Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  With Brendan Charles heading up his firm within the insurance market, which was a sure fire winner if you only insured companies which you knew would not have a claim that year, it was all too natural to get him to approach Jessica about helping them out. Jessica had never now had the chance to pursue her acting career because of the unstable family business.

  The father-daughter relationship had been a harder one to work into, but little by little Brendan had dropped in bits and pieces that would widen the cracks. Always having been pushed on by Nigel, Brendan had got to a place where he was causing arguments between Jessica and her father, who accused Brendan of having only sexual motives with his daughter. That had, of course, not been the case and just added to Jessica’s protection of and affection for Brendan.

  But Brendan knew Nigel had overstepped the mark when it was arranged that Jessica would find her father hanging on a rope in the garden of their family home. While Brendan had had nothing to do with actually putting the noose around his neck, he knew only too well that it hadn’t been a suicide at all but he was now already in way too thick to even try to do anything about it. Instead, he carried on looking out for Jessica, and it was indeed easier to get her on board after her fathers’ death. She never would go on to become an actress though, the chance and desire all but gone, not that Brendan knew anything of it anyway. What Nigel now had the girl, bruised by life but every bit as beautiful, within his empire. He knew of her natural affection for Tommy which he’d tested before breaking them up. Brendan had done an excellent job, as always, for Nigel in that regard.

  18

  Robert sat at his large dining room table mulling over his morning, a mug of semi-warm coffee seated to the right of his laptop computer. The latest change in life back at what once had been home had confirmed that the man he was looking for was indeed the man inside and at the top of the company that called itself the Gamble Holdings Group.

  Robert had spent a productive four hours since waking early that morning scanning through the internet, pulling everything and anything he could find on the man calling himself Nigel Gamble. At first, it had been tough to see much on him, but after some detailed research, he found an archive picture taken some years before of an aged, smart but fragile old man, the caption at the bottom seemingly confirming that it was indeed Mr Gamble. Robert looked carefully into the face of the man, studying those same cold eyes he’d first come across in his office, in his old life that no longer existed, when the Agency had been handed a university photo of Mark Smith. The face Robert was now looking at was bearded, hair seemingly white with old age, glasses in place on the end of the wrinkled nose, but Robert knew it was indeed the man he was after. And if his estimations were correct, he could only be in about his mid-forties.

  Robert stood up to stretch, his long arms reaching for the ceiling though not coming close to touching it, such was the grandeur of what had been the Wentworth’s family home. He paced up and down the room restlessly, trying to think through his next move but it wasn’t any good. Robert had been looking at the computer screen for too long, and his mind was tired. What he needed was some fresh air, and so he picked up a sweater, grabbed his keys and went out into the garden.

  The country air instantly refreshed him as he strolled down to a patch of vegetables that grew in the sunlight at the far right end, runner beans ready for harvest hanging on the tall bamboo canes he’d constructed. It was so quiet where he was, that was one of the leading advantages of staying there. Since his picture had appeared on the television, he’d not dared to even go out around the village, though he doubted there’d be any problems. He was now starting to run low on supplies so he’d have to venture out before too long. The reality was that you rarely got any outsiders in the village, and if anyone were going to recognise him, it would already have happened because it would most likely have been one of the villagers. Quite how many of them had cable television, he didn’t know. There were still many rural communities seemingly wholly cut off from the outside world, following the ending of the analogue signal, and they probably wouldn’t even have seen the false news articles about him.

  At that moment a plane high in the sky broke the silence, the only reminder to those living there that there was life on the outside, planes now coming over that part of the country on their final run into the new sixth terminal at London’s Heathrow Airport.

  Robert went back inside, the short break in the morning having done him a world of good. He already knew what he needed to do, having known all morning but searching his mind for any other possible options, and finding none. Robert knew that with all that had already happened, Robert would now have to make contact with Nigel Gamble himself and start what would become undoubtedly the most dangerous cat-and-mouse game in the history of all chases. The idea slightly scared him at first, but as he thought about what he would say, he felt encouraged and ready for the challenge ahead.

  Mary Ingham relaxed in the hotel lounge on the South coast, a favourite destination of hers and where she’d stayed a week already, following the events at work and subsequent doctor’s visits where she’d been signed off for a month and told to get away and relax. She had reluctantly done that but was now enjoying it immensely. The break was doing her a world of good, though how she could face going back to all that she’d left behind she didn’t yet know. She’d worked with Simon Allen for years, and was very fond of him, not in the form of attraction but naturally and genuinely that had meant they were good friends. Simon Allen had come to her wedding, and her husband had known him for several years before she met him. He was the one who suggested that Simon should be considered for the job that opened up and Mary was more than happy for Simon to be interviewed for it.

  Mary had come to the hotel by herself, her husband away on business again somewhere in the Middle East, the firm he worked for getting him to travel more and more nowadays so that she often didn’t see him for weeks on end. But they had a good marriage and three happy but lively young children. The youngest two were twins which came as a bit of a surprise at the time until she discovered that twins ran on her side of the family. They tended to miss out every two or three generations along the way, which was why she was a little surprised, as her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother all were only children.

