Page 50 of Twisted Lies

‘Is this Matrix Enterprises?’ Penn asked.

‘Yes, how may I help?’

‘Is there someone I can speak to about the company?’

‘Do you have an appointment?’

Penn shook his head.

Brad’s smile dimmed just a little.

‘Let me just check.’

Penn waited as Brad made a call.

‘No, I’m sorry but there isn’t anyone there.’

Brad’s tone told him that all his efforts were now exhausted.

Penn took out his ID.

Brad looked unimpressed.

‘I’m sorry, sir, it doesn’t matter what you show me, it won’t make someone there.’

Penn was not warming to Brad’s attitude.

‘Are you telling me there isn’t one person in the whole of this building that can come and speak to me about its purpose?’

Brad appeared surprised. ‘I’m sorry, Officer, but Matrix Enterprises don’t use the whole building. Far from it,’ he said, pointing to a double directory board behind the door Penn had opened to enter the building. There were at least forty names on the list.

‘The first thirteen floors are for resident businesses. The top two floors are serviced offices. Matrix Enterprises is on floor fifteen.’

Penn knew how serviced offices worked. You literally rented a single room and got a phone line and a postal address.

This company was turning over thousands and thousands of pounds each year. How did they do that from a serviced office?

‘May I go and—?’

‘There’s no point,’ badged-up Andrea said, ending her call. ‘There’s no one there. There’s never anyone there.’

‘Are you sure? What about paying the rent, post?’

‘We don’t receive any post. They pay their rent monthly by direct debit. They keep the office, but I’ve been here almost eight years and I’ve yet to meet one soul who works for Matrix Enterprises.’

Thirty-Nine

The office of Doctor Michael Crewson was not what Kim had been expecting. In fact, it wasn’t really an office at all. It was a detached home with a gravel driveway that sat on the Halesowen and Bromsgrove border, with a nameplate that was only visible once you were at the door.

If the man had earned the property through his work as a psychologist, Kim could only wonder how the Phipps family had afforded his prices. As far as she knew, only Keith Phipps had been working.

‘Best guess?’ Kim asked, knocking the brass door handle. It was a game they often played: guessing the house prices.

‘Seven twenty,’ he answered.

‘Not bad. I’d say more like—’

Kim stopped speaking as the door opened on her words.