Stealing People Read Online Free Page B

American. Venezuelan maybe. Habla español? ’
    ‘ Si, mi madre era Cubana , and my father’s English. I did some schooling in the States … my father has business interests there.’
    ‘How did they meet? Your parents.’
    ‘On my father’s yacht.’
    ‘You said “ era ”. Does that mean your mother’s dead?’
    ‘She died just over six years ago. Breast cancer followed by liver cancer.’
    ‘And how old are you?’
    ‘Twenty-eight.’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ said Boxer, taking a stab: not easy to age people in their twenties.
    ‘Then why ask?’
    ‘Don’t make me fight for every answer,’ said Boxer. ‘It tires me out and I lose interest.’
    ‘Twenty.’
    Boxer raised his eyebrows.
    ‘Ish,’ she said.
    A knock. The door opened without waiting for a reply.
    ‘Sorry,’ said Amy, backing out. ‘I didn’t know you had people.’
    ‘What’s up?’
    ‘The heating engineer working in your flat says he’s finished but wants to talk to you.’
    ‘I’ll call him back.’
    ‘Hi, I’m Siobhan,’ said the young woman, swivelling in her seat, stretching out her hand, which caught Amy off guard: unexpectedly formal. She stumbled reaching forward to shake it.
    ‘My daughter, Amy,’ said Boxer.
    ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Amy, retreating under Siobhan’s unswerving gaze.
    The door closed. Siobhan turned back to Boxer.
    ‘Where’s she from?’ she asked, eyes wide.
    ‘Very funny,’ said Boxer. ‘Her mother’s Ghanaian …’
    ‘And you’re English,’ said Siobhan. ‘We should get along just fine. Nice looking girl. How old is she?’
    ‘Were the police looking for your father at the time of his disappearance?’ asked Boxer, ignoring her, not comfortable with the look she’d given Amy.
    ‘Not actively.’
    ‘Look, why not go to them? They’ve got far more resources than me.’
    ‘My father’s a very private kind of guy. The sort of information I’d have to give the police is not what he’d like to have out there,’ she said, flinging a hand at the window. ‘The people he does business with wouldn’t like that kind of … scrutiny. Is that the right word?’
    ‘It’ll do,’ said Boxer. ‘You’ve seen my colleague Roy Chapel, he’s ex-police—’
    ‘But I’m not talking to Roy Chapel,’ said Siobhan. ‘I’m only talking to you, Charles Boxer. Nobody else.’
    ‘There are plenty of people a lot more qualified than I am to find your father,’ said Boxer. ‘Private eyes with contacts everywhere, even in the criminal world if that’s what you’re hinting at. I’ll give you some names. You can tell them I sent you.’
    ‘I’m not interested in anybody else. I only want you.’
    ‘What if I’m not available … or interested?’
    ‘My father and I were staying at the Savoy Hotel,’ said Siobhan, riding over that little wave. ‘Since my mother died we’ve been very close. He takes me with him everywhere. He doesn’t go for a walk in the park to smoke a cigarette and leave me behind sitting in a hotel room with no communication for three days.’
    She was leaning forward now, elbows on the table, her hands clasped, resting her chin on them. She had long, thick, dark, glossy hair falling in waves to her shoulders, framing her face, which was both strong and beautiful. She had a wide red lipsticked mouth and a slight gap between her very white front teeth. Her light brown eyes under a pair of long, darkly gabled eyebrows transfixed him, held him to account.
    Something about her left Boxer hanging in the balance. He couldn’t make his mind up one way or the other and wasn’t sure about what. She was a danger to him, he’d intuited that, but he could feel an irresistible pull into some innate darkness.
    ‘This doesn’t mean I’m taking on the job, but let’s have your father’s name,’ he said. ‘Preferably his real name and his age.’
    ‘Conrad Jensen,’ she said. ‘But everybody calls him Con … not for the obvious reason. As I understand it,