Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  When Christopher had turned twenty, Robert knew from reports that they’d started to have financial pressures; clearly, the difficulty of maintaining a large house with a growing family had become too much. Four years later Christopher had gained the scholarship and was eager to move away. With Nathan gone within two years as well, Robert understood that they must have realised they didn’t need such a large house and had moved out a couple of years later. Ernest died within six months of lung cancer, and Betty lived a further twenty-three years before herself dying of liver failure. By then she’d seen her sons rise to become world-renowned scientists, but she had little contact with them in her last weeks, indeed dying before either of them had been aware of her condition. They came and visited her grave two weeks after her death, the first time in a long time, and the last time that the two brothers had met. Christopher died in an accident, drowning in the icy waters of a Swiss mountain lake in winter time, and not much more was known about Nathan––where he had gone, lived or died.

  In an age before mass media, these brothers had been known by reputation but little in terms of personal relationship, such were their quiet characters. This had made Robert’s job all the harder as he knew there must be much more that just wasn’t known about them all. It was again a chance find when Robert came across a name that he recognised––G.A. Smithson. Robert had used the local shop in the village several times before, and the name caught his attention in something that Betty Wentworth, in all likelihood, had written not long before leaving. Going out and checking that same day, Robert had been excited to confirm that indeed that same name, G.A. Smithson, was still written in big, albeit fading letters above the shop. A short study through the village records going back over the decades had confirmed that the shop’s current owner, having kept it in the family, was a Mr Norman Gregory Smithson, grandson of the late Gregory Albert Smithson, whose name Robert had just read written in Betty Wentworth’s handwriting. It was the first breakthrough or lead of any type he’d had in a long time.

  Robert soon found a few reasons to keep visiting the shop but Norman, now on his own, was only too happy to talk about the past, his history, how life had been so much better back then. Norman’s father, he’d said to Robert one day, had told him the stories from a young age about how his grandfather had worked on the farm next to the house and had got to know the boys, playing with them before one of the sons had got sick. It was at this moment that Robert had his most significant breakthrough yet. “Which of the two lads had got sick, Norman? And what was it?”

  “Two lads? No, there were three. It was the middle lad, and I don’t know what exactly had been wrong with him but they stopped playing with Gregory after that. They must have been fifteen or sixteen.”

  “Three brothers? But there’s no record of a middle brother.”

  “No, well there wouldn’t be. They couldn’t handle him, the middle one I mean. Grandpa used to say he could make anything from anything. Such a bright lad, a genius, but his mind wasn’t right. He’d get terrible fits of rage, smashing things. Men would have to hold him down. He spent most of his teenage years in the house after that, working away on things, keeping his mind busy. His brothers were the only ones who could understand him. Once the first one left for university Grandpa said everything broke down, and they sent him off to the funny farm, you know a mental home. They allowed him back once a fortnight though he’d never leave the house. After the second son had left he never came back for visits again, his parents struggled with mounting debts, and he was shipped off overseas once the house had been sold. Grandpa had no real news from them after that. Of course, he started to hear about the brothers’ progress like everyone else did back then. He had heard some things from them from time to time, and I’m sure he’d said they’d both visited the middle brother now and then, but he never said where they had sent him to.”

  Robert had been surprised at what he’d been told that day, but it had started to fit into some of the gaps he thought he’d found. Once the house had been unoccupied for some time, the family unable to sell it due to its size and need for repair. Nathan Wentworth, fresh from his Nobel prize award, had purchased the house again officially from his mother so that it would remain within the family. Spending a few summers there, he had done some repairs as well as collecting up all that there had been left lying around, especially the workings of the middle brother, Austin, who’d long since gone. It was while working through all these papers that Nathan had first seen plans for a doorway that Austin had drawn repeatedly, each page inscribed in full capital letters all across it with the name––AUSTIN WENTWORTH DOOR.

  Now looking at things afresh and reminding himself of how far he’d come, Robert Sandle picked up his next batch of papers which listed shipping movements from around the time he suspected Austin would have been sent away. If Robert could find where he had gone, then maybe it would open new options. Robert became convinced that the crucial pieces of information were now connected with the details surrounding Austin Wentworth, the forgotten or even unknown brother. If it was indeed Austin, and not Christopher, who first dreamed up the WENTWORTH DOOR, then everything was about to change. Austin was the key now. He had to find out where he’d been sent.

  Tommy Lawrence’s desk phone had been ringing all day and he’d long since instructed his secretary to start fielding the calls. He didn’t want to get sidetracked with all the questions that were being asked by journalists, especially the tabloids, who he knew couldn’t wait for him to fail as they’d hated everything about the takeover.

  His secretary buzzed through to him, breaking the silence, apart from the pouring rain relentlessly tapping at the windows on the far side.

  “You’ll want to take this one, sir. It’s Mr Charles.” Tommy straightened in his chair while the call was connected. “And what can I do for you, Mr Charles,” he said, trying to be as sincere as he could without wanting to sound too fake.

  “I’m just calling to see how the lads have settled in.”

