Troubled Waters

by Trevor Burton

  I’m disappointed and alarmed all at the same time, but feeling a bit of a heel for my selfish reaction, I recover quickly. ‘Wendy, what is it?’

  She sips her coffee, taking time to calm down. ‘I didn’t get around to telling you the bad bits. It’s my uncle John… he has cancer, and had a heart attack last night. He was taken into Wythenshawe hospital and is on a life support machine. They don’t think he will last out the day. My cousin Jack is on the way now.’

  ‘Would you like me to come with you?’ I ask.

  ‘No, but would you stay with me until Jack arrives?’

  ‘Yes, of course I will,’ I answer, taking her hand.

  I’m lost for words, and we sit in silence for a while before I resort to the usual platitudes: was he in pain, perhaps it’s for the best, etc. It makes me feel like a jerk!

  ‘I knew it had to, but not as soon as this. I’ve only known him two months.’ She starts to cry

  All I can do now is to put my arm around her as she quietly weeps.

  Jack arrives, and after the briefest of introductions he whisks her away. I sit disconsolate until the waiter, after a discreet length of time, asks if I am OK and can he get me anything. I thank him and decline. I look around and a few heads at nearby tables turn back to their own conversations. I quickly rise and place a bill on the table, and not waiting for change, then walk out of the hotel head up, looking neither left nor right. I drive home on auto-pilot, arriving home an hour later with no recollection of which route I travelled. Sunday night’s sleep is disturbed.

  Chapter 10

  Monday 24th November

  I wake with a headache, and not wanting to see the light of day I leave the curtains drawn. There is no message from Wendy on either my landline or mobile. Would she e-mail me? I don’t think she would know my personal email address, but she would know the Enodo email address. It’s enough of a kick to get me going. I am late already and decide to drive into Stockport rather than catch a later train from Crewe station, which would make me even later.

  I slouch into the office.

  ‘Morning!’ Amelia trills as she turns round. ‘My God, what happened? You look like hell.’

  I relate the events of the previous day. ‘Oh!’ she exclaims. ‘There’s not been an email, I’m afraid. Maybe the uncle is still hanging on. I’ll get coffee – strong – and I guess you could do with a biscuit too. I doubt you’ve had breakfast.’

  ‘No,’ I murmur, and she gives me hug before going to make coffee.

  The coffee and biscuits help.

  ‘Are you going to call her?’ asks Amelia.

  ‘Maybe later, nearer lunch time,’ I answer.

  ‘I’ll leave you alone for a bit, but we need to talk about Sophia Peroni. We promised her,’ Amelia coaxes, giving me her best auntie face.

  I stagnate for half an hour, then I need fresh air. ‘Think I’ll just go for a breath of fresh air. Might get my head into gear re: Sophia,’ I tell Amelia, as I’m going out of the door.

  ‘Good idea,’ I hear her shout as I’m halfway down the stairs.

  With no intended direction in mind, I find I have ventured right out of St Petersgate into High Street. Five minutes later and I’m at Robinson’s Brewery on Little Hillgate. It seems a little too early to think about a drink, so I wander along Little Underbank and Great Underbank, along Chestergate past the old air raid shelters from World II, carved out from the natural sandstone and now a tourist attraction. Somehow reaching Mersey Square, near the bus station, I stare into the dark waters of the River Mersey, into which the Irwell, via the Manchester Ship Canal, will eventually flow. It’s a different river, but my dark thoughts remain. What really happened to Sophia’s friend Marian Clowes on that fateful Friday night ten days ago? How is her husband coping? How does he explain it to his two young children? I have no answer.

  I turn away and trudge back to the Enodo offices. The reflection has curtailed my own introspection, and I arrive back resolved to accept whatever happens and concentrate on the challenges facing my two clients, Sophia and Jamie, who have put their faith in me.

  ‘The fresh air seems to have revived you,’ she remarks.

  ‘Yes, indeed, thank you. I do feel ready for that discussion now, or certainly after lunch.’

  ‘In which case, I myself will take the air and fetch us a spot of lunch,’ she declares wisely, grabbing her coat and making for the door.

