‘Doesn’t seem like it,’ Nella said, her finger scrolling through the chain. ‘Look – here he says to Rayne he was going to tell Oliver ...Shit.’
‘What?’ Tom was unwittingly taking on the role of ‘comic relief’ quite seriously, his tongue stuck out like a dog salivating for treats.
‘Clarkson was going to tell Oliver he was leaving and taking his clients with him ... Look at the date.’
‘The day before he died,’ Tom said.
Jett whistled. ‘We need to get this to Avery.’
Nella gripped the iPad tighter, as though Jett had suggested they put it under Bessy’s front wheel and floor it. ‘And what happens when he asks where we got it? The only reason we had to go through ... all of that ... is because Avery and his donut squad confiscated the Boogie Board!’
Go through all of that.
Of course what happened in Clarkson’s office had been anordealto her. Of course it hadn’t meant anything. She’d probably been cringing inside the entire time, waiting for it to be over, pleading for the security guards to hurry the hell up so she could push Jett away.
The anchor he felt dropping to the pit of his stomach at her words only served to prove how delusional he had been to consider, for a moment, that maybe Nella wasn’t pretending for all of it.
Tom steamrolled his thoughts. ‘You can’t hide things you find during an active murder investigation from the cops.’
‘According to them, it’s a suicide investigation. They told me this morning I can have my office back. And Iwillgive it to them, once we’ve worked out if Clarkson discovered anything about Barbarani Wines. Besides, Avery’s got better things to worry about now, with his fiancée in hospital.’
‘You could at least pretend to sound concerned. This gives Oliver a clear motive to want Clarkson dead, and even more to make it look like a suicide.’
She ignored him, opening the Boogie Board app and clicking on the most recent entry the iPad had backed up. It was dated the day Clarkson died.
‘This would have been after I left the office.’ Nella’s voice wavered, and Jett had the ridiculous urge to put his hand over hers to stop it shaking.
‘What is it?’ The three of them peered at the letters scrawled in neat, cursive handwriting, like something from a war letter.
Abbey, Isola San Giulio.
‘Who’s Abbey?’ Tom asked. ‘Have you heard Dad mention her before?’
‘It’s not a person,’ Nella muttered, opening up Chrome on her phone. ‘I was searching the wrong spelling, looking for a person, not a place. Look – it’s anabbey, where nuns live. Mater Ecclesiae Benedictine Abbey, on an island on Lake Orta near Milan.’
‘Isn’t that the part of Italy the La Marcas are from?’ Jett asked.
Silence.
‘Why would Clarkson be interested in an abbey near a La Marca property?’
‘Maybe a more pertinent question is why would Clarkson have a voice recording labelledMatteo La Marca?’ Tom jabbed a finger at the screen.
‘Dated the day before he died,’ Jett said, feeling like a three-year-old pointing out that a stove was hot.
Nella’s expression shifted. Her perfect fucking face that didn’t even look bad in the iPad’s unnatural blue light. ‘Clarkson went to the La Marca Estate the day before you came to get me.’
‘How do you know?’ Jett never thought he’d live to see the day he and Tomaso would have the opportunity to calljinx!on each other.
‘I have my sources,’ she said. Jett could tell that, despite the situation, she was glad to have a piece of information Tom wasn’t yet privy to. ‘And I guess this memo’s going to explain why.’ She bit her lip as she fiddled with the volume on the iPad.
Before he could stop himself, their eyes met as Nella pressed play.
‘Shhh!’ Tom said into the silent car as Clarkson’s carefree but articulate voice broke through the speakers.
‘Could you please state your name and the date for the recording and your verbal consent for my recording of our conversation?’
They all listened in shock as Matteo La Marca’s voice replaced Clarkson’s, offering everything he’d asked for, including his consent for the recording.
