Troubled Waters

by Trevor Burton

  ‘Oh! Yes, I can see him.’

  The man became agitated as he realised the girls had clocked him. The platform was in the middle of the road. He looked around for an escape, but with trams approaching both ways, it could be suicidal. The trams came to a stop, and for two minutes there was mass of passengers entering and leaving the vehicles. The girls continued to stare, hoping for another glimpse of the man. The trams lumbered away in opposite directions, revealing the platform to be empty.

  ‘He must have escaped on a tram!’ Sophia exclaimed.

  ‘Who is he? What’s the problem?’ Suzy urged.

  ‘I’m sure I’ve seen him before. I think he’s stalking me,’ Sophia tearfully admitted.

  ‘Why would he be stalking you? Do you know who he is?’

  ‘Without seeing his face or getting closer, I suppose he could be anyone?’

  ‘Not exactly grounds for a manhunt,’

  ‘No. Perhaps I’m imagining it.’

  ‘It’s probably all the stress of this fraud, and the murder,’ Suzy counselled.

  The girls carried on to Piccadilly station. Scanning the departure board, they saw that the next train to Macclesfield was departing in five minutes from platform eight. Finding the last two remaining seats together in the crowded carriage, they sat down and discussed the previous evening’s Coronation Street episode until Sophia got off at Prestbury, leaving Suzy to carry on to Macclesfield.

  Chapter 13

  On Wednesday morning I’m awake early after a good night’s sleep, pleased after our discussions of yesterday. Whilst no firm conclusions have been reached, certain thoughts are running around in my head, one being that arch villain Barry Milton may be, but for him to be responsible for everything is improbable, isn’t it?

  There is a knock on my door. It’s Cyril the farmer.

  ‘Morning!’ he greets me in muddy wellies and overalls, flat cap askew, looking as though he has already done a day’s work – which compared to many people, he probably has.

  ‘Morning,’ I reply. ‘I’ve just brewed. Want one?’

  He looks down at the mud on his wellies, then at his watch, and shakes his head. ‘Best not. I hope you don’t mind, Lily’s not so well today, staying in bed, so if you could manage the feeding this morning?’

  ‘Yes, of course. It’s been a while since I did it, and it will give me an excuse to go in late. I hope it’s nothing serious.’

  ‘She’s says it’s flu, but we’ll see,’ he adds, trudging away.

  His daughter Lily has been feeding my chickens and pigs for two years now, before school, in exchange for chores that I do at weekends for her father. I think I have the best part of the agreement. I smile, as the animals never fail to cheer me up. You can’t get angry at the clucking of chickens and the happy grunting of pigs. I phone Amelia as I work to advise her of my late arrival, then when I have finished I shower and change into a trademark Ted Baker charcoal grey suit. There are quite a few empty spaces in the car park this morning, allowing a leisurely stroll to the station. I make it into the office by eleven thirty, giving me plenty of time to catch up on routine tasks before meeting Jamie Cropper for our three o’clock appointment with Hans Johansen and his team at FrackUK.

  Amelia rushes in. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been trying your mobile for ages.’

  I find it in my pocket, switched off. ‘Sorry,’ I murmur.

  ‘It’s Sophia. She was on the phone earlier; she thinks she saw that man following her again last night and is in a bit of a state. I said we’d meet her later.’

  ‘Don’t forget I’m at a meeting at FrackUK in Manchester with Jamie at three,’ I remind her.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she accepts. ‘I’ll go on my own, then?’

  ‘Sure, if you’re OK with that. Is Suzy going to be there?’

  ‘Yes, she was with Sophia at the time they saw that man again, on their way home last night.’

  ‘Right, if you arrange to meet them in town, I ought to be able catch you later. I can’t see our meeting lasting more than, say, two hours tops.’

  ‘Where’ve I heard that one before?’ she answers.

  The phone rings and she goes off to answer, allowing me at last to remove my coat and sit down.

  ***

  At GMP headquarters, Detective Maurice Evans was debriefing Tim Sheldon after his last few days of infiltration with the fracking protesters.

