Dreams to Die For

by Alan G Boyes

  Manders picked up his phone and asked Bill Ritson, the lead officer of the Hannet-Mar Bank investigation, to join him. Over a lengthy chat and two cups of coffee, they reviewed what they knew.

  “I don’t like it,” said Manders. “Something isn’t right but what it has to do with 7/7, Christ knows. Everything apparently checks out, yet only partially, like the PO Box in Dubai. We know it was genuine but strangely it was closed immediately after Crossland’s confirmatory letters arrived. Didn’t Crossland tell you, Bill, that he had received excellent references including an Affidavit or some such? Presumably you’ve had them checked them out?”

  “Well of course, Sir. I personally read them and noted down the details. We didn’t retain copies but most were from organisations and companies from abroad. All seem reasonably bona fide but who knows what goes on over there. There were a couple of references regarding the woman Halima Chalthoum. There were at least a couple from business acquaintances in Dubai claiming to have known her for many years and vouching for her in quite glowing terms and the affidavit was from a friend of Crossland. I think he said it was from someone whom he would trust with his life or something a bit OTT like that, and from memory the document itself said all the right things. Pretty formal, but impressive I seem to recall.”

  He began searching through the paperwork. “Here’s the name, Kenneth Styles. He runs his own consultancy firm, unimaginatively called Styles Project Consultancy, and acted for various organisations mainly based in, or with connections to, Dubai. Lives in Sussex when he’s back in the UK. Of course, quite what exactly his services are I don’t know. He may just be a fixer of sorts between various parties or he may be a hands-on specialist. Do you think we should give him a tap?”

  Manders stroked his chin, a sign he was deep in thought and not wanting to be disturbed. After two minutes, he replied to Ritson’s question and said that interviewing Styles could be tricky. If Styles complained to Crossland, the whole investigation could get messy, meaning it might come to lawyers – and whilst the ATU could, he felt, justify pretty much anything they did or wanted to do under UK Anti-Terrorism legislation, this case didn’t warrant the use of the heavy hand, at least not yet.

  “I don’t want the local boys handling this, Bill, but tell them you’ll be on their patch making very discreet enquiries. See what you can turn up on Styles and his known associates.”

  “I have to ask what sort of priority you want me to give this, Sir. Sorry to ask but we are already at full stretch.”

  “Understood, yes I know. Well, let’s say do what you can when you can. Something within a month would be good.”

  Manders was therefore surprised when within an hour, Ritson put his head around the door.

  “Styles is dead. Died 4th June when he drove his car off the road, apparently drunk. We’re getting coroner’s stuff and the Sussex reports here A.S.A.P. The web page of the local paper has a quote from the widow saying she can’t understand how it was that her husband was over the limit – apparently he was only a moderate drinker and never drank if he was driving.”

  “Maybe so, maybe not. She wouldn’t be the first wife of a drunk driver to say her husband never touched a drop. His death is probably just pure coincidence but keep on it, Bill. Same priority.”

  The information was intriguing, certainly, but until more actual evidence and some hard facts were obtained, at this stage the assistant commissioner could not justify an increase in resources to undertake more rapid investigations. Manders decided to wait and see what turned up, but smiled as he recalled his old mentor’s favourite phrase. It was strange how often ‘following the money’ led to unexpected results.

  18

  Alan Crossland spent the remainder of the weekend thinking about his life. The thing with his wife was now causing him pain and anxiety. His sleep was being affected and he was finding it more difficult to concentrate at work. The more he reflected, the more hurt and resentful he became.

