Shooting in the Dark

was reading from a script and the script was only engaging a fraction of his attention. She felt that she was the object of his attention, as if he was observing her with a lascivious leer.
    When he’d finished presenting his case she left it to Steven Packard to reply. ‘Thank you, Mr Hayes,’ he said. ‘We might be able to help. We’ll put your proposals to the trustees at their next meeting.’
    There was a farther exchange between them. Hayes wanted to know when the next meeting would be and Steven said something about not being able to promise anything. The value of the pound, contracts already entered into, but that the trustees would certainly feel sympathetic to the proposal.
    She didn’t listen. She stayed in the chair and wished for the man to get out of her office. All through the drone of their conversation she felt his eyes on her.
    When the meeting was drawn to a close Hayes and Steven shook hands. Then Hayes came to her desk and she felt and heard him extend his hand to her. His breathing was controlled; he measured each inhalation and exhalation. Slowly, as if he were counting. It seemed as though the whole meeting had been designed for this moment. The moment of contact. She took a breath and gave him her hand. His hand was large. He was a tall man with an athletic build and he held on to her hand for a fraction too long. Angeles withdrew it, a little too quickly for the proprieties of social convention.
    She stuttered, covering her embarrassment with a peremptory dismissal: ‘Thank you, Mr Hayes, we’ll be in touch soon.’
    She remained seated at her desk while Steven Packard showed the man out. She felt her right hand where she had come into contact with him. He’d worn a waterproof plaster on his right thumb.
    ‘What do we know about him?’ she asked Steven Packard when he returned.
    ‘Not a lot. Lives on the Wetherby Road.’
    ‘Check the address, will you, Steven? Go round there and make sure he’s who he says he is?’
    ‘You didn’t like him, did you?’
    ‘He made my flesh creep.’
     
    On the way back to Sam’s place she asked the chauffeur to stop at Sainsbury’s. She wanted to get a couple of salmon steaks for the evening meal. But there was something wrong. Was he there? Hayes, or whatever he called himself, at the fish counter?
    There was something. No one spoke and there was no contact, but she could feel his presence, hear his breath slowly inhaling and exhaling.
    She got the salmon steaks and put them in her basket, her hands trembling so much that she could barely control her fingers.
    ‘Look back,’ she said to the chauffeur as they walked away towards the checkout. ‘The man at the fish counter, what does he look like?’
    ‘There’s no one there,’ the chauffeur told her.
    ‘When I was buying the fish. There was a man behind me, over to the right. Did you see him?’
    ‘I can’t be sure,’ he said. ‘But if there was someone, I didn’t take him in I’m afraid.’
    ‘You couldn’t describe him?’
    ‘No, ma’am, sorry.’
     
    Steven Packard was on the phone a few minutes after she got in the house. ‘Really strange,’ he said. ‘The house on the Wetherby Road, the address Hayes gave? It’s an empty building. No one lives there.’
    She put the phone down and thought it all through again. She remembered biting down on the man’s thumb, but couldn’t remember if it was his right or his left. She knew she had bitten deep, though. It wouldn’t have healed yet. He’d be sure to have a dressing on it.
    She went back to the door and checked she’d locked it after her. Her fingers were shaking with fear as she imagined the man outside the house. Or was he inside? Her limbs felt feeble and puny as she sat in the chair by the telephone. She dialled Sam’s office number and waited for him to answer.
     

41
     
    Sam asked Marie to check out the Mr Hayes incident. Steven Packard could give a detailed description of him, distinctive blond hair and all. Someone must have seen him arriving at the Falco offices and there was a chance they could tie him to a model of car, if he’d arrived in one.
    Angeles had been shaky when he arrived home but she quietened down after he’d checked the house. By the next day she was almost back to herself. Of course it was only a mask, inside she must have been close to screaming point.
    She’d moved the food and crockery in the kitchen, swapped them around. Sam couldn’t understand why. Plus she’d bought in