Acts of Kindness Read online

  The reporter turned to Maggie. ‘Mrs Thatcher, can you tell us what happened to your husband?’

  ‘They took him.’ She jerked a thumb backwards, towards the gates and the driveway beyond.

  The reporter nodded understandingly. ‘And by “them” you mean Acorn Consulting?’

  ‘Yes, I mean Acorns! Them!’ She glared at the reporter.

  ‘When did you last see your husband, Edward Thatcher?’

  ‘I’ve told you this! It was Tuesday because I’d done Teddy his ham and cheese sandwiches. Not cheddar.’ She paused and pointed an accusatory finger at the reporter, who shook her head as if to disassociate herself with any suspicions of cheddar. ‘He never liked cheddar. Edam it was. And honey roast ham, on Kingsmill.’ She stopped, pressing her lips together as if that was all she had to say on the subject.

  ‘And when he had taken the last lunch you ever gave your husband, what did he do then?’

  ‘He got in his car and came here. Poor beggar.’

  ‘And did you ever see him again?’

  Maggie gawped at the woman. ‘He disappeared! That’s what I’ve been telling you! They took him.’

  The reporter turned back to the camera, seemingly unaffected by Maggie’s combative style.

  ‘Mr Thatcher disappeared around four months ago and the police have never been able to establish his whereabouts. Acorn Consulting claims that he didn’t arrive at work on that fateful day—’

  ‘That’s a lie!’ Maggie broke in. ‘He went to work and they shut him up. And I can prove it.’

  ‘How can you prove it, Mrs Thatcher?’

  ‘Stuff he left. Stuff they didn’t want to get out. He knew they wanted to keep him quiet so he left it at our house.’

  The reporter leaned in eagerly. ‘Why have you never mentioned this before?’

  ‘I did! I told that useless shower at the police station but they weren’t interested. And now it’s gone and happened again!’

  Back at home, Ben almost choked on his spaghetti carbonara as he watched Maggie yelling and glaring down the camera. He pressed a contact on his phone.

  ‘Have you seen it? Let’s get over there.’

  Grabbing his car keys, he ran for the door.

  It took him ten minutes, racing down empty country lanes, to reach the village where Maggie – and Bella, he remembered – lived. He parked a street away and hurried to Maggie’s house.

  She lived on a road of 1930s semis with large front gardens. The neighbouring house had a neat lawn and borders, in contrast with Maggie’s garden which was like a meadow, the only sign of care and cultivation a semi-mature tree planted dead centre. An oak, he realised. Even with every sense on the alert, he wondered about the significance of that. A coincidence, planted by previous occupants? Or by Teddy, as a tribute?

  Maggie’s house was in darkness. He strode up to the house next door, and made as if to ring the bell, glancing up and down the street as he did so. Most cars were parked on wide two-vehicle driveways. There was an estate car parked on the opposite side of the street, a few houses away. It was hard to tell in the dusk, but there didn’t seem to be anyone in it. Further away was a grey van and across from that a four-by-four. He didn’t like the look of that. As he looked, the four-by-four revved into life and began crawling down the street towards him.

  This time he rang the bell in earnest. A few seconds later the door inched open revealing an elderly man in a bulky brown cardigan and thick glasses. He peered uncertainly at Ben.

  ‘Good evening, sir.’ Ben pulled an identity badge out of his pocket and flicked it under the man’s eyes before putting it away. ‘No need to be alarmed but I need to access your garden.’

  Ben glanced along the road, the four-by-four was still fifty metres away, gaining pace.

  The old man looked flustered. ‘I don’t… Who are you?’

  Ben took a step forward, smiling, forcing the man back into the house. ‘Nothing to worry about, sir, won’t take a moment. If you could direct me to the door into the garden.’ He pulled the front door shut behind him. The house smelled musty, like damp clothes.

  ‘Well, it’s…’ The man waved a shaky hand towards a door on the right. ‘But I don’t know why…’

  ‘We’ve had reports of intruders in the neighbouring property, sir. Nothing to worry about but I would advise you to lock the door behind me.’