  He simply could hardly believe this nonsense story of a Christmas mystery gathering – who would attend that? Who would wish to if you couldn’t take partners at Christmas? Partners had to be invited, so why didn’t Cindy ask him to whatever it was she was actually going to? All sorts of uncertainties entered his mind and he seriously considered phoning Peter Knowles. He was sure he had his number somewhere but then he thought what precisely should he say? Is my wife coming to your Christmas party? That would make him look silly or, worse, bloody stupid if the whole thing really did turn out to be genuine. Cindy had shown no signs of having an affair or even of occasionally seeing someone else. He regularly rang home during the week, deliberately usually in the evenings at various times, and pretty much always found Cindy at home. When she wasn’t he would call again and she would then be home and give some very plausible explanation that could be verified if he really wished it. He had not noticed any other giveaway signs, such as a new wardrobe of clothes or different hairstyle and make up that might justify his doubts. If Cindy wasn’t having an affair something else surely had to be going on in her life, and leaving him alone at Christmas meant that whatever it was had to be taken seriously.

  He could no longer pretend, nor hope, that his marriage would survive. He held his head in his hands and closed his eyes, trying to think rationally. He decided that whatever his wife was doing, it was probably occurring during the day as he knew Cindy was often out either allegedly at the gym or for lunches or seeing her friends. God forbid that she has joined some quasi-religious bunch of nutters, he thought, though if true that would at least offer some kind of explanation for her recent mood change. More thoughts, more doubts. His head was spinning trying to make sense of all the possibilities. Maybe there was someone else, someone local whom she could meet, but Crossland concluded that the Cotswold villages were a hotbed of gossip and the chances of a clandestine affair remaining unnoticed for long were virtually non-existent. Everyone knew about everyone else either directly or indirectly, with news of local scandals usually being imparted at the tedious pre-lunch drinks gatherings which each Sunday rotated around the houses in the village – but still the nagging doubts lingered. He thought more about his plight until finally determining a course of action that might, at least partially, resolve his dilemma. Knowing what needed to be done, he firstly would have a chat with his friend and driver Jack Donaldson who was just the man for the task. He would talk to him first thing tomorrow.

  “Jack, sit down. I need you to do something for me. Strictly between us, and I mean that, things are not going well between Cindy and me, and I am really not sure why. I want you to do a bit of checking up, very discreetly of course, on what she gets up to during the week.”

  Jack was thoughtful and feigned surprise, but confirmation of his perception that all was not as it should be for Cindy Crossland was news indeed. He wondered just what the attractive wife of his employer was up to, and his mind instantly started to consider what opportunities might be offered by this assignment beyond just the favour of his boss.

  “I am really sorry to hear that, sir. Thought you two were joined at the hip but sure thing, OK, but I will need to hire some non-descript cars and such like. Do you think she is seeing someone else?”

  “Money is no problem, Jack. Just get what you want and I’ll pay you back in cash. Here’s five hundred to be going on with. If anyone asks, you’re on holiday.”

  Jack was shrewd enough to realise that by paying in cash Crossland was not going to have a paper trail that might lead back to him – a further indication that this could become quite a lucrative, as well as pleasurable, assignment.

  “I’ll have to start soon, Christmas is only a bit over three weeks away. How long do you want me to tail her for? Jack asked.

  “I suggest you start now, straight away, and for two weeks maximum. I know what she is doing at Christmas.”

  “Oh,” said Jack, surprise in voice, his round face slightly flushing. “What’s that then, or shouldn’t I ask?”


  “It doesn’t matter Jack, but I’m okay about that. It’s the life we have at home that really bugs me. Do you know she hasn’t slept with me for months, goes off to a separate bedroom?”

  “Jesus! That’s serious.” Donaldson was now definitely as interested as Crossland to find out what activities Cindy was getting up to in the sleepy limestone villages. He could not imagine that she was the type to do without sex for long, and in that respect she fitted into his stereotyped view of all women. He firmly believed that every woman secretly wanted sex as often as they could get it, and these days with as many different blokes as they could lay their hands on. Who knows, he thought, she may be getting to the point where he might be able to help her get some stability into her life as well as physical fulfilment. He felt sure he could make her happy if only she would allow him to get close to her.

