Extract:
Chapter 1
Everett Woodhall ran his fingers through the dark hair on one side of his head, the parting having widened considerably since his thirtieth birthday. His eyes quickly glanced at the bowed heads at the other
desks, certain they had been watching him.
"Murderer." The word echoed in his mind, but nobody had spoken.
Taking his chance, he pinched his nose between forefinger and thumb while carefully rubbing the moisture from his eyes. When he lowered his shaking hand to his sales plan, he glanced again at
Robert's closed door. He couldn't wait any longer. At any moment he would lose his nerve entirely.
Trying to look casual, he rose, picked up the plan and walked the seemingly endless three metres. A quick tap on the glass, then he was inside the office and closing the door behind him. He opened his
mouth but his rehearsed speech shredded as the machinery of his mind shuddered into immobility.
Robert continued tapping computer keys for exactly one minute before turning his boyish face to the intruder. "I'm busy right now, Everett, so I hope this won't take long?"
Bloody college kids, thought Everett. They think they know it all. His sudden anger released his mouth from its rictus. "Your plan is crap. Now, that didn't take long, did it?"
A pair of large dark-brown eyes pinned him to the spot as Robert leaned back in his executive chair and steepled his fingers, tapping the forefingers against his lips. "You have a problem with the sales
figure the directors, and me, believe are possible from an enthusiastic Sales Executive. Is that what you mean?"
"You know damned well it is. You've widened my area instead of condensing it. At this rate I'll be driving half the bloody night. Christ, you know how long reps are kept waiting by the snotty-nosed
kids these days."
"I suppose I'm one of those 'snotty-nosed' kids too? Now, calm down, Everett. You've never sworn before."
"Then perhaps it's time I did."
"Look, your figures have fallen steadily for the last couple of years. By next year, your sales will hardly cover your salary and production costs."
Everett glanced towards the window, wondering whether everyone in the office was having a good laugh behind his back. "I'm doing the best I can. The job just isn't the same anymore. I'd do better
here." When he looked back, Robert was glaring at him.
"Let's not get into that again." Robert sprang from the chair and walked to the window, glancing towards his Porsche in the car park below to make sure it was still there. "The only job that was
available was this one, and I have it."
"They should have given it to me," he mumbled.
Robert faced him and grinned. "Then risk having everyone say you killed for it?"
Everett rammed his balled fists onto the table, making the computer screen rock. "They say that anyway. He was my friend."
"Look, why don't you take the rest of the time off until your holiday. Paid, of course. Approved leave of absence. Get yourself back together again, then we'll see whether you can manage the job when
you get back."
Everett pushed himself upright and spoke calmly. "You stole my ideas, got my promotion and now want to fire me. No, don't try denying it. I've heard what you think, you know."
"Oh? Just what have you heard?"
"You called the inquest a farce. You think I got away with murder."
Robert glanced past his shoulder towards the main office before fixing him again with a stare. His smile only intensified his words. "Between you and me, I know you visited his wife several times before
his death. That was one little fact that never came out. I'm sure the police would view matters differently if they heard."
"Is that a threat?"
"No," he laughed. "Just remember that his death may have got you his wife, but I'm the one who got promoted to his job, not you."
"You are contemptible, you arrogant bastard. I have no sexual interest in my friend's widow. We are friends, that's all, and have been since before you were born."
"How does it feel to be responsible for her husband's death, Everett?"
Everett matched his smile and spoke softly. "I feel good. Not everyone can get away with murder. Just remember that, Robert, especially as you are in my job." He turned and strode out the door,
leaving Robert gaping.
Without even stopping at his desk, he made his way to his car and drove home. His foot wanted to press down on the accelerator, but he forced it to remain rigid, and kept the speedometer reading at
a steady twenty-seven miles per hour. On the way home, he rehearsed how he should answer Pauline's questions. Somehow, he knew this was another wasted effort. No matter what he intended to say,
he knew she would worm the truth from him.
Their home was not as warm as it used to be before he married her three years earlier. Next week, he would celebrate his fiftieth birthday. Beyond that was darkness unless he changed his life radically.
He pulled onto the gravel drive of his detached house, then remained behind the steering wheel while staring at the front door. Reluctantly, he opened the car door and slid from the seat, pausing
momentarily before slamming the door. Like the door, his heart and life seemed to close too. He was aware that his shoulders stooped when he walked up to the house. The front door opened as he
arrived in front of it.
"Are you all right, Ev? Why are you home early? What have they done now? Come in and I'll make us a nice cup of tea while you tell me all about it."
He followed her down the hall. "I think I'll just have a bath then go to bed for a couple of hours."
"Without any tea? They haven't sacked you, have they?"
"No." He wanted to laugh but couldn't find where he had left his sense of humour today. "They said I could take a leave of absence until after our holiday."
"That was nice of them dear. What did you say to that?"
He found himself grinning without trying. "I told them it felt good to get away with murder."
Pauline felt herself turn cold. She couldn't turn to face him. She didn't need to because she had heard the glee in his voice. "You should go up and have a good soak straight away."
When his footsteps faded up the stairs, she went into the parlour and poured herself a neat gin. |
