The Death of the Listening Man (Detective Inspector Benedict Paige Book 0) | eBook

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Chapter 1

Louise Wilkinson rushed in from the rain carrying two plastic bags of shopping. Stepping into the foyer of her shared house, she shook the excess rainwater from her umbrella. It was lashing it down out there. It was late afternoon, but still a hint of daylight, the February evenings were drawing out. Sam, her husband, said he had a late client today but he would have finished by now. Hopefully, he’d have finished writing up his notes and started on dinner. She was looking forward to the evening ahead – meeting a couple of girlfriends for a drink, friends she hadn't seen in months. They had a lot of catching up to do.
Louise and Sam lived on the top floor of an Edwardian house not far from Camden High Street in north London. The neighbours were pleasant, the area OK, the flat itself rather small but it’d do for now. Less so perhaps once they had had a baby, but that’d be something to worry about later down the line.
She put her key into the front door but paused. Was that someone shouting in there? It was a woman’s voice. Why so much noise? She sounded terribly upset. Was she shouting at Sam? She inched open the door, fearful to step into her own flat. She heard Sam’s voice coming from his office. ‘Look, how many times do you want me to say sorry?’
‘And you think that’s all you need to do? To say sorry and hope it all goes away.’ She sounded as if she’d been crying.
Louise didn’t want to intrude and didn’t want to hear this. She hated the sound of someone shouting at her husband. Sam said something back but she couldn’t make it out. Louise hung her coat up and crept into the tiny kitchen and deposited her shopping bags on the counter. She didn’t know what to do, whether to make her presence felt or creep around and hoped this shouty woman didn’t hear her.
The door to Sam’s office opened, their voices clear. ‘I mean it, Sam, by tomorrow morning.’
‘And that’ll be it. No more?’
‘I said so, didn’t I?’
The woman appeared in the tiny hallway and clocked Louise in the kitchen. Like all of Sam’s clients, she was young, this one on the large size, black, her nose pierced, large glasses, feather-patterned earrings. She seemed surprised to see Louise but didn’t say anything. Sam followed and, following the woman’s gaze, also saw Louise. ‘Oh, hi,’ he said awkwardly.
‘I’ll look forward to hearing from you, Sam,’ the woman said in a calm voice.
‘Yeah, yeah, sure.’
The young woman left, leaving a charged atmosphere behind as Louise stepped up to her husband. ‘What the hell was that about?’
‘What? Oh, that. Nothing.’ He went to the bathroom.
‘Don’t walk away from me, Sam.’
‘I need the bloody loo, Louise. If that’s OK with you.’
She waited, remaining in the hallway, her arms crossed.
She heard the toilet flush and Sam reappeared. ‘So, who was she?’
‘A client.’
‘A client?’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, pulling on his shirt cuffs. She knew he couldn’t look her in the eye.
‘A very upset client, by the looks of it. Why was she shouting at you?’
‘She wasn’t shouting.’
‘Sounded like it.’
‘Well, she wasn’t.’ He returned to his office, closing the door behind him.
She stood, still bewildered by why one of her husband’s clients should have reason to shout at him. She wasn’t having this. She barged in and found him at his desk in front of his PC, his hand on the mouse. ‘Why did you say sorry to her?’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes, Sam, you did. I heard you say it – how many times do you want me to say sorry.’
‘It’s nothing, really,’ he said, without looking up. ‘Just a misunderstanding, that’s all.’
‘Quite a misunderstanding. What do you have to do by tomorrow morning?’
‘Look, how many times have I told you? I can’t tell you stuff. It’s all highly–’
‘Yes, I know, Sam, highly confidential. But this feels off. Are you in trouble?’
He shook his head but still couldn’t meet her eye. ‘No, of course not. Look, can you let me write this stuff up? Then, I’ll help get dinner ready.’
‘Sam?’
Finally, he looked at her. ‘Seriously, it’s just work stuff. Nothing to worry about. I’ll have it sorted. All right?’
‘If you say so.’
‘Trust me.’ He smiled at her. She wasn’t convinced by it but she knew she wouldn’t get anything else out of him.
‘Don’t forget I’m going out tonight.’
‘I hadn't forgotten.’
Louise returned to the kitchen with the intention of unpacking the shopping. Instead, she leaned against the counter biting on a thumbnail. He said, ‘trust me’. Did she trust him? Of course she did. She trusted him implicitly, so if he said there was nothing to worry about, then she believed him.
There was nothing to worry about.