The Lost Testament

45

‘So she still hasn’t come back to the apartment? Why?’

‘Listen, mate, I’m a hired gun, not a bloody mind reader. How the hell should I know where she is? If you want my guess, she’s shacked up somewhere with that bloke I saw her with last night. You should have let me do her then. Him too.’

In the study of a large semi-detached house on the edge of Norwood, a middle-aged man with a round and almost cherubic pink face drummed his fingers in irritation. His plan had been thwarted the first night by the unexpected presence of Angela Lewis’s male companion, and now tonight she hadn’t returned home at all. There was also, he realized, the very real possibility that she wouldn’t be there over the weekend either, possibly spending the time with him. That could mean that the earliest the contract could be completed would be Monday evening, and that might be far too late. And now his contractor was getting cheeky with him.

For several seconds he sat in silence, considering his options. Then he made his decision. The most vital thing, very obviously, was Lewis’s death: the actual manner of it was of secondary importance.

‘OK. Change of plan,’ he said.

‘Good,’ the contractor replied.

‘We know that the target is still going to work. Get to her that way, and make it look like an accident. If you pull it off, there’s an extra grand in it for you.’

‘Where and when?’

‘That’s up to you, but no later than tomorrow night. You know where she works and what time she’ll leave the building?’

‘Yes to both. Just leave it to me,’ Jeff replied.