  “Yes, they’ve been given a usual welcome. They are all just getting cleaned up now. Some of them need a lot of work on their attitudes, but I can’t fault their ability. I’ll soon have them playing the Tommy way.”

  “Which is why you’re there, Tommy, don’t you forget that. On a slightly different note, I have some bad news for you concerning that player Clint Powers you were asking about.” Tommy didn’t like his tone.

  “Go on.”

  “It’s a no as far as Powers is concerned. You are to stick with the players we’ve highlighted, most of whom we’ve already contacted.”

  “I don’t understand. What do you mean ‘it’s a no’? Who says it’s a no? You?”

  “Look, change your tone here, Mr Lawrence. We both know my knowledge of football is not as much as yours, but we’re both employed to do a job, and I’m just doing mine, so I suggest you do yours.”

  “I do mine? That’s just great! If I had someone like Powers, it would make it a damn lot easier to do my job!”

  “Listen. Need I remind you of to whom you’re talking? You were no one last week. No one! I put you there, and I made you who you are so you’d better remember that because if you carry on like this, I’ll hang you out to dry. Do you think you are there because you’ve earned it? Is that what you think? Now suddenly you’re the big boss, and you can say what you like to anyone? Well, you can’t. You answer to me and me alone. You are not to speak to anyone without first speaking to me. Is that clear?” There was a brief pause while Tommy suppressed his anger.

  “Yes, that’s clear, Mr Charles.”

  Brendan knew another change of subject was needed to lighten the mood.

  “Now back to what you really want, if you’re still with me in this?”

  “I’m with you. I’m sorry.”

  “I know where Jessica is and I believe that I can open the door for you both to have another go at things.”

  “And how are you going to do that?”

 
; “Leave that to me. With all the press coverage you’ve received lately, I’m sure she’ll be well aware of where you are and no doubt thinking lots about you. These thoughts, of course, won’t be good after all that you did to her.”

  Brendan paused giving Tommy time to reflect and continue the cycle of guilt his life now revolved around. It was also crucial for Brendan that Tommy got utterly dependent on him for this so that he would have a lot of bargaining power should Tommy have any further outbursts. Feeling defeated by everything that happened and desperate to have a second chance, Tommy remained silent.

  “In three weeks I’m putting on a charity dinner. It’s a big deal, and everyone will be there. You’ll be there as well, and I’ll get Jessica to be there too. You never know, with a bit of work between then and now by myself, you might both leave together that same night. Anyway, the important thing is to know that you’ll get your chance. After that, it’ll be up to you. I can’t promise you that she’ll forgive you, but all I can say is that I will do my best for you––so make sure you do your best for me. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tommy said, suddenly a schoolboy again in the head master’s office after another detention and ready to do anything so as not to end up there once more.

  “Good. Then we have a deal. Back to business, your remaining new players should be with you before the weekend. There are one or two who are proving difficult, but they’ll come around in the end. The important thing to remember about them all is that deep down they all love the game and that they are very talented. They just need to be helped along the way. We’ll speak again soon, Tommy.”

  He hung up after their short goodbyes and paused. What Brendan Charles hadn’t told Tommy Lawrence was that he’d leaked some information to Manchester United about the signing of Clint Powers which had made them agree to sign him up themselves that very day, the word also having been passed to Powers’ agent telling them that Forest was not interested. Powers had therefore already signed and now was officially a Manchester United player. Tommy was to find out the day after and was none the wiser, though having found out about the possible meeting with Jessica, he wouldn’t have dared to risk his boss’s wrath anyway.

  12

  Jessica had not been able to sleep much beyond 5 am and had got up and gone out for a jog. The roads and city life that surrounded her were still, at least at that time of the day. She liked the world early in the morning though she usually did enjoy staying under the covers. However, having tossed and turned uncomfortably in bed, she’d made herself get up and indeed once out was enjoying things. She paused as she got to the canal and walked that section, taking in the sounds. Up ahead a small narrow boat sat docked against the side. She had fond memories of childhood holidays going up and down the country’s waterways in one of those. Her dad had always loved to pilot them, her mum and brother playing games inside. She’d usually sat out with her dad, watching the ducks and looking for fish. She liked the fact that at least she got some time with her dad who’d otherwise been distracted with the business. But just as the fond memories grew they were always now pushed out by the sadness she carried around by what happened up to her father’s death and the shame she felt surrounding it all. How things had changed in the last five years. Having moved away because of her job, she didn’t see her mum or brother that much now but had grown a bit closer to them. A tear started to push its way out, and she started jogging again to try and escape, but before long she was crying, and she stopped again to gather herself. How lonely she now felt. Though she loved her job and respected Brendan Charles, what had life become for her? She didn’t have many friends here and hadn’t kept in touch with many from back home either. Should she be around her own family again now? She’d lived with her brother for a time, but their lives were too different to get on well and live under the same roof. Could she live with her mother? Jessica didn’t know the answer to that, and it was all too tough; yet she felt alone, so unloved. And now with the news all about Tommy Lawrence, she couldn’t escape his face, his image pressing back into her thoughts. Since hearing about him, she’d been following closely all that she could. In her own heart, she knew that there were still feelings, but there was also so much anger and hurt at what he’d done to her. She’d kept asking herself why couldn’t she just let go? Why was it so hard, even after all this time, to hear about him again? And so she’d come to the point that she knew she still loved him, but would her anger allow her to be free in it? She put these thoughts away and started jogging again. A milk float was quietly going about its rounds as she crossed her road.