  Ben opened a door into a grubby kitchen with chipped white units. The back door was stiff but he forced it open and stepped outside. Behind him, there were fumblings as the door was relocked from the inside.

  Ben sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the gods of garden planning on finding that only a low, scraggy hedge separated the two gardens. Feeling along it, pressing for resistance, he found a thinning patch and half pushed, half climbed through and over.

  On the other side, he paused, listening. No sound from within Maggie’s house. He crept across the moss-covered patio and tried sliding the French door across. It was unlocked but he winced as metal screeched against metal. If anyone was waiting for him, he had just given them an early warning signal.

  He slid the door shut behind him, pulled his phone out of his pocket and switched on the torch, swinging its beam across the room. It was empty – and chaotic. A coffee table was overturned, china figurines smashed on the hearth tiles, pictures scattered across the floor, their backs torn off.

  Ben knew Maggie was an eccentric, but he couldn’t believe that even she would have a house this messy. A carriage clock, face-up on the sideboard, continued to tick despite its smashed case. Careful to avoid making a noise, he picked his way through the debris into the hall. A quick look in the other ground floor rooms revealed similar scenes of carnage. He came back into the hall in time to hear the sound of the French door squealing. Someone else was sneaking into the living room.

  The intruder tiptoed into the hall – and into the arms of Ben. There was a struggle and then, as Ben pointed his torch at his captive’s face: ‘It is you. Sorry, wasn’t sure.’

  Lauren put a hand to her throat. ‘Shit, Ben! You scared the life out of me.’

  ‘I had to be sure.’ They were both whispering. ‘I haven’t been upstairs yet; they could still be here.’

  Their inspection of the three bedrooms and bathroom revealed nothing more than further disarray and what looked like an anti-Acorns shrine on the wall of the master bedroom, created from defaced newspaper articles and Isadora’s face on a dartboard. They had to assume that Maggie wasn’t very good at darts, as most of the holes peppered the surrounding wall.

  ‘Do you think they found it?’ Lauren asked.

  Ben shrugged. ‘Impossible to say.’

  ‘What do you think they’ve done with her?’

  ‘Again, impossible to say.’

  Lauren looked at Ben’s face, stern and thoughtful in the dim light. ‘Shit.’ She nudged him. ‘We’d better go. Police could be here any minute.’

  On the dining table at the other end of the room, still in their cellophane wrapper, were the ‘Tuesday’ knickers Maggie had pressed into Bella’s hand the previous day. Bella turned off the TV and set the remote down on the table next to them. Up until now, she’d assumed the knickers was another eccentricity of Maggie’s, but could they be significant in some way? Was the word ‘Tuesday’ important? Touching the packet, she realised the centre of the tightly folded material was firmer than she would have expected. Positively hard, in fact.

  Flipping it over she unsealed the flap. Drawing out the knickers, she unfolded the white fabric. There, hidden in the centre, was a plain black USB stick.

  The doorbell rang at the exact moment that she was lining the USB up with the port on the side of her laptop. No, no, no! To be interrupted when she could be seconds away from finding out what had happened to Teddy and who was holding Isadora was excruciating. Particularly as no doubt it would be Maggie herself, demanding her knickers back. All the lights were on so there was no chance of pretending she was out this time.
She hurried to open the door.

  ‘Ben!’ She held the door open, blocking the way.

  He produced an umbrella from behind his back. ‘You forgot this.’

  ‘Oh! You didn’t need to come all this way; you could have given it to me in the office.’

  ‘I know. But it was a good excuse.’ He leant forward and planted a light kiss on her lips. ‘Can I come in?’

  No! No, you can’t bloody come in!

  ‘Sure,’ Bella heard herself say, scrambling to come up with a way to get him straight back out again. ‘Get yourself inside before the neighbours see you. There’ll be outraged letters in the parish magazine. I can see the headlines now, “Local spinster in doorstep-kissing shocker!”’ She was babbling, she knew, while her brain whirred frantically.

  Leading him into the living room she swept the knickers off the tabletop onto a chair before he could spot them. Ben indicated her open laptop. ‘Working late?’

