Death in Foxrock Page 5

  ‘Smart, professional and incredibly sexy,’ he said with a smile, ‘not so sure if you nailed the ‘arty’ look, though.’

  Kelly smiled and brushed back her hair to show multi-coloured chandelier earrings that glinted as they caught the morning light streaming through the kitchen window.

  ‘Ah, now I get it,’ he said, moving over to admire them. ‘They’re lovely.’ Stepping away, with a final smile of appreciation, he picked up his coffee again. ‘I thought you’d met your publisher before.’

  ‘I have,’ she said, ‘but I’ve a new editor. It’s important to make a good impression.’

  He laughed and let his eyes linger on her long legs. ‘I think you’ll do that, alright.’

  She twirled on her high heels. ‘I haven’t worn these in ages; hopefully I won’t make a fool of myself and fall off them. Their office is on Dawson Street; I’m going to drive to the Dart station rather than trying to negotiate the road-works in the city.’

  ‘Good idea,’ he said, and then his eyes flicked to the clock. ‘I’d better get going. Best of luck with your meeting.’ He bent and kissed her on the lips. ‘Knock ‘em dead,’ he said.

  Kelly was still smiling as she slipped on her coat. Maybe they were going to be ok. Handbag and keys in hand, and humming a tune she’d heard on the radio, she locked the house behind her and climbed into her car.

  The car park was full when she arrived at Greystones Dart station and she swore softly. ‘I should have asked Mike to drop me down,’ she muttered, driving up and down, eyes peering for a space. With a yelp, she braked and took the next lane down as she spotted a gap. ‘Yes,’ she said, pulling into the tight space. There was just enough space to allow her out, and her coat brushed against her none too clean car. Swearing softly, she rubbed it, relieved when it came away with ease.

  Her luck continued, the train pulling up just as she stepped onto the platform. She breathed a sigh of relief when she sat in a seat by the window, hugging her handbag to her chest as the train sped along the coast. It was a blue-sky winter day with sunlight sparkling on the sea but it was chilly and she was sorry she hadn’t worn a scarf. Then she smiled at her reflection. Her publisher’s offices were on Dawson Street. Maybe afterward she would head to Brown Thomas and do some shopping.

  When she got out at Tara Street station, she knew she was in trouble. Her shoes were great to look at, but the short walk down the station platform showed they were obviously not designed to walk in. It was a good fifteen-minute walk to the Dawson Street office. Maybe if she walked very slowly? Outside on the street, she saw a taxi, and thinking about the arty, professional image she was trying to portray, she grinned and waved it down.

  The taxi deposited her directly outside the old Victorian building where the offices of Todd Publishing were spread over the top floors. She hadn’t been back since she’d signed the contract for her children’s books three years before. A lot had changed in her life since then. Nervously, she rang the doorbell and was immediately greeted and asked to come to the second floor.

  The receptionist hadn’t changed and recognised her immediately. ‘Ms Johnson,’ she said with a smile, ‘how nice to see you again.

  ‘It’s been a few years,’ Kelly said. ‘I’ve an appointment with Mr Todd.’ Glancing at the clock on the wall, she groaned. ‘Well I have one, in about forty-five minutes.’

  The receptionist gave a polite laugh. ‘Better than being late,’ she said, ‘why don’t you take a seat and I’ll get you a drink. Tea or coffee?’

  Kelly, her mouth dry from a nervousness she hadn’t expected to feel, smiled. ‘Tea would be perfect,’ she said.

  She crossed the spacious reception area to where comfortable chairs were arranged casually around a coffee table and sank into one of them with a sigh of relief. Tempted to take off the shoes that now seemed like instruments of torture, she resisted, afraid she wouldn’t get her feet back into them.

  ‘There you go,’ the receptionist said, putting a cup of tea on the table in front of her. She put some magazines down beside it. ‘To stop you getting too bored,’ she said with a smile before returning to her desk and leaving Kelly to sip her tea and wait.

  Ignoring the magazines, she picked up the tea, and looked around as she drank. The place had been decorated since she’d last been there. The walls were a muted green, the colour chosen, she guessed, to highlight a collection of very nice paintings. Nice, but a little dull she thought, reaching for a magazine.

