interjected sharply. I continued, ignoring the interruption.

“Well, there are very few people who know my financial circumstances. In fact, apart from me, AGP are the only people who know all the details of my earnings, savings and property holdings.”

Andrew’s face reddened noticeably, and in one swift movement he stood up, pushing his chair back against the wall with a bang, before placing both palms on the conference table a leaning over towards me. The next words were spat out with the kind of venom I had never seen before in Andrew Cuthbertson.

“Let me see if I can guess where this is going. You are about to suggest that someone at AGP is either blackmailing you or passing information onto your blackmailer. I suggest that before you slander yourself you give some careful thought to your next choice of words.” The accountant glared at both of us sitting opposite him and, without reducing the level of vitriol in his voice, he continued. “You drag me out of an important meeting and subject me to these baseless accusations. That’s rich, Josh, really rich.”

I could not remember the last time that I’d lost my temper to such an extent that I had lost all control, but I could feel anger welling up inside me. It began with a tightening of muscles around the stomach. I could feel adrenaline rising and my heart was beginning to race. Dee Conrad placed her hand on my arm as a signal that I should remain silent, and then she spoke calmly but firmly.

“As I recall this conversation, Josh has accused no-one of anything. He pointed out that your firm are the only people that know his finances, as well as he does himself, except for the blackmailer. Now, the blackmailer must have obtained this information from somewhere, and you have obviously considered the possibility that it may have leaked from here, hence your outburst. We’re leaving now, as you are clearly not interested in discussing this calmly, and you can answer these awkward questions directly to the police instead. Your directors can answer those same questions to the regulatory bodies. No doubt when all of this is finally made public, your major clients will wonder how trustworthy AGP really are.” Dee stood up and spoke to me.

“Come on, we’re going. Your friend here is hiding something, and we’d better let Inspector Boniface find out what it is.” Dee turned to the accountant. “And you had better consider what will happen if Josh is murdered, and whether you’re prepared to spend life behind bars as a co-conspirator.”

Andrew Cuthbertson paled visibly, and I thought I could see him trembling. I was shaken too, but I stood up and followed Dee to the door. Andrew spoke up, calling to us to wait. Suddenly he seemed a lot more cordial; in fact, there was a pleading in his voice that was quite unexpected.

“Look, can’t we sit down and talk about this? Perhaps I spoke rather hastily. I’m sorry. It’s been a bad morning, that’s all. Perhaps I can see what we can do about freeing up some funds to get you out of this hole.”

“Mr. Cuthbertson,” Dee interjected sharply, before I could reply. “Go back to your important meeting. I think we’re done here. I suggest you think carefully about what Josh has told you, and if you want to tell us how his personal information could have fallen into the hands of his blackmailer, call him at home. You have the number.”

Dee ushered me out of the room, and the frame rattled as the door slammed behind us.

***

Dee was sipping her orange juice when I returned to the table with my Grand Latte. The coffee shop was nearly empty. I set my cup down and looked at my new friend with a new found respect.

“It’ll be weeks before Andrew finds his balls again, and when he does they’ll probably be crushed beyond any reasonable expectation of future use,” I remarked.

Dee Conrad smiled, and I suddenly realised that she had been as stressed by the afternoon’s events as I had. She cared. “Josh,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Andrew Cuthbertson is as guilty as sin. It was written all over his face. His behaviour was a classic display of guilt. He was very defensive - way over the top, wouldn’t you agree? I would offer good odds that not only does he know more than he’s telling you, he’s almost certainly the man behind the leaking of your personal details.”

I pondered the prospect of one of my closest friends selling me out. The thought was both unwelcome and unattractive. There are some things you don’t want to know, not because you want to be protected from a harsh reality but because, once you lose faith in your closest allies, what does the future hold for you? Who can you trust?

“Before this night is over you’ll receive a desperate phone call from Andrew Cuthbertson, I guarantee it. I would say that someone is forcing him to cross a line that he’s uncomfortable with. I could read conflict all over his face.”

Dee paused and looked directly into my eyes. “If, as I believe, you’re a good judge of character, and you’ve chosen your friends wisely, then Mr. Cuthbertson will struggle with himself for a while and then make the right decision.”

Chapter 10

Blacksmiths Hall, Lambeth Hill, City of London. Thursday, 5pm.

Bob strode down Queen Victoria Street towards Lambeth Hill. He was fuming. He lifted the pay as you go phone from his pocket and looked at the message one more time. The words on the screen did nothing to enhance his mood;

“Dear Bob, or whoever you are, please sod off and don’t bother me again. You are not getting a penny from me. Should you try to hurt me in any way I’ll be the one dishing out a sound beating, with a coward like you on the wrong end of it. Now curl up and die.”

The white phone had a label stuck on the reverse, which read: ‘Sir Max’. Bob removed the battery and dropped it in an ornamental black cast iron waste bin carrying the shield of the City of London. As he walked along the main thoroughfare he removed the sim card and dropped it into a roadside drain. Finally, as he approached the next waste bin, he placed the handset on the ground and stood on it, crunching it under the heel of his shiny Church’s Roach lace up evening shoes, before collecting up the pieces and dropping them into the bin. He felt a little better.