by G I Tulloch
"I drove up to Dunwich."
"And?" prompted Ford.
"Stayed overnight in my cottage and came back yesterday."
"On your own?"
Now Adam hesitated and Ford sensed it. He repeated, "on your own?"
After a long pause Adam made a decision, the eventual outcome of which he could never have anticipated.
"No. I picked up a hitch-hiker on the way."
If Ford was disappointed he didn't show it. "Does this hitch-hiker have a name?"
"I'd rather not say," which brought back the smile to Ford's face. He got up and walked across to the window before turning back to Adam.
"Mr Lennox. Let me outline the situation. You are recorded as having a heated argument with the deceased after he has witnessed a murder. The deceased threatens you. His body is found less than twenty-four hours later in your burnt-out car. Things are not looking good for you. Might I suggest that you do yourself a favour?"
Adam tried to look at all the angles to assess his real danger. It was all circumstantial but could leave a nasty mess even if it didn't stick. His thoughts were interrupted by Ford.
"What did John Bartlett tell you about the incident on the Hermes?"
Adam did a double take at the change of direction but saw no danger. He recounted the discovery of the body at the foot of the companionway.
Ford sat down and for a moment drummed his fingers on the edge of the table before seeming to come to a decision.
"Why would Mr Bartlett lie to you?"
"Lie to me?"
"In reality the body was found in a crate in the hold. His throat had been cut. So either you're lying to me, or Bartlett lied to you. Which is it?"
Now Adam was confused. Why had John lied? There seemed no logical reason for him to distort the facts, unless the facts gave away something he was trying to hide, something that was indirectly related to why he was on the Hermes in the first place. Adam had never liked convoluted chess games.
"I don't know why he lied. He had specifically asked for help. It doesn't make sense."
Ford picked up a handful of papers.
"You've got a record I see Mr Lennox. It makes very interesting reading. Nineteen eighty six, 'Vagrancy'. Very novel, very interesting. Nineteen eighty seven, 'Assaulting the police in the course of their duty'. Very inadvisable Mr Lennox. Protest rally wasn't it? Bit of an anarchist are we?"
Adam didn't respond so Ford tried another tack.
"What do you really know about Bartletts?"
Adam shook his head. "Nothing."
Ford wasn't convinced. "Come on, you must know something. You were responsible for publicity for crying out loud. What was going on?"
Adam didn't see that he had anything to contribute to this so he kept quiet.
Ford consulted his papers again and raised his voice a notch, moving away from Mr Nice Guy. "I see your late wife Fran was John Bartlett's PA at the time of her death. That's right isn't it?" He didn't wait for a reply. "And your very good friend Belinda Trent was his current PA. Was this a straightforward fight with Bartlett over a woman? Was Bartlett screwing her?"
Adam actually laughed. Ford was really scraping the barrel and he knew it.
"No, I'm sorry," he said, pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. "I know you're just trying to wind me up now, and hope I'll get angry, but it won't work."
Ford paused before continuing. "Your wife died in strange circumstances didn't she? Was Bartlett screwing her?"
This time Adam was out of his chair and had Ford by the lapels before the constable managed to haul him off and dump him back in the seat.
Ford straightened his tie, despite the fact that it hadn't been straight before.
"I'll put that down as assaulting a police officer I think," he said.
Adam leaned forward and the constable stood ready. "You can put it down as what you like," said Adam quietly, "but you tarnish the name of my late wife again and I will break every bone in your body."
There was a few minutes silence while Ford went through his papers once more. He could have been scared or just playing for time Adam wasn't sure which.
Ford started again in a quiet voice this time. "Adam, I've got enough evidence to remand you in custody, no bail, for as long as it takes me to get to the bottom of this. What was the hitch-hiker's name?"
Adam gazed out the window for a moment. He reckoned Ford was bluffing, and considered fighting on but in the end he conceded defeat. He couldn't afford to spend any more time in custody than absolutely necessary. He turned and looked up at Ford, "Anna Low. Her name was Anna Low."
There was silence for a moment and suddenly Adam realised that Ford looked as if he had been sandbagged. His facial expression was frozen a la fish out of water.
"Describe her," Ford said eventually. Not a request but a command.
Now Adam was confused. He tried to read Ford's mind, anticipating some sort of devious trap. He shrugged. "American. New Yorker. Five-six. Petite build. Chinese descent."
Ford hauled himself out of his chair and left the room without a word, leaving Adam mystified. He was still scouring around for a rational explanation when Ford returned five minutes later.
"You're free to go Lennox. There will be no more questions." He swept up his papers and made to leave, when Adam stopped him.
"What do you mean, free to go? What's going on here?" Adam meant to get an explanation and he meant to get it there and then.
DCI Ford ran his hand across his eyes as if his very thoughts were causing him pain. "Don't push your luck Lennox. Just take the opportunity and go. Collect your belongings at the front desk. We apologise for the inconvenience." He left the room and Adam took his advice.
He was outside five minutes later, debating which route to take back to the flat when he realised that DCI Ford was at his side. He didn't stop walking but Ford kept up nevertheless.
