Detective Inspector Sloan didn’t know whether this was good or bad. In the police force you were on your own except for Stone’s Justices’ Manual…
‘They’re not mandatory, though,’ said Stratton. ‘Just material considerations.’
The actions in the police force that were mandatory were too numerous to remember, let alone enact.
‘And if,’ said Sloan, ‘Someone merely wanted to live there?’
‘Nobody could stop them,’ said Jeremy Stratton immediately, ‘even though we’re asked to plan to meet the housing requirements of the whole community, including those in need of affordable and special needs housing.’
‘And would the housing development planned for Tolmie Park match that?’ The affordability of the Sloan mortgage tended to vary with the seasons, after Christmas being a particularly bad time.
‘That would depend on the density of the housing,’ said Jeremy Stratton.
‘Ah,’ said Sloan.
‘Naturally Berebury Homes will want to make as much money out of the site as it can.’ He sniffed. ‘And my guess is that Calleford Construction, if they achieved their takeover, would try to get even more. It’s the way they work.’
The way that Detective Inspector Sloan worked was something he was not prepared to discuss with Jeremy Stratton or anyone else.
Save Superintendent Leeyes, that is.
Jonathon Ayling was on the phone. ‘Listen, the police have been back again. I’ve just had that detective constable here. What? No, he hasn’t brought my shoes back. He just wants to warn me that I’m to be interviewed about the shards of glass in them matching those from a window that they have concerns about. Why can’t they say what they mean and accuse me outright?’
The telephone line crackled.
‘Of course I know the answer to that but I wasn’t going to tell him, was I? He would only say that the police were pursuing their enquiries.’ Ayling removed the receiver from his ear and stared at it. ‘Of course, I know it’s trite but true,’ he said when he put the instrument back to his ear.
‘What? They’ve been on to you, too? Whatever for? You haven’t done anything. Oh, just for going past Tolmie. Then you haven’t got anything to worry about, have you? Not like me.’
The telephone crackled again.
‘Safe? Of course it’s safe. Rest assured that Sir Francis Filligree is being properly looked after and as far as I’m concerned you can have him back as soon as it’s safe for us to meet and good riddance.’
He paused while the person at the other end of the line spoke. Then he said, ‘And if that isn’t trouble enough I’ve had Wendy Pullman on the blower wanting to know exactly what I’m planning for Tolmie Park. For two pins I’d tell her and serve her right. Oh, all right then. I won’t.’
His face split into a grin as he cut the connection.
Lionel Perry looked round at his senior staff assembled in the boardroom of Berebury Homes, tapped the table with his pencil, cleared his throat and began. ‘I think we can honestly say we’re in uncharted waters today…’
‘Oh Lord, it’s one of his captain-on-the-bridge days,’ hissed Derek Hitchin to Robert Selby in an undertone.
‘…but nevertheless there are some things that need to be done.’ Perry looked down at his notes. ‘Auriole is already taking care of the press – that’s right, isn’t it?’
‘If by taking care of, Lionel, you mean that I am giving the Berebury Gazette a carefully worded statement disclaiming any responsibility on the part of this firm for the fire at Tolmie Park or for the lobster shells there, then I…’
‘Lobster shells?’ Derek Hitchin gave a little snort. ‘First I’ve heard of them.’
This was not surprising since Lionel had not seen fit to mention the lobster shells to anyone except Auriole Allen and to nobody at all about the bones.
Randolph Mansfield leant forward. ‘Surely lobsters are the Filligree trademark? The one on their coat-of-arms. It’s on the top of all the rainwater heads that have survived, too.’
‘The hopper-heads,’ put in Derek Hitchin.
‘So I understand,’ said the chairman shortly.
‘So why should there be real lobster shells there at Tolmie Park now?’ asked the architect. ‘The place doesn’t belong to the Filligrees any more. I don’t suppose the lobster beds do either.’
Robert Selby, the financial controller, pushed his own papers forward on the table. ‘Does it matter?’ he said irritably, ‘when there’s so much to be done now?’
