The Dead Lie Down (Adam Lennox Thrillers: Book One) (11 page)

He leaned against the table with his fresh coffee in hand.

"What can I do for you Chief Inspector?"

DCI Ford pulled a photo out of his pocket and put it on the table in front of
Adam. "Do you know this man, sir?" There wasn't a lot of emphasis on the 'sir'
noticed Adam.

He felt something crawl up his spine. "Yes." he replied. "That's John Bartlett,
chairman of Bartlett International Shipping."

DCI Ford tried not to be a cliché and failed. "Adam Lennox, I'm arresting you on
suspicion, for the murder of John Bartlett."

He turned to DS Crawley who appeared to be trying to pick some sleep out of his
left eye. "Crawley, read him his rights and book him."

And Crawley did exactly that.

Chapter 15

Hampstead Heath spread out like a carpet in the early morning mist, the vapour
rising from the grass in clouds to hang momentarily whilst the sunshine decided
what to do with them. The cobwebs hung from the trees bejewelled with dew. It
was cold and wet and the overnight damp from the bench was already seeping
through his coat. He was used to the cold and damp, goodness only knows his
beloved Ireland had enough of it but he considered it insult to have to endure
it in foreign climes.

He put a cigarette to his lips and having lit it took a deep breath, perhaps
seeking some inward heating effect on the cold damp air. His heavily ringed hand
displayed manicured nails and fingers that hadn't seen manual labour for a very
long time. His nose and mouth displayed a sense of cruelty that accurately
reflected his attitude towards his fellow man, or woman and child come to
that.

Dermot
O' Rourke liked to consider himself a success story. Others had very varying
opinions. Born in Ireland to parents who were vehemently anti-British, at a time
when militancy and violence were preached as the solution to all ills, he had
watched and waited for the right moment to take advantage. There was little that
he wouldn't use as a means to end. He smiled to himself in recollection at how
he had taken advantage, and now here he was with power at his fingertips and the
means to use it. He sighed in satisfaction at his own self-assessment. His train
of thought was however rudely derailed by a small man sitting down next to him
and pulling out a cigarette himself.

Dermot appeared to ignore him to all intents and purposes but eventually deigned
to acknowledge him.

"Sean. You're late. I've been sitting here catching pneumonia and I don't
appreciate it."

The small man shifted awkwardly. "You could have found a more accessible
spot."

His companion turned. "I'm not going to risk being seen with you. It's difficult
enough to evade press and security as it is. I make a speech to the Assembly on
the Peace Process in five days time and I'm not going to chance arousing
unwanted interest by being seen with you. Do I make myself clear?"

Reilly kept his eyes down, this was not a man to anger, he knew that. "Aye.
Clear enough."

Dermot ran a hand through his damp grey hair and brought them to business.

"You're convinced that Bartlett knew nothing about the package."

"I
am", Reilly shuffled slightly. "He wouldn't believe it at first, couldn't
accept it. He knew nothing about the package never mind the contents. He would
have told me. I'm sure he would." A slight smile. "He didn't like the pain.
You're still convinced that it wasn't destroyed?"

"I can't take the chance. If those papers come to light then I'm finished, and
if I'm finished then you're finished. No, I'm sure that the package was passed
on after Granger's death. It didn't vanish in the accident, I would have known.
So someone somewhere has it."

Reilly acquiesced. "And Bartlett's friends. Mister Lennox and company."

Dermot sunk his head into his coat collar to keep the cold out. "John Bartlett's
trip on the Hermes wasn't a coincidence but I'm sure he was nothing to do with
our meddling friend who 'broke his neck falling down stairs' either. So
something smells very fishy and Mr Lennox has wind of it. No, something prompted
our Mr Bartlett, which means that someone knows about the boats other than Greg.
And that's not good news for us or for Greg. We need to keep Greg focussed. If
he loses it now we may have to cut our losses. Watch him."

"You think Lennox knows about the massacre?" questioned Reilly.

Dermot
considered it. "It's unlikely. If young Bartlett didn't know then there's no
reason to suppose that Lennox does either."

