‘Very pleased to meet you, I’m sure, Mr Atkinson.’ He climbed down from the chair and she shook his proffered hand firmly. ‘I’m Mrs Hammond. I look after the house for Mr Todd and Hammond looks after the garden. I’ve made a room up for you, didn’t your uncle tell you?’
James looked surprised. ‘No. I didn’t want to be a nuisance – Bill’s got enough on his plate as it is without me to look after, so I’ve booked myself in at the B and B down the road: Sunnybrook Farm.’
The eyes narrowed again and Mrs Hammond gave a Tiggywinkle snort of derision. ‘Very nice if you like bedbugs and cold food,’ she said. ‘I’ll give that Reece woman a call and tell her you’re stopping here. Sunnybrook Farm indeed. I don’t know how she’s got the nerve. I wouldn’t keep chickens in that place of hers.’
James took the tea through to his uncle but he was dozing. He set the cup down on the table beside him and Mrs Hammond showed the way upstairs to the guest bedroom. Tucked under the eaves at the front of the house it offered a panoramic view over Start Bay and a décor straight from a 1950s edition of House and Gardens. ‘The doctor’s coming again on Friday, you know that, don’t you?’ she said, bustling around, flicking away imaginary specks of dust before turning down the bed.
‘Bill didn’t mention it.’
‘Hasn’t told you hardly anything, has he?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ said James.
Unaware of the irony she continued. ‘I shouldn’t grumble, he’s got a lot on his mind, poor man, and the pain doesn’t make it any easier. The GP’s been trying to get him into St Catherine’s Hospice for a month now but your uncle knows if he leaves the house, he’ll never see it again. That’s why he puts up with the pain – that and the fact that they bred them tough in those days.’
James understood perfectly that her description specifically excluded London types who compounded their error of birth by working in the City. ‘So what’ll happen to you and Mr Hammond?’ he asked.
‘Your uncle will do right by us, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘He has done these last forty years and more. Whether whoever takes the house on will want to keep us with it is another story. We’re neither of us in any hurry to retire. I’ve seen enough of what happens to a body when you haven’t got enough to keep yourself busy and I’ll keep that at bay as long as I can, thank you very much.’
‘You do realise it’ll probably be me? We’re going to see the solicitor tomorrow but Bill’s already said that he’s leaving The Lodge to me in his will.’
She gazed out of the window, over the garden where her husband was guiding an ancient Ransomes motor mower across the top lawn, leaving arrow-straight green stripes in his wake. ‘Yes, he told us that years ago.’ Returning her gaze to James, she continued. ‘I don’t wish to be rude, Mr Atkinson, or to stick my nose into your affairs, but it’s what happens after you sell it that worries me.’
He shrugged. ‘Who says I’m going to sell it? I’ve no idea what I’m going to do with the place. I might even move in – that view is just wonderful and I’m going to have trouble tearing myself away from it.’
‘Be a bit of a long commute to London every morning,’ she said, thawing slightly.
‘No need for that, Mrs Hammond,’ he said, returning her smile. ‘Not any more. As of last week, I’m one of this great nation’s unemployed.’
‘You too? I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Atkinson, I really am. Happened to our eldest six months ago. He’s got a wife and two little-’uns and in a place like Truro he can’t get a job for love nor money.’
‘I think I’ll stick around,’ he said. ‘Bill’s going to need as much hand-holding as he can get over the next few weeks.’
‘That’s very good of you,’ she said. ‘But haven’t you got family in London who need you at home?’
He stared past her out of the window. Just below the horizon, a yacht on a broad reach, looking for all the world like a child’s toy, was making its way up-Channel; a tiny white triangle of sail, almost motionless on the vast canvas of the sea. ‘Not any more. I was surplus to requirements there too,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘My wife, my ex-wife I should say, chucked me out and we got divorced eighteen months ago – we didn’t have any children so that’s one consolation. No, all I’ve got waiting for me in London is my flat and a heap of bills. But don’t worry, I’ll try not to get under your feet and I am house-trained.’