Mansfield subsided back in his seat. ‘Perhaps not but…’
Auriole Allen resumed the lead and forged on. ‘So in that respect only – issuing a statement – could I be said to be taking care of the press in the sense you mean.’ She looked round at them. ‘You do realise all of you, don’t you, that nobody, but nobody, can stop them printing anything the Berebury Conservation Society choose to tell them about Tolmie Park?’
Derek Hitchin said, ‘I’d like to tell them what I think about Jonathon Ayling and his precious Preservation Society but I don’t suppose they’d publish that.’
Auriole Allen said, ‘And I also told them that we can’t throw any light either on the theft of the portrait of Sir Francis Filligree that they told me about because Berebury Homes has never had any connection with the Filligrees.’
‘I heard,’ said Hitchin slyly, ‘that the police have already questioned someone about that – the Preservation Society’s precious Jonathon Ayling.’
‘The press were a bit guarded about that,’ said Auriole Allen. ‘They aren’t going to print anything yet on that front.’
‘Thank you, Auriole.’ Lionel Perry tapped his pencil on the table to get their attention. ‘Robert here,’ he pointed to the financial controller, ‘is getting on with setting up an insurance claim.’
‘It’s under way,’ said Robert Selby, barely lifting his head from his papers.
‘And,’ went on Lionel Perry, consulting his notes again, ‘Randolph here will no doubt let us know what, if anything, needs doing on the architectural front.’
Randolph Mansfield nodded and then seemed to retreat into a brown study.
‘And who is seeing off Calleford Construction?’ demanded Derek Hitchin truculently. ‘That’s what I want to know.’
There was an uneasy pause, then Lionel Perry said lightly, ‘Derek, I know you are a man of infinite resource but I hope we are all united in how we deal with Calleford Construction, which is to carry on working exactly as usual. That is what we have been advised is the best policy in the circumstances.’
‘I should warn you that their great white chief is a hard man,’ said Derek Hitchin, with the clear implication that the chairman of Berebury Homes wasn’t.
Auriole Allen rose to Lionel Perry’s defence. ‘In the business world, Derek,’ she said, a hint of reproof in her voice, ‘the opposite of a hard man is a fair one.’
‘In my vocabulary, Auriole, the opposite of hard is soft,’ responded Hitchin.
There was nothing soft in what Lionel Perry started to say next. His voice underwent a sea-change and developed quite a different tone. It suddenly became very cold and steely. ‘I repeat that I hope we are all united in how we deal with the threat from Calleford Construction.’ He looked round the room. ‘Well, aren’t we?’
‘Of course we are, Lionel,’ began Auriole Allen. ‘After all, we’ve all got a lot to lose if Berebury Homes is taken over.’
‘All of us,’ repeated Lionel Perry softly. ‘I think.’
‘Our jobs for starters,’ said Derek Hitchin. ‘Probably.’ Privately, he thought Calleford Construction would take him – but not everybody – on their pay-roll any day.
‘That’s what I said,’ murmured Auriole Allen, puzzled. ‘Calleford Construction would swallow us whole once they got their hands on us. They’re really big.’
‘They wouldn’t even hiccup,’ said Derek Hitchin. ‘One gulp would do.’
‘That’s right, Robert, isn’t it?�
�� said Lionel Perry, staring at the financial controller.
Robert Selby nodded without speaking.
‘Which is why it’s important that we have this plan of normal working and stick to it,’ said Lionel Perry.
‘Sure,’ said Hitchin. ‘Stands to reason.’
But Lionel Perry wasn’t looking at Hitchin. His gaze was still on Robert Selby.
‘So why, Robert,’ he said icily, ‘were you talking to Calleford Construction’s director of finance in the bank today?’
‘Me?’ Selby flushed. ‘For God’s sake, Lionel, I wasn’t doing anything more than passing the time of day with the man. We were both in the same waiting room, that’s all, with appointments to see the manager.’ His voice took on a high, strangled note. ‘What on earth are you implying?’
