by Nick Moseley
'It's not too bad,' Trev said, secretly enjoying the fact that for once Helen was taking notice of him for something other than his sales figures or arguments with Barry. 'Split both my lips, and my nose and chin are a bit bruised, but that's all that's visible. Hopefully not enough to scare any punters out of the office.'
'I think you'll pass muster, just about,' agreed Helen. 'They were banging on about your little escapade on the local radio news as I was driving home last night. I don't think I heard them mention you by name, but they did say "a man is helping the police with their inquiries, although we understand he is not a suspect". Did they keep you at the police station long?'
'Ages,' replied Trev. 'The interview itself didn't take all that long, they just kept me stewing for a fair old while before they got around to it.'
'And you've not been charged? For… anything?'
'No.' Trev could tell that Helen's thoughts were following the same track that Cled's had. 'I don't think they're viewing it as anything other than an accident, which is what it was.'
'I know, Trev.' Helen looked at him with genuine concern. 'Look, if you want some time off to deal with all this, just tell me. It's not a problem.'
'Thanks for the offer, but I think I'd rather be here and getting on with things than sitting at home brooding about it.'
'All right then. I've got to say that I'd much rather you were here as well.' Helen reached out to pat Trev on the arm.
'Really?' said Trev, raising an eyebrow. Was she trying to tell him something?
'Yes. You're the only one who seems to be selling anything at the moment.'
'Oh. Yes, right.' Trev deflated a touch. 'Best get on with it then.' He went to his desk and started up his computer.
Phil and Sarah arrived shortly afterwards and at their request Trev found himself recounting his brush with heroism once again. Phil listened in his usual composed way; Trev was convinced that even if he were told that the world was about to end, Phil would respond to the news with nothing more than a nod and a thoughtful expression. Sarah, on the other hand, was considerably more animated, interspersing Trev's story with occasional gasps or comments.
'So you're sure you're OK to come back to work?' she asked him when he'd finished.
'Yeah,' replied Trev. 'Better to be here than at home on my own, I reckon.'
'Well don't go blaming yourself, it wasn't your fault,' Sarah said. 'I think you were very brave to do what you did, a lot of people would've just stood by and watched.' Without warning she stepped forward and gave Trev a reassuring hug. Though slightly startled by the gesture, he had to admit that he found it rather pleasant.
'Er, thanks,' he said when she released him. He looked up to see Barry standing in the doorway. From the expression on his face, he'd arrived just in time to see Trev being embraced.
'Didn't expect you to be in today,' he growled, stalking to his desk.
'And a good morning to you too,' said Trev brightly. Barry's only reply was a grunt.
Phil regarded Trev with a faint smile before heading to his own workstation. Sarah frowned at Barry, then gave Trev a shrug and a roll of the eyes before going to sit with Helen. Trev allowed himself a little smirk before settling himself into his chair and opening his e-mail inbox. He'd only been away for half a day, but it was good to be back.
It was a relief to be able to throw himself into his normal routine, and Trev set about his daily tasks with an eagerness that surprised even himself. In business terms the day was an uneventful one, although one of Trev's buyers did come in with an offer on the Whitgar Road flat. After some deliberation the vendor accepted and Trev had his second sale of the week.
The atmosphere in the office was good despite Barry's best efforts to drag everyone down to his miserable level. His mood was blackened still further when the Thursday edition of the Crier was delivered in the early afternoon, its front page dominated by one of Paul's photographs of a blood-stained Trev. The picture triggered another round of sympathy and praise from his two female colleagues, which prompted Barry to announce that he was going out canvassing again.
Initially taken aback by the photo, Trev read Granddad and Oscar's accompanying story with some amusement. The by-line said it had been written by "Brackenford Crier reporter"; Trev wondered at the public reaction had the credit been truthfully given to "Bernard Simms and his talking cat" instead.
Their version of events made Trev out to be a courageous have-a-go hero, which wasn't quite how he remembered it himself. Still, he didn't feel moved to write in and complain about it. Reading on, he found they'd included his name in the story but hadn't mentioned where he worked, which he was happy about. The last thing he wanted was a queue of Kolley's admirers forming in front of his desk, keen to thank him for saving their idol.