  A waiter came up to her with a glass of orange juice she had ordered, shaking her out of her mindset, her eyes fixed on some distant, unknown place. She thanked him and took the drink, sipping it gently before putting it on the small table next to her high backed wicker chair.

  Mary Ingham’s life was one that Nigel Gamble was only too aware of as well, and it had been his direct meddling that had led to this sad situation in which she now found herself. In his attempt to keep his identity unknown, he had long since thrown out any rule book on what could or couldn’t be done, as long as it didn’t hurt him, of course. Therefore in the hunt to limit the resources of his pursuer, Nigel had taken out the guy who would go well into old age and would have dreamt up the idea of the Agency in which his pursuer now worked. As Robert had found out, there was no way that things would continue as before after the death of the man who would have become great, Mr Simon Allen.

  Mary was another case altogether. She had come close to danger but was as safe as anyone. Nigel knew that next year, in a late phase of marital intimacy, their fourth child, the long-awaited little girl would be born. The pregnancy was unexpected as they had not intended to have any more after the twins. Mary would be overwhelmed and eternally happy that at last she’d had a little girl and she’d called her Lucy-May.

  Lucy-May Ingham, protected through school by her three older brothers, had a wonderful childhood. She did well at school, enjoyed sports and had plenty of friends. She went on to university, got a job straight after graduation where she met her future husband, Paul Tollgate, who finally proposed marriage after three years of incredible dating, just at the point when she wondered where things were heading.

  They started a
family straight away, and Taryn Mary Tollgate was born, followed a few years later by two more boys. Mary Ingham loved her first grandchild and helped out as much as she could but died before Taryn turned fifteen.

  Taryn married young at nineteen, mainly because she and her older boyfriend were getting sexually active and she fell pregnant accidentally, so they married three months before the child was born, but unfortunately, the marriage didn’t last. He left her when their little girl was only four months old, and Taryn raised Amy Queeny Isabella Tollgate herself, giving the child her maiden name to which she had also reverted.

  Taryn overcompensated Amy with the love that she so longed for, and Amy grew up happily, but in need of a father figure. She got into many unhelpful relationships as she craved male attention and a man in her life, but she didn’t know where to look.

  Amy got married at twenty-five to a city worker who was wealthy, attractive and everything she desired. They moved to the suburbs and started their own family. It was now that the twins re-emerged into the family line, twin boys being born to the happy couple just before New Year.

  The twins were always close and were very intelligent, having a real flair for science. Flying through school, taking their A-Levels a year early, they were both accepted into Oxford where they had studied Physics. And it was the same twins who had formed a close group of friends with three other guys who had worked together to understand and build that first Wentworth Door, and the same twins who had been murdered and burned by the man now calling himself Nigel Gamble.

  Brendan Charles sat in his office quietly, as he processed the events of the last few weeks. Things had started to go in apparently opposite directions and yet he was faithfully doing as he was told, toeing the line as he had done for so long. Though his office was large, with a lot of expensive furniture spread around the place to add a feeling of importance and taste, suddenly the walls seemed to press in on him on every side, and he felt most uncomfortable.

  He stood up and walked over to the window. A boat was being moored up on the river down below, and he watched the men tying the ropes in place and dreamed of simpler days when he had once had the time to sail and fish. The streets were busy as usual, people moving all over the place, going about their daily patterns. He stood there thinking to himself, how his routine had changed so much in the last few years, how he’d done things that now seemed just a part of the course of his life but once, a long time ago, he would have been horrified even to consider. It was, of course, all because of Nigel Gamble, though that was true of everything he now had besides his family. My family he thought, warmth coming into his cold heart once again. They now represented the only place Nigel’s influence hadn’t breached, his one final stronghold where he was the king; he was the decision maker. The one place where he could be himself. These last few weeks had seen him withdraw even more than usual into the safety of home life and the weekends had become very precious family times as Brendan had sought to escape the harsh realities of his working life.

  And all along, he always felt, he was just a piece in the puzzle, something that at any moment Nigel Gamble could decide just to discard, to get rid of, to cut his losses. There was much to incriminate Brendan if the police were told where to look, and with Nigel’s influence, Brendan was sure that come the day they would know exactly where to look. The thought made him very uneasy, fearful about his family and what would happen if he was taken away.

  The whole incident with Simon Allen and the police station had been a huge wake-up call. Yes, at first Brendan had gone along with things and had passed on the job to the right kind of people, but now what if they traced it all back to him? Brendan knew about the cover-up story that Nigel had spread concerning Robert’s involvement, but equally, he knew how untrue it was. And there were still people within that whole scenario who were dangerous––like Mary Ingham for instance. It was clear that she was aware of what Simon Allen had been researching. She had requested that he look into the figures. And yet Nigel Gamble hadn’t touched her; he’d instead allowed there to be the chance of it all falling once again on Brendan’s own head.

