Hanging Hill - Mo Hayder [49]
The heart monitor had finished downloading its data. David spent some time studying it. Then, seeming satisfied, he switched off the computer.
‘Course,’ he said, with a half-glance up at her, ‘if I had my druthers I’d have a woman in my life, little golden-haired thing with big knockers, a good head for figures, and a problem in the nymphomaniac department. But I know women – most of you’ve only got one thing on your mind, and it doesn’t begin with S. So, Sally, come and sit here.’ He drew another chair up next to him in front of the computer. ‘Come here and let me show you what I want you to do.’
Sally sat next to him. He smelt vaguely of sweat and aftershave. She couldn’t stop thinking about the women in the Balkans, about whether he’d told them his life story.
‘Now …’ he waved a hand around the office ‘… this is Tracy Island – the nerve centre of Goldrab Enterprises. We’re sitting in the personal section. That, over there, that’s the money-making part.’
He was pointing to where a desk sat piled high with files and another computer. There was a filing cabinet next to the desk and, mounted above that, a huge monitor showing the view of the driveway from the security camera in the front. Once she’d been cleaning here and had noticed a pile of paperwork on top of that cabinet. She hadn’t looked too closely but she recalled invoices in a foreign language. The name Priština had jumped out. At the time she’d thought it was the name of a city in Russia. Now, thinking about what Steve had said, she guessed it must be Kosovo.
‘Sally, I don’t want you going home with the idea I don’t trust you, because of course I do. But you won’t mind me pointing out that my work is confidential. I prefer to keep it that way. In other words, if I catch you snooping around there I’ll shoot you in the fucking eye.’ He gave a fat, pleased smile when he saw her reaction. ‘A joke. Another joke. Jesus, the sense-of-humour fairy is definitely AWOL this morning, ain’t she? Now, on this computer I keep the database for the house. See? So this is where you work. You enter the invoices here, and the receipts here. It’s not rocket science. You make the calls, get the estimates, organize the workers. Just try to make it so everyone comes on the same day so I’m not running around every morning thinking, I’ve got to get my drawers on pronto cos the bleeding plumber’s on his way.’
‘OK,’ she said quietly.
‘And smile, for fuck’s sake. Crack a bleeding smile. It’s like looking at a shagging slapped arse, looking at you—’
He broke off and jerked to his feet, staring at the CCTV monitor on the wall. ‘Holy Jesus,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘The scabby little bumsucker.’
On the lane outside was parked a small Japanese jeep in a metallic purple, with shiny chrome bull-bars. Sally stared at it. The dealer from Kingsmead? It couldn’t be. Here at David Goldrab’s? As if he’d followed them? The window opened and an arm came out, jabbing at the keypad on the gate. It was him. She recognized the hair and the suntan. She spun round and stared out of the window. Millie had appeared on the lawn. Maybe she’d already seen the pheasants, maybe she wasn’t interested anyway, but for some reason she had settled on the grass, lying on her stomach, her phone in both hands, busily texting or browsing, or updating her Facebook page. Sally got up, dithering, not sure what to do, whether to run through the kitchen and yell, or to get her phone and call her.
On screen the man was still jabbing in