Watch Me by James Carol Page A

to mind was a will reading.
    ‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ More of that conditioned politeness, and another fake plastic smile.
    ‘I’ll have a coffee, please. Black, two sugars.’
    ‘An iced water would be good, thanks ma’am,’ said Taylor.
    Mary gave a slight nod and slipped out the door. The conference room was on the opposite side of the building from the park, which figured. Sam’s office would have been on the park side of the building. That was the prime position, and status had meant everything to him too.
    That’s why he hadn’t downsized to cheaper premises further along the street, and that’s why he had the big house out on McArthur Heights with a three-car garage and too many cars to fill it. A place like Dayton, in this heat, you didn’t leave your car out in the sun unless you had to. The car that had been left out was a top-of-the-range Merc. Chances were that was just the runaround, which meant the cars in the garage were the really expensive ones.
    There’d be a sports car, for sure. Possibly a Porsche, although I was veering towards a Ferrari, something red and flashy with a roaring engine that would turn heads when he drove up to the golf club. There’d be a luxurious sporty number for Barbara, too, possibly a soft-top Jaguar.
    Then there’d be a big gas-guzzling SUV to ferry the three children around in, something more expensive than a top-of-the-range Merc, something like a Range Rover, one with tinted windows and heated seats and screens in the backs of the headrests for the kids, added extras whose main purpose was to underline just how rich he was.
    Barbara had said that family was everything to Sam. She was wrong. From what I’d seen status trumped that one by a mile. In that respect the two of them had been more similar than either had probably realised. This table, this room, this whole building, it was just another way for Sam to display his wealth. Like the house up in McArthur Heights, and the Ferrari I was sure he had parked in his garage.
    ‘Does anybody around here drive a Ferrari?’
    Taylor narrowed his eyes. ‘Why do you ask?’
    ‘No reason.’
    Taylor gave a deep belly laugh that rumbled through the room like an earthquake. ‘Yeah, right. You expect me to believe that. Why don’t you ask me the question you really want to ask?’
    ‘Did Sam Galloway drive a Ferrari?’
    A nod. ‘I guess this is the point where you tell me which model.’
    ‘A Testarossa.’
    Taylor just stared. ‘How the hell did you know that?’

18
    Mary returned with our drinks on a tray, Josh Landry and Judy Dufrene tagging behind like a couple of reluctant kids. She handed me a coffee, then passed a tall glass streaked with condensation to Taylor.
    Judy was in her mid-twenties, plain-looking and demure, and dressed conservatively in a navy skirt and white blouse. The skirt was similar to Mary’s, but shorter and a little tighter. Judy had the sort of porcelain complexion that burnt at the first glimpse of the sun, a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose. I couldn’t see any signs of sunburn, so she’d been careful, plenty of sunscreen. Her long red hair was wound up into a tight bun and her eyes were as green as mine.
    Josh was a middle-aged heart attack just waiting to happen. Short and wide, and florid-faced. A drinker’s face. He wore red suspenders over a white shirt. No tie and the top button undone. The bright red neck indicated unhealthily high blood pressure. His weight indicated high cholesterol, and a future filled with insulin shots to fight off the effects of type-two diabetes. He didn’t look happy. Then again, he gave the impression that he never looked happy. Josh was one of those people who trailed their own personal thundercloud behind them wherever they went.
    Judy and Josh sat down on the opposite side of the conference table and got themselves comfortable. Mary made to leave and I asked her to stay. She stared at me for a moment to make sure I was