  I consider whether to call Wendy, but wonder if it is better left until lunch. Half an hour later Amelia is still not back. I pick up the phone and tap in the numbers for Wendy’s mobile, and she answers in three rings. All my fears are confirmed. Dejectedly, I replace the handset. I’m staring into space when Amelia returns with lunch. She places a paper bag on the desk: baguettes with ham, cheese and mayo,

  ‘They made them just how you like it,’ she says encouragingly.

  I open the bag and begin to eat. She did say what it is but I have no idea.

  In typical no-nonsense fashion, she probes, ‘Well, come on, it’s obvious you have talked to her. What’s the story? Tell me.’

  ‘As I feared, the uncle died in the night. She is going back to Bath until after the funeral, and do I mind giving her some space for a while. How crap is that?’

  ‘Very crap,’ she agrees. ‘But totally understandable. Shall we get started?’

  ‘Ready when you are,’ I say, trying to put on a brave face.

  Time to begin. Amelia sits down opposite me and there is a brief silence as we work out who should and where to start.

  ‘I think we should start with Sophia, because there has already been a murder and she has been threatened,’ Amelia kicks things off.

  ‘That’s true,’ I agree. ‘What I can’t understand is this Barry Milton and how he is implicated in both the body in the Irwell scenario, and the fracking protest. There is no obvious connection, and by the way Bill Lambert does not know about our arrangement with Sophia, nor last Friday’s bust-up at the restaurant.’

  ‘You’re going to have to tell him, and soon,’ she advises.

  ‘Of course, but I would prefer to talk to Sophia some more, and possibly her friends at Salford into Work.’

  ‘Can we be sure that there is a connection and that it’s not merely coincidence?’

  ‘At this moment we can’t, which is all the more reason to talk to Sophia. We did say we would start today.’

  Amelia is blunt. ‘Start we have, but a bit of a chat isn’t going to get us very far.’

  ‘No, you’re right, but we need to approach Sophia carefully. She’s pretty strung out right now.’

  Amelia stares back. ‘She is strung out?’

  The point is made, which I ignore without comment. ‘Can you call her and see if she will meet up with you or both of us after work or lunch tomorrow even? I promised I would update Jamie about the info from Lambert’s undercover man.’

  ‘OK, I’m on it,’ she replies, going back to her desk.

  I’m still pondering when Amelia shouts, ‘its Jamie!’

  I hadn’t heard the phone, but he’s beaten me to it.

  ‘I was just about to call you,’ I say.

  ‘Ah! Well, me first. Since we last spoke, there’s definitely a bigger police presence, which is making all the difference, but strangely that bastard Milton hasn’t been seen around all weekend, nor today. The reporters have no idea why he’s not shown up either.’

  Should I tell him about Friday’s incident? Not his problem, I decide. ‘Interesting. Perhaps he’s got other issues to deal with.’

  I hope they’re painful,’ Jamie growls.

  Laughing, I go on to I tell him how my meeting with Lambert and Tim Sheldon went on Friday.

  ‘Sounds like he’s done a runner,’ suggests Jamie. ‘Or if what Sheldon said is true, making more plans to disrupt the operations of the fracking outfit. I don’t envy Lambert’s job; they’ve got enough on at the moment with all this general terrorism stuff without sabotaging farmers and fracking
prospectors as well.’

  ‘The actual results could be similar, but I get your distinction.’ I wonder why he has made the point. ‘

  ‘What next, then?’ he asks.

  ‘We turn up on Wednesday at FrackUK in Piccadilly Plaza, City Tower. Where should I meet you?’

  ‘There is a shopping mall in the middle, with entrances to the office premises off it. That should be OK. The meeting’s at three, so see you at, say, 2:45?’

  ‘OK, I’ll see you there.’

  It’s now late in the afternoon and Amelia enters my office.

  ‘Sophia is a right old mess now,’ she begins. ‘I think she’s imagining all sorts of things. She says her work phone might be bugged and that she’s being followed.’

  ‘How does she work that out?’ I ask.

  Amelia grimaces before answering, ‘Says she keeps hearing clicks when she is on the phone.’

  I grimace back and shake my head. ‘No heavy breathing and then the phone goes down?’ I quip, trying to lighten the mood.

