Behind Closed Doors Read Online Free PDF

worked with one of the major package tour companies. Nowadays when they weren’t holidaying she stayed at home and focused on the more esoteric challenges of the London social scene.
    By Gina’s account she’d made the transition to the higher stratum of London life a little more comfortably than Rebecca. Rebecca had been shunted into a North London girls’ academy in line with her mother’s aspirations after she remarried, coasted through three years at the top of her class and promptly transferred back to the West Kilburn College after her sixteenth birthday. Whether the purpose was to team back up with her friend Sadie or to cock a snoot at the pretensions of her mother and stepfather, Gina didn’t know. She guessed a mix of both.
    All in all, Gina’s knowledge didn’t amount to much. Hints of family secrets or of nothing at all. If there was something going on maybe I could turn up a few clues. More likely, the girl would turn up herself and we’d be off the case inside twenty-four hours.
    If life was so simple I’d be on a beach.

CHAPTER five
    â€˜Business is business,’ I said.
    Shaughnessy was behind his desk washing a late lunch down with mineral water from a cooler he kept in the corner. He gave me a lopsided grin.
    â€˜Are we going to end up with this Sadie kid under our feet?’ he asked.
    â€˜You’ll never meet her,’ I assured him.
    I needed this to be true. My street cred had felt fragile enough when I described the girl’s assault on Eagle Eye. There was no way Shaughnessy was ever going to meet the vixen in the flesh.
    â€˜A couple of college girls,’ Shaughnessy said. ‘It’s gonna be a tough one.’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜You know what these kids are like.’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜We’re going to have to watch our backs.’
    I was watching his wall.
    â€˜So is something happening to this family?’ Shaughnessy said.
    â€˜No,’ I said. ‘The girl’s sick in her room or grounded for bad behaviour. Or packed away in an abortion clinic. Something they’re not talking about, but nothing illegal.’
    â€˜So tell me again. Why are we taking Gina Redding’s money?’
    â€˜Because despite my infallible confidence something smells.’
    â€˜What kind of smell?’
    â€˜A hunch kind of smell.’
    â€˜Hunch?’ Shaughnessy coughed. ‘I’d better write that down.’
    â€˜Sure,’ I said. ‘Like lunch. With an “H”.’
    I heard his ballpoint tapping on his notepad. There was a quiet moment before he conceded the point.
    â€˜The family’s lying,’ he said.
    When Shaughnessy’s gut feeling lined up with mine we knew we were on to something. Miss Brassy-Button had tossed us something that fitted mundane like the Mayor of London fitted diplomatic. Teenaged girls don’t disappear completely behind their own front doors. Not the modern girl armed with her preloaded Samsung. Jean Slater’s flu story had a credibility gap a mile wide. And Gina Redding’s retainer gave us the incentive to take a peek.
    Shaughnessy snapped his notebook closed with Hunch or Lunch written down. You sensed the case building.
    â€˜How are you going to play it?’ he said.
    â€˜I’ll start at the Slater house. See if anything’s out of kilter there. Then we’ll try some digging.’
    I was meeting a client in West Hendon at four. That would leave me a stone’s throw from the Slater home at the top of Hampstead Heath. I’d detour through on the way back. Pick up some first impressions.
    â€˜If you need help,’ Shaughnessy said, ‘just call.’
    â€˜I’ll do that.’
    â€˜These kids...’ he repeated.
    â€˜If it gets dicey I’ll text you,’ I said.
    â€˜I’ll keep the line open.’ He pointed to his mobile on his desk so I knew where it was.
    I took note. ‘Are we