The Dead Lie Down (Adam Lennox Thrillers: Book One) (12 page)

Adam didn't respond so Ford tried another tack.

"What do you really know about Bartletts?"

Adam shook his head. "Nothing."

Ford wasn't convinced. "Come on, you must know something. You were responsible
for publicity for crying out loud. What was going on?"

Adam didn't see that he had anything to contribute to this so he kept quiet.

Ford consulted his papers again and raised his voice a notch, moving away from
Mr Nice Guy. "I see your late wife Fran was John Bartlett's PA at the time of
her death. That's right isn't it?" He didn't wait for a reply. "And your very
good friend Belinda Trent was his current PA. Was this a straightforward fight
with Bartlett over a woman? Was Bartlett screwing her?"

Adam actually laughed. Ford was really scraping the barrel and he knew it.

"No, I'm sorry," he said, pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye.
"I know you're just trying to wind me up now, and hope I'll get angry, but it
won't work."

Ford paused before continuing. "Your wife died in strange circumstances didn't
she? Was Bartlett screwing her?"

This time Adam was out of his chair and had Ford by the lapels before the
constable managed to haul him off and dump him back in the seat.

Ford
straightened his tie, despite the fact that it hadn't been straight
before.

"I'll put that down as assaulting a police officer I think," he said.

Adam leaned forward and the constable stood ready. "You can put it down as what
you like," said Adam quietly, "but you tarnish the name of my late wife again
and I will break every bone in your body."

There was a few minutes silence while Ford went through his papers once more.
He could have been scared or just playing for time Adam wasn't sure which.

Ford started again in a quiet voice this time. "Adam, I've got enough evidence
to remand you in custody, no bail, for as long as it takes me to get to the
bottom of this. What was the hitch-hiker's name?"

Adam gazed out the window for a moment. He reckoned Ford was bluffing, and
considered fighting on but in the end he conceded defeat. He couldn't afford to
spend any more time in custody than absolutely necessary. He turned and looked up at Ford,
"Anna Low. Her name was Anna Low."

There was silence for a moment and suddenly Adam realised that Ford looked as if
he had been sandbagged. His facial expression was frozen a la fish out of
water.

"Describe her," Ford said eventually. Not a request but a command.

Now Adam was confused. He tried to read Ford's mind, anticipating some sort of
devious trap. He shrugged. "American. New Yorker. Five-six. Petite build.
Chinese descent."

Ford hauled himself out of his chair and left the room without a word, leaving
Adam mystified. He was still scouring around for a rational explanation when
Ford returned five minutes later.

"You're free to go Lennox. There will be no more questions." He swept up his
papers and made to leave, when Adam stopped him.

"What do you mean, free to go? What's going on here?" Adam meant to get an
explanation and he meant to get it there and then.

DCI Ford ran his hand across his eyes as if his very thoughts were causing him
pain. "Don't push your luck Lennox. Just take the opportunity and go. Collect
your belongings at the front desk. We apologise for the inconvenience." He left
the room and Adam took his advice.

He was outside five minutes later, debating which route to take back to the flat
when he realised that DCI Ford was at his side. He didn't stop walking but Ford
kept up nevertheless.

"Lennox. Off the record. You are in danger of getting into some deep shit. Don't
go in over your head without a snorkel."

Adam smiled in spite of himself. "Thanks Chief Inspector but I think I already
am."

Ford held out a business card. "You need me, you can get me on this number."

The walk through the back streets of the East End gave Adam time for
speculation. Two things bothered him. Yet again Fran's death had come up and he
was increasingly uneasy. Ford's reference to strange circumstances unsettled
him, but strangely, what worried him most was the effect Anna's name had had. He
took out his mobile phone and dialled the number he got for First National Bank,
London Office.

It answered on the first ring. American efficiency.

"Anna Low please."

"Hold one moment." A pause. "I'm afraid there's no one on our staff by that name
sir."

