Page 66 of Mann Hunt
“Confidentiality is a sacred trust. An accountant is like a priest. You wouldn’t expect a priest to repeat what a man said in confession, would you?”
“It depends on whether it would help to solve a murder,” Declan replied.
Palvinder pondered that for a moment and took another sip of tea. “Well—it’s a good thing I’m not a priest. That, and the fact that the developer is no longer a client of mine. It was Monarch Development.”
Declan nodded. “And we know how far they’ll go to get what they want.”
“Precisely.” Palvinder offered Declan the plate of sweets and the detective picked up a single piece and tried it. A cashew flavour flooded his mouth.
“This is delicious.” Declan smiled as he continued, “Do you have the name of the person you were dealing with?”
Palvinder stared Declan in the eyes. “The Monarch account was highly unusual. All the transactions were done online and the first people I met from the company were my kidnappers, but I do not think they were in charge. That is all I know.”
Palvinder’s mother entered the office and handed Declan an envelope. She stared at him for a few moments. He smiled and said, “Thank you for the deliciouschaiandkaju katli.”
She looked at him, her lips pursed, and without comment left the room.
“You must forgive her. A mother’s love for her son is undying, and she was upset that I got hurt. Now,back to your accounting needs, have a look at the documents she gave you and, if you agree, sign them where indicated and courier them back to me.”
“Thank you, Palvinder. I feel like I’m in good hands.”
They shook hands and, as the accountant escorted him to the front of the office, a little girl came through the front door. She wore a backpack emblazoned with a ladybug. She smiled at Declan, who recognised her as the courier who had delivered Palvinder’s laptop earlier in the week.
Palvinder walked Declan out to his van, looked at it and said, “Well, it’s a bit better than the thing you rescued me in.”
“This one’s for surveillance. The car you gave me—that will have its own special uses.”
Palvinder nodded. “I hope you find the men behind Monarch, but be very careful. I sense what they did to me was mild compared to what they are truly capable of.”
Declan thanked Mr Attwal and got into his van. He wondered if indeed Monarch had killed Ian Mann and, if so, why?
Declan had decided that a quick change of clothes was in order before he paid Luke a visit. He called Charlie with the news about Monarch. The phone rang, then went to voicemail. He decided not to leave a message. He’d just tell him when he saw him later.
Declan parked in front of the office, and waved at Gwen as he walked by her shop. He only half-noticed that she was serving a customer. He mounted the stairs to the second floor. The sun shone through the windows, bathing everything in a warm yellow glow. He paused at Charlie’s desk. He’d been lucky to findCharlie. He had fit in instantly and picked things up quickly. It was hard to believe that he’d been with the firm for less than a week. And what a week it had been.
His stream of thoughts was broken by the chirp of an incoming text. He reached for his phone—but it wasn’t his. The sound came from Charlie’s phone, which lay on his desk.
“Charlie?” he called out.
He must have already headed out to check on the properties.
Declan went into the kitchenette and peeked out of the window that overlooked the parking lot behind the building.Odd, he thought.Francine’s still there…but the Challenger’s gone. He’d have to have a talk with Charlie about driving the car before he had the insurance paperwork.
The door alarm beeped, and he heard footsteps running up the stairs. The office door opened.
“I bet I know what you forgot,” Declan called out from the kitchenette as he walked into the office, but the person in front of him wasn’t Charlie.
“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” a man yelled.
Sam Hunt stood in front of Declan in full dress uniform, a block of a man who oozed authority, his eyes blazing. Declan had to fight hard not to raise his arms, fists clenched—not in a boxing pose, but one with arms and fists held close to his chest like a shield to protect him against his father’s rage.
Declan’s therapist had told him that beneath everyone there lurked a child-version of themselves waiting to come to the surface during times of stress. It could be set free by any number of triggers—a smell, asound, a person. For Declan, it was the angry side of his father.
He did what the therapist had told him to do—think of things that brought him back into the present—into his adult self. The first image that came to mind was Charlie and his quirky, crooked smile. A deep breath and the thought of Charlie snapped him into the present. The whole process, from recognition of the problem to the implementation of the practiced coping mechanism, took no more than a few seconds.
“Hey, Dad. Let me guess—you’ve been talking to Gerry McKeckran.”
“Talking? That idiot came up to me at the Commissioner’s Lunch and started ranting about my son interfering with a police investigation. In front of everybody! My son wouldn’t be crazy enough to do something as butt-stupid as that, would he?”