  Suddenly his wife and children’s faces flashed through his mind, and Brendan lowered his head. No, he couldn’t let them down. He couldn’t get caught out like this. He’d done some bad things, he knew that, but he’d had no choice really when it came to it. But would that hold up in court? Would that be his only defence when the day finally came, a day he had now convinced himself was happening, as he stood there getting more and more upset looking out at a world where for those down below, life appeared to be a lot simpler?

  There was, of course, the open window, though jumping out of it was not his style. Still, the thought of just having some closure made suicide linger just a little bit too long in his mind which only made him angrier.

  “What have I become?” he said, turning himself away from the window and walking to his drinks cabinet where he poured himself a large Scotch.

  “This thing has to be closed, closed completely shut. There cannot be any incriminating evidence left behind that could lead anyone back to me. What’s been started must be finished. Mary Ingham needs to be history!”

  Brendan picked up the phone without hesitating, and dialled a number he now knew by heart; he didn’t like to dwell on the possible consequences of the call.

  Nigel had been asleep when Brendan had made the call, but it was only twenty-five minutes before he was listening to the recording as he sat in his bedroom. The pace of things and the stresses he was under as his worst fears were being realised, were catching up with him. Nigel was starting to get tired very quickly which had been why he had fallen asleep that afternoon.

  Nigel, however, quickly called the same firm back and after a brief pause while his identity was verified, it was all action stations, and the order was undone, with strict instructions from now on to run all of Brendan’s requests via himself until further notice.

  He’d then called Brendan and had gone to length, but without giving a reason, why such moves were not to be done without his say so and that Mary Ingham was to be left alone. She posed no further threat and that if anything were to happen to her in any way Brendan would personally pay the price along with his family. Nigel was not happy at having to make such calls. He’d had more contact with Brendan in these last few weeks than in all the previous time put together, and that thought worried him, but he also knew that he would need his help to remain safe. And by bringing Brendan’s family into play, Nigel knew he would be striking a nerve. He could only imagine the colour of Brendan’s face but he’d apparently done a grand job restraining himself while speaking and they’d quickly finished the call.

  Deep inside he had burned with passionate anger, and Brendan had had to use all his mental energy not to say anything back. Instead, he threw the handset against the wall once the call finished with such violence that he not only destroyed the phone, but it also made an inch-deep hole in the immaculately decorated office wall.

  Brendan had not been this angry and annoyed in a long time but it was Nigel Gamble’s obvious change in approach over the last few weeks, coupled now with his threat against his family, that had finally done it.

  Nothing he had known of his boss from all their years of working together had fitted with the behaviour now being shown. Not that they’d worked together in the conventional sense of the word. It was more Brendan taking the odd telephone call once in a while with a handful of face-to-face meetings thrown in for good measure. But now, Nigel’s attitude to things had changed, as if he was no longer thinking rationally but instead acting on some more primitive level.

  Brendan paused at that thought, suddenly his heart rate slowing as he started to regain his composure. He walked over to the broken debris that had once been his telephone and slowly picked it up, placing it into a silver metal bin that stood next to the table. Brendan was now slotting the last month’s events into place in his mind, and things were beginning to make more sense
. It’s ever since Robert Sandle showed up on the scene that he’s changed, he thought. What is it about that guy that has changed things? In the past, there had been a few scares but they quickly went away, and nothing changed. And yet this guy has changed everything? Why?

  Brendan, now pacing around the room, was quite enjoying this new chain of thought; engrossed so much that he didn’t even notice a knock on his office door, which went unanswered.

  So Nigel Gamble labels Robert with this bombing...which I know he didn’t do. The guilt was starting to hurt Brendan. The bombing, the murders––he just couldn’t bear to look at that anymore for fear he would have to tell somebody.

  Then everywhere we flash up Robert’s picture as a wanted criminal. Police are looking for him, his face has been on most TV channels, and yet he’s so far avoided capture, a fact that must mean he’s holed up somewhere but still able to communicate. Brendan’s thinking was starting to surprise him because growing somewhere inside was this deep warmth, an almost appreciation of this Robert character who could so quickly get to Nigel Gamble as no one had ever done before. He remembered his phone call with Robert just the other day, the things Robert had told him, and suddenly Brendan was somewhat interested in Robert and desperately wanted to know what it was that he had on Nigel. If it were just money or blackmail, Brendan would be most upset, but it seemed much deeper than that, much more to it. Dare Brendan scrape the surface to see what was underneath? Brendan now felt alive more than he had done in a long time. Only now did Brendan remind himself how his current position was killing him. He was no more a CEO than just an errand boy, running this way and that exactly doing as he was told. He had no freedom and couldn’t travel much. The pay was good, but it kept him in one place. Oh to know what Robert knew about Nigel Gamble. Evidently, he had something that could change all this.