by David Barry
I sat behind the desk, with Bill sitting to my right, and there was another chair placed to my left for Nicky to sit on and take notes, with the client’s chair directly ahead of mine, so we would form a circle. Nicky opened the door for Mrs Egerton and Bill and I shot to our feet.
Her face was familiar. I had seen her before but I couldn’t quite place where from. I guessed she was somewhere in her mid twenties. She had dark hair, cut short, and her skin was pale, smooth and unblemished. There was something androgynous about her. She was slightly boyish but at the same time attractively feminine. She wore trainers and a track suit, and her figure was healthily athletic, as if she worked out regularly, but her body seemed robust rather than undernourished. She carried a beige cardboard folder and a bottle of Evian water.
Nicky asked her if she would like a coffee before we started, but she shook her head and offered up the water bottle. We then shook hands, made the introductions, and sat down.
Staring at her with a certain amount of intensity, I thought I had better apologise and explain the awkwardness I felt. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Egerton, forgive my rudeness, but your face seems very familiar - ’
She shrugged casually, as if she was used to virtual recognition.
‘I expect you would be more familiar with my unmarried name. Bayne. Alice Bayne. Ring any bells?’
It shot through my brain like a speeded up film, running backwards over the years, through newspapers, televised press conferences and magazine articles. Now I knew exactly where I’d seen her before.
‘About ten or twelve years ago,’ I began, my voice sounding slightly hoarse, ‘your family was killed somewhere in Scotland. They were murdered, I believe.’
She nodded and looked down at the folder in her lap. ‘It happened eleven years last July. I was sixteen-years-old at the time, and was on a school trip, otherwise I’d have been shot as well, along with my mother, father and young brother. He was only ten.’ As the emotional memory of this horrendous event gripped her, she struggled to control the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. When she recovered enough to continue, there was a tremor in her voice. ‘I’m sure you’re all aware, from the media coverage, what happened.’
‘It looked like a professional killing, didn’t it?’ Bill said ‘They reckon the killer was a motor cyclist, and it’s a common method for a hitman to use.’
She looked at Bill and nodded. ‘The police have seen thousands of CCTV hours, trying to find a motor bike that followed them for a distance. But any motor cyclists that did appear to follow Dad’s car were eliminated from the enquiry. The Strathclyde police worked in conjunction with Surrey police and neither force could find anything from CCTV footage in either country. In any case, once they were north of Glasgow in the Loch Lomond area, there were no CCTV cameras.’
‘From what I can remember reading about the case, Mrs Egerton, ’ I said, ‘there wasn’t much forensic evidence.’
As she unscrewed the top of her Evian water, she said, ‘Please call me Alice.’
I nodded, remembering how the media had always referred to her as Alice. She had become the celebrity victim, so it was always headlines using her first name in bold letters.
Alice took a small sip of water before acknowledging my observation. ‘The only forensic evidence was the motor cycle tracks, the tyre marks which could have belonged to several makes and models of bikes.’
Nicky stopped writing to ask, ‘What about eyewitnesses? Surely someone in nearby villages must have noticed a motor cyclist.’
‘Yes, there were a few people who saw motorcyclists around that time, but as they weren’t aware any crime had been committed, they didn’t take much notice. Eyewitnesses described one particular biker who travelled north through Bridge of Orchy at an incredibly high speed. Police identified the man but later eliminated him from their enquiries.’
‘I’m trying to remember the newspaper reports,’ Bill said. ‘Did the killer use an automatic weapon?’
‘No, there were no ejected casings found at the scene. Ballistics identified the weapon used as a .38 Smith and Wesson.’
I knew what Bill was thinking. A professional hitman is unlikely to use an automatic weapon and risk it jamming. A revolver is far more reliable. And if a hitman ever uses an automatic, it’s a case of life imitating art. They’ve watched too many movies.
‘Didn’t the Strathclyde police check your father’s background going back years?’ I queried.
‘Yes. Dad was born and bred in Glasgow, and as a student he studied at Glasgow School of Art, so there was nothing untoward about that period of his life. He met and married his first wife, decided it was time he got a proper job and took a degree in electrical engineering. Then, after they divorced, he moved to south east England, and met Mum in the 1980s. I was born in 1985 and my brother was born six years later.’
As soon as she mentioned her brother, I saw the effort it took her to remain in control. The struggle was fleeting, and I guessed she had managed to quell the constant battle against the intensity of her emotions during the eleven years since her family’s tragic death.
‘So the police never found a motive,’ I said, ‘And I seem to remember the media describing your father as a successful businessman. Did they never find a connection with his business interests?’
‘None at all.’
‘I’ve forgotten what his company did.’
‘He had his own software company which he ran from his offices in Guildford.’
‘So he must have been something of a computer expert then.’
She nodded fervently. ‘One of the very best. There was nothing he couldn’t do on computers. Even when he got home, he would spend hours surfing the net. It used to drive Mum nuts. He was sometimes like a man possessed.’