He hoped he might be safe from casual public interest for a while, though he knew that the professionals represented a different proposition. Granddad had forewarned Trev that the national press would be bound to pick up the story and would do their best to track him down once his name was printed. To avoid the possibility of getting hassled, Trev asked Helen if she would screen his calls for him during the afternoon, and it proved to be a wise precaution. By closing time she'd politely rebuffed six reporters clamouring for an interview with Trev, telling them that he was off work.
She also had to fight off two camera crews from the local news programmes, allowing them to get some footage of the outside of the office but firmly denying them permission to speak to her staff. Trev took some paperwork into the back office to do so they couldn't even film him through the windows, much to their obvious annoyance. They opted to wait around outside in the hope of catching him on his way out after closing, but Trev had anticipated that and climbed out of the staffroom window into the alley behind the office to make good his escape, chuckling at his own cunning.
A circuitous route through Brackenford's back streets brought him to Granddad's house. The old man was outside, re-organising the contents of his car's boot. Oscar sat atop one of the gate-posts, silently watching. He looked up and nodded a greeting to Trev as he approached.
'Evening,' said Trev, stepping up alongside Granddad to see what he was up to.
'Hello,' replied Granddad. There was a large box in the boot of his old but well-maintained Honda. The lid was open, and inside Trev could see two sets of yellow plastic overalls, rubber boots and gloves, and hard-hats equipped with torches on their peaks.
'Oscar was serious about going down into the sewers then,' he observed glumly.
'I'm afraid so,' said Granddad. 'So far the police have no human witnesses to Harvington's movements prior to the assassination attempt, so we'll have to ask some non-humans instead.'
'Watch out for those ghouls, they bite,' Oscar chipped in, 'although you've got to go and meet Alastair Kolley first – I’m not sure which will be the more frightening experience.'
'At least Kolley'll probably give us tea and biscuits,' grumbled Trev. 'Will the ghouls give us tea and biscuits, do you think?'
'They're unlikely to offer us food or drink, but if they do I suggest we politely decline,' said Granddad. 'Their diet's a bit different to ours.'
'And they live in the sewers,' added Trev. 'Now I've never been the tidiest bloke around, but even I know enough about hygiene not to live in other people's poo.'
'They don't live in the active tunnels, Trevor,' Granddad corrected him, 'although they do patrol them. They tend to use a section of disused tunnels and cisterns beneath the modern layout, as well as other chambers and passageways they've excavated themselves.'
'How often have you been down there?'
'Only as often as necessary, and not for a couple of years.' Granddad sighed. 'They're a strange species, even compared to some of the others I have to deal with.'
Trev eyed the protective clothing one last time as Granddad closed the box and shut the boot lid. 'What do they look like?'
'Ugly as f–' Oscar began.
'Thank you, Oscar,' said Gra
nddad, cutting him off. 'They're quite small, Trevor. Maybe the size of an eight or nine year-old child. They have scaly skin, sharp teeth and large eyes.' He shrugged. 'As Oscar suggested so concisely they aren't very nice to look at. You'll soon see for yourself, anyway.'
'Looking forward to it,' said Trev, deadpan. Despite his outward distaste, though, he found that a part of him was just a little bit intrigued about encountering a species that was completely unknown to science. He'd never have let his companions know that, of course.
'It's that sort of enthusiasm that warms an old man's heart,' said Granddad, with a smile. 'I hope I can trust you to keep it under control while we talk to Mr. Kolley?'
'I think I've got it under wraps, just about.'
Granddad nodded. 'Good.' He looked to one side and called 'Agatha?' The spirit popped into existence next to him, startling Trev.
'Good evening,' she said.
'Where does she come from when she does that?' Trev asked, irritated. 'And where does she go when she disappears?'
'Not now, Trevor,' Granddad answered. He turned to face Agatha. 'Hello, Agatha. While we're interviewing Kolley, I'd like you to be present. You may be able to sense something that Trevor or I would miss. We're looking for anything untoward, however minor it may seem. Is that all right with you?'
