Neil waited at his desk, watching the fevered gesticulations of Artimus as he paced up and down in front of Henry. Every now and again, a screamed word would blare out from the room and echo round the office, stilling the actions and perhaps even the breathing of everyone on the floor. It was clear Artimus was reading Henry the riot act. What Neil could not fathom was why.
Clara Robertson was now intertwined with this, but for what reason, and how did that link back to Henry?
Whilst he mused, his mind drifted. His real problem it turned out was the house. It now appeared Mister Grayson bought it and then sold it to Clara Robertson, an MP his wife worked for. Moreover, they never lived there whilst they owned it, only moving in after they sold it. Why? Mister Grayson and Missus Grayson were both adamant Hybrid gave them the house as part of the relocation package, but the evidence from the estate agents meant that could not be the truth. Yet, Neil got no sense from their interviews either of the Graysons were lying, and why would they? If they were responsible in some way for the bodies in the cellar, why move in at all?
The more he thought about this, the more he realised Artimus was right. Motives were practically useless in this because there was an unknown somewhere. A piece of vital information was missing, and until it was found, nothing in the sequence of events uncovered would make sense.
Neil sighed. He had to try something different to find that lost piece, and maybe Artimus was correct; his method could bear fruit.
Neil grabbed a notepad on his desk and drew a straight line down the page, marking its end with the date the bodies were discovered in the cellar. Stepping from that point, he added extra markers for every important date discovered so far.
He started with the date the Grayson’s moved into the house in June after Mister Grayson’s employment by Hybrid Incorporated. He then moved back, putting another mark just before that one in April, when Mister Grayson sold the house to Clara Robertson. He moved again, putting a mark somewhere around December of the previous year, when the cellar wall was supposedly erected and the people buried there died. Moving again, the final note was April of that year, when Mister Grayson bought the house.
Neil stared at the page, trying to figure what could be missing. If he was following what Artimus had said, he needed the right questions in order to get the right answers.
Between the first two markers, Mister Grayson buying the house and the wall being built, he began to write. Not the expected investigative questions, just anything that bothered him and he felt might require an answer.
Why buy the house? Was it actually Mister Grayson who bought it? How could he look older when he bought it than he does now? What was going on inside the house whilst he owned it?
He moved to the next gap, between the wall and the sale to Miss Robertson, he started scribbling again.
Why did Miss Robertson buy the house? Did she know whom she was buying it from? Why does she not live there? Does she know who does live there? Does Missus Grayson know she owns the house? If not, why not?
Neil felt good. The questions were strange, but they were flowing from him. He felt as though he was finally asking the right sort of things. Confidence brimming, he moved to the next gap, between Miss Robertson buying the house and Mister Grayson starting his employment with Hybrid, extended the slim space neatly, and began to write again.
If Mister Grayson sold a house in Belsize Park, where did the money go? Why move jobs at all? Why did Mister Grayson think the house was part of the package?
Pleased with his questions, he jotted down the people he needed to speak to in order to get the answers he needed. Mister Grayson and Clara Robertson. He scanned back down the timeline. That really was it. Just two people to question.
With smug satisfaction, Neil leant back in his chair and placed his legs on his desk, removing them quickly when he realised their position had moved his penholder. Straightening the surface once more, he placed his hands on his knees and awaited Artimus’ return.
About ten minutes later, Artimus still snarling under his breath as he slammed Henry’s door behind him and strode across the office, Neil lifted himself and grinned. “Whilst you have been…”
Artimus snatched the sheet from Neil’s grasp, his cheeks red with his exertions, and looked down the page. “Wrong. Idiotic. We know that already. Wrong… Aha! Very Good… Wrong. Woeful. Pointless.” He screwed the piece of paper up and tossed it in the bin. “So, other than one good thought, you’ve wasted most of the afternoon, have you? Ah well. I assume John and Dawn are arranged to meet us somewhere?”
Neil stood frozen, his buoyant mood destroyed. That was the last time he would do anything Artimus suggested.
“I’ll ring them myself, shall I?” said Artimus, shoving Neil away from the desk and grabbing his phone.
The jolt snapped Neil back to the present, and he spun, his patience spent. “What is your problem?”
“My problem,” said Artimus, after signing off from Dawn, “is that I’ve just discovered one of my oldest friends invited me onto a case knowing he was lying to me about his reasons for doing so. Not only that, but my hands are tied in my investigations due to budgetary matters.”
“Henry lied?” said Neil, worried. “About what?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Artimus, slamming the receiver down, “every-fucking-thing!”
Neil had not seen Artimus angry. Knowing how much damage he could cause calm, he was concerned Henry might not survive the morning. “What are you going to do?”
“Do! I had no idea that justice had a fucking price tag!” shouted Artimus, turning the heads of everyone in the room. “I’ve already thrown Henry a cheque for half a billion to cover any damage my further investigations might cause. So, that’s what I’m going to do Neil. Get to the bottom of this. With or without Mister Dig-yourself-out-of-your-own-fucking-holes-next-time-you-coward Blackwater involved or not!”
Neil went to speak, but Artimus barged passed him again and began to stomp off down the office, the people lining its desks burying their heads as he skirted by.
“Are you going to stand there like some useless mute parakeet all day Mister Townsend?” said Artimus, reaching the end of the room and holding the door open. “Or would you like to know what Henry told me?”
Chapter 24
No Assistance Required
Out of Time Page 23
