Sam: A Novel Of Suspense (10 page)

The
computer screen lit up and Joseph’s desktop appeared on screen.  Why the
computer wasn’t password protected, Frank would never understand, but it had
made it much easier for him to look into his late boss’s activities.

In
the months prior to his death, Joseph had been increasingly unnerved about
something.  Frank needed to find out what it was in case it presented a danger
to Jessica and her son.  He’d checked through the company’s financial records
first and had found nothing concerning – profits were down, but that was mostly
due to Joseph’s efforts to clean up the company and do things ethically, but
overall Black Remedy still had its fingers in hundreds of very successful pies:
from banking and finance, to a chain of successful bakeries, there was nary a
single industry that the company didn’t have at least some of its hooks into. 
The company had even recently begun purchasing cruise liners to add a tourism
arm to its already vast shipping fleets.  But of course, as had always been the
case, the jewel in the crown of Black Remedy was pharmaceuticals.  Whether it
be for a common cold or full-blown AIDS, every time someone in the western
world popped a pill, there was a sixty per cent chance that it came from one of
Black Remedy’s processing plants.  The company possessed such power that it
could regulate people’s health on a whim.

Frank
had come to the conclusion that whatever had been worrying Joseph had not been
a financial issue.  Which meant the threat must have been more personal.  
Closer
to home.
  Frank clicked on a folder marked ‘Personal Files’ and was met
with a list of several hundred files.  Organisation was not one of Joseph’s
many strengths.

Frank
looked through the randomly named files: 
Car Insurance, holiday booking
confirmation – March 2012, Receipt – Television for lounge, Tax summary – 2011,
Letter to Thom Brady (Real Estate) January 2012, Job applicants – Gardeners. 
Invoice – George Farley, Corporate Researcher. 
Most of the files Frank saw
were things he knew about or concerned people he knew.  That last file, however
–
George Farley, Corporate Researcher
– was named after someone he had
never heard of.  He clicked on the file and opened it. 

A
document opened on screen.  It looked to be a typical corporate invoice.  The
letterhead read FARLEY DOSSIER SERVICE:
Corporate Fact Finding.

“What
the hell is
Corporate Fact Finding
?” Frank asked himself.  He looked
over the document and saw a chargeable item listed as:
Asset Investigation -
£13, 500
.  The next item read:
Personnel Background and Surveillance -
£24,000. 

What
the hell was Joseph paying almost forty grand for?

Frank
looked over the document and located an email address in the small print of the
footer.  He opened up the email manager and pasted in the address. Then he began
typing:

Dear
George Farley:

I
am an employee of the late Joseph Raymeady, CEO of the Black Remedy Corporation. 
I currently reside at his former home and am charged with the protection of his
widow and orphan.  I believe that, prior to my employer’s death, he was under a
great deal of stress.  Something was concerning him, and I believe that
something
could pose a threat to his surviving family.  I am hoping you could disregard
the typical etiquette of confidentiality and divulge to me the nature of the
work you recently undertook for Joseph.

Yours
faithfully,

Frank
Senz

Household
Coordinator, Raymeady Estate.

Frank
leant back in the chair and hoped that it wouldn’t take long to get a reply.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Who
was that?” Graham asked.

“Frank,”
Mike replied, putting away his mobile phone.  “He was just checking in.”

Graham
took a sip from his coffee flask and then dropped it into the dashboard’s
drinks holder.  “How’s everything inside the house?”

“Tense,
by the sound of things.  I don’t think Frank trusts Jessica’s guests.  Apparently
there was an incident with Sammie and now he wants them gone.”

“I
don’t blame him.”

Mike
sighed.  “They’re okay.  Angela seemed pretty normal.”

Graham
laughed.  “You know she’s a dyke, right?”

“What’s
your point?”

“Nothing. 
Just saying.  No point wasting your time on a rug muncher.”

Mike
rolled his eyes.  “I’ll bear that in mind.”  In all honesty, he wasn’t
interested in Angela in that way, but meeting new people was a rarity in his
current line of work and the woman seemed like fun.  If she and the other guy
were asked to leave then the house and grounds would go back to being empty and
Mike’s job would get that little bit more boring.

Graham
turned on the radio and started flicking through the stations.  After finding
nothing he liked, he gave up and rested back in his seat.  “Did Frank give us
anything to do?  I’m going crazy stuck in this bloody car.”

Mike
exhaled and shook his head.  “Me too, but he just wants us to stay put.  I
think he wants us here as back-up.”

Graham
scoffed.  “Back-up?  Against a weedy loser and a dyke ex-priest?”

“Like
I said, Frank doesn’t trust them.  He’s worried about Sammie.”

“Why? 
It ain’t his kid.  If
I
were that guy, I would get a job working for
some other rich idiot, rather than babysitting a drunk woman and her weirdo
kid.”

“Don’t
talk about Sammie like that,” Mike admonished.  “Sammie will be our boss one
day.  He’s going to inherit all of his father’s power and influence.  Greatness
is that kid’s birth right.”

Graham
waved a hand dismissively.  “Yeah, yeah, I know.  Until then, though, he’s
still just a weird little brat.”

“Perhaps,
but there’re reasons for that, which is why Jessica has hired people to help.”

“You
think they’ll figure out what’s wrong with the kid?”

Mike
shrugged his shoulders.  “Who knows?  I doubt it.  I don’t think anyone will be
able to figure out what’s wrong with Sammie until it’s too late.”

Before
Graham managed a reply, Angela rushed frantically out into the grounds.

“Speak
of the devil,” said Mike, leaping from the car.  He hurried over and saw that
there was blood on the woman’s shirt.  “Are you okay?” he asked her.  “What on
Earth has happened?”