'Certainly,' said Agatha, and vanished again.
'Right then,' said Granddad, clapping his hands together. 'Shall we get going?'
Nineteen
KolleyCo's head offices were located in a large Victorian building just outside Brackenford's town centre. Trev had passed by the place many times without really looking at it, but as Granddad drove them into the car park he took the opportunity to give it the once-over.
It was impressive enough, he supposed. The structure stood four storeys high, with tall windows and decorative brickwork. Sadly the view was rather spoiled by the huge illuminated KolleyCo sign mounted on the front of the building, a glaring anachronism that spoke volumes about Alastair Kolley's management style.
'Until Alastair took over the company from his father, the only way the building could be identified as KolleyCo's HQ was by a small brass plate by the main entrance,' Granddad told Trev as they walked around to the front entrance from the car park. 'Alastair wanted to keep the place for old times' sake but he also wanted to modernise it. That awful sign is the result.'
'So he could've left it as it was or moved to more modern premises, couldn't decide, and tried to do both,' summarised Trev.
'You haven't seen inside yet,' cautioned Granddad. 'I was here for that other interview with him not so long ago, so I'm prepared for it.'
Trev raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He doubted that anything could lower his opinion of Alastair Kolley any further. He was, lamentably, to be proven wrong.
Paul the photographer was waiting outside. He shook hands with both men.
'Almost didn't recognise you without blood all over you, son,' he said to Trev. 'Let me know if you're going to injure yourself again, I wouldn't mind getting another one of my pictures on the front page.' He rubbed the fingers and thumb of one hand together in the "money" gesture and laughed. Trev gritted his teeth in an expression he hoped looked like a smile.
'If I'm going to die in a messy car accident or something, I'll make sure to give you a call first,' he said. 'I promise not to start bleeding until you get there.'
'That's my boy,' cackled Paul, clapping Trev on the back with sufficient force to loosen two of his fillings.
Granddad inclined his head toward the entrance. 'Let's get on with it then,' he suggested.
As they entered through the tinted glass doors into the reception area, Trev immediately understood Granddad's comment about being prepared for the building's interior. All trace of the original period features had been eradicated to make way for a vast quantity of glass and chrome. The walls were home to a selection of hideous pictures made up of jumbled multicoloured geometric shapes; large and exotic pot plants had been placed apparently at random throughout the room; the carpet was a revolting shade of mauve; and one wall was dominated by a huge fish tank that didn't look like it got cleaned all that often. The scattered few tropical fish that swam within looked uniformly depressed to be part of such a monument to crap taste.
'Bloody hell,' remarked Paul. 'I bet this place would've looked the business in about 1984. Shame it's dated so badly.'
'The refurbishment was only done six years ago,' Granddad informed him.
'It's possibly the worst thing I've ever seen,' said Trev, 'and that's coming from someone who sat through the whole of Forrest Gump.'
Granddad approached the reception desk that dominated the right-hand side of the room. The woman sitting behind it was about forty, and was trying every last trick in the book to hide it. The business suit she was wearing looked like it had been bought when she was a size or two slimmer, and her skin had been saturated in enough fake tan to make her complexion an alarming shade of orange.
Her thickly made-up face creaked into a smile that was about as genuine as her skin tone.
'Good evening gentlemen,' she trilled. 'How can I help you?'
'My name's Bernard Simms. I'm here to do an interview with Mr. Kolley for the Crier,' explained Granddad.
'Oh yes, here you are, Mr. Simms,' said the receptionist, checking the bulky diary on her desk. 'I'll let Mr. Kolley know you're here. Please have a seat.'
The three of them went and sat down on the uncomfortable chrome and velour chairs that surrounded the fish tank. Paul's chair groaned under his weight but somehow defied the laws of physics and didn't collapse. The receptionist donned a telephone headset and had a murmured conversation before announcing that Kolley would be with them shortly.
