Chapter Sixteen
Arthur
At 10:59 a.m., Arthur stood outside the tall, nondescript building on Pudding Lane, staring at the names on the buzzer. In between Ros Stewart: Psychodrama Psychoanalysis and Top Thai Massage was a faded handwritten label for Pierce Security. Arthur’s stomach churned.
It had all been very well volunteering yesterday, when he was full of bravado having listened to Phyllis’s spying exploits at the funeral. But now he was standing here, about to meet a possible contract killer, Arthur felt considerably less confident. He was a farmer, not some bloody amateur sleuth.
“Maybe we should just have a phone chat with him instead?” he said to Ash.
“We’ll never discover anything on the phone. We need to get into his office so we can have a look around,” the teenager said, and before Arthur could stop him, he leaned forward and pressed the bell.
For about ten seconds nothing happened, and Arthur sighed with relief. “I knew he’d be unreliable; he must have forgotten about our—”
He was interrupted by a click as the door lock opened. Bugger.
“Okay, remember our plan?” Ash whispered as he stepped inside.
“I think so,” Arthur said, although in truth he was so nervous he could barely think straight. What if he got something wrong and the private investigator worked out who they were? Esi’s historical romances often featured assassins and spies, and they were all volatile, dangerous men able to kill a person with their bare hands. What if this Graham Pierce was the same?
Pierce Security had their office on the fourth floor, and Arthur spent the slow climb running over their cover story in his head. After much deliberation, he and Ash had decided to go with a story inspired by another of Esi’s much-loved Bridgerton books,On the Way to the Wedding. It was a slightly far-fetched plot, but Arthur hoped that it would be unusual enough to catch Pierce’s attention and get him talking. Still, his heart was hammering, and not just because of the stairs. When he reached the fourth floor, he saw Ash standing in front of a gray door. He glanced over his shoulder at Arthur.
“Ready?”
Arthur grabbed hold of the banister to stop his legs from shaking. “Ready.”
Ash knocked, then moved back to stand next to Arthur. A moment later the door opened to reveal Graham Pierce.
Arthur wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from an ex-British intelligence officer; perhaps someone tall and dark, with an angular jaw and brooding eyes. But the man standing in front of them looked like a middle-aged accountant, with balding hair and sandwich crumbs in his mustache. He didn’t look like he was capable of tying his own shoelaces, let alone killing anyone.
“Come in, come in,” the man said, stepping aside and holding the door open.
Arthur walked through to find himself in a small, cramped office, in the middle of which was a desk covered in piles of papers and oldnewspapers. Shelves ran along the back wall, crammed with files, and a dirty window on the right wall looked out over the street below.
“Sorry, remind me of your names again?” the man said as he ushered them in.
“I’m Gregory Benedick. And this is my grandson, eh…”
Christ, what name had they come up with for Ash? Arthur wracked his brain, aware Graham was staring at him.
“Eh, Ben,” he said, throwing out the first name that came into his head.
“Ben Benedick?” Graham blinked in surprise and Arthur kicked himself. “Well, please take a seat.”
Graham indicated two chairs, one of which had an empty McDonald’s bag on it. He hastily scooped the rubbish up and retreated behind his desk.
“Do you mind if I take notes?” he said, nodding at his computer.
“No, go ahead.”
“Thanks. So, how can I help you both?”
Arthur opened his mouth to speak but his mind had gone blank again. What was he supposed to say? His skin was getting clammy and he felt nauseous. Oh God, was he going to be sick? If only Esi were here, this would all be so much easier. Everything had always been so much easier when his wife was by his side.
“We’re here about my mum.”
Arthur looked at Ash in surprise. The teenager had insisted he didn’t want to do any talking in the meeting, and yet here he was now, his voice calm and steady.
“She’s getting married to this guy, Ricky Haselby, who my grandpa and I don’t trust at all. He’s much older than her and super sleazy and we think something weird is going on.”