"This is First National Bank, isn't it?" Adam queried just in case his ears had
deceived him first time.

"It is sir but I'm certain there is no one listed on staff by that name."

Adam's
suspicions began rising exponentially. He hung up but whilst he had the phone
out he dialled Bartletts and asked for Bel's contact, Derek Travis.

"Derek, it's Adam Lennox. Bel Trent said to get in touch."

The voice at the other end was cultured and polite but definitely guarded. "Yes
Mr Lennox. What can I do for you?"

"Derek, if your loyalty was split between Miss Trent and the Company, where would
you settle your allegiance?"

"I regard Miss Trent as being on the side of the angels. I don't know if that
answers your question."

"I think it does. Derek, something at Bartletts smells and I need to know what
it is. Something involving the ships but exactly what, I don't know. I need you
to look through the records and find any irregularities, anything odd to do with
their movements or their payments. It may be financial or it may not, I don't
know. Bel tells me no-one knows Bartlett's systems better than you."

Adam could almost hear the smile at the far end.

"Miss Trent is very complimentary."

Adam's phone started to indicate low battery. "Derek I need to know as soon as
possible. It could well be related to John Bartlett's death."

"I'll do my best Mr Lennox."

Adam put the phone away. He was still convinced that the answer lay in Bartletts
but he couldn't work out where. And apart from all that, who the hell was Anna
Low

Chapter 17

Frank came off the phone with a smile on his face. God knows the old man didn't
have much to cheer him up but he would be pleased with this news. He looked out
of the window at the Thai smog that surrounded the house. This was happening
more and more frequently. Problems in Indonesia they said. Too many people
burning and clearing the forests for farmland causing dense smog across the
whole of Asia. It was beginning to get to him. He would have to go home
soon.

The old man heard him coming. "News from England." A statement not a
question.

"There's not much gets past you sir."

"Don't be a fool. I heard the phone and your footsteps were a lot lighter than
of late. So, news from England."

He tried to lift himself up in the bed but sagged against the cushions, the
gaunt sunken eyes almost without sight now.

"Yes sir. News from England. Spurs beat the Arsenal in the Derby for the first
time in years."

"And?"

"And your information was acted on as expected. He went as you intended."

"Any news of the outcome?"

"No.
Apparently something unexpected happened and the police got involved. I don't
know what has happened since."

The old man became more agitated. The voice was becoming a hoarse rasping sound
and Frank had to lean forward to hear.

"Frank. Is it still safe?"

"Yes sir, it's still safe."

"And you know what to do?"

Frank hesitated. "I do."

For the first time the old man opened his eyes and smiled.

"Good", he said.

Chapter 18

One of the benefits of living in London, according to Adam, was having a
complete transport system on one's doorstep. The Underground was one of Adam's
favourite places. In the days of living rough it had been a refuge from the
weather and a platform for people watching, one of his favourite hobbies. The
familiar smells and predictable routes were like an extension of your house. You
could find your way around it blindfold. In his current situation Adam was more
interested than ever in his fellow passengers. The morning rush had subsided and
he was one of only five in the carriage. A teenage girl, smartly dressed in
skirt and blouse looked as if she would be more at home in jeans and a
tee-shirt, on her way to a job interview perhaps. A middle aged city gent
obviously on his way to work, flexitime maybe , or just high enough up the
ladder to arrive when he liked prior to an afternoon's golf with a client.
You're a cynic Adam, he told himself. The elderly woman looked mildly scared,
clutched her handbag close and kept glancing at Adam as if trying to decide
whether to move further down the carriage. Adam suddenly realised what he must
look like, having left the house in a rush with whatever clothes happened to be
lying around.

Adam
chanced his phone battery one more time and texted Bel to let her know where he
was. He also asked her to meet him at Bartletts. Whatever was going on at
Bartletts, the more time they had to cover up, the more difficult it was going
to be to close this business. Adam wanted to confront Brad before he got too
comfortable. Brad knew more than he was letting on, of that Adam was sure. But
how to go about getting him on the back foot when he was on home
ground?