  This was her moment to decide. Could she risk telling him? If she thought he was trustworthy it would make sense to look at the USB together.

  She smiled and flipped the lid down. Come on, Bella, use your bloody brain, what were you doing on your laptop? Think of something to get rid of him! ‘I was on Skype with an old friend in Australia. She’s splitting up with her husband. She’s in a real state.’

  Ben looked at his watch. ‘Wow, it must be the crack of dawn there?’

  ‘Mmm. She couldn’t sleep. Anyway, I hung up to answer the door, but she’s very upset. I should call her back.’

  He didn’t seem to be listening. Walking over to the mantelpiece he picked up a marble candlestick, weighing it in his hand.

  ‘Did you see the local news tonight?’ he asked. ‘Teddy Thatcher’s wife was on it.’

  He replaced the candlestick. Bella realised she was holding her breath and slowly let it out, trying not to make a noise. Had he seen her with the USB via her webcam?

  ‘Oh! No, I didn’t see it.’

  ‘According to Maggie, Teddy left some kind of evidence against AC behind.’ He was close behind her now, trailing his fingers down her neck. Then, taking a strand of her hair, he wound it around his finger. It made her shiver.

  ‘Evidence against AC? What do you mean, evidence of what?’

  The hair wound tighter. ‘I’ve no idea. Probably nothing. AC is completely above board, as you know. But if someone suspected something incendiary existed, and that it was hidden in Mrs Thatcher’s house…’

  ‘Shouldn’t you check on her?’ The strand of hair was released and he went back to stroking her neck.

  ‘I did. I was too late.’

  ‘Too late! What do you mean?’

  ‘She wasn’t there. But the house had been ransacked.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Bella covered her mouth.

  ‘Can’t tell if they found anything. Or where she is now. I don’t even know what they were looking for.’

  It was as if the USB next to the laptop were pulsing, glowing red, yelling, ‘Look at me! Look at me!’ He was talking again, she tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

  ‘I’ve phoned into OAK, of course. They’ve got agents looking for her.’

  She frowned. ‘What will they do when they find her?’

  There was a pause. ‘Take her home, of course. Make sure she’s alright. What else would they do?’

  The stroking had stopped now, she realised. There was cold air where his hand had been.

  ‘I don’t know… I hadn’t thought about it.’ She turned around. ‘Listen, I really should call my friend back. She’ll wonder why it’s taking me so long.’

  She saw his gaze linger on the laptop for a moment and then he smiled, trailing a finger down her jawline. ‘Of course. Don’t stay up too late, you’ll need to be in a fit state for work tomorrow. You wouldn’t want to get in trouble with your boss.’

  ‘No,’ Bella agreed. ‘He can be a right arsehole.’

  She watched Ben get into his car, holding her breath. The headlights swung past the window, the sound of the engine dropped out as he pulled up at the exit, then purred into life and away. She pulled the curtains tight. Was OAK watching her now? If Ben knew she had the USB, and that it was important, he wouldn’t have left without it, would he? She had to take the risk and assume she wasn’t being watched. Switching off the webcam and Wi-Fi on her laptop to be on the safe side, she took it into the windowless downstairs loo. Flipping down the seat she settled the laptop on her lap and stuck in the USB.

  There were four files, two Excel, one email and one image file. She opened the image file entitled ‘Screenshot 14122019’ first. It showed an HTML file filled with lines and lines of code. She scrutinised it for a while, willing it to make sense, but it was gobbledygook apart from the name of a well-known corporate bank near the top of the screen.

  Next, she opened the Excel file named ‘Transfers’. Along the top row, the headers were Date, Transaction ID, Client, Amount, Recipient ID. There were fifty-six rows and the figures were in the millions for each transaction. She recognised some of the names in the Client column as customers of Acorn Consulting. The dates started in late November 2019 and ended on the fourteenth of December that year.

  If these transactions were above board, why save them to a USB alongside a screenshot of what, even to her untrained eye, looked very much like the evidence of someone doing something dodgy to the backend of a corporate bank’s website.