  Four hours later, Donaldson had hired a small Peugeot from a firm in Stratford, loaded his digital camera with a new battery back and was driving through Stillwood. The long drive at Red Gables deprived him of any view of what cars may be parked on the drive and Stillwood was not exactly a village where one could park up unnoticed for very long. It was always busy with tourists, but the long road through the village centre did have a number of bays into which, if he was lucky, he could park the car. These would afford some sort of anonymity. He could pass as a bored husband waiting for his wife to return from a shopping spree, and several bays afforded a reasonable view of the entrance to Red Gables. Whilst he waited, he also thought he would hire another car of different make and colour and from a different supplier. If this job was going to entail a lot of hanging about in public places, different cars would make recognition that much more difficult for the curious.

  After an hour, he saw Cindy’s Honda emerge. He started his car and tailed her at a discreet distance. She went to the gym, met no one in the large car park and came out an hour later, again alone. She then went home. For the next several days Donaldson followed Cindy around, alternating vehicles. She was totally unaware that she was being spied on and failed to recognise Donaldson or either of the cars. On one occasion a large cock pheasant suddenly ran across the country road totally oblivious to the oncoming danger of Cindy’s car bearing down upon him. She performed an emergency stop, skidded to a halt and missed the stupid bird by inches. Donaldson, following, was forced to stop behind Cindy and to prevent her recognising him he leant down as if reaching for the glove compartment, but the experience ensured that subsequently he left an even greater distance between his car and hers.

  The more he observed her, the more Donaldson was convinced she was definitely not seeing anyone else. She seemed to be doing exactly what she presumably had told Crossland: going to the gym, attending gun dog meetings, shopping, taking lunches with friends and other pretty mundane stuff. Donaldson couldn’t help but be impressed with her though. She always looked fabulous, and when she put on, or took off, her coat at the gym car park, her figure stretched her sweat shirt, revealing just how shapely she was. He really wished he could find some excuse to speak with her alone but for that he would need her husband’s permission. By the middle of the following week, he could wait no more.

  “Alan, its Jack. This is going nowhere, as I said to you on Monday. Are you absolutely sure no one is seeing her at the house? I really need to make an impromptu visit but if she is at home I need some excuse to say hello. I can tell her I was just passing, doing a bit of shopping in the village as you have given me a few days off or something like that. Might ask her out for lunch, eh?” he chuckled.

  “You and Cindy as a lunch date! You must be joking. You won’t get anywhere there. But, yes, why not go round and say I asked you to call as I am missing some urgent papers and must have left them at home. Ask Cindy to give them to you. There are a few papers in fact that are in the study, in a file headed Sun Union Inc of America. Ask her to get those. It will at least enable you to see if there are signs of anyone else having called, or even if they are there!”

  Cindy was in jubilant mood when Donaldson pressed the brass bell push adjacent to the front door. She had just finalised arrangements for her Christmas trip to see Gordon. He had wanted to meet her somewhere and then travel up together, but she was having none of that. She wanted to experience the drive for herself and also particularly wished to have him meet her at the loch he had described to her. The long range weather forecast was for cold days and little snow, but Gordon had insisted that if snow did indeed arrive, at Mealag or en route, they would phone each other and he would meet her in his 4x4. If the weather remained fair, Cindy planned to arrive midday on Saturday, Christmas Eve. This would necessitate an overnight stop for her somewhere around Glasgow on the Friday evening and Gordon recommended a good hotel that overlooked Loch Lomond.

  She was all set to go now and was finding it hard to constrain her impatience. She had bought all her presents for her friends and family, and for Alan. A feeling of guilt had made her buy a much dearer present for Alan than she would normally, but she knew it was what he would like, an original painting by Anna Baker. For Gordon she had deliberately decided not to go overboard and anyway, she reasoned, what on earth could she buy for someone who can afford anything he wished. So she came away from the jewellers with an attractive pair of gold cufflinks. The present also had the very necessary advantage of being easily concealed whether at home in the interim period pending her travel and also within her luggage. Nonetheless, she took the additional precaution of not affixing a label to the wrapping – if discovered the gift could be for anyone. She was in such high spirits, that she was skipping around the kitchen in time to the beat of an old pop song playing on her new digital radio, when the three tone chimes alerted her to a visitor waiting at the porch.