  The time passed quickly and suddenly she heard her name called.

  ‘Kelly,’ the small rotund man said as he approached with hands extended. ‘How lovely to see you again.’ Hugh Todd took both of her hands in his and then stood back to look her over. ‘You look good,’ he said, nodding in satisfaction, before waving toward his office. ‘Come on in, would you like more tea?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks, Hugh,’ she said, stepping into his office. The room was huge and dominated by a large desk littered with books, papers and a small computer screen. But what made Kelly stare was the wall behind the desk. She couldn’t remember what had hung there the last time she’d been in the office, but it certainly wasn’t filled, floor to ceiling, with framed book-covers. ‘Wow,’ she said, moving closer to inspect them. Her eyes sparkled. ‘Will mine go here?’

  Turning, she blushed when she saw the indulgent look that Todd gave her. What happened to the arty, professional image she’d hoped to convey?

  Her blush deepened when she noticed the tall, elegantly dressed man standing near the window.

  ‘Kelly, I’m Aidan Power, how nice to finally meet you,’ the man said, stepping forward to take her hand in a firm shake.

  She wasn’t vain but she couldn’t ignore the obvious admiration in the man’s eyes. And then wondered if it was reflected in hers, Aidan Power was very handsome.

  She took a deep breath and sat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk, Aidan Power taking the other while Hugh Todd sat behind it and opened the file in front of him.

  Over the next hour, Kelly asked astute questions about her contract. At the end, she refused to sign until she’d had a chance to look over it again. ‘If that’s ok?’ she said, her tone of voice saying she didn’t really care if it were or not. What was that old expression? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. She’d learned something from her marriage to Simon.

  ‘Of course,’ Hugh Todd said and then, steepling his fingers together, looked at her. ‘Perhaps it’s time you thought about getting an agent?’

  She looked dubious. ‘I’ve never needed one before.’

  Aidan twisted in his chair to look at her, his handsome face intently serious. ‘Children’s books are far simpler. Now that you’ve joined the adult fiction group you need to look at foreign translation, audio books etc. Todd publishing can handle the audio aspect but we don’t do foreign translation. A good agent would be able to guide you through that minefield.’

  She nodded. It made sense. ‘Is there anyone you’d recommend?’

  Hugh Todd pursed his lips and met Aidan’s eyes. ‘Any ideas?’

  He nodded. ‘What about Owen Grady? He’d be an excellent choice.’ He felt in his inside pocket and pulled out a handful of business cards. ‘I think I have one of his,’ he muttered, flicking through them and giving a grunt of satisfaction when he found what he was looking for. After a glance at it, he handed it to her. ‘It’s worth giving him a ring.’ Then he smiled. ‘Maybe before you sign that contract. Make sure Hugh’s not cheating you.’

  She looked across at the chubby face of her publisher and smiled. She’d dealt with Todd Publishing for years; she’d complete faith in her dealings with them. But, Aidan was right, if she was going to hire an agent, she might as well get him to have a look at the contract.

  Another meeting was arranged for the following week. ‘We’re aiming to publish in about eighteen months,’ Hugh said. ‘We’d like to launch the second and third in the series pretty quickly,’ he warned, �
�so you’re going to be on a tight deadline.’

  ‘That’s no problem,’ Kelly said, hoping she was right. She’d written her children’s books to a deadline but a fifty page children’s book was easy compared to the three hundred or so pages required for an adult one.

  ‘Good,’ Hugh said, standing and holding out his hand. ‘Unfortunately, I’m tied up the rest of the day but,’ he smiled at the editor, ‘I know Aidan is looking forward to getting to know you better over lunch.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Aidan said, with a glint in his eye that Kelly ignored. She’d have been happier if Hugh had come along, but try though she might, she couldn’t think of a reason to refuse.

  Taking Hugh’s hand, she shook it warmly and thanked him again before picking up her bag and coat and turning to leave.

  Aidan moved ahead and opened the door. ‘I’ve booked a table at La Maison,’ he said, as she passed. ‘It’s just a short walk away and the food is excellent.’

