“The Maiden girl wasn't?” Nkata asked.
“I don't want to say that,” Reeve said hastily “Nicola was quick and bright, no mistake about that. But there was something about her that needed watching. So I watched. She had an excellent hand with our clients, which was certainly to her credit. But she had a tendency to be a bit … well, perhaps overawed is the best way to put it. She was rather overawed by the value of some of their portfolios. And it's never a good idea to make how-much-Sir-Somebody-is-worth the topic of lunchtime conversation with your pals.”
“Was there any client with whom she may have had a special hand?” Barbara asked. “One that extended after business hours?”
Reeves eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Nkata took the ball. “The girl had a lover here in town, Mr. Reeve. We're looking for him.”
“I don't know anything about a lover. But if Nicola had one, you'll more likely find him at the College of Law.”
“We've been told that she left the College of Law to work full-time for you.”
Reeve looked affronted. “I hope you're not suggesting that Nicola Maiden and I—”
“Well, she was a fine-looking woman.”
“As is my own wife.”
“I'm wondering if your wife had anything to do with why she left. It's odd, you ask me. The Maiden girl leaves law college to work for you full-time, but she leaves you practically the same week. Why d'you think she did that?”
“I told you. She said she was moving home to Derbyshire—”
“—where she went to work for a bloke who tells us she had a man in London. Right. So what I'm wondering is whether that London man's you.”
Barbara shot Nkata an admiring glance. She liked that he was willing to cut to the chase.
“I happen to be in love with my wife,” Reeve said deliberately. “Tricia and I have been together for twenty years, and if you think I'd jeopardise everything we have for a one-time romp with a college girl, then you're wrong.”
“There's nothing to suggest it was a one-off,” Barbara said.
“One-off or every night of the week,” Reeve countered, “I wasn't interested in a liaison with Nicola Maiden.” He seemed to stiffen as his thoughts suddenly took another direction. He drew in a shallow breath and reached for a silver letter opener that sat in the middle of his desk. He said, “Has someone told you otherwise? Has my good name been slandered by someone? I insist on knowing. Because if that's the case, I'll be talking to my solicitor.”
He was definitely an American, Barbara thought wearily. She said, “Do you know a bloke called Terry Cole, Mr. Reeve?”
“Terry Cole? C-o-l-e? I see.” As he spoke, Reeve reached for a pen and a pad of paper and scrawled the name. “So he's the little bastard who's said that—”
“Terry Cole's dead,” Nkata cut in. “He didn't say anything. He died with the Maiden girl in Derbyshire. You know him?”
“I've never heard of him. When I asked who'd told you … Look here. Nicola's dead and I'm sorry she's dead. But I haven't seen her since the end of April. I haven't talked to her since the end of April. And if someone out there is besmirching my good name, I mean to take whatever steps are necessary to rout the bastard out and make him pay.”
“Is that your usual reaction when you're crossed?” Barbara asked.
Reeve set down his pen. “This interview's over.”
“Mr. Reeve …”
“Please leave. You've had my time and I've told you what I know. If you think I'm going to play police patsy and sit here while you attempt to lead me down the garden path towards some sort of self-incrimination …” He pointed at them both. He had, Barbara saw, inordinately small hands, his knuckles cross-hatched with myriad scars. “You guys need to be less obvious,” he said. “Now, get out of here. Pronto.”
There was nothing for it but to accede to his request. Good expatriate Yank that he was, his next move surely was going to be to ring up his solicitor and claim harassment. There was no point pushing anything further.
“Nice work, Winston,” Barbara said when her colleague had unlocked the Bentley and they'd climbed inside. “You put him on the ropes quick and proper.”
“No sense in wasting our time.” He examined the building. “I wonder if there's a real Children in Need do going on at the Dorchester today.”
“There must be something going on somewhere. She was dressed up to the nines, wasn't she?”
Nkata looked at Barbara. His glance traveled over her clothes sorrowfully “With all respect, Barb …”
She laughed. “All right. What do I know about the nines anyway?”
He chuckled and started the car. Pulling away from the pavement, he said, “Seat belt, Barb.”
Barbara said, “Oh. Right,” and turned in her seat to reach for it.
Which was when she saw Tricia Reeve. The assistant director of MKR had taken herself nowhere near the Dorchester, as things turned out. She was skulking round the side of the building, hastening up the front steps, and heading straight for the door.