Troubled Waters

by Trevor Burton

  Surprised, I pick up the phone. ‘Morning,’ I say, in error as the clock reads ten after noon.

  ‘Hello, good afternoon,’ he greets me, using a tone that means he’s after something.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ I answer.

  ‘Bit of an update, that’s all. I had a debriefing meeting this morning with Evans and Sammy Wang…, oh! And Tim Sheldon was also called in. They are not coming up with anything concrete as yet on this body in the river, so I was wondering whether your chats with Sophia Peroni and Suzy Meredith had been more successful.’

  ‘I have to confess, most of it you know already: Sophia is still convinced she has a stalker, but doesn’t know whom it might be, and most of the conversation is barbed against Barry Milton.’

  ‘That figures,’ Bill confirms. ‘Definite bad one, he is. About the fracking protest-group, Tim Sheldon confirmed that if Marian Clowes was having an affair it was not with anyone from the fracking group.’

  ‘Interesting. Next time I speak with them I’ll ask whether they thought it was possible that Marian could have been having an affair.’

  ‘It’s hardly something you would advertise, though, is it?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ I concur. ‘But you know that ladies have a remarkable intuition about these things, and I’ll be sure that Amelia is with me when I talk with them. Back to fracking, though: Jamie Cropper and I had our meeting at the company. The weirdest thing, though: the meeting went ahead without the contract manager, and guess what? He’s disappeared, not been seen since last Friday. Never turned up on Monday, apparently. Don’t suppose you’ve had a missing person report yet?’

  ‘I’m certainly not aware of one,’ Lambert replies. ‘Let me check and I’ll be right back to you. I sense you may have more to tell me.’

  I delay my call to FrackUK until Lambert comes back to me. Lunch comes and goes, leaving me wondering why it is taking so long.

  It’s actually Maurice Evans who calls back.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ a Welsh voice sings out. I reciprocate the greeting and he continues. ‘The boss has asked me to call on his behalf. He’s been called in urgently by the chief constable: we’ve had two nutters this morning who have both confessed to a newspaper that they did the body in the Irwell. On examination neither could have done it, but the Chief is none too happy with the lack of progress on the case.’

  ‘No problem. I understand,’ I answer.

  ‘Right, so he asked me to let you know pronto that we’ve not had a missing person’s report on your Hans Johansen.’

  ‘From the company FrackUK or from perhaps his family?’

  ‘Neither,’ Evans confirms. ‘Which seems strange to me, as it is nearly a week since he was last seen, you say?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t actually know if he had any family living over here with him. I am due to call the general manager this afternoon, so I’ll check up on that and perhaps suggest that it’s about time he filed a report with you.’

  ‘Yes, indeed it is about time. The boss said he would call you when he is free, but it could be an hour or two so anything you can find out in the meantime would be useful.’

  ‘I’m right on it,’ I confirm. ‘Speak to you later.’

  Chapter 17

  Carpe diem, I remind myself, and call Carl Benson at FrackUK. I’m told he’s unavailable but they will get a message to him. Oh no, I think. Has he done a runner as well? It’s just my imagination, though, as he calls back ten minutes later from his mobile phone.

  ‘Hello,’ I answer tentatively. ‘Thanks for returning my call. I was only checking up on Jamie’s behalf that you received the signed contract back, and that everything is in order.’

  ‘No worries,’ he confirms. ‘But I have been doing some soul-searching about FrackUK and about Hans Johansen in particular. I was wondering if we could meet up.’

  Fantastic. I had been trying to think up a convincing pretext in order to broach the subject of another meeting, and here it is handed to me on a plate.

  ‘Of course. Would you like me call round later?’

  ‘Well, actually, I’m on my way to the Trafford Centre. My wife is on a shopping spree with her sister and I’m due to meet them there later. I was feeling claustrophobic and had to get out of the office, so I’ve got plenty of time to spare. Maybe we could meet there now?’

  The mention of ladies makes me think I might need a female ally.

  ‘Certainly, but you wouldn’t mind me bringing along my partner, would you?’ I ask.

  ‘Not at all,’ he confirms. ‘An extra brain and all that.’

