Authors: Ali Knight
Until Death
Table of Contents
Wink Murder
The First Cut
Ali Knight has worked as a journalist and sub-editor at the BBC,
Guardian
and
Observer
and helped to launch some of the
Daily Mail
and
Evening Standard
’s most successful websites. She lives with her family in London.
Visit Ali’s website to find out more about her and her psychological thrillers at
www.aliknight.co.uk
and follow her on Twitter
@aliknightauthor
.
First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK company
Copyright © Ali Knight 2013
The right of Ali Knight to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
Ebook ISBN 9781444777123
Hardback ISBN 9781444777109
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
To my family, for all their love, support and ideas
K
elly spun the rickety display case round with her finger. The pamphlets about domestic abuse coasted to a stop beside her, a mournful child with huge eyes stared out of a black and white photo at her. ‘Children are the real victims …’ the headline said. She pulled her eyes away and caught the receptionist behind the desk opposite sizing her up, her jaw working some gum slowly from one side of her large mouth to the other, masticating over what problem had pulled Kelly in here.
Kelly shifted in her chair, the imitation leather squeaking under her thighs. The drone of stationary October traffic on the Euston Road filtered up from the street. The two women’s glances collided again as if the space were too small for them to look anywhere else. Kelly pulled her beret hard down on to her head, trying to hide beneath it, trying to fight her feelings of failure.
The door across the small lobby opened and banged against the partition as a balding man in a pinstripe suit appeared. ‘You next? Come on in then.’ He held the door open for her as she walked across the poky lobby and into his office. He sat himself down at a desk in front of a shelving unit lined with law books that looked like they’d never been opened. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I want a divorce.’
He smiled on autopilot, small, irregular teeth poking from between his lips and leaned back, the chair groaning under his weight. ‘OK. Let’s just get some details down, shall we?’ He reached for a pen and dragged a piece of paper across the desk. She looked out of the dusty window at the cluster of neon fast-food signs encircling King’s Cross Station like Indians round a wagon train. He didn’t go far for his lunch, by the look of the crumpled McDonald’s wrapper in the waste bin by the desk. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Kelly Malamatos. My husband’s family was originally from Greece.’
‘Can you spell that for me?’
She said the letters aloud. ‘He’s having an affair.’
He didn’t even flicker, didn’t look up. ‘Well, these days you don’t have to actually give a reason. We just work out a financial settlement and you can go your separate ways. How long have you been married?’
‘Five years.’ Get it down, get the money, get the next client in the door. There was no space here for the messy emotions built up over time. ‘I really loved him, for the record.’
The lawyer looked up for the first time and gave her a small smile. ‘There are few who walk up the aisle who don’t feel that. But by the time they come through my door, it’s a distant memory, if they can recall it at all.’ He moved swiftly back to business. ‘Now, does your husband work, or is he on benefits?’
‘He works.’
‘And you, do you have an income?’
‘I make masks for theatre productions. It’s not a full-time job. I take commissions when and where I get them.’
‘So he’s the main breadwinner.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have children?’
Kelly felt the tragic little pause she always had when asked that question, but she ploughed on. ‘Two. My daughter from my previous marriage and we adopted a son together.’
‘Uh-huh. What’s your address?’
‘We live in a flat above St Pancras Station, next to the clock tower.’ She saw his eyes dart out the grubby window, stare across the Euston Road and up at the Gothic splendour of the huge station and hotel. ‘In the penthouse.’
‘I see.’ He put down his pen and she caught him staring at her shoes. Footwear showed your income bracket more than any other item of clothing. He was rapidly reassessing the dark, nondescript clothes she wore. ‘Well, you’re in excellent hands. We’ll see you through the process, make no mistake.’ He leaned back, giving her his full attention for the first time. ‘Tell me about your husband. What does he do?’
‘He runs a shipping company. His grandfather started the business, his late father expanded it and now it’s his. And before you think we’re like Onassis, he’s got money troubles. He had businesses in Greece that have been decimated by the recession.’
‘And the mistress?’
‘She’s his PA.’ Kelly picked a piece of lint off her black skirt. ‘I guess you’ve seen it all before.’
The lawyer puffed up his cheeks for a second. ‘Doesn’t mean it hurts any less for you.’
‘It hurts. But then it always does when your dreams die, doesn’t it? I only care about one thing: custody of the children. That’s more important than the money.’
He looked at her searchingly. ‘It’s unusual for a woman to think that the best she can do is get away with custody of her children. From where I sit, half of everything up there in that penthouse, half of every trust fund, half of every car in that underground garage is yours. It’s my job to get you your fair share.’
She shifted uncomfortably on her chair. She had always been attracted to strong men, big personalities, but for every positive a negative came trailing in its wake. Strong men like her husband didn’t like to lose. ‘Christos will see this as a battle with one winner and he fully expects to come out on top.’
‘Who has your husband appointed?’
‘I haven’t told him I want to leave yet.’
He looked surprised. ‘The first thing you must do is talk to your husband. Tell him your decision.’
She gave a nervous laugh. ‘I’m scared.’
He smiled again; a kinder, more confident face appeared. He leaned across the desk towards her. ‘That’s what the law is for, to achieve what you can’t on your own, Mrs Malamatos.’
‘I’d prefer it if you called me Kelly.’
‘Remember, Kelly, you’re a wife, you have rights. And one of those is the right to leave.’ He was allowing himself to become expansive. ‘After the love has gone, we appear.’
She turned away, anxiety chewing at her guts. She was in here, not a high-end Chancery Lane lawyer’s office with fresh flowers and a college-educated secretary because this was nearest to the flat. Christos sometimes asked her to account for every moment of every day. His manipulation and control masquerading as concern had become more extreme as the years had come and gone.
‘Millions have gone through it, just like you’re doing. Once you emerge out the other side, it’ll be a new start, a new you.’
Now he was resorting to platitudes and it annoyed her. She needed him to know that deep within her was a pounding fear of even being in this office. ‘How long have you done this job?’
‘I’ve been a lawyer for twenty-three years, for my sins. Been here in this building for seventeen.’
‘I bet you’ve seen it all, every lying sucker, every cheating husband—’
He finished the sentence for her: ‘spoilt wives, manipulative mistresses, violent kids. Nothing can surprise me.’
‘You’re very certain of yourself.’
‘Believe me, in this business you get to see how dark human nature is, how extreme some people’s suffering.’
She gave a small nod. ‘I know all about that.’
The buzzer went on his desk and he pressed the button without taking his eyes off her. ‘Not now, Bethany.’ He grinned at her. ‘Here’s what you do. Tell him your decision, try not to get involved in an argument or recriminations. Try to keep it calm and rational. Then come back and see me and we’ll get the ball rolling.’
‘Tell me, are you married?’
‘I’m divorced. Twice.’ He looked a little ashamed and she warmed to him immediately. ‘Dreamers and optimists tend to be.’ He threw his hands up in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. ‘Let’s get those details down, shall we?’
Ten minutes later he ushered her out of his office and past Bethany’s desk and shook her hand at the doorway to the stairs. ‘Come back as soon as you’ve told him.’