  Kelly breathed a sigh of relief at the mention of a short walk, her shoes biting with every step. She tried to relax and enjoy the attention but the more he talked, the more uncomfortable she felt.

  It didn’t make her feel any more relaxed when she saw the restaurant. The small, discreet basement restaurant shouted clandestine meeting. The steps down to it were steep. Aidan shot an admiring glance at her shoes, his eyes lingering on the curve of her legs, and offered her his hand. ‘We don’t want our new author tripping and breaking something, do we?’

  Kelly wanted to laugh. In the last year she’d compared her life to an Agatha Christie novel and now...bloody hell, she was drifting into Mills and Boon territory. She laughed aloud and her anxiety vanished. After all she’d been through, she could handle someone as obvious as Aidan Power.

  ‘I think if I hold on to the rail, I’ll be just fine,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve managed stairs since I was about two.’

  Over lunch she battled to keep the conversation firmly on her work, discussing the edits she’d done, her plans for the next novel and what her hopes were for the future. Power, who’d been so helpful by email, was irritatingly flirtatious the whole time and she decided future arrangement with him would definitely not be done face to face.

  She was exhausted by it all, and when they exited the restaurant and she saw a taxi parked at the nearby taxi rank, she pointed toward it and held her hand out to him. ‘Thank you for lunch,’ she said, ‘I’m going to catch a taxi home.’

  ‘If there’s anything I can do for you,’ he said, holding on to her hand, ‘just email me.’

  Email, not meet. Definitely, she thought, sinking back against the seat. Shopping was forgotten, in the relief of being on her way home. It would cost a fortune taking it all the way to Greystones, but in that moment of relief she didn’t care.

  ‘I was shattered,’ she told West that night when they sat down for dinner.

  He laughed when she told him about the meeting and the subsequent lunch.

  ‘I think he’s a good editor,’ she said, putting her fork down and pushing the empty plate away, ‘but utterly convinced that he’s irresistible and with such an appalling range of chat-up lines that he’s rather amusing.’ She watched as West tried to negotiate the last pea onto his fork before giving up. He dropped the fork, picked it up with his fingers and popped it into his mouth.

  ‘Amusing?’ West laughed. ‘Does he know that’s what you think?’

  Kelly kept the smile firmly pinned in place. She didn’t think it was worth mentioning the hand that seemed to accidentally brush against her breast as Power helped her on with her jacket after lunch, or the suggestion that they meet some evening for dinner. She could deal with it. Far better than she would have done a year ago. ‘With his ego, probably not,’ she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Anyway, I’ll have little to do with him now that the edits are complete and even less when I get an agent on board.’

  ‘You’re going to approach this Owen Grady they mentioned?’

  She shrugged. ‘They recommended him, it would be silly not to, I suppose.’

  Remembering her publisher’s warning that they didn’t want delays, she rang the agent’s number at nine the next morning. She was in luck, not only was Owen Grady happy to represent her; he was available to meet later that morning. So for the second day in a row, she dressed smartly for an appointment. His office was on Earlsfort terrace, a twenty-minute walk from the same Dart station. The walk would be nice, but definitely not in high heels. Instead, she slipped on a pair of black pumps that weren’t quite so elegant but certainly better for walking.

  Owen Grady proved to be a much easier man to deal with than Aidan Power. His manner, professional with just the correct amount of distance, put her at ease. He took the contract she’d been given and read through it silently as she shuffled in her seat in his bright top floor office.

  ‘A fairly standard contract,’ he said finally, ‘perfectly acceptable.’

  ‘Great,’ she said, taking it from him. She could sign it and drop it at Todd’s on her way home.

  For another thirty minutes they discussed what each expected from the other. Translation rights, audio and large-print versions of her work were skimmed over but in enough detail to leave Kelly’s head reeling.

  At the end, Owen sat back, his rather stern face relaxing into a smile. ‘It will be good doing business with you, Kelly,’ he said.

  She nodded. He was definitely a man she could work with. ‘You’ll send me details of our contract, then.’ she said.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Give me a day or two. It won’t be complicated, but it will set out the commission I’ll receive from your sales.’