"So how to we deal with Lennox?"

"The police picked him up as expected and should hopefully deal with him for us.
Failing that then I suspect he has a soft spot for Miss Trent. Whilst he may be
happy to take risks himself I suspect he wouldn't like to see her come to any
harm."

Reilly smiled. "So he has an Achilles Heel as it were?"

"I think he does. So keep tabs on the lady." He stopped and checked his watch.
"We need to talk to Anna and find out how Mr Lennox reacted."

There was a pause whilst he speed dialled and his call was answered.

"Anna my dear. How are you?"

The voice at the other end didn't share his veneer of civility.

"Godammit O'Rourke. What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

Dermot winced, more at the use of his surname than the sentiments. "Ah. You mean
our little demonstration for Mr Lennox. I'm sorry we couldn't warn you about
that but we did need to make sure that your reactions were genuine."

"They were that for sure but you pull a stunt like that again and I'm out, you
got it?"

"Of course. How did Mr Lennox react to the fireworks?"

"Oh you've got him well and truly hooked. He's not going to let this go. You're
demonstration's backfired big time."

Reilly scowled and Dermot sighed. "That's a shame, we may have to convince him
in that case."

"Don't you go making any silly moves. I intend to speak to Adam again, and
besides, we made a deal and if you don't stick to it there will be
consequences."

Dermot sighed audibly. "Don't threaten me please Anna, we're on the same side
remember?"

"I'll remember it as long as you do." The line went dead.

There was a moment's pause whilst both men appeared to reflect on the
conversation as they gazed east toward the rising sun, now giving some vague
warmth to the day.

Dermot finally rose to his feet. "I fear that it may be necessary to take Mr
Lennox out of the picture."

Reilly smiled in reply. "that won't be a problem."

"I hope not. I also fear that at some point we may have to deal with our
headstrong Miss Low. Miss Low is dispensable, but not yet." Dermot gazed across
the heath. "No. Not quite yet."

Chapter 16

Adam was disappointed.

It had taken half an hour to get dressed, washed and shaved, and then a further
ten minute car journey to Bow Police Station. In that time he had had an
opportunity to come to terms with the news that had been broken to him. John
Bartlett was dead, murdered, and in truth Adam wasn't surprised at one level.
The speed of events had taken him aback but in the circumstances it was his
current surroundings that now surprised him more.

The interview room descried all the television police dramas by being light and
airy with windows overlooking the Thames. Mind you, thought Adam, there was
still just the basic table, stained and scratched, and uncomfortable chairs,
with the obligatory tape recorder, so they were trying to maintain some sort of
authenticity. Perhaps all predictability hadn't been lost yet.

Should he feel the urge to display his guilt and remorse by flinging himself out
of the window, hurtling ten floors to the ground, someone had thoughtfully put
bars across all the windows, somewhat spoiling the overall view.

Nothing had been said so far, part of the softening up process Adam
presumed.

He had been left in the company of a uniformed officer, a small man with red
cheeks who could easily have passed as 'The Laughing Policeman', except that he
didn't look as jolly. DCI Ford et al had disappeared, presumably for a second
breakfast in the canteen. Despite attempts to strike up a conversation silence
prevailed. It was a toss up as to who was more bored.

Just as Adam felt the desire to start singing to himself, the door opened to
admit Ford, this time without sidekick. He kicked the door shut behind him and
sat down opposite Adam, loosening his tie even more to match the television
image of hardened, overworked detective.

"I'm obliged to tell you that you may have a legal representative present."

Adam nodded but made no move. "Duly noted."

Ford leaned back in his chair and absent-mindedly scratched his stomach, pulling
his shirt tail out of his trousers even more than before. A cocktail stick
appeared in his hand as if by magic and he started chewing on it. Without
removing it from between his teeth he made his opening gambit. "Mr Lennox, you
are in deep trouble."

Adam feigned surprise. "I am?" He watched Ford. Privately Adam thought he was
going on a fishing expedition, but he had been wrong about these things before.
He was terrible at guessing the murderer in whodunits.