They weren't kept waiting long before the tycoon appeared on the stairs at the back of the reception area. He was clad in a light grey suit with a white shirt and lemon yellow tie. Springing down the last few steps he strode briskly across to Granddad, thrusting out his hand.
'Hello, Bernard,' he said, flashing his immaculate white teeth in a broad smile.
'Alastair,' acknowledged Granddad, accepting the proffered hand in one of his own and indicating Trev with the other. 'This is my grandson, Trevor Irwin.'
'Ah, my saviour!' boomed Kolley, releasing Granddad and seizing Trev's hand in a digit-crushing grip instead. 'I'm so pleased you could come. I really wanted to be able to thank you in person.'
'Don't mention it,' mumbled Trev, embarrassed.
'Modest man, eh?' said Kolley, wrapping an arm around Trev's shoulders. 'I like that, but don't feel you always have to play down your achievements. You should be proud of what you did yesterday.'
Trev opened his mouth to reply, but found his brain was incapable of supplying an appropriate comment. He opted instead for a slightly uncomfortable silence. Kolley didn't appear to have taken offence; in fact he was already pitting his terrifying handshake against Paul's. Granddad gave Trev a reassuring wink.
'It's probably best to do the photo down here, my office is a bit cluttered at the moment,' said Kolley once he'd finished the round of greetings.
'Fine by me,' replied Paul, unpacking his camera.
Kolley insisted they pose underneath another large KolleyCo sign, this one on the back wall of the reception area. The resulting picture featured a beaming Alastair Kolley shaking hands with a blank-faced Trev, who felt irked at being part of what was essentially a shameless plug for KolleyCo.
His job done, Paul put his kit back in its bag and made his exit, leaving Granddad and Trev to follow Kolley up to his office on the top floor.
It was a good-sized room with an excellent view across the town from its single picture window. Sadly the nasty 1980's décor from the reception area was repeated, right down to the mauve carpet. Kolley seated himself behind his desk in the kind of huge leather chair that any self-respecting super-villain would have wet dreams about.
Granddad and Trev sat opposite him. Granddad had brough
t a notepad and dictation machine along, and placed them on the desk. Kolley asked if anyone wanted tea or coffee; both men declined. Trev suspected that Granddad would've preferred to have been offered something stronger than tea, but such an offer was not forthcoming.
'Where shall we start?' asked Kolley once everyone was settled.
Granddad switched on his tape recorder. 'Why don't you tell us what you remember about the attack?'
'Well I was on the stage, really getting everyone into the swing of things,' said Kolley, a satisfied smile playing across his face as he recalled his performance. 'It was all going brilliantly.'
Granddad nodded, happy to let Kolley talk without prompting him too much. Through his work in journalism and researching local history the old man had conducted a lot of interviews. He was now putting that experience to good use.
'It was loud up there, as I'm sure you remember,' Kolley continued. 'The crowd were enjoying themselves and so was I. The people of this town really connect with me, they know I'm just one of them. Sure, I may be richer, more famous and better looking than they are, but underneath all that they know I'm a Brackenforder through and through.' He spread his hands, a humble man of the people. Sitting in a chair that would've cost most of his “fellow Brackenforders" at least a month's salary.
Fraud, Trev thought, his dislike of Kolley deepening by the minute.
'So when did you become aware of the would-be assassin?' Granddad accompanied the question with a subtle hand gesture. Trev didn't have to wonder at its significance for long, as in response to the signal Agatha appeared at Granddad's side. Although Trev had been prepared for her to put in an appearance, he still jumped a little when she materialised. Kolley didn't seem to notice, nor did he show any reaction to Agatha's arrival. Clearly he didn't have the Sight. He carried on expounding on his favourite subject – himself.
'I noticed some sort of disturbance in front of the stage, of course, but I trusted the police to deal with it,' the tycoon was saying. 'I have to say I was very disappointed with the officers who were supposed to be protecting me. How on earth did they let that maniac get so close? It was like they didn't even see him. Were it not for young Trevor here,' he favoured Trev with his impeccable smile again, 'I could've been killed. I've already been in touch with the Chief Inspector to register a complaint.'