  ‘About an hour, then,’ I suggest. ‘It’s a big place, though. Where do you know, so that we can all find each other?’

  ‘What about outside Carluccio’s in the Great Hall? I’m told it is very good. Italian,’ Benson enthuses.

  How can I say I’ve eaten my fill of Italian food recently, with constant visits to Peroni restaurant? Although at least that’s family-run and not one of a hundred or more in a national chain.

  ‘Great,’ I enthuse back. ‘I love Italian. See you in an hour, subject to traffic.’

  Replacing the phone, I expected Amelia to have been eavesdropping, but no: all is quiet, save the quiet tapping of fingertips on the computer keyboard.

  ‘Have you got a second?’ I call.

  ‘Be right there.’

  Sitting down expectantly, she informs me, ‘I am finishing off the final bit for the fracking stuff.’

  ‘Excellent. That’s what I wanted to talk about, but we can do that on the way. Grab your coat, we haven’t got a great deal of time. I said we’d be there in an hour.’

  Amelia stands up in surprise. ‘Where in an hour?’

  ‘That was Carl Benson from FrackUK. He wants us to meet him in the Trafford Centre.’

  ‘The Trafford Centre?’ she exclaims. ‘Why the Trafford Centre?’

  ‘I’ll explain on the way. Let’s go,’ I urge.

  Five minutes later we have negotiated downtown Stockport, gone over the pyramid roundabout, and are accelerating clockwise onto the M60 orbital motorway. Its rush-hour, but I’m driving extra carefully. My precious Saab 900 is wedged in by wall-to-wall trucks.

  ‘Well, come on, then,’ she demands. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Right, you know there’s something odd about this company, and I was wanting to speak to Benson some more.’

  ‘Yes,’ she acknowledges.

  ‘His office said he was unavailable, and I thought for an instant he might also have disappeared, a la Hans Johansen. However, he rang back immediately to request a meeting.’

  ‘But why the Trafford Centre, and what about?’

  ‘He said he was feeling claustrophobic and had to get out of the office. He is meeting his wife there later and has an hour to spare, so asked to meet.’

  ‘Yes, but what about?’ she demands again.

  ‘I don’t know, but it definitely involves Hans Johansen.’

  ‘Oh! How strange.’

  ‘And there is an added bonus,’ I add.

  ‘What’s that, I wonder?’ she asks suspiciously.

  ‘We’re meeting him at Carluccio’s in the Great Hall.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ she exclaims. ‘Not more pasta! I’ve got pasta coming out of my ears. You’re going to have to throw a good bottle of wine in as well, then.’

  ‘Agreed,’ I say, grinning.

  The rest of the journey is unremarkable, save for the occasional lane-jumper, and we arrive at the car park with ten minutes to spare. The Trafford Centre is popular at this time of the day, and we have to park a distance away and walk. On time, Benson is waiting for us outside Carluccio’s.

  ‘Thanks for coming at such short notice,’ he apologises.

  ‘No problem,’ I reply. ‘And this is my Enodo partner, Amelia.’

  ‘Good to meet you,’ he says, all business.

  ‘Likewise,’ she replies.

  ‘I have booked a table,’ he advises, leading the way i
n.

  It’s still early for dining and there are few patrons, so privacy is not an issue. Once seated, we opt for coffee.

  There is an awkward silence, and we stare at Benson as he collects his thoughts.

  ‘As I said on the phone, your client Jamie Cropper’s contract has been approved by me and passed back to our lawyer, so the wheels should now begin turning.’

  He pauses, and Amelia looks at me. We both look at Benson, as he has still not spoken and is clearly embarrassed. I step in.

  ‘You said the wheels should,’ I emphasise. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Yes,’ he admits. ‘I have felt there was something wrong for a month now.’

  I am now becoming exasperated as he prevaricates.

  ‘Please tell us what the problem is,’ I press.

  ‘Sorry,’ he apologises. ‘I don’t think Hans’s disappearance is as much of a mystery as we first thought. You see, we tried to make a bank transfer, and it was refused. Our accountant had a car accident a month ago and is still in hospital. His assistant, a very nice lady, is not qualified and she has been on holiday this week as well. When we had our meeting I was in denial and had convinced myself it was all an error and that Hans would return and explain it all. The assistant has returned and basically knows nothing except that all the routine payments she is authorised to make from the current account have gone through OK.’