The following morning, James held his uncle’s arm as they made their way down the steps from the solicitor’s office to Kingsbridge High Street. The new will was signed and witnessed, the power of attorney activated and the solicitor considerably richer.
‘You can stay here and I’ll fetch the car if you like,’ said James.
‘Not a bit of it,’ said Todd fiercely. ‘I’m not dead yet, you know. Might take me a while but I’d prefer to walk if you don’t mind.’
‘You take your time, Bill,’ said James. ‘It’s not as if we’re in a rush.’ He knew better than to offend the old man’s last vestiges of pride and so, with Bill Todd holding on to him for support, they made their way down the hill towards the car-park by the little harbour. James noted that with few exceptions, almost every other person he saw was of a similar age to his uncle. So this is how it ends, he thought; not with a bang but with Devon.
Despite his protestations, the walk proved too much for Todd’s frail body and on their return, despite her scolding, he only picked at the lunch that Mrs Hammond had prepared for them. In the afternoon, he took to his bed.
After a brief consultation with his patient, the doctor and James strolled around the lawns, admiring Hammond’s skill at conjuring life from the thin soil of the windswept cliff-top. ‘I think I was wrong about the time he’s got left,’ said the doctor. ‘He’s getting very wandery – couldn’t even remember who I was and I’ve been his GP for nearly thirty years. Some of that’s down to the morphine, of course, but put it together with some of the other symptoms he’s been getting and it’s probable that the secondary growths are getting bigger.’
James thrust his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘So how long’s he got?’
‘You can never tell. He could go tonight but let’s put it this way, I’d be surprised if he was still with us in three weeks. I think you should let the rest of the family know in case they want to come and see him for the last time.’
‘There isn’t a family. Just me.’
‘How long can you stay with him?’
‘As long as it takes,’ said James. ‘I’ve nothing to rush back for and besides, our generation owes a hell of a lot to the Bill Todds of this world, so it’s the least I can do.’
‘That’s very decent of you,’ said the doctor. ‘Whatever happens, I don’t think you’ll have long to wait but it’ll help him, just knowing you’re there. Now, he’s in a lot of pain and he’s finally agreed to come in to the hospice, so I’ve arranged for an ambulance to pick him up this evening: Mrs H is packing a case for him so there’s nothing for you to do.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ve told him it’s just temporary so we can get the pain under control, and that he doesn’t have to stay any longer than he wants, but he’s not daft, he knows he won’t be coming back. Why don’t you let him get settled in and then come and see him tomorrow morning?’ He handed James a card. ‘Here’s the address – I’ve put my mobile phone number on the back – it’s only about a fifteen minute drive from here. The staff at St Catherine’s are lovely and you can come and visit any time you like. If you need anything, just give me a call. Oh yes, there’s one more thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The Hammonds. They’ve been with your uncle for over forty years and although Mrs H can be a bit abrupt at times, they’re good people and very fond of him. Not that you’d ever know, but they’re more upset than they let on. It’s not up to me to try and tell you what to do, but if you could just, well, keep an eye out for them, I think it would help.’
‘Of course I will, it’ll be a p
leasure. And thanks for the advice.’
The doctor took his leave and James walked down the slope to the stone wall which separated the gardens from the public footpath that ran along the cliff-top. Not a man given to displays of emotion, the day’s events had left him drained and without realising what was happening to him, as he thought about his uncle and the simple kindness of the doctor, he felt his eyes begin to prick with tears.
Chapter Eight
At last. We leave tomorrow for Washington and then to somewhere called South Dakota. With South in the name, it must be warmer than here. Still no idea what will happen to us but at least it seems for the moment that we’re to be kept alive. Can’t wait to get away from the base – aircraft noise driving me mad.
*
‘Hi, I’m looking for Cathy Stenmark.’
