CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The house was set in grounds of almost an acre, the fall in the land affording a panoramic view of the estuary and the main part of Sharmouth on the far bank. The most expensive houses in River Heights were nearest the top of the valley. Even the Borough Treasurer had to settle for somewhat lower down the hill. Apart from some flower borders in front of the property, the main grounds were laid out more in a parkland style of sweeping lawns dotted with specimen trees and shrubs. The boundaries were marked by thick fir hedges and a single pair of electrically operated wood faced steel gates that ensured privacy. The alsatians that patrolled at night were discreetly out of sight by day.
Miles Cavendish, chairman of the Sharmouth Borough Council Planning Committee, was sitting at the grand piano in the music room, mechanically running his fingers over the keys, the music of Beethoven serving as a backdrop to his thoughts. Though once a Tory, he had made a strategic defection to the Liberal Democrats at the last election, a move so well timed that it had allowed him to continue as chairman despite the change in the political colour of the Council. No matter if it swung back to the Tories next time. By then he would be sixty four, with enough money for a very comfortable retirement.
He looked around the room, taking in the rare first editions on the bookshelves and the exquisite Chinese vases on the side table. Through the expanse of glass that formed almost the whole of one wall of the room, he could see his motor launch riding at anchor in the marina. So many lovely possessions.
Ten to twelve. Soon the others would be here and he would have to decide what to tell them. Ostensibly he had just invited them for a pre-Christmas drink, but it would be the ideal opportunity to offer some encouragement to them. Pull them into line, perhaps, if they were losing their nerve. Play them off against each other. Make sure they knew who was in charge.
The door opened and the housekeeper showed Councillor Richard Parker in. Cavendish waved him to the tray of sherries and a seat with his left hand whilst his right continued the melody. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Parker sitting down. He was a weak man who needed to be watched constantly to make sure he didn't change his mind.
Councillor Ian Martin appeared next, a man more like Cavendish himself in his appreciation of the possibilities, though he seemed content with his small business interests. Cavendish carried on playing while Martin sat down next to Parker. They sat together in silence, reluctant to intrude on Cavendish's playing.
As the door opened for the third time, Cavendish reached the final crescendo, only rising from his seat when the last reverberations had died away. The third visitor was John Riggs, long-time assistant to Cavendish, though this was an unpublicised arrangement, Riggs' salary being paid by a separate company with no direct link to Cavendish.
The final guest arrived as Riggs was settling himself into one of the deep leather sofas that surrounded a large mahogany coffee table. Michael Farrier was a director of the company that was bidding to build a superstore on the northern edge of Sharmouth. Cavendish showed him to the sofas and handed him a glass, taking one for himself at the same time.
"A very merry Christmas to you all, gentlemen," said Cavendish, raising his glass, "and, of course, a very happy and prosperous New Year."
There was a general exchange of seasonal greetings and a few minutes light conversation about the weather and the local social calendar. Cavendish was getting ready to steer the conversation onto weightier matters, but he was beaten to it.
"May I ask," said Councillor Martin, "if anyone knows why the police were at the Town Hall yesterday afternoon? You'll understand that I feel a little sensitive about such matters at the moment."
"From what I hear," said Parker, "one of the staff has had his fingers in the till. Apparently it was Dennis Avery who spotted the discrepancy that put them on the scent. As far as I know, it only affects the Finance Department."
"That doesn't sound too threatening," said Cavendish. "You really have nothing to worry about, Ian."
"What about the search in the offices?" asked Farrier.
"The background to that is that I received threats from a member of staff who said he had evidence that I and others were indulging in corrupt practices," Cavendish told him. "I was going to arrange a meeting with the man to see if I could find out what he thought he knew and perhaps come to some sort of understanding, but in the meantime he met with a tragic accident. I'm beginning to think it was all bluff anyway. John's been in and searched his desk and house, but there was nothing there."
"Are you sure it was an accident?" asked Parker.
"Good grief man! What are you suggesting? I may have given or taken the odd back-hander now and then, that's business, but I'm not a gangster. It was just a coincidence."
"What about the rooftop goings-on I heard about." Parker was worried and he hadn't even been there.
"You'd better tell them what happened, John," said Cavendish.
"Somebody saw us searching the Planning Offices. I chased after him, but he got away across the roof. To be honest, I don't know how he got down in one piece, but my friends at the hospital say there were no adult casualty admissions that evening."
"The point is," said Cavendish, "that more than a week has gone by and we've heard nothing. We don't know who the man on the roof was, but we can only assume that he didn't recognise John or the others and that he was probably up to no good himself."
"So the man who died," said Martin. "We must assume that anything he might have thought he knew must have died with him."
"Exactly," said Cavendish. "Now let's stop worrying about problems that don't exist and look to the future. May I say, Michael, that I thought your presentation to the Planning Committee last week went very well."
"Thank you," said Farrier. "It's up to you now to get it past the committee."
Cavendish kept the conversation on the more positive note for a few minutes, until he looked at his watch and decided he had kept them talking long enough to detect any dissent.
"I'll have to be getting on now, gentlemen," he told them. "Oh, Richard, if you could linger a moment, I have some papers for you."
The others left and Cavendish produced an envelope full of bank-notes. "A little Christmas bonus, Councillor. You stick with me on these few outstanding matters and there'll be more where that came from."
Parker hesitated, then took the envelope and hastily tucked it away. A moment later the housekeeper came into the room to show Parker the way out, and Cavendish returned to his piano.
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