Booked for Murder by Val McDermid Read Free Book Online Page B

briskly. “This is not getting you any closer to finding Pen’s killer. What do we do now?”
    â€œWho had a motive?” Lindsay demanded. “Apart from you, that is?”

Chapter 4
    L indsay hadn’t expected London temperatures to be nearly as high as California’s. She was still dressed for the air-conditioned coolness of the plane, she thought, shrugging her shoulders to unstick shirt from skin. In this heat, jeans and cotton twill were not the ideal outfit for climbing four flights of narrow, dusty stairs with the smell of urine from the entrance still pungent. She wondered how many prospective clients were put off by the approach to Catriona Polson’s office. Then she remembered that those climbers would be pre-published authors full of hope. “None,” she muttered under her breath as she rounded the curve of the stairs and reached the final landing.
    In contrast to the understated brushed-steel plaque on the downstairs wall and the ambience of a stairway which clearly doubled as a hostel for the homeless, the offices of Polson and Firestone indicated that somewhere on their client list there were some major earners. Even when Lindsay had left Britain, before Soho went up-market and sexually ambivalent, office suites in the area had commanded high rents. Now that the district was almost chic, it must take a sizeable bank balance to secure the whole top floor of a building with a view of Soho Square.
    The offices lay behind tall double doors of pale gray wood and brushed steel. Lindsay opened the right-hand door and walked into a reception area that was still lurking in the previous decade. The bleached gray wood was the keynote, looking like the ghost of
trees. What wasn’t wood was leather or brushed steel. Including the receptionist, Lindsay thought grimly. She was glad she’d employed a ruse to ensure Catriona Polson would be in. Looking at hair blue-black as carbon steel and a jaw with a higher breaking strain than a girder, she knew she was about to be given the brush-off for having the temerity to arrive without an appointment or three chapters and a synopsis. The sweat on her forehead from the sudden transition to air conditioning didn’t make her feel any more confident of success.
    Lindsay had felt slightly guilty about ringing up and pretending to be an American publisher’s assistant breathlessly booking a noon phone call to Ms. Polson, but not guilty enough to miss making sure she wouldn’t have a wasted journey. The receptionist’s grim glare gave her immediate absolution. She smiled. Nothing altered. The receptionist continued to stare at the screen of her computer. Lindsay cleared her throat. The receptionist’s plum-colored mouth puckered. Lindsay found herself irresistibly thinking about cat’s bottoms. Then the lips parted. “Can I help you?” haughtily, in a little girl voice that would have shattered crystal.
    â€œI’d like to see Ms. Polson. No, I don’t have an appointment. I know she’s in the building and I’m absolutely positive she’s not in a meeting.” Lindsay’s smile grew wider as her voice became more honeyed.
    The receptionist’s whole face tightened, eyeliner and mascara almost meeting in a smudge of black. “I’m sorry,” she said smugly. “She’s expecting an important phone call.”
    Lindsay assumed her Southern belle accent. “I know, cher. I was the one booked the call. I just wanted to be good and sure Miz Polson would be here to see me.” Then she grinned. “Would you tell her I’m representing Meredith Miller?”
    The receptionist did her cat’s bottom impression again. But she condescended to pick up the phone. “Name please?” she demanded as she keyed in a number.
    Resisting the temptation to respond with her Sean Connery impersonation, Lindsay simply gave her name. The receptionist spoke into the phone.