A warning switch clicked in my head as she explained about her father’s obsession with computers. It was an uncomfortable feeling I had, an instinctive fear of the unknown. I couldn’t explain it, but it was like experiencing déjà vu in reverse, my instinct alerting me to some catastrophic event in the future. Or maybe, because of my daughter’s harassment on the internet, I was being paranoid, seeing ghosts in those machines we’ve become so dependent on.
‘What sort of software did your father’s company design?’ Nicky asked.
‘In the early days, I believe, ‘Alice began, looking up at the ceiling as she tried to recollect, ‘it was small-scale things like designing your own stationery or educational stuff. But the lucrative material came much later when he put his art skills to good use and his company went into the games market.’
‘So what happened to the company when he was so tragically killed?’ I asked.
‘It was disbanded. All the employees got redundancy payments. It was pretty much my father’s company. Without him running it, I don’t think it could have survived. Although Ed Warren seemed to think otherwise.’
‘Who is Ed Warren?’
‘He was manager at Dad’s firm, and was about to be offered a directorship. But that never happened. He was paid off along with the other employees. I think he became very bitter about that. But as far as winding up the company was concerned, for a long time I was too upset to get involved and left it in the hands of our solicitors. But if my father’s legacy is anything to go by, that company was making a small fortune. His estate was worth twenty million.’
‘All of which you inherited?’
Her eyes flashed angrily, as if I had accused her of a crime.
‘Seeing as I’m the next of kin,’ she snapped, ‘and the only living relative, yes I inherited Dad’s fortune. But I saw that money as a curse, and would have given away every penny to live in poverty for the rest of my life if I could only have my family back. For years that fortune has remained untouched in the bank, and I’ve been living off the interest. But now all that is about to change
.’
‘In what way?’
‘Because in eleven years the police have discovered nothing. I still want justice for my family and I’m willing to pay whatever it costs to find my family’s murderers.’ She looked at Bill. ‘On the other hand, your website describes you as tough and resilient, and I had expected perhaps some younger, fitter men...’
Bill held up a hand in protest. ‘OK, I’ll admit we’re not getting any younger, but we’re still fit for a good few years yet. And experience must count for something. Wouldn’t you agree, Freddie?’
I knew why Bill had bounced the ball back into my court and took up the pitch.
‘I know what it’s like to lose someone close, Alice. Forty-six years ago my father was being blackmailed by an East End gangster and ended up topping himself. Just by chance, nine months ago, I got the proof I needed. This gangster was in his late-sixties but was protected by a mob of thugs. Bill and I managed to snatch him one night and... well, put it this way: revenge is sweet. We may be getting on a bit, Alice, but we’ve survived many battles by using our loafs rather than just brawn; although, believe me, Bill may not look it, but there’s no one tougher than him in a sticky situation.’
She threw Bill another look, examining him like a specimen, and then she smiled for the first time in our meeting. ‘I don’t doubt it, Bill. I don’t think I’d tangle with you if we were on opposite sides.’
He grinned back at her, saying nothing. Nicky stopped scribbling to ask if she was interested in using our services.
‘Just tell me one thing,’ Alice replied. ‘What makes you think you can get answers where the police failed?’
‘You would be too young to remember,’ I said. ‘Years ago Granada Television made excellent documentaries called World in Action. Some of the episodes exposed miscarriages of justice. One of them was about the Birmingham Six who had been wrongly accused and sentenced for the Birmingham IRA bomb atrocity. The television company in the making of the film revealed the true culprit who planted the bomb. So if a few TV journalists can get it right, when the police get it wrong...And then there was the more recent case of Barri White who was wrongly convicted...’
She didn’t let me finish and held up her hand. ‘You don’t have to convince me any further. I had already accepted your pitch when you told me about your father and the East End gangster. But if you take on this job, I want you to agree to certain conditions.’
‘What sort of conditions?’
‘While you’re investigating the murder of my family, I would like exclusivity. You take on no other commission but mine.’
There was a deathly silence in the office while Bill and I considered this proposal, and from the corner of my eye I saw that Nicky had stopped writing.
‘Naturally,’ Alice continued, ‘you will need to be recompensed for the loss of any other business. So what I propose is this: let me have your bank details, and by tomorrow morning I will have deposited half a million in your account. That should be sufficient to keep your business running for a good year at least, and pay for expenses you will incur during the investigation. It means that, unlike the police, you can be lavish when it comes to buying information.’ Eyebrows raised, she looked enquiringly from me to Bill and back again to me. ‘How does that sound? Of course, if you would like time to discuss it...’
I interrupted her with a laugh. ‘To be honest, I think that’s the best offer we’re going to get all day. It’s more than generous.’ I stared at my partner. ‘And I don’t know about you, Bill, but - ’
‘Nothing to discuss, Freddie,’ Bill interrupted. ‘So count me in.’
I parted my arms, giving Alice a gesture of acceptance. ‘That’s agreed then.’
‘However,’ she said, ‘Not entirely settled. There will be certain demands that I will make.’
I thought there might be, and I guessed that she wouldn’t part with so much money without making certain stipulations. I knew she would expect us to perform like true professionals, provide her with some answers as to why her father had been targeted, and possibly arrive at some justice for her dead family. I nodded and waited to hear the conditions she planned to impose on the investigation.
