And then, almost three weeks after the arrival of the brown envelope, Leon spotted a headline in the business press that made him clench his fists.
NASDAQ Darling TelTech in bid for Serbio.
He locked himself in his office and checked out the Serbio share price from his PC. Ten dollars and rising. He poured himself a large whiskey, loosened his tie and settled in for a long wait. For the next few hours he sat transfixed by the NASDAQ ticker prices. By the end of the New York business day, at 9.30 p.m. Irish time, the Serbio share price had closed at nearly twenty-five dollars. Leon did the sums, and glowered at the numbers in front of him. On a 30,000-share trade, he would have netted over half a million dollars.
Two weeks later, Leon received a second brown envelope from the Prophet and this time he didn’t hesitate. He set up a new trading account without disclosing it to Merrion & Bernstein, and made over $700,000. With the third envelope, the Prophet sent a demand for a cut of the takings and instructions on how the money was to be paid. That was how it had been ever since.
Someone retched in the communal bathroom across the hall and, not for the first time, Leon wanted to burn his bedsit to the ground. His hand shot out towards the white envelope on the table, but at the last second he snatched up the phone instead. Maybe things would be better this time when he talked to Maura. Maybe he could find a way back. Without the white envelope.
He wiped the palm of his hand on his T-shirt and dialled his old home number. He pictured Maura hurrying to answer the phone, her heels snapping against the black-and-white marble tiles that were laid out like a chessboard in the hall. Then he heard her voice.
‘Hello?’
Leon straightened his shoulders and focused on the meagre fireplace across the room. ‘It’s me.’
There was a short silence. ‘Leon. I’m on my way out.’
‘Oh, sorry. I just wanted a quick word.’
‘I really haven’t much time.’
He heaved himself up and began pacing the few steps over and back between the fireplace and the sofa, like a demented bear in a zoo. ‘Just thought I’d call round. You know, to see Richard.’
‘What, now? I have a lunch appointment.’
‘No, no of course not now, I know you’re busy. Maybe later this afternoon?’
‘Richard has rugby practice.’
‘Well, how about this evening, then?’ he said. ‘I could come over for tea.’
She was silent for a moment. ‘You want me to cook your tea?’
He stopped in front of the fireplace and squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers gripping the mantelpiece. ‘No, no, I didn’t mean that. After tea, then. I’ll come after tea.’
‘That’s not going to work either, he’s got studying to do. He’s doing the Junior Cert this year, in case you’d forgotten.’
Leon opened his eyes and stared into the empty grate. It was cold and black. ‘Of course I hadn’t forgotten.’ Shit, why hadn’t he remembered that? ‘I won’t stay long. Just a quick chat.’
‘Look, I really don’t want him upset.’
Leon trudged over to his unmade bed and sank down on it. ‘Come on, be fair, it’s been months since I saw him.’
‘It’s been longer than that, Leon.’
He could see the kitchenette at the far end of the room, with its stacks of dirty dishes and takeaway cartons. ‘Yes, well, things have been hectic here.’
‘I can imagine.’ Her voice was flat, with no hint of sarcasm.
‘Does he ask about me?’ Leon gripped his knee with one hand.
‘Not often.’
Something strangled his throat, and for a minute he couldn’t speak.
‘I don’t encourage it, tell you the truth,’ Maura said. ‘What am I supposed to say? “Your father’s doing great, apart from the white-collar crime and that little gambling problem he has?” You’re not an easy topic of conversation.’
Shit. Things were slipping away from him, sliding out of control the way they always did. He dragged his fingers through his sparse hair. ‘But that’s all changing Maura, I swear.’ He flicked a glance at the envelope on the table. ‘I’m sorting it all out. Soon I’ll be right back where I was. Leon-the-Ritch.’
‘I really have to go.’
‘But I mean it. Everything’s going to be okay.’
‘Can we do this another time?’
Leon took a couple of deep breaths. ‘Of course. Sorry. Didn’t mean to delay you. I’ll call again later in the week.’
‘Let’s leave it till after the exams.’
‘Oh.’ Jesus, another two whole months. ‘Right. Well, if you think that’s best. Say hello to Richard for me.’
But she had already hung up.
Leon leaned his elbows on his knees and hung his head low between them. Hot tears stung his eyes, and he shook his head. Every time he talked to her it ended up the same way. No wonder he gambled, she drove him to it. Better to feel the gambler’s rush than the pain of failure with his son. He lifted his head and took in the squalid bedsit, furnished from pieces of crap hauled out of a skip. He could never bring Richard here.
His gaze settled on the white envelope. He clenched his fists and moved back over to the sofa. He traced the finger and thumb of one hand around his mouth as though trying to make up his mind, but he knew the decision was already made. He picked up the envelope and opened it.
Inside were two sheets of pale blue paper. Leon stared at them for a moment, and then he understood. This was the Prophet’s proof. Adrenaline sparked through him like a lit fuse. So the girl really did have the money. Well, not for long. Wait till he told Ralphy-Boy about this.
But first, he had another call to make. He grabbed the phone again and punched in a by now familiar number.
The call was picked up after two rings. ‘Mr Ritch. I was about to phone you.’
‘What’s happening? Where’s the girl now?’ Something about this fucker made Leon’s skin crawl, but right now he was the only option he had.
‘Back at her apartment.’
‘Look, we need to make a move. There’s been a development at this end.’
‘Yeah, well, there’s something funny going on here too.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean whatever your next move is, you’d better make it fast.’ There was a pause. ‘We’re not the only ones following her.’
Harry huddled over a mug of tea and thought about optical illusions. Now you see me, now you don’t.
An image of the maze reared up inside her head, and her chest tightened. She shoved her tea away and scurried down the hall to check her apartment door. It was still locked. Then she prowled through the rest of the rooms, testing the windows, listening for unfamiliar sounds. It was the fourth patrol she’d made that morning.
Dillon had driven her back to the apartment the night before and stayed with her till she fell asleep on the couch. When she woke, she found a quilt pulled up to her shoulders