He didn’t get an answer.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Auriole Allen cried ‘Oh, Randolph, it was just like that terrible scene in Shakespeare’s “King Richard III”, do you remember, when the king suddenly turns on Lord Hastings and accuses him of treachery?’ They were both standing in the corridor outside the boardroom, not a little shocked.
Lionel Perry had stormed out of the boardroom and then out of the building to his car. They heard a throaty roar as it sped away.
She shivered, ‘It was just after the Bishop of Ely had sent to Holborn for strawberries.’
Randolph Mansfield nodded. ‘And while we’re talking executions, don’t forget that Lord Hastings wasn’t the only one to end up in the Tower.’
Auriole Allen said shakily ‘Who else?’
‘The Duke of Buckingham,’ said Randolph Mansfield.
‘I meant who else of us.’
‘Why Robert of all people?’ countered Mansfield. ‘I would never have thought a dry old stick like him would treat with the enemy behind our backs.’
‘You can’t call chatting casually in a bank treating with the enemy,’ protested Auriole Allen.
‘Lionel seemed to think it was. He sounded quite paranoid to me.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she stammered. ‘It’s just not like Lionel. He’s usually so – well, nice.’
‘Emollient, you mean,’ said the architect.
‘Well…’
‘To the Tower for us all, then,’ said Mansfield astringently. ‘Or into the arms of Calleford Construction, which is almost worse. Squeezing housing quarts into land pint pots is not for me and never will be.’
‘I just don’t believe Robert would do anything that harmed the firm.’
‘Unless those rogues at Calleford Construction have bought him off,’ said Mansfield. ‘Had you thought of that? All I can say is that they haven’t tried it on me. And just as well.’
‘The trouble,’ said Auriole Allen sadly, ‘is that we’ve all got too much riding on Tolmie Park working out for Berebury Homes and we can’t be certain that there’s anywhere else to go. Calleford Construction’s probably got all the staff it needs already – I know they’ve got a good young public relations manager – fully qualified, too.’
She looked up as Ned Phillips came round the corner of the corridor at speed, nearly bumping into the pair of them. ‘Ah, there you are, Mrs Allen,’ he said. ‘You don’t happen to know where Mr Selby is, do you? The accountants want a word with him but he’s not in his office. Someone said he was in a crisis meeting somewhere but I don’t know where and I can’t find him anywhere.’
‘“Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety,”’ quoted Auriole Allen enigmatically. ‘Or do we? Tell me that.’
‘Tell me what, Mrs Allen?’ asked Phillips.
‘That everything in the garden is lovely.’
‘Except that it isn’t,’ snapped Randolph Mansfield.
‘The accountants didn’t say anything about danger,’ said Ned Phillips, cocking his head to one side interrogatively.
‘No,’ said Auriole dully. ‘I don’t suppose they did.’
‘Accountants don’t always know everything,’ said Mansfield, ever the architect. ‘They think they know everything but they don’t. Take the value of good design, for instance. That costs more than they will ever believe.’
‘I expect good design sells houses, though,’ offered Ned Phillips brightly.
‘Too right it does, Ned. That is, it ought to but you never can tell with the public.’
‘At least you’ll have the economies of scale at Tolmie,’ said the young man.
‘That’s what Selby’s always saying, isn’t it?’
Ned Phillips grinned. ‘All the time. Either everything goes according to plan at Tolmie Park or the firm should back off. Half cock and the scheme fails is what he says.’
Mansfield continued in a maritime metaphor. ‘And it looks like what we’ve got is someone trying to scuttle the ship by opening the sea-cocks.’
A similar view was implicit in what was being said in the half-empty boardroom. Robert Selby had made no move to leave after Lionel Perry had strode out. He had been left with Derek Hitchin.
‘And what was all that about, might I ask?’ said the project officer.
‘Your guess,’ said the financial controller tautly, ‘is as good as mine. All I did was pass the time of day with the fellow from Calleford Construction, although I must say I did wonder where the bank came in. They’re our bankers as well as Calleford Construction’s. And they’re acting for this Stuart Bellamy who wants to buy us out, too. He referred us to Douglas Anderson there for any assurances about the validity of his offer and his capacity to come up with the money. It’s all a bit worrying.’