‘You’ve found her.’ She looked up, caught his eye and took an instant dislike to the spotty creep, as she did to all men who addressed conversations to her chest. Cathy bit back the sarcastic comment because he held in his hand something that she wanted. The laptop was still in its clear plastic evidence bag. He put it down on her desk. ‘Did you find anything interesting on it?’ she asked. He did have a name but she’d forgotten it. To Cathy and the rest of the editorial team he was just “the IT guy”.
He shrugged and flipped open the laptop, clicking an Ethernet cable into the socket in the back of the machine and starting it up. ‘Nothing. If there’d been anything interesting on it, I don’t s’pose the police would’ve given it back so quickly,’ he said.
‘What about her e-mails and files?’
‘I can’t let you see her e-mails, but I can give you temporary access to her personal drive partition on the network. There was nothing other than system files on the C: drive.’
Cathy raised her eyebrows. ‘Nothing at all? Surely she must’ve created a few word processing files, spreadsheets and so on when she was off-line.’
‘Well if she did, then I’m guessing she moved them all onto the network and then deleted them from the local drive,’ he said.
‘But you’d still be able to retrieve them if she’d just done a normal delete, wouldn’t you?’ she asked.
‘Normally yes.’
Cathy glared at him. He was a cocksure little punk, probably straight out of college and, as usual, making it clear that he thought himself an intellectual notch above the technologically-challenged, journalists whose PCs and laptops he supported. ‘So are you going to expand on that statement?’ she asked.
‘If you like. She’d installed a trace eliminator which makes it impossible to retrieve deleted files once it’s been run across them. Kinda like a shredder.’
‘So how come she was able to install programs like that on a company machine? And who was the rocket scientist from IT who issued a laptop with the user set up as an administrator?’
If he was impressed, the IT guy didn’t show it. ‘Hey, not me, none of the machines I issue have open admin rights.’
Cathy tried again. ‘So you didn’t see anything unusual then?’
The IT guy smiled at her and ran a hand through his long, greasy hair. Please, God, thought Cathy, please don’t let him be hitting on me. I may be violently ill.
‘No, I didn’t say that. Like I told the police, the last time she used the machine, she logged in remotely and deleted a whole bunch of files at about 6pm.’
‘And what were those files?’ said Cathy, trying to hide her growing desire to kill him.
‘Here, I’ll show you. This is from the previous night’s back-up. It’s everything in a directory called “Paulie” – think that was her boyfriend?’
‘I think you’ll find it’s “Pauli” actually.’
‘So was that her boyfriend? Cool. Maybe I should’ve taken a closer look. There might’ve been some good stuff in there.’ He leered at her chest again and Cathy felt an overwhelming desire to pick the laptop up and hit him with it.
‘It’s Senator Pauli, pronounced “Pow-lee”.’ She flicked her shoulder-length blonde hair out of her eyes and put her head slightly on one side, addressing him like a school teacher lecturing a backward child. ‘You know, the guy who might be this country’s next president? I presume you’ve heard of him?’
The sarcasm sailed over the IT guy’s head and hit the wall several yards behind him. ‘So she was dating a guy who’s going to be president? You mean like Bill Clinton and Monica?’ he said. ‘That is cool.’
‘Just show me the files, eh?’ she said coldly. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do and I’d hate to keep you here any longer.’ Cathy’s pale, blue-grey eyes narrowed and the tone of her voice caused the smart-aleck reply to die on his lips. He left without another word but she was sure she heard him say “bitch” as he headed for the door.
If Cathy had been hoping to find any more explanation about the package Lisa Greenberg had sent her in the mail, then she was to be disappointed. She took a quick look through the newly-restored Pauli directory but there was nothing beyond interview transcripts, copies of features from other magazines and various other documents that Lisa had clearly been planning to pull together for her forthcoming article on him – just what Cathy would have expected.
After two hours she wasn’t even halfway through reading the contents of the “Pauli” directory and the written words were not getting any further than her retinas. She was about to take a coffee break when the phone rang. The display showed the incoming call was on auto-divert from Lisa’s former number.
