The Client Who Never Showed – Part 1: An Empty Chair

The appointment was for four o'clock, and at four o'clock the chair across from Tessa's desk was still empty.

She had cleared her afternoon for it. She had made coffee in the good cups and checked the recording equipment twice. The client had called from a withheld number and given his name as Marco Ferri, a corporate lawyer who wanted a discreet look into a former business partner.

Tessa had not asked where he'd got her number. She should have.

At four-thirty, she began to pack up. At four-forty-five, she found the envelope.

It was tucked under the door of her office, plain white, no stamp, her name written in careful capitals. Inside was a single printed photograph of herself, taken through the window of the café downstairs, sitting alone with a notebook and a cup of coffee.

On the back, in the same capitals: I'm sorry I'm late. I'll make it up to you. M.

Tessa sat very still at her desk. Her pulse was ticking steadily under her jaw.

She opened her laptop and searched the public missing-persons register for Milan, which was not technically within her licence but which she had done before, late at night, when nobody was watching. The list was long. She scrolled slowly.

Then she stopped.

Marco Ferri. Thirty-six years old. Reported missing four days ago by his sister, who said he had been acting strangely since receiving a letter from a private investigator's office. The photograph attached was of a tall man with dark curly hair and tired, intelligent eyes.

The same man who had been standing outside the café window this morning, watching her drink her coffee.

Tessa's phone buzzed on the desk. A message from an unknown number.

You shouldn't have looked. But you did, which means you're just as curious as I thought. Meet me at the Duomo tomorrow, 8 a.m. Come alone, Tessa. I'll explain why I've been following you.

She read it three times. Then she locked the office, turned the key carefully in the lock and walked down the stairs into the grey Milan evening, her heart beating a steady, dangerous rhythm.

Across the street, under the lamp outside the bookshop, a tall man stood reading a newspaper, not looking up.

Tessa walked past him without a word, and felt his gaze follow her all the way to the corner.