*
Amanda raced down the busy London street, navigating the early morning traffic like a rally driver, half tempted to thumb the sirens into life.
Duvalier & Rose dominated one corner of a block of offices in a hidden tree-lined square. Amanda left the car parked on a red flagged parking meter and ran to the front doors of the Law firm offices.
Buzzing the intercom for attention, she cupped her hands against the smoky glass doors to get a better view. Blurred figures moved inside and Amanda tried the door. Locked. She pressed the buzzer again, leaving her finger on longer than was polite.
'Do you have an appointment?' A plumy voice crackled from the intercom.
'My name is Detective Constable Morgan. I'd like to have a chat with the office manager.'
'We do not provide divorce lawyers. Perhaps you can try Callow & Sturges along the road.'
Amanda stared at the intercom in disbelief.
'That's no problem. I'm sure this discrepancy can be cleared up with a court injunction - once all your clients have been contacted and escorted to their local Police Station.'
A few moments of silence and the door beeped gently. Amanda opened the door and walked through, cursing herself for responding the way she did. If her bluff had been called, she would have faced a tough time from Kirkwood and would have lost what little respect she had at the station.
The reception area was just as Amanda had expected. West Wing meets Ally McBeal but without the charm and even less of the character. A severely undernourished receptionist glared at her from behind a tall desk.
'Mr Duvalier will be down to see you shortly,' the receptionist said.
'Thank you,' Amanda replied.
The next few minutes were spent in arctic silence. Amanda walked along a wall with photographs of a calm and confident man in black-rimmed glasses meeting with various heads of state. Most were African or South American settings, but some clearly of the new Europe and Asian countries. A few of the photographs were signed, but most were official magazine style shots. In each, the glasses wearer had an austere pose whilst his counterpart was more relaxed.
A soft cough behind her caught her attention and she half jumped. The man from the photographs stood a few feet away from her. An ageless face with deep etched lines and a dull-yellow smile. He extended a hand.
'Good afternoon, officer. My name is Mr. Duvalier. How may I help you?' His voice was slow and steady, like a metronome.
'My name is DC Morgan. I'm here due to a number of parking ticket fines that have been paid by this law firm and I wanted to talk to someone about them.'
'What seems to be the problem?'
'The tickets in question,' Amanda referred to the print out clutched in her hand, 'were written up against a vehicle owned by a Mr Donald Grace. I'm sorry to say Mr Grace has passed away yesterday, but I'm interested as to why these tickets would have been paid for by your firm?'
'I have heard about Mr Grace's passing. A terrible turn of events. But I'm afraid I cannot divulge the concerns of Mr Grace's affairs with the firm. Client confidentiality, I'm sure you will understand.'
'So he was a client here?' Amanda left the question hanging in the air, luring an answer.
Mr Duvalier smiled. 'It was necessary for the law firm to take care of Mr Grace's outstanding parking tickets. He was a little careless in his parking and forgetful over the subsequent fines.'
'From what little I've discovered of Donald Grace, he didn't seem the forgetful type.' Amanda retaliated with a smile of her own. 'In fact, it seems to me it would be in keeping with his nature to make you pay for anything he could get away with. Even something as petty as a handful of parking tickets. Now, if you could explain what connection Mr Grace has with the law firm, I can wrap up some loose ends over his death.'
The warmth of Duvalier's smile dropped a few hundred degrees.
'I think our conversation has come to an end, Detective Constable Morgan. I will not stand by whilst the Metropolitan Police insults the good name of Mr Grace,' he said, glancing at the receptionist, who buzzed the door.
Duvalier held the glass door open, a wintry breeze whipping through the opening. Amanda didn't move, considering her options carefully. There was much more to this situation than Duvalier was admitting. And as much power as Amanda had at her disposal, the resources of the entire Metropolitan Police force, she would be in it up to her neck if she pushed this any further.
Amanda walked out into the cold street.