  ‘Right, Tim, what have you got for me? Same old, same old, or new revelations?’

  ‘A bit of both, really,’ Tim began. ‘The same old is still circulating that there could be some kind of attack on the building occupied by FrackUK in Piccadilly. I’m not one hundred per cent sure of that one, but what is new is that I’m hearing the murdered girl was having an affair with someone.’

  ‘Ah!’ Evans exclaimed. ‘That is worth knowing about. Do you have a name?’

  ‘Not as yet, but I’m pretty sure I’ll get one. I can’t look too interested when there is a group together, but there is a girl I’m pretty confident would let it slip if I can get her chatting when there’s no one else about.’

  ‘OK, ring it in as soon as. That strikes me as the opening we need.’

  Tim had hardly left the building before Evans was knocking on Inspector Bill Lambert’s office door to report the news.

  ‘Well done, Evans,’ Lambert praised. ‘You thinking what I’m thinking, then?’

  ‘Yes, sir, indeed. Could be a crime of passion.’

  ‘Let’s not carried away. We need to interview whoever once Sheldon has sussed out who it is. Lots of people have affairs, but they don’t all get murdered for it.’

  ‘Quite so, sir,’ Evans muttered as he left the office.

  ***

  I finish lunch and potter, before leaving for the three o’clock meeting downtown with FrackUK. I arrive in the mall area at 2:45 to find Jamie already there, leaning on a wall, immersed in a free copy of the Manchester Evening News.

  ‘Early as well, I see.’ I stretch out my hand in greeting.

  His head pops up from behind the newspaper, shakes my hand and then folds the newspaper tightly. ‘What do you reckon? Once round the block first?’

  ‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘No point hanging about up there.’

  Exiting out of the Chinatown side, we stroll clockwise to Moseley Street, then turning right twice, we are back in Piccadilly and enter the building for the second time.

  Moving over to the security desk, we advise our purpose. The security guard manning the desk checks his list and asks us to sign in before handing out our badges.

  We enter the lift and ascend swiftly to the eighth floor, where I sign in the book on reception. Jamie repeats the process.

  ‘We have a meeting with Hans Johansen,’ I advise the receptionist.

  ‘Oh! Umm,’ she stammers, the blood visibly draining from her face. ‘I was told all his meetings were cancelled for today.’

  ‘Nobody thought to let us know,’ I reply sternly.

  ‘Let me go and check,’ she says meekly, rushing off into the back offices area.

  Jamie is now cursing and swearing. ‘Bloody deliberate ploy to trick me into accepting less money,’ he splutters.

  I eventually calm him down and we stand around for what seems an interminably long time.

  ‘Let’s just see what she has to say when she returns,’ I implore as he starts up again. I am just opening my mouth to add more when the door opens and the girl strides back through.

  ‘You’d better follow me,’ she commands.

  Lost for words, we obey, sharing glances of amazement as we are taken along a corridor and into a private office. The girl waves us into chairs, then she sits and pauses before speaking. ‘I’ll just ask Mr Benson, the general manager, to speak to you. I won’t be a moment,’ she says, and leaves the room, returning a minute later accompanied by a tall solid man that I immediately assume must have been a rugby player in his younger days. I discover some time later that this is in fact true. Carl Benson
had in fact played Rugby Union at a high level until a broken leg forced him to retire at the age of twenty-eight. He was appointed by the American owner of FrackUK to set up the UK operation two years ago.

  Thanking the girl, he pauses for a moment before striding purposefully towards us. Speaking in a strong confident voice, he announces, ‘Mr Johansen is not here, I’m afraid. We do not know where he is.’

  ‘What? What?’ Jamie begins to ask.

  ‘He did not come into work on Monday and we have not heard from him.’

  I am gobsmacked. ‘Was he OK last Friday?’

  ‘Absolutely fine,’ he confirms.

  Jamie’s natural self-interest surfaces, and he begins to speak. ‘Does that mean we can’t have the meeting?’

  ‘Carl Benson, general manager,’ he advises, shaking hands. ‘Please come through to my office.’