  Standing, she held out her hand. ‘Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.’

  ‘Actually,’ Grady said, standing to shake her hand, ‘Hugh gave me a buzz yesterday and told me I might get a call, so it wasn’t totally unexpected.’

  Kelly blinked. Had she been railroaded into this? But no, he’d said Hugh. She trusted him. Had he said, Aidan, she might have hesitated. An instinctive distrust of people was also the residual effect of her marriage to Simon. Perhaps it was no harm.

  Leaving the office, she headed down Exchequer Street. Yesterday, she’d been too exhausted to shop, but not today.

  Luckily for her sense of well-being, she didn’t look up at the office she’d just left. If she had, she’d have seen Owen Grady staring down at her, a frown marking his brow. ‘Interesting,’ he muttered, watching her walk away as if she hadn’t a care in the world, ‘very interesting indeed.’

  7

  A week later, West and Andrews sat and went through all the information they’d collated regarding the child in the suitcase. ‘It sounds like the title to a bad detective novel,’ Andrews muttered.

  ‘Child in a Suitcase,’ West considered a moment before shaking his head, ‘no, it would be Death in a Suitcase. Much more pithy.’

  ‘If it was a novel, there’d be an end to the story,’ Andrews said, sitting back with a groan of frustration. ‘A happy ending too.’

  ‘Well, we’re not giving up just yet.’

  But after several minutes reviewing the information they’d collected, even West had to admit defeat. All their leads had come back negative and there were no new ones to follow. Frustrated, he clasped his hands behind his head and rubbed briskly making his hair stand on end. He smoothed a hand over it and picked up the sheaf of papers on the desk, tapping the edges together before putting them down again neatly. ‘What about facial reconstruction?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Can we do it?’

  Andrews wiped a hand over his face. ‘A two year old child that nobody has reported missing. You really think they’re going to ok the cost of that?’

  West shook his head. They wouldn’t because it probably wouldn’t help. He pushed the papers away and changed the subject. ‘How is the stakeout of Cornelscourt coming along?’

  ‘Pshaw,’ Andrews said, ‘it�
�s going nowhere. Either the gang has moved outside the city or they’re laying low for a while. The lads are getting fed up hanging around.’

  ‘That’s when they’ll take their eye of the ball,’ West warned. ‘I think I’ll go and spend some time with them.’ He gave the pile of papers on his desk a nudge. ‘It beats sitting here thinking about this poor kid.’

  Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into a parking bay in Cornelscourt car park. Getting out, he stood and looked around. It never ceased to amaze him how busy it always was. It was open seven days a week, eight until ten and it never looked any different to now.

  It took him several minutes to spot the surveillance team; they were doing a good job of blending in with the casual shoppers. Baxter’s thick head of ginger hair made him more obvious. He was standing by the boot of his car with an empty shopping trolley, his eyes sweeping the car park as West approached him.

  ‘Nothing happening, Seamus,’ West said, standing on the other side of the car.

  ‘Hi, Sergeant,’ Baxter said, ‘no, it’s been mind-numbingly quiet.’

  ‘Surveillance is ninety-nine-percent boredom and one-percent action. Try to stay focused, boredom can lead to mistakes.’

  ‘We’ve been moving position every twenty minutes for that reason and breaking for coffee every couple of hours. We’ve been assigned two uniforms, Hudson,’ he nodded across to where the plain-clothes garda stood two cars away, ‘is with me. Foley has Gemma Ryan. They’re covering the back at the moment.’

  ‘What about the multi-storey?’ West asked, nodding toward it.

  ‘There are a lot more CCTV cameras inside, plus the exit isn’t great so we decided they were unlikely to strike there. Rather than spreading ourselves too thinly we thought we’d stay out here, but,’ he hesitated, ‘if you think we should, we could include it in our cycle.’

  West shook his head. He’d parked in the multi-storey before and he knew it could be a nightmare to exit. ‘No, I agree with your plan.’ He looked around the car park. ‘Unless we hear they’ve moved on somewhere else, we’ll keep up the surveillance for another week at least.’ He rested his arms on the roof of the car and looked around. ‘I’ll go around back and have a word with Foley and...’