THE DEAD AMERICAN (The Inspector Samuel Tay Novels Book 3) by Jake Needham Page B

Goodnight-Jones is the chairman of The Future,” Emma said. “He’s an Australian solicitor who had a lot of corporate clients back in Sydney, mostly foreign ones.”
    “Funny name, Goodnight-Jones.”
    “Brits and Australians come up with these double-barreled names for themselves. I guess they think they sound classy. I think they sound ridiculous.”
    Tay wasn’t sure that was entirely fair, but he could imagine how Americans might think so.
    “How did Goodnight-Jones get involved with this company?” he asked, bringing the conversation back to more substantive matters.
    “I’m not sure. About two years ago, he closed his practice in Sydney, then he turned up here in Singapore as chairman of The Future.”
    “Because he knows a lot about driverless cars?”
    “More likely because he knows a lot about companies and how to hide their real ownership.”
    “What do you think of Goodnight-Jones?”
    “I’ve never met him. Never even talked to him. I made the appointment through his secretary. I’m a writer with the Wall Street Journal is a magical phrase. It opens every door.”
    “So you don’t know how cooperative he’ll be.”
    “I’d guess wonderfully cooperative as long as we’re talking about the company. No doubt considerably less cooperative when I ask him about Tyler Bartlett.”
    “Then that’s why you wanted me here? To ask him about Tyler Bartlett?”
    “Yeah,” Emma chuckled. “When I give you the signal, beat a confession out of him.”
    Tay cleared his throat. “Believe it or not, it was a serious question.”
    Emma cut her eyes at Tay, but she said nothing.
    “I need to know what you expect me to do, Emma.”
    “Look, you’re an experienced detective. You’ve probably interviewed thousands of witnesses, and hundreds of victims and perpetrators. I have no doubt you have a sixth sense for when people are lying.”
    Tay said nothing.
    “I just want you to listen to the guy, Sam. Watch him. If you see a way to push him, do it. Jump in any time. Whatever you do, I’ll just go with it.”
    “What if he realizes I’m a policeman?”
    “My God, are you that famous?”
    “Not famous, no. But I ask questions like a policeman, not like a researcher for a newspaper. And it’s obvious I’m a local. He’ll put it together.”
    “No, he won’t. He’ll be so flattered at being interviewed by the Wall Street Journal that he’ll never think of that.”
    Tay wasn’t so sure.
    They walked past a pub that was open to the sidewalk. Tall tables surrounded by high stools spilled out into the sunlight. Although it wasn’t even eleven yet, a few of the tables were already occupied by young men, mostly Caucasians, their sleeves rolled up and their ties loosened, with pint glasses of beer in front of them. A sandy-haired kid Tay figured for a Brit working at a local stockbroker smiled at Emma and tried to catch her eye. When she didn’t appear to notice him, he half rose from his stool to approach her. Tay gave the kid his deadeye cop stare and the kid sat straight back down.
    Tay didn’t think Emma had noticed, but then she gave him a little shove with her shoulder.
    “Damn it all, Sam, how am I ever going to meet a nice fellow if you keep doing that kind of thing?”
     
    The Future was located in a building that looked more like the past.
    It was a bland, unremarkable structure of about a dozen stories with a concrete facade, large panes of bronzed glass, and a Jet Airways office on the ground floor. Tay followed Emma across the small lobby into the elevator. On the sixth floor, there was a pair of glass doors that opened into a reception room. THE FUTURE was emblazoned across the far wall in bright purple script.
    Zachery Goodnight-Jones kept them waiting, of course. Twenty minutes was the standard period to show a caller the importance of the person they were calling on. Sure enough, exactly twenty minutes after Tay and Emma took their seats, the receptionist’s telephone buzzed and