  We follow him back along the corridor to another larger office with views over the city. Once seated in his office and provided with much-needed coffee, the earth begins to rotate once again.

  Seeing we are now comfortable, Benson begins. ‘I am Hans’s line manager and colleague. We have been working together for six months, since he joined the company to develop the fracking ventures. I was involved in preparing all the details for the meeting, and have been authorised to make any decisions necessary in the absence of Mr Johansen, so I can answer any questions you may have.’

  Jamie looks at me in astonishment, as I think fast. Is this guy saying let’s have the meeting? It is a bizarre moment, but then logically if Hans Johansen is indisposed, we would be none the wiser, so why not?

  Jamie’s self-interest resurfaces. ‘Are you saying we are having the meeting?’ he asks.

  ‘I hadn’t intended it to sound quite so callous,’ Benson says. ‘But there it is. If you feel you are able to, I am prepared also.’

  Jamie looks at me for guidance. ‘I can handle it if you can,’ I answer.

  ‘OK, I guess we go ahead,’ Jamie confirms.

  ‘That’s good,’ Benson says. ‘I will have to include our geologist Caroline, who can also take notes, if that’s OK?’

  We nod and he leaves the room to organise more coffee and find Caroline. Coffee arrives first, and we compose ourselves while we wait. Benson soon returns with Caroline, a lady in her early thirties, dressed in a grey business suit, heels, and with auburn hair tied back by a navy ribbon. Without the fashionable spectacles she would be pretty, but with them she appears nerdy.

  Jamie is still worried that they may try to back out or at least reduce the offer because of the protests. I have no idea how this is going to pan out, and wait for Benson to begin proceedings.

  ‘Firstly, let me reassure you that we are fully prepared to go ahead with the project. There is a lot riding on this: it is our first project in the north-west, and we want to take advantage of the current political enthusiasm for this type of energy development. A good result will enable us to win more licences elsewhere in the UK.’

  Jamie has primed me to try and raise their offer, but before I can speak Benson asks Norma to contribute. ‘Norma has analysed the data available from the samples we have taken so far.’

  Norma proves to be a powerful and most professional speaker. ‘The initial samples from the land area were taken six months ago, indicating a good environment for prospecting and significant deposits for sustainable development. This would allow us to make FrackUK a market leader in a relatively short space of time.’

  This was followed by more nerdy data of which Jamie and I were clueless, but glanced at each other and hopefully nodded at the right moments. When Norma paused for breath I managed to jump in. Turning to Benson, I ask, remembering not to use Han’s name,

  ‘In our last telephone conversation, you did say that you were not too concerned about the protests and you felt the protesters would run out of steam and eventually move on.’

  ‘Yes, that is our opinion,’ Benson confirms.

  ‘In view of this and what you have said and the eloquent presentation by Norma, I feel my client would be persuaded to agree much sooner if you could see your way to a small increase in the offer.’

  Benson pauses and glances at Norma, who remains poker-faced. ‘We can increase by ten percent if contracts are signed off within fourteen days.’

  ‘With the deposit increased to fifteen per cent,’ I propose.

  Benson shrugs his shoulders and there is not so much a shake of his head, more a twist of the neck. ‘Yes, we can do that, so long as the fourteen-day time period is met, otherwise we go back to the original offer.’

  ‘No objections from me,’ Jamie confirms, smiling for the first time in a while.

  ‘The contract will be on your lawyer’s desk by morning,’ Benson states.

  We shake hands with Norma, and Benson escorts us out to the lift, also shaking hands enthusiastically.

  Slightly dazed, we descend the lift back down to the mall area for a short debriefing. We discuss both the disappearance of Hans and the fact that the meeting even took place. As we are still wondering, Jamie pipes up with a question.

  ‘Don’t you think it all went a bit too easy?’

  ‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘I felt they would give a little more, but that it would be a more protracted negotiation, but the more I think about it, you are desperate for cash, yes?’

  ‘Of course I am, you know that.’

  ‘What I mean is, they are probably in the same boat. They have an expensive structure set up, and have probably borrowed heavily on the strength of this project. Cash and timing are also of the essence from their point of view.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that makes sense,’ he agrees.