The final occupant of the carriage interested Adam. A young guy in denim jeans
and corduroy jacket, neat hair, clean shaven, his head immersed in a book since
they had both got on. He looked too perfect, too neat, taking too much trouble
to go unnoticed, and besides he hadn't turned a page for three stops. Not in
itself suspicious but Adam had noticed some time ago that the book was upside
down.

Adam got off at Moorgate, leaving it until the last minute to rise and step onto
the platform. He half expected the young man to leap out and follow but he made
no move at all. Your getting paranoid Adam, and your speaking to yourself again,
not a good sign, but then again he was wearing odd socks and no one had arrested
him yet.

Brad
was on the phone when they walked in unannounced. They caught the tail end of
the conversation, not that they were eavesdropping of course, that would be
rude. They arranged themselves around the room, Adam chose the windowsill on one
side of Brad's expansive desk whilst Bel elected to lean against a bookcase on
the other side. They waited politely for Brad to finish.

Brad yelled at the phone in his hand. "I don't care if it's not where it should
be, just find it!" The phone receiver was obviously the high impact industrial
grade plastic model as it didn't disintegrate when he put it down, but it must
have been a close call.

Brad ignored Adam (Adam could take it, he had thick skin, broad shoulders and
any number of mixed metaphors to protect him), and turned aggressively to
Bel.

"Where the hell have you been? The place is in uproar."

The red hair and broken nose emphasised the belligerence. The veins were
sticking out rigid on his neck. Adam could almost count his pulse from where he
was. When Bel didn't react Brad hesitated. "You have heard about John, haven't
you?"

Bel gave an imperceptible nod and Brad continued, "I've had the police swarming
all over the goddamn place this morning, one ship is still being held by
customs, one has been attacked by pirates off Somalia, and to top it all the
Chairman's PA goes AWOL." He held up his hands in mock despair.

Adam watched him counting off his troubles on virtual fingers in front of him,
voice rising in pitch, but was visibly unmoved. In relation to say, third world
debt, or world peace, Brad's problems were small beer.

Bel saw fit to respond after a pause, albeit there was unwillingness to her
voice. "Well, you're in charge."

Brad's vein pulsed again as he leant over the desk to Bel. "Yes, and that's why
I need you here."

Before she could respond, Adam piped up from the windowsill where he had settled
himself. "Just out of curiosity who will be in charge ultimately?"

Brad reluctantly turned his head towards Adam. "That's none of your goddamn
business."

Bel answered for him. "The Company's emergency procedures have the details but
the bottom line is that the General Manager..." she looked at Brad.".. takes
charge until such time as the new owner appoints someone. The new owner being
whoever John left his shares to in the will, as he had a majority holding."

"So what's in the will?" posed Adam.

Brad's blood pressure appeared to be rising as Bel and Adam talked across him,
one lounging on the windowsill and the other leaning nonchalantly up against a
substantial bookcase stuffed with files.

Adam turned to Brad and reiterated the question. "What's in the will?"

The American paused to gather his thoughts and re-calibrate the conversation.
"I'm not sure I understand what you're doing here Lennox? As of now your
contract is terminated."

"Tsk, tsk, you really need to work on your people skills." Adam grimaced.
"That's Mr Lennox to you."

Brad smiled for the first time. "No. 'Mr Lennox' was when you were working for
the company. Now, in my book anything goes."

Adam considered this fresh piece of information and shrugged it off, life was
too short especially in the current circumstances, he thought wryly.

"Okay Wilding, I tell you why I'm here. There are some very fishy things going on
at Bartletts and they have been associated with threats made against me, which
makes me an interested party, so what's in the will?"

Adam confidently expected to be thrown out of the office but something in what
he said appeared to have deflated Brad's sails.

"I don't know." he volunteered, "John apparently made out a new will several
weeks ago. No-one knows what's in it."