Sleight Malice Read Online Free Page A

turned
up yet?”
    A fleeting
glance passed between the detectives, the twitch at the corner of DI Buchanan’s
eye almost imperceptible. “Actually we were hoping you could help us with the
whereabouts of Ms Noble. What can you tell us about the last time you saw her?”
    Desley frowned.
“Like what? Laura was perfectly okay when she left here at around ten last
night, give or take a few minutes.”
    “How did she
seem?”
    “Happy, tipsy,
excited about having Ryan home again. Why? What is all this about?”
    “She didn’t
seem distracted or out of sorts at all?” continued the inspector, ignoring her
questions.
    “No. Just what
are you implying?”
    “What did the
two of you talk about?”
    She rolled her
eyes. “You mean what didn’t we talk about? Come on, Inspector, we had a girl’s
night in. What did you expect? We certainly weren’t plotting to overthrow the
world or anything sinister like that,” she said, frustration driving her
sarcasm.
    DI Buchanan’s
eye twitch wasn’t so subtle this time. “All we’re trying to establish is what
Ms Noble’s frame of mind was last night, if she talked to you about her plans
for today or the weekend or next week. Had anything – trivial or otherwise –
been troubling her of late?” He paused. “We need your help in determining if
her disappearance was voluntary or not,” he added, cleverly putting it back on
her.
    She glanced
sideways at Fergus. Although he had stopped fidgeting with his mobile, his mind
seemed to be elsewhere. What had possessed her to drag a man she barely knew,
her client, into her personal crisis? Convenience? Would she have clutched at
the postman or the neighbor or some other bystander the same way?
    Then he turned
his head, his intense green eyes questioning. She blinked. He wasn’t the
postman. He was a private investigator, an ex-cop, and a man her instinct was
telling her she could trust. And she needed all the help she could get to
unravel whatever the hell had happened.
    Was still
happening , she thought, her stomach sinking as she
took in the grave faces around the table. She could no longer deceive herself
into thinking it was all some big mistake. Her best friend was missing, a man
was dead and somehow the two were linked.
    Fergus cleared
his throat and straightened his back. “I know you’re just trying to do your
job, Grant, but let’s cut through all the protocol crap and get to the point.
Except for what I’ve just heard, I don’t know anything about the case you’re
working on, but it’s obvious by the way you’re avoiding Desley’s questions that
you’re withholding information. Don’t forget I know how the system works.”
    The detective
gave a half-laugh-half-snort. “And so do I.”
    “And do you
want Desley’s help or not?” Fergus snapped.
    A loud buzzing
from the inspector’s side of the table interrupted the conversation before it
could degenerate any further. DI Buchanan’s hand delved into the inside pocket
of his black-and-grey mottled leather jacket, withdrawing a tiny fliptop mobile
phone. He opened it, muttered under his breath and stood up.
    “I have to take
this. DS Mitchell can, I’m sure, answer your questions. And if you want to help
your friend, I would hope you’ll return the courtesy. Press conference.” His
last two words were directed at the sergeant.
    Kim Mitchell
nodded, her face expressionless but her eyes silently communicating with him as
he paused in the doorway.
    Then Desley
heard him bark, “Buchanan,” followed by the sound of the front door opening and
closing. She exhaled, releasing the breath she hadn’t until then realized she
had been holding. She had nothing to feel guilty about, but something about the
way Detective Inspector Grant Buchanan looked at her made her feel like a
suspect, as if she were part of some deep, dark conspiracy.
    “Okay,” said DS
Kim Mitchell, thumping the side of her hand against the table. “As much as we
would like to give you the