Ford leaned forward. "Let me tell you what I think happened and you can correct
me as we go."

"Pray enlighten me with your theory", quipped Adam.

"You and Bartlett never really got on. Always that social divide that got in the
way didn't it? Something happened two days ago. Bartlett got into some trouble.
A murder he was implicated in. Did you know anything about that Mr Lennox?"

"No." So far so good.

"You and Bartlett had a major row. Bartlett's a big client of yours isn't he Mr
Lennox? You can't afford to lose his business can you? Bartlett threatened to
take his business away and that's something you couldn't let happen because
others might ask questions as to why. You might lose other clients. Publicity
works two ways." Ford paused waiting for a reaction he didn't get. "So you
killed him."

It occurred to Adam that Ford had some information from someone who had been
there in John's office and he knew it wasn't Bel. At this point he decided it
was time for some input.

"I think not," he said. "That would seem to be cutting off my nose to spite my
face. With John Bartlett dead I would be unlikely to retain the business anyway
don't you think?"

Ford
paused and having dispensed with the cocktail stick chewed what was left of a
fingernail. Adam took it as a good sign.

"The anger of the moment," suggested Ford. "Did you see John Bartlett after that
meeting in his office?"

"No."

"And you haven't seen him since."

"No."

DCI Ford leaned forward in anticipation, and then seeming to change his mind he
got up and stood with his back to the window, forcing Adam to look at him in
silhouette. Then Ford delivered his coup de grace.

"Then how do you explain that John Bartlett's body was found in the burnt out
shell of your Lotus outside your cottage in Dunwich?"

Adam had to take a breath while he digested this, and Ford preened himself, a
grin on his face.

"I can't." was Adam's honest reply.

Ford smiled. "Like I say, you are in deep doo-doo."

Sitting down again he continued, sensing the need to maintain the momentum while
he had the upper hand. "Where were you between the meeting in Bartlett's office
and yesterday morning?"

"I drove up to Dunwich."

"And?" prompted Ford.

"Stayed overnight in my cottage and came back yesterday."

"On your own?"

Now Adam hesitated and Ford sensed it. He repeated, "on your own?"

After a long pause Adam made a decision, the eventual outcome of which he could
never have anticipated.

"No. I picked up a hitch-hiker on the way."

If Ford was disappointed he didn't show it. "Does this hitch-hiker have a
name?"

"I'd rather not say," which brought back the smile to Ford's face. He got up and
walked across to the window before turning back to Adam.

"Mr Lennox. Let me outline the situation. You are recorded as having a heated
argument with the deceased after he has witnessed a murder. The deceased
threatens you. His body is found less than twenty-four hours later in your
burnt-out car. Things are not looking good for you. Might I suggest that you do
yourself a favour?"

Adam tried to look at all the angles to assess his real danger. It was all
circumstantial but could leave a nasty mess even if it didn't stick. His
thoughts were interrupted by Ford.

"What did John Bartlett tell you about the incident on the Hermes?"

Adam
did a double take at the change of direction but saw no danger. He recounted
the discovery of the body at the foot of the companionway.

Ford sat down and for a moment drummed his fingers on the edge of the table
before seeming to come to a decision.

"Why would Mr Bartlett lie to you?"

"Lie to me?"

"In reality the body was found in a crate in the hold. His throat had been cut.
So either you're lying to me, or Bartlett lied to you. Which is it?"

Now Adam was confused. Why had John lied? There seemed no logical reason for him
to distort the facts, unless the facts gave away something he was trying to
hide, something that was indirectly related to why he was on the Hermes in the
first place. Adam had never liked convoluted chess games.

"I don't know why he lied. He had specifically asked for help. It doesn't make
sense."

Ford picked up a handful of papers.

"You've got a record I see Mr Lennox. It makes very interesting reading.
Nineteen eighty six, 'Vagrancy'. Very novel, very interesting. Nineteen eighty
seven, 'Assaulting the police in the course of their duty'. Very inadvisable Mr
Lennox. Protest rally wasn't it? Bit of an anarchist are we?"