‘Sure,’ said Hitchin half-heartedly.
‘So is something else,’ said Robert Selby, unusually forthcoming. ‘We’re very vulnerable to a take-over at this moment because we’ve got all this land at Tolmie. A good landbank is a very valuable commodity these days and you can bet your bottom dollar that Calleford Construction knows all about it. They couldn’t have chosen a better moment to try to gobble us up. I suppose Stuart Bellamy knows that too.’
‘A babe in arms could work it out,’ said Derek Hitchin. ‘We all know that land’s the one thing that Calleford Construction always wants. They can’t get enough of it especially now there’s not enough to go round, anyway. Not now.’
Selby said, ‘We all know that Calleford Construction is poised for a hostile takeover and I can tell you that the speed of response of the targeted company is what matters. It’s critical to the outcome.’
Hitchin began to look interested. ‘And Lionel’s dragging his feet? That it? Or is he holding out for a better deal from this Bellamy fellow?’
The financial controller drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Lionel could be playing a very deep game, of course. Very deep. With box car numbers, probably, because he hasn’t asked for any recent ones from me.’
‘Like chess, isn’t it?’ said Hitchin chattily.
‘Except that we’re all pawns,’ said Selby, now sunk in gloom.
Derek Hitchin shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s the knight’s move that’s always the surprise. It can go in any number of ways.’
‘Not quite,’ said Selby, taking this literally. He sat quite still and silent for a moment. Then he lifted his head and said half to himself, ‘I wonder exactly what Lionel’s playing at.’
Detective Inspector Sloan tilted his chair back on its hind legs, circled his hands round a large mug of coffee and said, ‘Crosby, have you ever tried doing one of those puzzles where you are given some facts such as Tom is taller than Dick but not as tall as Harry so who is the shortest?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Or even,’ he said reminiscently, taking another sip of coffee, ‘one where you have water running into a bath at so many gallons a minute while it’s running out through the plug-hole at another given rate and you have to work out how long it will take to overflow?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You’re a lucky man.’ Sloan set the mug down on his desk. ‘You might even be said to have led
a charmed life.’
‘Why didn’t they put the plug in, sir?’
‘Exactly, Crosby. Why not?’ Sloan pulled his notebook towards him and squinted down at his own handwriting. ‘We are, you realise, faced with some similar problems but with one important exception.’
‘Sir?’
‘We don’t have all the facts.’
‘No, sir, but why did they want the bath to overflow anyway?’
‘They didn’t say,’ responded Sloan gravely. ‘Now today we have plenty of problems but not enough facts. Suppose, Crosby, for starters you list the problems. In date order, as they say when they haven’t got a computer doing the hard work for them.’
Crosby frowned. ‘The theft of the portrait?’
‘Come, come, Crosby, the theft of the portrait was why we were called in. The action began well before that, with some person or persons unknown starting to look for the present Filligree of Tolmie. The woman at Arms and the Man told us it was a good month or more ago. Learning who that was is one of our problems.’ He set his mug down. ‘Only one of them, of course. Knowing why they wanted to find the man is another.’
‘Then there was the theft of the portrait,’ said Crosby doggedly.
‘Preceded by the break-in,’ said Sloan pensively. ‘Incidentally, I’m not quite sure why the museum had to be broken into.’
‘Because someone wanted the portrait,’ said Crosby.
‘I would have thought myself that taking the portrait while the museum was open would have been easier than breaking in.’ said Sloan. ‘After all, the portrait itself wasn’t alarmed. All anyone had to do was wait until that gallery was empty, slit the painting round the edges, roll it up, and take it away.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What does that suggest to you?’
Crosby gave a prodigious frown but said nothing.
‘To me,’ said Sloan, ‘it suggests that the thief or thieves were at work during the hours the museum was open.’
‘Like Jonathon Ayling?’
‘I think, Crosby, a search warrant is indicated there. I’m seeing the super next and then we can go.’
Losing Ground Page 14