"Lennox. Off the record. You are in danger of getting into some deep shit. Don't go in over your head without a snorkel."
Adam smiled in spite of himself. "Thanks Chief Inspector but I think I already am."
Ford held out a business card. "You need me, you can get me on this number."
The walk through the back streets of the East End gave Adam time for speculation. Two things bothered him. Yet again Fran's death had come up and he was increasingly uneasy. Ford's reference to strange circumstances unsettled him, but strangely, what worried him most was the effect Anna's name had had. He took out his mobile phone and dialled the number he got for First National Bank, London Office.
It answered on the first ring. American efficiency.
"Anna Low please."
"Hold one moment." A pause. "I'm afraid there's no one on our staff by that name sir."
"This is First National Bank, isn't it?" Adam queried just in case his ears had deceived him first time.
"It is sir but I'm certain there is no one listed on staff by that name."
Adam's suspicions began rising exponentially. He hung up but whilst he had the phone out he dialled Bartletts and asked for Bel's contact, Derek Travis.
"Derek, it's Adam Lennox. Bel Trent said to get in touch."
The voice at the other end was cultured and polite but definitely guarded. "Yes Mr Lennox. What can I do for you?"
"Derek, if your loyalty was split between Miss Trent and the Company, where would you settle your allegiance?"
"I regard Miss Trent as being on the side of the angels. I don't know if that answers your question."
"I think it does. Derek, something at Bartletts smells and I need to know what it is. Something involving the ships but exactly what, I don't know. I need you to look through the records and find any irregularities, anything odd to do with their movements or their payments. It may be financial or it may not, I don't know. Bel tells me no-one knows Bartlett's systems better than you."
Adam could almost hear the smile at the far end.
"Miss Trent is very complimentary."
Adam's phone started to indicate low battery. "Derek I need to know as soon as possible. It could well be related to John Bartlett's death."
"I'll do my best Mr Lennox."
Adam put the phone away. He was still convinced that the answer lay in Bartletts but he couldn't work out where. And apart from all that, who the hell was Anna Low
Chapter 17
Frank came off the phone with a smile on his face. God knows the old man didn't have much to cheer him up but he would be pleased with this news. He looked out of the window at the Thai smog that surrounded the house. This was happening more and more frequently. Problems in Indonesia they said. Too many people burning and clearing the forests for farmland causing dense smog across the whole of Asia. It was beginning to get to him. He would have to go home soon.
The old man heard him coming. "News from England." A statement not a question.
"There's not much gets past you sir."
"Don't be a fool. I heard the phone and your footsteps were a lot lighter than of late. So, news from England."
He tried to lift himself up in the bed but sagged against the cushions, the gaunt sunken eyes almost without sight now.
"Yes sir. News from England. Spurs beat the Arsenal in the Derby for the first time in years."
"And?"
"And your information was acted on as expected. He went as you intended."
"Any news of the outcome?"
"No. Apparently something unexpected happened and the police got involved. I don't know what has happened since."
The old man became more agitated. The voice was becoming a hoarse rasping sound and Frank had to lean forward to hear.
"Frank. Is it still safe?"
"Yes sir, it's still safe."
"And you know what to do?"
Frank hesitated. "I do."
For the first time the old man opened his eyes and smiled.
"Good", he said.
Chapter 18
One of the benefits of living in London, according to Adam, was having a complete transport system on one's doorstep. The Underground was one of Adam's favourite places. In the days of living rough it had been a refuge from the weather and a platform for people watching, one of his favourite hobbies. The familiar smells and predictable routes were like an extension of your house. You could find your way around it blindfold. In his current situation Adam was more interested than ever in his fellow passengers. The morning rush had subsided and he was one of only five in the carriage. A teenage girl, smartly dressed in skirt and blouse looked as if she would be more at home in jeans and a tee-shirt, on her way to a job interview perhaps. A middle aged city gent obviously on his way to work, flexitime maybe , or just high enough up the ladder to arrive when he liked prior to an afternoon's golf with a client. You're a cynic Adam, he told himself. The elderly woman looked mildly scared, clutched her handbag close and kept glancing at Adam as if trying to decide whether to move further down the carriage. Adam suddenly realised what he must look like, having left the house in a rush with whatever clothes happened to be lying around.
Adam chanced his phone battery one more time and texted Bel to let her know where he was. He also asked her to meet him at Bartletts. Whatever was going on at Bartletts, the more time they had to cover up, the more difficult it was going to be to close this business. Adam wanted to confront Brad before he got too comfortable. Brad knew more than he was letting on, of that Adam was sure. But how to go about getting him on the back foot when he was on home ground?
The final occupant of the carriage interested Adam. A young guy in denim jeans and corduroy jacket, neat hair, clean shaven, his head immersed in a book since they had both got on. He looked too perfect, too neat, taking too much trouble to go unnoticed, and besides he hadn't turned a page for three stops. Not in itself suspicious but Adam had noticed some time ago that the book was upside down.
Adam got off at Moorgate, leaving it until the last minute to rise and step onto the platform. He half expected the young man to leap out and follow but he made no move at all. Your getting paranoid Adam, and your speaking to yourself again, not a good sign, but then again he was wearing odd socks and no one had arrested him yet.