Angela
looked down at herself and saw what he was referring to.  “I’m fine.  It’s
Sammie’s blood.”

“Sammie’s?”

“He’s
fine too,” Angela quickly assured him.  “He just had a little…
accident
,
I guess you’d call it.  I just came out for some fresh air.  I’m feeling a bit
sick.”

“Can
I get you anything?”

Angela
shook her head but laughed glumly.  “You know what, I think it’s about time you
went and got me a change of clothes.”

“Yeah,
no problem.  Graham and I would be glad to have something to do, anyway.  We’ll
get going right away.”

Angela
reached into her pocket and pulled out some keys.  She handed them over.  “My
house keys.  There’s something else I need too.”

Mike
nodded.  “Okay.”

“In
my bedroom closet there’s an old black duffel bag.  I need it.”

“Sure
thing,” said Mike.  “What’s in it?”

Angela
shook her head wearily and seemed a little faint.  Her answer was blunt and
without humour: “My exorcism kit.”

“Oh,”
said Mike, stepping to one side as the woman vomited on the driveway.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Tim
prepared to run the blood test a third time, unsatisfied with the previous two
sets of results.  After extracting a sample of Sammie’s blood from his shirt,
Tim had run it through his portable analyser.  The results it gave him were
bizarre to say the least.

According
to the printout, Sammie’s blood had no recognisable type.  In fact, the
analyser spat out nothing but errors.  It was as though Tim had loaded the
centrifuge with motor oil instead of blood.  It made no sense.  He was
considering running his own blood just to make sure the machine wasn’t faulty.

“Where’s
Angela?” Frank asked, appearing in the corridor behind Tim.

“She
went out to get some fresh air.  Not feeling too good after all the blood.”

“About
that,” Frank said sternly.  “What the hell happened?”

“Hell
if I know.  One minute the kid’s skin is like concrete and the next he’s
opening up like a cantaloupe.”

“You
had no right to take his blood.  You’re not qualified.”

Tim
stood in front of the larger man and looked him in the eye.  “Hey, you gave me
the go ahead.  You could have stopped me if you’d wanted.  Besides, I did
everything by the book.  I didn’t cause that bleeding.”

“Then
what did?”

“I
don’t know,” Tim admitted.  “But according to my tests it wasn’t even real
blood, which leads me to ask myself if I’m just the butt of some big joke.”

Frank
laughed.  “You think it was a trick?  Look, Mr Golding.  I would love nothing
more than for you to leave, so trust me when I say that the last thing I would
want to do is play games with you.”

“Fine. 
I’m just telling you what I know, and something doesn’t add up.”

“Then
it’s your job to do the math.  I suggest you go and gather up your cohort and get
back to work.”

Tim
saluted.  “Yes, Mein Fuhrer.”

Frank’s
eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as he departed down the hallway.

Tim
shook his head, muttering under his breath as the man walked away.   “Jackass. 
I never asked for you to bring me here in the first place.  I’m just trying to
help you with your mess.  A ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.”

Angela
came up the staircase and Tim smiled at her as she approached.  He was glad to
see a friendly face after the frosty hostility of Frank.  “Everything okay?” he
asked her.

“Yeah,
I’m feeling better now that I puked a little.  Mike’s gone to get my things,
but it looks like I’ve got to accept being caked in blood and vomit until
then.”

“If
it even is blood,” he said.  “I’m not so sure.”

Angela
looked at him confused.  “What do you mean?”

“I
mean all of the tests that I’ve run on Sammie’s blood have come up
inconclusive.  I can’t get a blood type, mineral traces, or anything you would
usually find.  It’s weird.”

“This
whole thing is weird.”

“So
what should we do next?”

Angela
pointed at the bank of Tim’s machines.  “Don’t tell me you’re all out of
science experiments?”

“I’m
not, but I think it may be best if I switched to observation mode for the rest
of the day.  I think I’d like to know a bit more before I jump back into the
fire.”

“Good
idea,” Angela agreed.  “I think I’ll leave getting started until tomorrow, too. 
Has anyone told you what Sammie will be doing for the rest of the evening?”

“No,
they haven’t, but whatever he gets up to, we’ll have a front row seat.”  Tim
patted the lid of the laptop sitting amongst his equipment.  “How bout we set
this up in the lounge and help ourselves to some more overpriced booze?”

Angela
looked at her watch.  It was only just after five, a little early to settle
down.  “Yeah, why not. My nerves could do with it.”

Tim
nodded.  “Let’s go then.”

***

They’d
been drinking for over an hour and, as it turned out, Tim was as much of a
drifter as Angela was.  She listened to his stories about how he’d been free
and single for several years now, floating from one town to the next while
living out of his van. Most of his work was gained through a website he
accessed through various Internet cafes.  His notoriety came from a high
profile case in 2003 when Tim had debunked a poltergeist claim for someone
loosely connected to the Royals.  Turned out that one of the staff was having
fun with them by rigging parts of the house with practical jokes and false
hauntings.  The story had been picked up by several national newspapers.

Placed
on the table between the two of them was Tim’s oversized laptop.  It looked
expensive, like most of Tim’s equipment did. It made Angela wonder how he could
afford all of it.  On the laptop’s screen were several video-windows streaming footage
from Sammie’s room.  One feed was from an infrared heat camera, while another
was from a standard high definition feed.  A selection of dials and readouts cluttered
the bottom of the screen, displaying temperature, air pressure, sound
frequencies, and a bunch of other scientific garble.

Angela
pointed to the screen at Sammie.  “How long has he been sitting there now?”

“Since
we opened up the feed, which was more than an hour ago.  I wonder what he’s
thinking about.”