The Boathouse Read Online Free PDF Page B

Archer was still waiting to see inside it. The four men at the table openly discussed the call while Jones walked over to Archer.
    â€œBe ready in half an hour,” Jones said, and walked off.
    The stockiest of the four men broke away and nodded at Archer. “So are you going to help us find out who’s behind this?” he said.
    â€œYes,” Archer said.
    â€œYou find them and we’ll sort them out,” he said. “Once Mrs Sinclair’s back safe we’ll get the money back and then shut them down for good. They won’t be bothering anyone after we’ve finished with them.”
    Archer looked into the stocky man’s dark eyes and believed he meant it. Then the man stuck his arm out to shake hands and a huge bicep flexed into action beneath the silky grey suit.
    â€œJohn Haywood,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.” His crushing grip lasted a moment too long. Archer wondered if the excessive muscles and handshake were over-compensating for some hidden weakness. The ice was broken, but only by a hairline crack. The rest of the men slowly stepped forward to introduce themselves. Adams was the biggest, Best the shortest and Clarke the nastiest. They shook hands with Archer, but he sensed they were still keeping their distance. There was not a hint of warmth or a welcoming smile. He was still the untrusted outsider.
    â€œSo do you all work for a security firm or what?” Archer asked. No reply. “What kind of security do you guys do?”
    Archer focused on Haywood. But he just stared back without expression.
    â€œYou’re all retired SAS though, right? Archer asked.
    â€œNot too difficult to guess, but Clarkey here was a Commando.”
    Archer asked them some light questions and they answered curtly until Peter Sinclair came back into sight. He was pulling a large suitcase that looked stretched full and heavy. Five million dollars just like that, Archer thought. Some cash machine this guy has access to. He estimated that it weighed about fifty kilos. The case had two wheels, not four, and was bulging to its expanded limits, like elasticated trousers on a mud wrestler. Sinclair wheeled it out to the entrance hall, where it fell over and crashed onto the marble floor with a dull thud.
    Jones flinched and the four guards instinctively reached for their weapons. Archer noted the exact locations of their reflex actions and followed Sinclair into the entrance hall.
    â€œCan I see Becky’s room now and her personal effects?”
    â€œWhy?” Sinclair said, over-defensively.
    â€œIt’s called investigating. I’m trying to help you, remember?”
    â€œOkay, follow me.” Sinclair frowned and tapped his leg nervously as he led the way.
    He followed Sinclair to the modern master bedroom across the entrance hall. More of the same grey and neutral tones. Again, nothing feminine except a heavy-looking crystal vase of white tulips and some tastefully framed holiday photographs of the Sinclairs.
    â€œAny children?”
    â€œNo.” Sinclair snapped.
    The bedside tables told two stories. One had an alarm clock and a photograph of Becky looking radiant. The other had several photographs and recent hardbacks. The photo of Peter Sinclair posing with a shovel at a construction site was dwarfed by one of three women preparing to ski down a mountain.
    â€œWho are they?” Archer asked.
    â€œThat’s her sister Louise and her niece Amanda.”
    â€œAre they close?”
    â€œIs this really necessary?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œVery,” Sinclair said, and grimaced as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.
    Archer took a photo of it and sent it to Zoe. He skipped the all-marble en-suite bathroom with its giant marble bath and in-built television. Instead he headed straight for the walk-in closet full of designer clothes and shoes. Hundreds of shoes and handbags lined up on show. Archer started to look through the drawers in the