‘I will need progress reports at every step of the investigation, and I would like to become involved.’
‘When you say “involved”,’ I started to say, but she waved it aside and interrupted me.
‘There may be odd occasions when getting information out of someone is better coming from a female, which is when I may become involved. And having become frustrated by the police investigation, and their reluctance to give me clear updates, I would like to know exactly what goes on with your investigation.’
‘I’m sure we have no problem with that, Alice,’ I smiled. ‘It will be good to have you on board, and - who knows? - you could discover things we might otherwise miss. But there is just one small thing I would like to know. Your name is Mrs Egerton now. Will paying our firm half a million for this investigation cause marital problems or has your husband readily agreed to it?’
She shook her head. ‘Mark doesn’t come into it. We’ve split up.’
She saw me frown, and added hastily. ‘But don’t worry: it was amicable. Mark won’t make waves. We’re still on good terms, and he’s not short of money himself. The reason for our separation - and we will eventually get divorced - is because Mark is desperate to have children. Whereas I... I don’t think I want to bring another family into this God-awful world. I may feel differently when I reach my thirties and my biological clock starts its countdown, but for now...’ She broke off and stared at our office manager. ‘What about you, Nicky? Do you have a family?’
‘No, and I’m now past the deadline.’
‘You certainly don’t look it. And do you have any regrets about not having children?’
‘None at all.’
‘I know this might seem like an obvious question,’ Bill said loudly, commanding everyone’s attention. ‘This Ed Warren, who was about to become a director in your father’s company, did the police investigate him?’
‘Of course they did. Although I never liked the man, he was cleared. There was no motive whatsoever. He didn’t stand to gain from my father’s death. Quite the opposite in fact: because when my father was killed, he lost out on becoming a director and he lost his job.’
She rose and placed her folder on the desk in front of me. ‘All the details, as much as I know, are in that file. So if you need to speak with Ed Warren, or any of Dad’s old employees, you can - but I don’t think you’ll learn anything new. Now if you’d like to give me your bank details, Freddie.’
I scribbled our sort code and account number on a scrap of paper and pushed it toward her. While she took a smart phone out of her handbag and keyed in some instructions, we all waited quietly, and I fancied I could her my partner’s heart beating a tattoo as half a million pounds headed towards our account. Or perhaps it was my own heartbeat, as out expectations soared, and what had started out as a terrible day was improving by the minute. I knew I still had to investigate my daughter’s internet tormentor, and although we had agreed to work exclusively for Alice, I figured the business with Olivia was a private and personal matter.
Before she left, I explained to our wealthy client that first of all Bill and I needed to do some brainstorming but we wouldn’t waste much time in starting our investigation. We saw her out into the reception area, and were just about to shake hands with her when a motorcycle messenger barged in through the door. He was in the process of removing his helmet, as most messengers are instructed to do before entering premises, but he hadn’t completed the action and I saw the effect this had on Alice, who tensed and stepped back on her right foot. I could understand her fear, because she had been badly affected by images of motorcycle hitmen. But there was more than just fear in her spontaneous reaction. Sh
e looked as if she was taking up a defensive position, balanced on the back foot, ready to move forward at lightning speed, her arms hard and taut, in a classic martial arts stance.
As soon as the messenger had removed his helmet, and she saw he was young and acne-scarred, she relaxed and stood normally. Then, while Nicky signed for the messenger’s package, we shook hands with Alice, and she wished us the best of luck as she left the building.
There was a brief hiatus after she and the messenger had departed, and then the three of us grinned, whooped for joy and hugged each other. We couldn’t believe our luck. Our first day as private investigators and we had landed the biggest catch of all. But as Bill pointed out:
‘We’ve got our work cut out. After eleven long years of police investigation, what hope do we have?’
Not what I wanted to hear. My expectations took a sudden dive as I contemplated failure, while Nicky ignored the sudden switch from optimism to pessimism and opened the package.
‘Never mind,’ she said cheerfully, ‘perhaps some of these little gadgets will help you to solve the crime.’
I wasn’t sure if she intended irony or not, but the knowledge that we had absolutely nowhere to begin this investigation filled me with dread. We were amateurs up against the professionals, and the prospect didn’t look good. Then Bill, intrigued by one of the gadgets, held it up and grinned.
‘Look at this brilliant little gizmo. An electronic tracker you attach by magnet underneath a car.’
A sudden flash in my head. ‘What did you say, mate?’
‘I said this brilliant little gizmo...’
‘Yes, I heard what you said. But just thinking out loud for a moment: suppose you wanted to follow someone from Surrey up to Scotland, and didn’t want to get too close...’
‘You could stick one of these on your target’s car,’ Bill said, completing my sentence. ‘But our client said the police viewed thousands of hours of CCTV looking for motorcycles, except there was no CCTV up in them there hills. But presumably they would have looked for motorbikes coming back down south towards Glasgow about the time it would have taken a motorcyclist to travel that distance.’