  Getting home, she poured herself a drink and jumped into the shower, emerging fifteen minutes later refreshed, clean and ready for some breakfast. It was still just before seven, and the early breakfast news was on in the corner while her tea brewed in the kitchen, the smell of warm toast filling the room. With a glass of orange juice in her hand, she sat down to eat as a news report spoke of the murder of a government worker a few days previously, his body found by a passer-by in a passageway. An arrest had been made, though the suspect had later died while in custody, which a post-mortem went on to confirm had been from a heart attack, though an investigation would no doubt be underway.

  Finishing her toast, she stood up and stretched, her fingers touching the ceiling as she raised her arms, such was the low ceilings in her apartment. Dressing in her company outfit, she always made an attractive figure. She walked over and got her tea, dropping the used tea bag into the plastic recycling tub next to the kettle having squeezed every last drop of caffeine from it. With the news now going into the sports section, and not wanting to hear any more about Tommy Lawrence, she changed over to a talk show and sat there, tea in hand, watching it for a while, sipping away at her drink slowly.

  When it was time to leave the house for work, she dropped all the dirty plates into the sink to be cleaned later and picked up her coat, pulling it on while grabbing the door keys and exiting the house. Having woken early, she was still a little ahead of her usual timing and therefore decided to walk instead of catching the bus. She walked briskly and crossed the now much busier roads, arriving at the office to open up, being the first to come, though that wasn’t too uncommon.

  Dropping her coat and bag next to her desk, she turned the lights on and started up her computer, before going to make herself a drink from the kitchen attached to the side of the building.

  She got back to her desk, everything still quiet, though the office wouldn’t be open to the public for another hour and she never really was too sure who was working when anyway. But she felt happy to be in, ready for another day at work. What the day would bring she didn’t know but she felt fresh, fit and alive.

  Robert Sandle had also risen early that morning and was back in the kitchen before seven having been out to get the early newspaper. Sitting in a high-backed wooden dining chair, he was reading the paper while listening to the breakfast news that played on the television in the next room, though still visible from where he was. Hearing a report about and mention of the name Terrance Goldman, Robert looked up suddenly, lowering his paper to watch what had happened.

  “Terrance Goldman,” he said aloud to himself. “Now there’s a blast from the past.” The report went into detail about the events of the last couple of days and then mentioned the death of Simon Allen. Robert sat there glued to the screen, not believing what he saw, shocked by the events. Simon Allen? The Simon Allen? It can’t be? but just as if to prove the point, Simon’s picture appeared briefly on the screen confirming what Robert was starting to fear. “That’s got to change everything,” he exclaimed. Robert stood up suddenly, somewhat distressed now, and started pacing around the room. He’s flushing me out now, that’s what he’s doing, he thought to himself. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all! The lengths he’ll go to…, but his thinking trailed off a little, knowing that his target had already gone to extreme lengths to stay hidden and this was probably just the start of things. He thou
ght out loud to himself. I need to be so careful now, one false step and I’m history. At least I know that I’m getting close, rattling his little cage. The thought cheered him up momentarily though the reality soon brought him back to things. I think that I can get to him through Brendan Charles. I’m almost sure of it. I now need to start speaking to people. He’s made his first move, I’d, therefore, better start making some friends around here fast and find some people willing to talk, though they won’t be easy to find and if they are they probably won’t be the people I need.

  His pacing increased, and his head was starting to hurt, sweat beginning to appear as little drops on his forehead. Finally, and reluctantly, he said to himself; “I’m going to have to go home and see the damage. I need to know what’s changed and try to find something that’ll give me an angle on his location.”

  Rushing to his room he pulled on a jacket and warm coat. Going to the front door, he locked it on the inside, shut the curtains a little, turned around and walking to the kitchen, opened the cellar door and descended the steps into the darkness, though the light flicked into life within a few seconds.

  It was mid-morning before Jessica Ponter had her first telephone call of the day, a water cooling company trying to offer her a month’s free trial. Within ten seconds of putting the phone down, it rang again, and she reluctantly picked it up thinking that it would probably be the same man she’d just spoken to who couldn’t take no for an answer. It wasn’t though, and it was Brendan Charles. Jessica sat up and listened, her head leaning on her shoulder as she held the phone in place while she filed her nails at her desk. After a couple of minutes, Brendan started to talk about that year’s charity dinner, and she listened eagerly. Jessica had gone to the previous year’s dinner and the year before that as well, each time accompanying one of Brendan’s business associates, she being the glamour and beauty that hung onto the arm of a much older man. Jessica didn’t mind, of course. It was only dinner, and she was well rewarded for her time. Jessica enjoyed it anyway. Both times the men she had escorted had offered her money to stay the night which she had politely declined.