Brad was on the phone when they walked in unannounced. They caught the tail end of the conversation, not that they were eavesdropping of course, that would be rude. They arranged themselves around the room, Adam chose the windowsill on one side of Brad's expansive desk whilst Bel elected to lean against a bookcase on the other side. They waited politely for Brad to finish.
Brad yelled at the phone in his hand. "I don't care if it's not where it should be, just find it!" The phone receiver was obviously the high impact industrial grade plastic model as it didn't disintegrate when he put it down, but it must have been a close call.
Brad ignored Adam (Adam could take it, he had thick skin, broad shoulders and any number of mixed metaphors to protect him), and turned aggressively to Bel.
"Where the hell have you been? The place is in uproar."
The red hair and broken nose emphasised the belligerence. The veins were sticking out rigid on his neck. Adam could almost count his pulse from where he was. When Bel didn't react Brad hesitated. "You have heard about John, haven't you?"
Bel gave an imperceptible nod and Brad continued, "I've had the police swarming all over the goddamn place this morning, one ship is still being held by customs, one has been attacked by pirates off Somalia, and to top it all the Chairman's PA goes AWOL." He held up his hands in mock despair.
Adam watched him counting off his troubles on virtual fingers in front of him, voice rising in pitch, but was visibly unmoved. In relation to say, third world debt, or world peace, Brad's problems were small beer.
Bel saw fit to respond after a pause, albeit there was unwillingness to her voice. "Well, you're in charge."
Brad's vein pulsed again as he leant over the desk to Bel. "Yes, and that's why I need you here."
Before she could respond, Adam piped up from the windowsill where he had settled himself. "Just out of curiosity who will be in charge ultimately?"
Brad reluctantly turned his head towards Adam. "That's none of your goddamn business."
Bel answered for him. "The Company's emergency procedures have the details but the bottom line is that the General Manager..." she looked at Brad.".. takes charge until such time as the new owner appoints someone. The new owner being whoever John left his shares to in the will, as he had a majority holding."
"So what's in the will?" posed Adam.
Brad's blood pressure appeared to be rising as Bel and Adam talked across him, one lounging on the windowsill and the other leaning nonchalantly up against a substantial bookcase stuffed with files.
Adam turned to Brad and reiterated the question. "What's in the will?"
The American paused to gather his thoughts and re-calibrate the conversation. "I'm not sure I understand what you're doing here Lennox? As of now your contract is terminated."
"Tsk, tsk, you really need to work on your people skills." Adam grimaced. "That's Mr Lennox to you."
Brad smiled for the first time. "No. 'Mr Lennox' was when you were working for the company. Now, in my book anything goes."
Adam considered this fresh piece of information and shrugged it off, life was too short especially in the current circumstances, he thought wryly.
"Okay Wilding, I tell you why I'm here. There are some very fishy things going on at Bartletts and they have been associated with threats made against me, which makes me an interested party, so what's in the will?"
Adam confidently expected to be thrown out of the office but something in what he said appeared to have deflated Brad's sails.
"I don't know." he volunteered, "John apparently made out a new will several weeks ago. No-one knows what's in it."
While Bel and Adam absorbed this piece of news a lower form of office life came in and claimed Brad's signature on a number of documents. When they'd gone Adam decided to try
and push home his advantage, ruthless to the last, no quarter given, whatever that meant.
Adam changed tack. "So who were John's enemies? Who would want him dead?"
"No-one. I told the police. His only enemies were commercial competitors and I can't see them going to those lengths, especially when it doesn't actually affect the company directly."
"So maybe his death was related to the death he witnessed on the Hermes?" suggested Adam, heaving himself upright from the windowsill, having started to lose feeling in his backside. "It seems a remarkable co-incidence."
That seemed to irritate Brad. "So you're suggesting that there was something going on with the Hermes that led to John's death? That's ludicrous. I would have known about it. Besides," a sneer started to grow across his face. "I understand that the body was found in the trunk of your burnt out car, which makes you prime suspect doesn't it? Haven't the cops picked you up and given you the third degree yet?"
Adam smiled slowly. "I've just come from there. They tried, got the baseball bats out, the hose pipes, but apparently I have a cast iron alibi. But you seem keen enough to point the finger at me. Why's that?"
"Seemed like a good idea at the time," said Brad, "I just find it weird."
"What, weird, like Granger Bartlett's death," prompted Adam.
Brad frowned. "I don't get you. What's Granger Bartlett's death got to do with it? It was an accident from what I heard. It was long before my time."
Adam smiled. "Or weird like Fran's death, which was during your time."
"What, now you're saying I know something about Fran's death? You're completely cracked. Fran's death was an accident, you know that, accept it. Besides I wouldn't have harmed Fran." He got up from his chair. "I think it's time you left before I throw you out."
Adam didn't move but Brad turned his attention to Bel anyway. "When are you back?"
Adam answered for her. "Bel has received death threats, which are being taken seriously." He didn't say whom by, of course.
"I may not be back for a couple of weeks." Bel added. "I'm owed anyway."
