‘Based on what?’
Bill Harper ran his hands lovingly over the leather-covered steering wheel of his new car.
‘It was something that one of my accountants came up with which set me on the trail,’ he said.
“One of my accountants,” Flint repeated silently. Only a few days earlier, Harper had been nothing more than an executive assistant, but now he was talking as if he had built up Conroy Enterprises single-handed.
‘And what, exactly, did this accountant of yours find?’ he asked.
‘Both Paul and I have drawing rights on the company’s current account,’ Harper explained. ‘It’s a necessary mechanism for the smooth running of the business, because there are circumstances when one of us needs to make a large cash payment and—’
‘There are times when I’d really enjoy a nice leisurely trip round the houses, sir,’ Flint interrupted him, ‘but right now I’m investigating a murder case, and I really would be grateful if you’d come straight to the point.’
Just for an instant the expression on Harper’s face was of a man who was not as confident and self-assured as he appeared to be. He was a joint managing director of a large and expanding business now. He didn’t need to feel intimidated by a mere policeman.
‘A couple of hours after the crash, Paul Taylor made a substantial withdrawal from that account,’ he said.
He waited for Flint to ask him how much.
‘How much?’ Flint said.
‘Twenty thousand pounds – which is the largest amount either us can withdraw without it being countersigned by one of the directors. But what is even more significant – at least to me – is where he drew it out. Can you guess which bank he used, Mr Flint?’
You bastard, Flint thought. You cocky, smug bastard! I’d like to shake you until your teeth rattled.
‘He wouldn’t have withdrawn the money from a branch of a bank in Bristol, would he, Mr Harper?’ he asked levelly.
Harper nodded. ‘That’s right. In fact it was the branch closest to Temple Meads railway station.’
****
Having gone down to the village store to replenish his stock of sweets – and settled on a mixed mint selection and a bag of chocolate éclairs – Flint wondered what he should do next.
‘The problem was, Rob,’ he would tell me later, ‘I knew in my gut that the roots of the murder lay buried in either the village or Oxford, but I hadn’t got a bloody clue where to start digging. And that meant that instead of making things happen, I was forced to hang around like a spare prick at a wedding and hope that when something did happen, I’d notice it.’
As he walked back towards the church, he found himself thinking about Paul Taylor again.
Could the case really be as simple as Bill Harper had implied it was? Could Paul Taylor have travelled down to Bristol, sneaked into the garage, sabotaged the brakes of the BMW, then taken the money and run?
Why should he have done that?
What could have motivated him to arrange three murders?
He didn’t look, on the face of it, to have any reason to want the Conroys dead. Unless, of course, my father had treated him so badly that he wanted his revenge at any cost.
But even that didn’t make sense, firstly because from what Flint had learned of my father, he didn’t seem to have been the kind of man who could arouse such passion. And secondly, everyone – including the admirable and practical Jo Torlopp – had said Taylor was a gentle man who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Besides, if Taylor had wanted to kill him, it would surely have been simple enough to arrange an accident in the village.
Flint reached the pump house next to the pub and wondered where he should go next. Turn to the right and he would soon reach the home of the late Charles Conroy, the founder of the empire. Turn left and he would eventually arrive at my sister-in-law’s house. For no particular reason he decided to go left.
Paul Taylor … Paul Taylor … Paul Taylor … Paul-bloody-Taylor.
The name kept running through his brain, matching the rhythm of his footfalls.
The man was supposed to be trying to make a name for himself in business yet he had asked for – and been granted – a leave of absence just when the company was on the verge of making the most important deal in its history. Why should he have done that? And perhaps even more to the point, whatever had possessed my father to give his permission?
Flint was less than a hundred yards away from my sister-in-law’s house when he noticed the black Golf GTI parked outside.
Now that was interesting, he thought – indeed, it could almost be said to be fascinating. Just what the bloody hell was she doing back in the village?
Flint reached into his pocket and popped a glacier mint in his mouth. It might be some time before she came out but he was perfectly prepared to wait.
It was, in fact, less than ten minutes before Lydia’s front door opened, the red-haired woman stepped out, and somebody – probably Lydia – closed the door behind her.
Marie walked half way down the path, stopped to light a cigarette, and saw Flint.
‘She wouldn’t let me smoke inside,’ she said disgustedly. ‘Too house-proud.’
‘What exactly are you doing here, Miss O’Hara?’ the chief inspector asked.
Marie took a deep drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke out through her nostrils.
‘What exactly am I doing here?’ she repeated. ‘I’m visiting.’
‘I may be wrong, but when we spoke at Charles Conroy’s funeral, didn’t you tell me that you didn’t know any of the family?’ Flint asked.
‘That’s right,’ Marie agreed.
‘So am I to take it that the nature of your visit to Mrs Conroy was not social?’
Marie sighed. ‘You can take it any way you want, Mr Flint.’
‘If it wasn’t social, it was business,’ the chief inspector said doggedly. ‘And your business is private investigation. So what, I have to ask myself, is what Mrs Conroy would need a private detective for.’
