Page 108 of A Death in Cornwall

She smiled. “Every last byte.”

They headed down the Avenue de Monte-Carlo to the port and boarded Mistral. René quickly untied the lines and clambered up the ladder to the flybridge. Ingrid and Christopher went into the galley and found Gabriel staring at his laptop.

“Where’s Trevor?” asked Christopher.

“A few minutes ago he made a call from the landline phone in his office. I wasn’t able to monitor his end of the conversation because for some reason he switched off his mobile.”

“And now?”

“He’s standing in front of the safe.”

“Doing what?”

“Filling an attaché case with cash.” Gabriel looked up at Ingrid. “Do you have something for me?”

Smiling, she surrendered the external hard drive. Gabriel connected the device to his laptop and a single folder appeared on his screen. Inside the folder were thousands more, each bearing the name of a client. Moguls and monarchs, kleptocrats and criminals. The richest of the rich, the worst of the worst.

“Oh dear,” said Gabriel. “This is going to be ugly.”

Part Three

The Contest

43

Queen’s Gate Terrace

Ingrid made a backup copy of Harris Weber’s files during the overnight voyage from Monaco to Marseilles. She gave one to Gabriel and entrusted the other to Christopher. Together they boarded a midday train to Paris, then caught the 4:10 Eurostar to London. A taxi delivered them to a tony address in Kensington.

“Where are we?” asked Ingrid.

“Home,” replied Christopher.

“How lovely.”

“Wait until you get a look at his wife,” remarked Gabriel.

She was mixing a martini for herself in the kitchen, an attractive woman, stylishly attired, with wide blue eyes and shoulder-length blond hair. She kissed Christopher and greeted Gabriel with obvious affection. Their attractive female traveling companion she regarded with suspicion.

“I’m Sarah,” she said at length. “And who might you be?”

“I might be Ingrid.”

“Charmed, I’m sure.” Sarah smiled coolly and turned to Gabriel. “Mind telling me where you boys have been?”

“Monaco.”

“Doing what?”

“Christopher had dinner at Café de Paris and lost his shirt at the casino. Ingrid stole several million incriminating documents from a dirty law firm called Harris Weber & Company.”

“Sounds like loads of fun. Why wasn’t I included?”

“You can help us review the documents, if you like.”

“Several million, you say? How can I possibly resist an invitation like that?” She opened the door of the Sub-Zero. “What shall we have for dinner? Curdled milk, moldy cheese, or something that might or might not have been a bell pepper once?”

“Perhaps we should order in,” suggested Gabriel.

---