‘Good morning,’ Jack said pleasantly.
The receptionist he spoke to looked Chinese, her gleaming hair brushed back from her face and caught in an elegant comb.
‘I’m here to meet Ms Debra Smith.’
‘Which company does she work for?’
‘I’m not exactly sure, but I do know she’s employed here. It’s rather an urgent matter. Do you want to see my ID?’
Jack put his briefcase down and took out his ID, flipping it open and closed very quickly.
‘Detective Mathews,’ he said.
Her face expressionless, she tapped on her keyboard with long pink varnished fingernails then reached for her phone.
‘Ms Smith is on the executive floor. Please wait one moment.’ She spoke into the handset.
‘I have a Detective Mathews here for Ms Smith. It seems to be an urgent matter.’
After listening for a moment, she replaced the handset.
‘If you go up to the sixth floor, someone will be waiting for you.’
Jack gave her a wide smile before walking towards the mirror-like elevators.
The elevator moved so fast that it made Jack gasp. He then stepped out into a vast carpeted corridor with floor-to-ceiling glass windows at one end. An office with double doors opened and a young man in an immaculate suit looked towards him.
‘Detective Mathews?’
Jack nodded as the young man eased one of the doors wider with an outstretched arm. Jack walked past him into another wide corridor and paused for him to overtake.
‘Ms Smith is taking a call but will be with you shortly. This way please.’
Jack was ushered into an enormous boardroom with a highly polished oak table with gilt legs that was twice the size of the station’s boardroom table. Placed around the table were expensive-looking chrome and leather chairs and in the centre of the table were leather pots of pencils, a pile of note pads, and a state-of-the-art conference call set.
Against one wall was a long cabinet with trays of white china mugs, silver flasks, and trays of biscuits, as well as a small glass-fronted fridge that was filled with milk, fruit juice and cans of soft drinks.
‘Please help yourself. Ms Smith will be with you directly.’
As the door was closed Jack pulled out a chair, laying his briefcase on the table and taking out a file. He leaned across and took a few pencils and a notebook. After five minutes he stood up and helped himself to a coffee and two biscuits. A further five minutes later, as he was finishing the coffee, the door opened.
Debra Smith looked to be in her mid-fifties. She wore a grey suit over a white blouse and her well-cut wavy hair was iron — grey. With very little makeup, she had a very steely presence.
‘Thank you for seeing me, Ms Smith. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.’
She moved closer and nodded.
‘You say you are a detective; can I see your credentials please?’
Jack smiled and took out his ID, holding it up for a moment. Debra Smith was about to take it from him when he quickly put it back into his pocket.
‘I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me with a sensitive situation.’
Smith frowned and sat down on the opposite side of the table.
‘I was advised to talk to you by Eva Shay, whom I believe you have recently spoken with.’
‘That is correct.’
‘She asked you a question regarding a woman called Sandra Raynor, about whether or not she was employed here.’
‘Yes, that’s correct. As I told Ms Shay, to my knowledge we have never employed anyone by that name. Coincidentally, my assistant also received a query regarding the same woman from an officer in the Essex police, I believe. I’ve been here for more than 30 years and Sandra Raynor wasn’t an employee during that time, so if you are here to ask me the same question, it is a waste of your time, as well as mine.’
Jack nodded affably. ‘I would like you to look at this photograph please.’
Jack opened his file and pulled out the photograph that Sandra Raynor had given to the dating agency. He pushed it across the table and Debra picked it up with her well-manicured fingernails. She took her time, examining it closely.
‘No, I have never seen or met this woman,’ she said eventually.
Jack asked her to look again.
‘How old would you say that woman is?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Have a guess. It’s rather important.’
Smith sighed, pursing her lips.
‘Perhaps in her late thirties or early forties, I couldn’t really say.’
‘What if I was to tell you she was in her sixties?’
For the first time Smith almost smiled, then shrugged her shoulders. Jack continued.
‘Extensive plastic surgery, possibly done in the US. She is almost five foot nine, quite athletic, or she was.’ He let the statement hang in the air for a moment.
‘Well, I have no idea who she is or was. I’m sorry I can’t help you.’
Jack smiled. ‘I think perhaps you can. I want you to think back, not just a few years but maybe 20 years or more. Think of anyone in that age category who perhaps was plainer looking then, but the same height, someone exceptionally clever whom you can recall working here, who maybe left under strange circumstances?’
‘I’m sorry but you are asking me the impossible. The company moved into this new location fifteen years ago and there have been hundreds of employees during the time I’ve been here.’
‘What if I was to say that there might be a link with Brighton? Perhaps going even further back?’
Jack waited as Smith held the photograph up and looked closely at it. She then leaned across the table and picked up a pencil. She started scribbling on the photograph, then looked up.
‘I’m sorry, is it alright if I do this?’
Jack nodded. ‘Yes, it’s only a copy.’
She made a few more pencil strokes, then chewed at the end of the pencil. She reached for a notebook, tearing a page out and placing it across the photograph. Jack pushed his chair back and walked around to sit beside her.
‘This is a bit of a long shot, but it could be her. I’ve not heard from her or seen her in decades — I’m going back to the late 70s, early 80s. Brighton rings a bell and I think her name could be Leonie or Lorna, but I really can’t be sure. She was tall and she was a very good tennis player. She was rather plain looking and had very bad teeth, but I’m afraid I can’t recall her surname.’
‘Would you be able to find her name in the company records?’
She shook her head. ‘No, not that far back. When we moved here a lot of the historical files were shredded. If it is the girl I’m thinking of, then she was very clever. I think she had a First from Oxford before she became an accountant, so that would mean that when she joined the company she would have been in her early twenties. She was a workaholic and not very sociable, a bit of a loner with not many friends. Hang on, I’ve just remembered; it wasn’t Leonie, it was Lorna, and her surname was Elliot.’
Jack was buzzing as Debra Smith went quiet.
‘Do you know if she has any family?’ Jack asked.
‘My goodness, it was all so long ago. She may have had a sister because I do remember that she often used to stay in Brighton, so perhaps it was with a sister. I really can’t be certain, but I just remember how clever she was; actually she was quite brilliant. She quickly started moving up the ladder and was then head-hunted by another firm. As far as I can recall nothing unpleasant occurred when she left us, but by that time she was in a position way above mine.’