  Could it be that someone in OAK had been stealing money in the millions – or even billions, she thought as her eye scanned the row of figures again. Nowhere did AC or OAK’s name appear on the spreadsheet and the Recipient IDs were all different, which gave her pause for thought. But then, if someone was sophisticated enough to hack a bank and steal funds in those amounts, they wouldn’t pop it straight into their current account, would they? Presumably, the Recipient IDs represented offshore accounts or subsidiary companies that the money was being passed through.

  Money that had been stolen from their clients. By whom? And why did Teddy have access to the audit trail?

  The fingers that gripped the side of the laptop had gone white, and when she went to open the second Excel file her hand was shaking. This file was called ‘Expansion’ and its contents were more obscure. Once more she was faced with rows and columns of information but this time the left-hand column contained the names of towns, some of which she recognised as being in America, others she hadn’t heard of. The top row contained various dates throughout 2019, and against each town percentage figures had been entered right across the row, alongside each individual date. She mulled this over. How were these percentages related to the money stolen in the other spreadsheet? The Transfers spreadsheet showed figures in pounds not dollars, and the dates didn’t seem to match up other than in one or two instances. No matter how lateral she tried to make her thinking, she couldn’t find a connection.

  Not for the first time, she wished she’d paid more attention when a boyfriend at university had tried to teach her how to do cryptic crosswords. Not only would she have been able to dazzle fellow train passengers by ostentatiously dashing off a Guardian crossword in the time it took to get from, say, Reading to Paddington, it might have offered the marginally greater benefit of helping her solve what appeared to be one of the largest corporate frauds of her era.

  She gave up and double-clicked on the last file. An email opened on the screen.

  Subject: Meeting

  From: Ben Elliott

  To: Teddy Thatcher

  Date: 14th December 2019

  Teddy,

  I’ve stumbled across something you’ll wish I hadn’t. Meet me in Room 172 tomorrow at 7pm. If I have to come and find you it’ll be worse for you.

  B

  Bella read the three short lines over and over. They didn’t make sense. Why was Ben threatening Teddy? With what?

  A bang on the front door made her leap from her seat, whacking the laptop against the sink.

  ‘Shit, sh
it, shit!’ she whispered, flying out of the loo and down the corridor in search of somewhere to hide the USB. She opened kitchen cupboards at random, pulled out a bag of icing sugar and poked the little black stick down into it until it was submerged.

  The banging was repeated, louder. She rinsed the powder from her fingers under the tap and raced down the corridor to open the door.

  A sour-looking cupule stood on the doorstep. ‘I’m taking you into OAK. Finn’s orders.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  A few words exchanged with the cupule as she got in the car had reassured her that the situation wasn’t as dire as it seemed. All HQ employees were being called in, not just her, with cars being sent to collect those in the immediate vicinity.

  The car flew down the country lanes, both occupants silent. Bella was concentrating on behaving as a guiltless member of OAK would do in this situation. She had to hope they knew nothing about the USB and act accordingly. She’d asked the cupule – with an expression suggesting calm concern, she hoped – why they were being called in and whether she should bring anything with her. He had been uncommunicative in the extreme, repeating that she had to leave right now with an overnight bag, and she had given up trying to extract anything else after they set off. Which at least meant her mind was free to try to untangle everything she’d seen and heard that evening.

  Maggie had asked her for help before she went to Le Chêne, and then had given her the USB either in the hope that she would know what do with it or at least would keep it safe. Bella felt a wave of pity for Maggie, dismissed by the police and her own neighbours as an unhinged eccentric with paranoid delusions. When all the while she’d been right. Something was very wrong at Acorn Consulting.

  How had Teddy got hold of the evidence, was he involved in the fraud or had he stumbled across it? Somehow, he’d got to Le Chêne and been attacked there. A parade of potential suspects trooped across Bella’s mind’s eye. Any number of people could be involved in the ordering of his abduction and murder including Isadora, Ben, The Librarian, Catherine, Lauren, James, Finn… even Oscar? Oscar, she had to acknowledge, seemed the least likely of all of them.