He paused, giving Marie time to speak, but she said nothing.
‘This wouldn’t be connected with the murders by any chance, would it, Miss O’Hara?’ he continued.
‘If I didn’t come to see Mrs Conroy on business, then your question’s meaningless,’ Marie said, choosing her words with extreme care. ‘And if I did come to see her on business, then exactly what we discussed is protected by client confidentiality.’
‘I’ve warned you before, you should be careful not to get mixed up in a police investigation, Miss O’Hara,’ Flint said sternly. ‘You could lose your licence. You could even go to prison.’
Marie took her keys out of her handbag and unlocked the driver’s door of the Golf.
‘We must have another drink some time, Chief Inspector,’ she said. ‘I owe you one.’
‘You like to live dangerously, don’t you?’ Flint asked. ‘You drive a fast car, you smoke too many cigarettes—’
‘And you, Chief Inspector, are rotting your teeth with all those sweets you guzzle,’ Marie interrupted him. ‘I’ll see you around.’
Then she put her key in the ignition and fired up the engine. As she pulled away, the back wheels of her car threw up cinders and small stones.
Flint watched her drive off down the lane at a speed he knew was solely designed to provoke him.
What the hell had she been to see Lydia about, he wondered?
Whatever it was, he doubted very much whether my sister-in-law herself would tell him.
Chapter Twenty
The Georgian carriage clock on my desk – a gift from Andy McBride which, he assured me, he had paid for ‘wi’ real money’ – said it was a quarter past ten in the morning. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. Spending the entire night cramped in a car outside Marie’s flat had done my injured leg no good at all, and my eyes prickled from lack of sleep.
I picked up a manuscript, already dog-eared from passing through the hands of a dozen publishers, and started to read. It was o
nly when I got to the bottom of the third page that I realised that though my eyes had passed over the words, my brain had received no message at all and I couldn’t even begin to guess what the book was about.
I pushed the manuscript aside and turned my thoughts instead to my brother. His death had become an obsession with me, not only because I missed him but also because I still believed – perhaps even more strongly now than ever – that there had been some point in the past when the chain of events which led to the crash could have been broken – and that I should have been the one to break it.
I found my exhausted mind wandering back to the day of the board meeting at which I’d been told that my beloved publishing house was to be put at risk for no other reason than to enable my uncle to increase the size of his own personal empire.
I’d stormed out of that meeting and, after I’d failed to persuade Grandfather to reverse his decision, I’d gone back to my father’s house where I was just on the point of pouring myself a very stiff drink when the phone rang.
It was John.
‘I thought we might go out for a drink tonight,’ he suggested.
‘I’m not sure I’m in the mood,’ I told him.
‘Not in the mood for a drink?’ John asked with mock incredulity. ‘I’m willing to bet you’ve already got one in your hand.’
Despite myself, I laughed.
‘Nearly right,’ I said. ‘Another five minutes and I’d have been half way down the world’s strongest gin and tonic.’
‘Save it for later,’ my brother told me. ‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’
‘Will Lydia be coming?’ I asked.
‘She’d like to,’ John said unconvincingly, ‘but she’s got another one of her blessed committee meetings to attend. So it’ll only be the two of us – just like old times.’
****
John arrived at exactly eight o’clock. He looked as calm and placid as he normally did, but as I climbed into the passenger seat I could sense a hidden tension.
‘Since you’ve brought the car, I’m assuming we’re not going to the George and Dragon,’ I said.
John nodded. ‘I’d rather like to get out of the village for a couple of hours, if you don’t mind. I thought we could drive over to that little pub in Lower Peover.’
‘The one where I first met Lydia?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Why there?’ I asked.
‘No particular reason,’ John replied – and I could tell he was lying.
It was 15-minute drive to the pub and during the journey, though I got the distinct impression John had something he was bursting to tell me, he said nothing. Even when we were sitting down, with pints in front of us on a copper-topped table, my brother still seemed unwilling to come out with what was on his mind, and it was me who broke the silence.
‘What happened after I left the meeting?’ I asked.
John shrugged. ‘Not much. Uncle Tony said that unless there were any questions we could consider the business of the day over. Then he told us where to pick up our briefing folders. I’ve got yours in the boot of the car if you want it.’
‘I don’t.’
‘That’s up to you, Little Brother.’ John picked up his pint. In his massive hand it looked more like a half. ‘You didn’t do yourself any good by storming out of the meeting like that, you know.’
‘It made no difference whether I left or whether I stayed,’ I told him. ‘My opinion didn’t matter. Uncle Tony had it all neatly sewn up before any of us even entered the room.’
‘True,’ John agreed.
‘I can’t believe you’re taking this all so calmly,’ I told him. ‘This acquisition is dicey. We’re probably over-extending ourselves. The company could quite easily go to the wall, you know.’
John smiled, softly. ‘And what if it did go bankrupt? Where would that leave us? Out on the streets with our begging bowls?’
I forced myself to smile back. ‘Not quite that,’ I conceded.
