Chapter 33

Monday morning was professional.

Freen was at her desk at seven twenty-eight. Becky arrived at seven fifty-nine. They exchanged good mornings in the corridor outside the kitchen at eight fifteen with the correct warmth of two colleagues who respected each other and maintained appropriate professional distance.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

Freen opened the threat assessment update she had been working on and read through it and made two additions and sent it to Engfa and opened the witness prep file and started reading.

Becky went into her office and closed the door.

The door had been closed a lot this week.

Freen read the witness prep file.

—

At ten thirty Heng appeared at Freen’s desk.

This was not unusual. Heng stopped by her desk occasionally – to pass on documents, to confirm timings, to ask questions about the evidence bundle that he could have emailed but preferred to ask in person because Heng was the kind of person who preferred talking to typing.

This time he had a folder and a question about a disclosure deadline and Freen answered it and he was turning to go when he stopped.

“Oh,” he said. Like he had remembered something. “Do you know if Becky has plans Wednesday evening? Someone’s been trying to reach her.”

“I’d check with her directly,” Freen said. “I don’t manage her schedule.”

“Right, yes.” He tapped the folder against his hand. “It’s just – Khun Teerawat has texted three times this week. He said he’ll try the office if she doesn’t respond.” He shook his head slightly. “They dated for – a while. A few years ago. He does this occasionally. Comes back around.”

“I see,” Freen said.

“Anyway.” Heng shrugged. “I’ll mention it to her.” He went back around the corner.

Freen looked at her screen.

She read the first line of the witness prep file.

She read it again.

She read it a third time and it went in and she moved to the second line.

—

Twenty minutes later she was in the car park.

She had needed air. The office was fine, the air conditioning was working correctly, there was nothing wrong with the air on the fourteenth floor. She had needed different air. Specifically the air four floors underground in the building’s car park which was not noticeably better than the fourteenth floor air but was not the fourteenth floor.

She stood beside her car.

In her earpiece Nam said: “You’ve been there fourteen minutes.”

“Air,” Freen said.

“It’s thirty-one degrees down there.”

“Hot air.”

“That’s worse than upstairs.”

“I’m aware.”

A pause. “Do you want to-“

“No,” Freen said.

“Okay.” Another pause. “It’s the texts.”

“Goodnight Nam.”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Goodnight.”

She took the earpiece out and put it in her pocket.

She stood beside her car for another three minutes. The car park hummed around her – the ventilation system, a car reversing somewhere on the upper level, the particular underground quiet of a building going about its business above you.

Khun Teerawat.

Freen did not know anything about Khun Teerawat except that he had dated Becky for – a while, Heng had said. A few years ago. And that he had texted three times this week. And that Heng had said he does this occasionally. Comes back around.

She picked up her earpiece and put it back in.

“Nam,” she said.

“Still here,” Nam said immediately.

“Khun Teerawat. I need a name check.”

A pause. “For security purposes.”

“For security purposes.”

“Right.” She could hear Nam typing. “Give me ten minutes.”

Freen went back inside.

—

She was professional for the rest of the day.

She sat at her desk and worked through the witness prep file and sent Engfa a secondary threat assessment update and reviewed the authentication notes and drafted two pages of the closing argument cross-reference that Becky had asked for last week before the distance started.

She did not look at Becky more than was operationally necessary.

She looked at Becky significantly more than was operationally necessary.

Not obviously. Just – the glass partition was there and Becky was through it and occasionally Freen’s eyes went where they went. When Becky stood up to look at something on the whiteboard. When she was on a call and moved to the window. When she laughed at something Heng said at three o’clock – the small one, not the big unguarded one, the professional version – and Freen looked up without deciding to.

She looked back down immediately.

She was being professional.

—

At four Nam sent a message.

teerawat, khun paisit. property developer. 38. no record. you and becky dated 2019-2021. ended mutually according to public record i.e. her comment section where someone asked.

Freen stared at this message for a moment.

she has a social profile? she typed back.

focus, Nam sent. he’s clean. not a threat. just a man who texts.

I know he’s not a threat.

then why did you need the check

Freen put her phone face down.

She picked up the cross-reference document and read the next section and it was very interesting and she was very focused on it.

Her phone buzzed.

She turned it over.

Nam: operationally speaking

Freen: stop

Nam: I’m just finishing your sentence

Freen: I know what you’re doing

Nam: he texted three times this week

Freen: I’m aware

Nam: becky hasn’t replied to any of them

Freen looked at her screen.

She looked at this message for a moment.

Then she put the phone face down and picked up the cross-reference document and read the paragraph she had already read twice and this time it went in on the first try which was an improvement.

She turned the page.

—

At five Becky came out of her office.

She had her jacket on and her bag over her shoulder and the specific expression of someone who had been at a desk all day and was ready to be somewhere else. She stopped at Heng’s desk and said something brief about tomorrow’s prep session. Heng nodded. She came through the outer office toward the glass partition.

She slowed at Freen’s desk.

Not much. Just – slightly.

“The cross-reference,” she said. “Are you nearly done.”

“I’ll have it to you tonight,” Freen said.

Becky looked at her for a moment. The professional expression. Correct. Measured. Something underneath it that the professional expression was sitting on top of.

“Tonight is fine,” she said.

She went through the glass partition.

Freen watched her go.

She turned back to the cross-reference document. Six more pages. She could have it done in an hour.

She opened a new page and started typing.

Her phone buzzed one more time.

She turned it over.

Nam: she hasn’t replied to any of them though

Freen looked at this for a moment.

She put the phone in her desk drawer.

She closed the drawer.

She kept typing.

—

She finished the cross-reference at six fifteen and sent it to Becky’s email and shut her laptop and gathered her things. The office was empty by then – Noey long gone, Heng gone at five, the associates filtering out over the past hour.

She did the final check – doors, windows, security panel – and took the lift down.

Outside the evening was doing what evenings did. Warm, loud, the city in its after-work mode. She walked to the car park and got in her car.

She sat for a moment.

She thought about he texts occasionally. Comes back around. She thought about three unanswered texts and Nam’s message and the fact that she had run a name check on a property developer because Heng mentioned him in passing.

She started the car.

This was not jealousy. She was running security assessments on all individuals with regular contact with the subject. This was standard operational procedure.

She pulled out of the car park.

Nam’s voice in her earpiece said: “She just replied to one of the texts.”

Freen drove.

“It said ‘sorry, very busy with the trial. hope you’re well,'” Nam said.

Freen drove.

“That’s basically a no,” Nam said. “Professionally speaking.”

“Goodnight Nam,” Freen said.

“Operationally speaking,” Nam said.

Freen took the earpiece out.

She drove home.

The city moved past the windows.

She was completely fine about all of it.