  I am struggling here, and Amelia is clearly also confused, as she asks, ‘If payments are going through, what’s the problem and where does Hans fit in?’

  ‘Oh, I am not explaining myself very well,’ he apologises. ‘The problem is the deposit account where we should have a substantial sum, not just to top up the current account but ready to pay out on contracts for clients such as your Jamie Cropper.’

  I am now getting the picture.

  ‘And what you’re saying is that this substantial sum has disappeared?’

  ‘That’s correct,’ he admits, relieved.

  ‘Along with Hans Johansen,’ I add.

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Amelia raises her hand to speak. ‘How much is missing and how was he able to do it?’

  Benson sighs. ‘I am not an accountant, so I am unable to say exactly how much is missing, but Hans was authorised to sign for sums up to £25,000 at any one time.’

  I feel he could be a little more accurate. ‘In your opinion, though, Carl, how much money has disappeared from the deposit account over the last six months?’

  ‘The best part of a million pounds,’ he answers smoothly.

  ‘Wow! That’s worth disappearing for!’

  ‘Sure is!’ Amelia agrees.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ says Benson states. ‘Which is why I could do with some advice.’

  ‘And what does the bank have to say about the situation?’ I ask.

  ‘They have confirmed that all the withdrawals were in order and authorised by Hans Johansen.’

  ‘OK,’ I say. ‘The first thing you must do is file a missing person’s report with the police, and of course advise them that a substantial amount of money has also gone. Exactly how much is yet to be determined, and would need to be the subject of an audit. You would have to involve the company’s accountant, but in addition, if you wished, you need to have closer control with someone reporting directly to you. I have a contact, Jos Andrew, who has experience of forensic accounting. He also has European associates, although the cash could have gone anywhere.’

  ‘Should I not inform the company head office first? And/or the company accountants?’

  ‘In theory, yes. But I’m trying to save your neck here, literally. If you let them know now, you’re basically saying, look there is a big problem and I don’t know what to do. I’m only talking about hours or a day here – any longer and you’d be in even more trouble than you already are. However, if Jos can see what’s what quickly, at least you can go and inform your superiors of a problem and what action you have immediately taken to fix it. Otherwise you risk them putting some hot-shot on the first plane over, and you’re toast, as they say over there in the States.’

  ‘I can see your point,’ he agrees solemnly, looking at me first and then Amelia, who is nodding wisely.

  ‘Can I make a suggestion?’ I offer.

  ‘Feel free.’

  ‘We need to move fast, and by that I mean right now, not wait until the morning.’

  ‘First I think you need to miss out on the meal with your wife and her sister. Let’s all go back to the Enodo offices in Stockport, and you can call her on the way,’ I suggest, rising from my chair. Benson and Amelia follow suit, with Benson leaving a ten-pound note to cover the coffee. Oh! How did you get here?

  ‘Taxi, the company has an account with a private hire company, saves a lot of time for local town travel.’

  As we rush back to the car, Amelia whispers.

  ‘Are you mad? What can we manage to achieve tonight?’

  ‘I’m thinking,’ I say, secretly wondering as much myself.

  I drive the Saab much too fast back to Stockport. On the way, Benson does a splendid job on the call to his wife, basically pulling off the old routine of something’s come up at the office.

  As we’re driving, I pass my mobile to Amelia. ‘Can you call Jos Andrew, and if he’s still at his office could he do us a great big favour and stop off at Enodo on his way home?’

  ‘Right you are.’ She obeys, shuffling through the contacts list. A minute later and it’s a thumbs up. ‘The man says yes,’ she grins.

  I look in the mirror at Carl Benson, who is staring glumly out of the window. ‘Oh Carl, we are not far away now. If you could get your story together, you should file your missing person’s report to Inspector Bill Lambert GMP as soon as we get there.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he confirms, looking glad to be involved.

  Once in the office, I call GMP, and fortunately Bill Lambert is still there. ‘Evening, Bill. Working late again?’