  “Why Jack, it’s you. I didn’t recognise the car. Is everything all right?” Cindy’s normally cautious reserve with Donaldson was subsumed by her mounting excitement at soon setting off to see Gordon.

  “I’m fine Mrs Crossland, may I come in?” and as he spoke Donaldson walked forward into the large entrance hall, almost forcing Cindy to step out of the way before turning to face her.

  “How is the leg, now?” he asked in a well-meaning tone. “I must say Mrs Crossland you are looking very well, better than last time we met.”

  “Don’t keep calling me Mrs Crossland, it sounds so formal and we have known each other for quite a while now. Cindy will be fine. And yes thank you, Jack, the leg is fine, I’ve forgotten about it now, seems so long ago. I’m not sure I really thanked you enough for your kindness that day when you brought me home.”

  Jack felt a stirring within him. What exactly was she saying? It sounded as if she might be willing to thank him some more. Why the sudden change of attitude to him? This wasn’t like Cindy Crossland at all and it unnerved him slightly. He felt he needed to take great care in how he responded to her enticing, possibly coded, comment.

  “It was nothing, really. I was pleased to do it and anyway it really is part of the job. If I can help you or Alan, especially after the terrible experience you had, then everyone gains” and he chuckled to lighten the moment.

  “I’ve just poured a coffee for myself, would you like one?” She turned and made her way through to the kitchen.

  Donaldson’s heart was now racing. Christian name terms, coffee, and wondering if she had thanked him enough. Such things would excite any man, but for a lecherous ex-mercenary they were a delight to hear.

  “What exactly did you want Jack, anyway?” She turned her head toward him as she asked. Donaldson postponed answering her second question, fearing that once he had the papers it might provide Cindy with an early justification to terminate his visit.

  “That would be great, thanks. No sugar, but some milk please. I’ll give you a hand bringing it in.” Donaldson followed her through the hallway into the kitchen, glancing into the other rooms along the way. No signs of other cups or plates, absolutely nothing that suggested any visitor had called in or was l
ikely to. Cindy wasn’t made up, dressed only in blue jeans and a big, sloppy T-shirt. Even her hair was pretty straight. But she still looked good, very good indeed.

  Over coffee, they chatted about nothing in particular and Donaldson eventually asked for the papers which Cindy got for him. He could hardly take his eyes off her, and found it hard to stop mentally undressing her. He began to sweat but he knew this was not the time for him to be impulsive. She had to make the first real move which he felt sure she would.

  “What are you and Alan doing for Christmas?” Donaldson asked, innocently.

  She hesitated, briefly, but noticeably. “Well, it’s a bit strange this year. I’m off to see some old work colleagues who are having a sort of get together, reunion type thing, and Alan is seeing his folks, I think.” She hoped it sounded authentic.

  Donaldson passed no comment. Her response was exactly as Crossland had told him. They finished their drinks and as Cindy made to tidy away the mugs she leant forward to pick them off the low table, Donaldson not missing the opportunity to look down the front of her T-shirt. As she carried them through to the kitchen, Donaldson followed. When she bent down to place the dirty crockery in the dishwasher, his soft voice broke the sudden silence of the room.

  “You know, Cindy. If I can be of any help to you at any time, all you need do is ask. I mean, there would be no need for me to tell Alan, if you didn’t want me to. You can trust me absolutely.”

  It was Cindy’s turn to be cautious. Did he know something? Had Alan spoken to him or was this a clumsy but genuine attempt at making a pass?

  “Thanks for the offer, Jack. I’m sure I can, I’ll keep it in mind.”

  Rapidly struggling to think of what to reply, she instantly regretted her ambiguous response. To Donaldson, her words were not capable of any misinterpretation. They were a green light.