  It doesn’t work. ‘Don’t be silly,’ Amelia replies sternly. ‘There’s more: she says she is being followed, and thinks a car followed her from home to the station this morning. She also thinks a car was waiting near her father’s art gallery over the weekend and followed her.’

  ‘A mess,’ I mutter. ‘Will she meet us then?’

  ‘Oh yes, and she asked if she can bring her workmate Suzy Meredith along as well.’

  ‘That would be all the better,’ I agree. ‘To give confirmation on what has been going on. It makes a stronger case.’

  ‘They want to do lunch tomorrow.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ I answer. ‘I was thinking about the Lowry Hotel to get a feel of the location of the murder, or perhaps the restaurant again. Did she have any preference?’

  ‘Well, I would imagine either would be scary, but she didn’t give any indication as to where. As it is lunch time, the Lowry Hotel is nearer for them, and as you just said, it would definitely give us a feel.’

  ‘Settled, then, if you could let her know the details.’

  While Amelia is sorting out tomorrow’s lunch arrangements, I feel I’d better let Lambert know Enodo are now on the case for Sophia before he finds out and we might have an issue.

  The phone is picked up by Detective Sergeant Maurice Evans, and I hear his lilting Welsh tones. ‘Good afternoon, Inspector Lambert’s office. Who shall I say is calling?’

  ‘Hello, Maurice,’ I say ‘and how are we today?’

  Always a glass half-full man, ‘I’m wonderful thank you,’ he says,’ I’ll just pass you over.’

  There’s a short pause before Bill answers.

  ‘You just caught me. I’m off early today. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Thought I’d better let you know that Sophia Peroni, a colleague of the murdered girl from Salford into Work–’

  He is definitely in a hurry as he cuts me off quite sharpish. ‘Yes, it’s a murder case, and I’m well aware of the details and as of now we’re getting nowhere with it. What do you want?’

  ‘Sophia has asked Enodo, via Amelia, if we can help her. She’s frightened she may be thought of as a whistle-blower, thinks her phone’s bugged and she is being followed.’

  ‘I know. We’ve bugged the phone, but all calls are recorded for quality assurance and training purposes in that type of operation, you know that. We just got in on the act, especially as Barry Milton has gone to ground. It stands to reason we would like to be aware if anyone from the company is in contact with him. I have certainly not approved any tail on her, though. No reason to as yet.’

  I’m not pleased about the as yet, but don’t mention it. ‘I was aware of the disappearance of Barry Milton,’ I confirm. ‘We’re going to meet Sophia for lunch at the Lowry Hotel tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t be asking too many questions there, or overstepping the mark,’ he warns.

  ‘Merely advisors and consultants,’ I answer.

  ‘Yes!’ he mutters, ‘so long as you keep it that way. I suppose two heads are better than one, but the problem is we’ve got three scenarios here: fraud, murder, and the fracking protest. We know Milton is involved in fraud and fracking, but murder as well?’

  ‘It would be too easy,’ I admit.

  ‘I’d better get going,’ he finishes, a little bit more jovially. ‘Keep me in the picture.’

  ‘Certainly will,’ I confirm, wondering what he is rushing off for.

  Amelia is stood waiting apprehensively as I finish the call. ‘Couldn’t help overhearing the conversation. Is everything OK?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah! He was a tad brusque, said he had somewhere to rush off to.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not like him. It’s gone five, if there’s nothing else?’

  ‘No, that’s fine. Don’t forget I drove in this morning, so I’ll give you a lift. We can talk about Sophia and tomorrow.’

  I fire up the Saab and we negotiate the choked town centre of Stockport, picking up the M60 clockwise at the Pyramid roundabout, intending to use the M56. We are listening to the radio, hearing from traffic reports that the M56 is queueing traffic, so we divert onto the more leisurely A34 into Cheshire.

  Amelia now starts the conversation proper, with no preamble. ‘Do you think Sophia and or Marian were involved in the fraud?’

  ‘I don’t know at this stage. If they were, I’d say they were bit-players not leaders. Sophia is certainly very scared of something, and we are assuming it is Barry Milton, but we can’t be sure. How much do you know about her friend Suzy Meredith?’