  ‘Yes, trying to catch up on work after the time spent earlier pacifying the chief constable.’

  ‘Ah! Yes,’ I empathise. ‘Maurice Evans told me earlier you were ensconced and would likely be some time.’

  ‘And I was,’ he confirms. ‘Something for me, then, calling at this time?’

  ‘I have. You were keen to know more about the disappearance of Hans Johansen, contracts manager of FrackUK – or more correctly, should I say ex-contracts manager.’

  ‘Absolutely. Let’s have the details, then.’

  ‘I can do better than that: I have the general manager of FrackUK in my office as we speak. He’s been filling me in on the details, and rather than have me repeat them I’ll hand you over so you can hear the story from the horse’s mouth.’

  ‘Excellent,’ he says as I hand the phone over to Carl.

  Amelia has made coffee and we take a sip. My mobile goes, and it’s Jos Andrew.

  ‘I’m outside,’ he says. ‘I knocked but got no answer, so I tried your landline. It’s engaged.’

  ‘I’ll be right down,’ I reply. I scuttle off down the two flights of stairs. My landlord’s office is dark and closed up for the night.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ I apologise to Jos as I unlock the door to find him standing wet and slightly dishevelled in the drizzle of a November evening in Stockport. ‘Come on in.’ I open the door wider for him and his dripping umbrella. ‘Follow me, and I’ll explain everything upstairs.’

  ‘Nice place,’ he remarks sarcastically as we climb the second flight of stairs to the modest office of Enodo. I wisely ignore the comment.

  ‘Hi, Amelia, It’s a long time since we last met.’

  ‘It is indeed. Coffee?’

  ‘Yes please, no sugar,’ he requests.

  Carl is still in full flow, relating his story to Bill Lambert, so we move into the other office. Jos sits in one reception chair and I sit in the other, leaving Amelia to politely half-perch on the front of her desk.

  ‘Many thanks for coming
at such short notice,’ I begin. ‘The background is I’m doing a job for a dairy farmer who has been approached by a fracking company looking for suitable land to prospect for shale gas. In fact he has actually signed the contract, but there are complications.’

  ‘Right,’ Jos nods. ‘And you need me because?’

  ‘Ah! Some of the complications relate to finance, or to be precise cash that has disappeared.’

  Jos’s expression tells me he has got the message. I relate to him the conversation of earlier in the day with Carl Benson.

  ‘Wow, that is a good story… sorry it just happens to be true,’ he observes. ‘I obviously can’t drop everything and bring in an audit team, as that’s the role of the company accountants. What I could do, though, is spend an hour or so looking at the bank accounts and get a feel for what appears to be a clear case of embezzlement. I would expect to see a relatively small number of high-value transfers to an overseas account, maybe in Switzerland. I could do that tomorrow.’

  ‘That would be marvellous!’ I exclaim. ‘I feel that your opinion would carry a great deal of weight with the police, and they would move a lot faster in going after Hans Johansen.’

  ‘Without doubt,’ Jos agrees.

  Carl has now finished his conversation with Bill Lambert and is resting his large frame on the door jamb, taking in the final words of our conversation. I introduce them.

  ‘I think I got the gist of the end of your conversation,’ says Carl. ‘If you could actually have a check through the bank accounts as soon as tomorrow, that would really be good.’

  ‘I’ll do it late morning and work through lunch,’ Jos confirms.

  ‘How did you go on with Bill Lambert?’ I ask Carl.

  ‘He was very helpful – not what I expected from a police inspector! He said he had enough details to get the ball rolling but would need to send a man over in person, sometime tomorrow to get a formal report signed up.’

  ‘I guess we could call that a good result for the day,’ Amelia concludes.

  ‘And the evening as well,’ I agree, checking my watch. It’s ten past nine already. Food is discussed, but we all seem to be heading off in different directions: Carl to an apartment in the city, Jos to his house in Marple, and Amelia and me to South Cheshire. Another time, then, is the consensus, as Carl makes a call to his private hire company while Jos heads off and Amelia and I begin to close up the office. Carl’s cab arrives as we lock up the street door.