  Checking watches, it’s time to go: me to my next rendezvous with Amelia and Sophia, and he to collect his car. Jamie promises to call me tomorrow when he has had confirmation from his lawyer that the contract has arrived.

  Chapter 14

  I wave Jamie off and dodge the buses and trams, crossing into what was Piccadilly Gardens but now is the site of a big wheel. I stare up, my mind still in the fracking meeting. I can’t see many people in the cabins, and start wondering how they make it pay. I suddenly realise I don’t know where I’m going. I check my mobile for a message from Amelia; they’re at Peroni restaurant. I should probably have guessed, as it now six twenty-five. Making a left, I dodge more buses and trams as I head down Market Street and then weave through side streets towards Albert Square and the restaurant.

  When I enter the restaurant there’s no sign of them, and for a moment I wonder have I got it wrong. A waiter waves at me and guides me round a corner to an out-of-view table, where the girls are all seated. They’re clearly not too alarmed, as there are smiles all round as I sit down… or is it due to the empty bottle of wine?

  ‘Good evening. More wine?’ I offer, as the hovering waiter asks my own preference.

  The girls all nod as I order. ‘And a Bombay Sapphire gin and tonic with ice and lime for me, please.’

  I have a quiet word with Amelia about non-urgent tasks back at the offices, and not wishing to alarm Sophia and Suzy I advise that I will discuss my prior meeting earlier this afternoon in private. The drinks arrive, and I listen intently as Sophia and Suzy retell their story from the previous evening. It seems surreal, as their journey was much the same as I had taken to get here minutes before, but in reverse.

  I direct my first question to Amelia. ‘Have you discussed who this man might be?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answers. ‘Suzy has never seen him before, and Sophia thinks she may have but has not had a clear sighting in the last few days.’

  ‘Could it be someone from Salford into Work?’ I enquire.

  There’s an emphatic ‘No’ from both Sophia and Suzy as they shake their heads.

  ‘An ex-boyfriend?’ I probe further.

  ‘I did finish with someone a month ago, although I’m not sure you could really call him a boyfriend. We had a couple of dates, but we didn’t actually… well y
ou know,’ Sophia admits. ‘He really dumped me. He wasn’t sure where we were going, he said, and this man doesn’t resemble him anyway.’

  ‘Could be disguising himself,’ Amelia ventures.

  ‘Anything’s possible,’ I agree, looking at the two girls for comment.

  ‘The boyfriend seems like a good bet to me,’ Suzy offers.

  ‘How did you meet him?’ I ask Sophia.

  ‘He has an interest in art, used to work at my father’s art gallery in Prestbury at weekends.’

  ‘Oh, I remember him,’ Amelia says. ‘The thin man with round glasses, always wore a light grey leather jacket.’

  ‘Yes, that’s Julian. He’s studying art at Manchester University.’

  ‘Always seemed fine to me,’ Amelia adds. ‘Very knowledgeable.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound like grounds for a grievance, certainly not stalking,’ I add.

  ‘No more to be said, then,’ Amelia finishes.

  The girls have had enough wine, and as it was accompanied by garlic bread and olives on the house, are not hungry, so the consensus is to head off home.

  I can see that Amelia is dying to hear about the fracking meeting, but it will have to keep until we are in private, hopefully on the train. We all troop off to the station, Sophia and Suzy for the Macclesfield train, Amelia and me for an intercity to London Euston, only stopping at Stockport and Crewe. I will give her a lift from the station.

  We sit at the back of the last carriage occupied only by a young couple six seats ahead, completely in their own world.

  ‘Let’s have it, then,’ she utters in frustration, before we’ve even sat down.

  ‘Well, where do I begin?’ I hesitate.

  ‘Just tell me what happened,’ she pushes.

  ‘OK… the meeting did take place, but without Hans Johansen.’

  ‘What do you mean? Was he ill?’

  I spit it out. ‘He’s disappeared. It appears he was fine on Friday but did not turn up for work on Monday, after the weekend break.’