  ‘I’ve only met her a few times. She used to come to our keep-fit class in Macclesfield, but dropped out. She said she was too busy with husband and kids, but in all honesty I’m not sure she enjoyed it that much. She was trying to lose weight, she said, but didn’t really give it enough oomph, if you get my drift.’

  ‘I do,’ I answer, absent-mindedly patting my belly and making a mental note to upscale my own fitness regime.

  ‘Do we play good-cop and bad-cop tomorrow?’ she asks.

  ‘No,’ I answer. ‘We merely have lunch, and proceed as agony aunt and uncle until we get the background. There has to be more than we know so far, and as you said we know virtually nothing about Suzy.’

  I drop Amelia off at her cottage and drive the rest of the way home trying, without success to make it all fit, but on initial face value it all comes back to Barry Milton.

  Chapter 11

  Because of our lunch appointment I drive to Crewe station on Tuesday morning. After spending fifteen minutes driving round and round the official car park, I can find not a single space. For one whole second I consider abandoning my prize mint-condition Saab 900, but decide I have to find another car park. Buying my ticket, I complain to the clerk about the car park.

  ‘You’re not the first one today, sir. I don’t know what’s going on, she says in a patronising tone. It makes me angry, but I’m late now.

  Still fuming, I sprint down the steps and along the platform. I jump onto the train, the sound of the whistle in my ears, with not a whisker to spare. My effort over, I reflect on the night before and my mental note to upscale my fitness regime. As I take my seat, an attractive middle-aged lady smiles and quips, ‘Nice legs!’ It makes me smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply. I don’t mention my back, but I feel it nonetheless, making a mental note to ring the physio.

  I thought I might catch up with Amelia on the platform or walking from the station, but she is already in the office, having caught an earlier train that was running late. This turns out to be fortunate, because she is running around replying to overnight e-mail enquiries and following up tentative phone calls from the last week. Two buses always come at once, so they say. This rush of correspondence is unusual for us. There are four emails, three of which are from farmers who appear to be in the same plight as Jamie Cropper – that is, they are in the process of negotiating prospecting contracts with fracking organisations. All three are
dairy farmers under the hammer financially, but only one currently has a problem with protesters. Word has obviously spread on the grapevine that Enodo is helping Jamie. The fourth email is not from a dairy farmer but from someone who wants to know how to go about building a safari park.

  Amelia comes in with coffee to discuss the potential opportunities. ‘You look a bit dishevelled,’ she observes, and laughs when I explain my earlier dash for the train. ‘These enquiries… how do you want to proceed?’

  ‘The dairy farmers first. Can you prepare a quote similar to the one we did for Jamie?’

  ‘And the lions of Cheshire?’ she jokes.

  I laugh. ‘It does sound like a wind-up,’ I agree. ‘File it in the too-hard basket for now. It could be Gerry, my accountant, messing about; you know he thinks he should really have been a stand-up comic, only he doesn’t realise it’s only his bills that are a laugh.’

  Fun time over, we get down to serious business. We decide that we will go into town early and have a wander around Piccadilly Tower complex before lunch to get more of a feel of the place, ahead of my meeting at FrackUK, with Jamie on Wednesday.

  ‘What about the murdered girl? Do we steer clear of any conversation on that?’ Amelia asks.

  I pause before answering. ‘My initial thoughts are, yes, we steer very clear. It is not part of our remit, but it is intrinsically part of Sophia’s situation because of the fraud aspect, and Bill Lambert has not confirmed his opinion of the motive.’

  The phone rings, and Amelia answers. ‘It must be telepathy,’ she whispers. ‘It’s him!’ she mouths, passing over the phone.

  ‘Hi, good morning,’ I greet him in surprise.

  ‘Apologies for being a bit short last night. I had to rush to the doctor’s; the wife had rung me about a call from the nurse, saying my cholesterol was seven-point-something, going through the roof. I think she was dusting off the life insurance policy. Turned out the nurse, dozy bugger, had read the total cholesterol level, good and bad. When I got there she explained that when they deduct the good level and bring it to a net figure, I’m perfectly fine. I was too relieved to shout at her.’