48 Hours - A City of London Thriller by J Jackson Bentley Page A

on a
small unit provided by the police which looked rather like an Ipod
charger with speakers. I pressed the button to answer, and the red
light flashed as the unit began a digital recording. I leaned over
the unit and spoke into the microphone slot.
    “ Hello?” There was silence for several long seconds and I
thought that Bob was teasing me, unless he guessed somehow that the
call was being recorded.
    “ Josh, I’m sorry.” Andrew Cuthbertson’s voice was cracked and
faltering. “My life is over, Josh. I’ve lost everything. Tomorrow
everything will come out and I’ll be ruined.” He was rambling, but
I said nothing.
    “ I did give your details away, you were right, but I was being
blackmailed too. You have to believe me. He had me over a barrel,
Josh.” There was a pause as he sobbed; the man was on the verge of
a breakdown. “I need to see you, to tell you the whole story.
Tomorrow morning, early, before everything hits the
fan.”
    “ OK, Andrew, just stay calm,” I said. “Who is this Bob,
anyway? Do you have any idea?”
    “ That’s just one of his names, and none of them are his real
name. I can’t tell you over the phone. I need to see you in person,
to explain.”
    “ All right, Andrew. Get a good night’s rest and we’ll see if
we can sort this out tomorrow. Where do you want to
meet?”
    “ Let’s meet at the pedestrian footbridge at Butler’s Wharf,
next to the Chop House Restaurant. It should be deserted there at
seven tomorrow morning.”
    “ I can do that, Andrew,” I assured him. “I’ll take one of the
riverboats, but it might be a few minutes after seven when I get
there.”
    “ I understand, but try not to be too late. I’ll be waiting.
Thanks, Josh.” He hung up, leaving me wondering just what my friend
had got himself mixed up in.

Chapter 13
    Butlers Wharf, Tower Bridge, London. Friday,
6:45am.
    Alarmed by Andrew Cuthbertson’s phone call last night, and by
his sudden show of conscience, Bob kept watch over the former
warehouses which now housed modern apartments set around an
ornamental Japanese Garden. The sun was up and the ducks on the
pond were making a racket. Bob was amazed that people would pay
upwards of three hundred and fifty grand for a two bedroomed
apartment in an old warehouse in what used to be a rough area of
London.
    The complex was security gated, entry by a key fob, and so Bob
stood out of sight of the pedestrian entrance gate in one of the
narrow passages that still led to the waterside. He was very
disappointed with Andrew. No matter how much he threatened, Andrew
refused to meet him to discuss the situation. Bob had felt sure
that another look at the photos of the pathetic pre-pubescent Thai
girl would bring the young accountant back into line. He was wrong.
Andrew had made it clear that it was too late for that, and so Bob
had been waiting outside the Cuthbertsons’ apartment for an
hour.
    ***
    Andrew hadn’t slept a wink. He had decided to tell his wife
everything when he arrived home, so that the blackmail threats
would be useless, but as soon as he saw his perfect wife,
Charlotte, and their daughter Zoe, he knew he couldn’t do it. They
would find out soon enough, and then he would try to explain, if
they gave him the chance.
    After a quick shower in the family bathroom, so as not to
disturb Charlotte, he dressed and let himself out of the ground
floor flat quietly. Not that any noise he made would be heard over
the ducks. One of the attractions of the flat, in addition to the
security, was the fact that the buildings were grouped around a
quadrangle which sported oriental gardens and small ornamental
bridges over manmade ponds. His apartment had a wooden deck beyond
the patio doors, where they could sit and eat in the warm weather.
In the winter the ducks would come and peck on the patio doors,
brazenly looking for food. Their comic antics always entertained
Zoe. Andrew imagined the scene and smiled through his
sadness.
    The accountant