‘Nothing like that,’ John said. ‘Grandfather’s a smart man. There’s enough private family money outside the company for us all to live in modest affluence for the rest of our lives.’
‘So what?’ I said exasperatedly. ‘Doesn’t it bother you that you might lose your business?’
‘I enjoy my work,’ John said, ‘but it’s certainly not the obsession with me that yours is with you. Perhaps that’s because when you’ve got someone to love, business doesn’t really seem that important anymore.’
I remembered John’s moment of panic on the morning of his wedding, and the doubts I had entertained myself about Lydia as a suitable partner for my brother. Well, we seemed to have both been wrong – thank God! She wouldn’t have done for me – I could never have stomached all her committees and her social gatherings – but if she made John happy that was all that mattered.
But was he right in what he’d implied about me? Was my obsession with Cormorant Publishing only there because I had a great void in my life to fill? If Marie could bring herself to feel for me as I felt for her, would I be spending quite so much time in the office? And would I really care as much as I did about the success of the people I had under contract?
I was experiencing an emotion which was entirely new to me. I found myself envying my brother his happiness – and wishing I could trade places with him.
‘You’re not listening to me are you, Rob?’ John asked, piercing my bubble of moody introspection.
I jumped slightly. ‘Sorry, I was a million miles away for a minute. What did you say?’
John smiled again, but this time there was a sad edge to it.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said.
‘It does,’ I insisted. ‘It really does. If something’s important to you, then it's important to me, too.’
My brother’s smile became more self-conscious.
‘I don’t think I’d have the nerve to tell you a second time,’ he said. ‘And anyway, you’ll find out soon enough, as it is.’
‘Find out what?’
‘Something you should have known a long time ago.’
‘Don’t play games with me,’ I said.
‘I’m not,’ he replied earnestly. ‘I’m through with games, and I’m through with pretending. For the first time in my life, I think I’m actually facing reality.’
‘Then tell me about it!’ I insisted.
Instead, John had stood up.
‘I’ll get you another pint,’ he said. ‘But since I’m driving I think I’d better switch to orange juice.’
****
I was still at my desk, my leg still aching, my eyelids drooping – but suddenly my brain was wide awake because what my sleepy thoughts had drifted into was precisely the thing my active mind had been trying – and failing – to pin down.
This was it!
That conversation in the pub had been just like the conversation I’d had with Jill in front of Warrington railway station as she set off for Cornwall. It had been the point at which – if I’d been sharper, or cleverer, or more sensitive or … or I don’t know what – I could have broken the chain.
I rang for black coffee and tried to order my thoughts. It was clear to me now that in that minute or so in which I’d been musing about myself and the great black hole in my own life, John was telling me something vitally important about his. And I’d let him down!
****
I raised the question of the company again, on the way back to the village.
‘Your problem,’ I told my brother, ‘is that you think Uncle Tony and Philip are going to leave you alone to run your own little empire. But they won’t, you know. Uncle Tony will want to show everyone who’s boss. And as for Philip – well, every slight that he thinks he received when we were kids will be paid back a hundredfold. You just see how you’ll like running your maintenance business with Philip sticking his nose in it every five minutes. See how you’ll like going to him and asking permission before you take the smallest decision.’
I laughed bitterly. ‘Do you really think you can fight them off? Do you imagine, even for one second, that you’ve enough clout of your own to prevent Philip from taking malicious pleasure in turning you into nothing more than a glorified office boy.’
‘I’m sure he’d like to do that, but it isn’t going to happen.’
I slammed my hand down – hard – on the dashboard.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, John, grow up!’ I said. ‘You told me earlier for the first time in your life you’re facing reality – but you’re not! You’re living in Cloud Cuckoo Land.’
‘And the reason it won’t happen,’ my brother continued calmly, ‘is that I won’t be around to be turned into anything.’
‘And what, exactly, do you mean by that?’
‘I mean that I’m resigning. I’m going to let someone else run MCM.’
His words came as a shock. I’d always been the restless one. I was the one who’d made the decision to go to university, instead of joining the family business. It was John, not me, who’d inherited our father’s placidity – and it was almost inconceivable to think of him cutting loose.
‘When do you plan to make the break?’ I asked.
‘As soon as Grandfather dies.’
Another shock.
‘But he could last for years and years,’ I said.
John shook his head. ‘You’ve not been here. You’ve not seen how frail he really is. He makes an effort for your benefit because you’re never here for long, but he can’t keep it up all the time. He’ll be lucky – very lucky – if he lasts till Christmas.’
‘But if he does hold on longer?’
‘Then I’ll just have to grit my teeth and bear it, won’t I?’
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘What’s so important about staying on until he’s gone?’
‘I don’t want to hurt him,’ John said simply.
‘And you think that leaving the company will hurt him?’
‘Perhaps a little – but that’s not what I’m talking about.’
‘Then what are you talking about?’
My brother turned towards me. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, yet it was almost as if he could see me. Worse, it was almost as if he could see right through the skin and the bone into my inner self.
The Vital Chain Page 18