‘New Horizons, Cathy Stenmark.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I must’ve come through to the wrong extension,’ said a male voice. ‘Could you put me through to Lisa Greenberg, please? My name’s Arnie Hillman and she asked me to call back if I had any news about the lawsuit. You know, about the shopping mall.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, Lisa’s no longer with us. She passed away three weeks ago.’
‘Oh my God, please excuse me, I’m so terribly sorry. I had no idea – ’
‘Please don’t worry about it. She had an accident. Nobody’s fault and please don’t blame yourself for not knowing. Is there anything I can help you with?’
For a moment there was no reply. ‘I’m not sure. Y’know, in the circumstances, I really don’t think I should bother anybody about it.’
‘That’s a kind thought, Mr Hillman, but if Lisa was working on a story I’m sure she’d expect us to see it through for her. It’s the least we can do. Please.’
‘Thanks. Well, I assume you’re familiar with the story. It’s about the shopping mall they want to build right here in Cunningham. I’m the chairman of the local storekeepers’ defence committee that we’ve formed to try and stop it and Miss Greenberg came out to talk to my wife and me about three weeks ago. Must’ve been just before she passed away. Explains why she never got back to me.’
Cathy frowned. What Hillman was saying made no sense. At the time of her death, Lisa had been working eighteen hour days on the Pauli story and hadn’t even had the time to think about anything else, let alone small-time dross like this. The guy was either crazy or had got the wrong magazine. ‘Where did you say your store was?’
‘Cunningham, Maryland. Couple of hours outside DC. You must know it.’
Cathy pushed herself back in her chair and kicked one of her shoes off in frustration. It wouldn’t be the first time that some loser with an issue had tried to get publicity for their case by pretending that a colleague was interested in the story. Usually they waited till the holiday season. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Hillman, are you sure you’ve got the right publication? With no disrespect, that doesn’t sound like the kind of story New Horizons would cover.’
‘Sure I am.’ He read Cathy the details of Lisa’s business card. They were correct.
‘And when did you say she came to see you?’
‘That’s easy,’ he said. ‘Got it right here: the fourteenth of last month.’
For a moment Cathy remained silent, biting her bottom lip. ‘I do
apologise, Mr Hillman, you’ll have to refresh my memory. Could you remind me where Cunningham is exactly?’
‘Other side of Thurmont from DC – almost into Pennsylvania. Like I said, ’bout a couple of hours by car.’
Cathy was wide awake now and sat bolt upright in her seat. ‘If that’s OK, Mr Hillman, I think I’d like to come out and see you. Are you free tomorrow?’
‘Free as a bird. Come any time you like and we’ll look forward to seeing you.’
‘Ten o’clock?’
‘Ten it is.’ Hillman gave her the directions and she scribbled them down as he spoke. She rang off and with shaking hands looked up the town of Cunningham on the internet. She caught her breath, excited and at the same time appalled that it was exactly as she’d suspected. From the postmark, Lisa must’ve posted the letter with its strange contents on her way back from seeing Hillman.
Much later that afternoon she looked down again at the scribbled notes she’d made; the arrows, the crossings-out and the names and places she’d ringed. It was all beginning to fall into place, well some of it anyway.
A few days after her death, a DVD had arrived for Lisa in the post. Slipping it into her bag, Cathy stood up to leave for the day. For Lisa to have taken such an interest in him there must be more to Mr Hillman than met the eye. Pauli’s lovechild? His secret gay lover? A Jekyll and Hyde twin? As she headed for the door, the list of crazy theories got longer, even though reality was likely to turn out much duller as it always did. But scandal plus senators equals sales, so it was worth a shot.
The following morning she left early to avoid the rush hour traffic, but going against the flow found herself approaching the outskirts of Cunningham with twenty minutes to spare. The countryside around the town was rolling and heavily wooded and at first glance it seemed an idyllic setting: idyllic, provided the visitor didn’t look too closely at the trailer parks that blighted the valley slopes either side of the main road, and wasn’t too distracted by the potholes over which the suspension of her car crashed at regular intervals.
The Manhattan Deception Page 7
