The Dead Lie Down (Adam Lennox Thrillers: Book One) (15 page)

Adam was shaking his head. "No. No. No. It wasn't an accident. I know it wasn't
an accident."

"You don't want to believe it was an accident."

"You're right. I don't want to believe it was an accident. But my emotions don't
explain the Irishman on the phone telling me that I'll end up like Fran or
Granger if I don't lay off."

Gerry shrugged.

Adam poked him in the chest. "So I don't intend to lay off and we'll see what
happens."

And with that he strode off toward Ludgate Hill, his heart pounding and a
maelstrom of emotion consuming his thoughts.

Which is why he almost missed the call on his mobile, set to vibrate. He hit the
answer button.

"Yes?"

"Mr Lennox?" Adam did a double take until he recognised Derek Travis' voice.

"Yes Derek?"

"It may be nothing but I've been looking through the accounts for the period
after Granger Bartlett's death."

"And?"

"One of Mr Bartlett's manservants remained on the payroll for a considerable
number of years even after Mr Bartlett's death."

"An oversight perhaps."

"No it doesn't look like it. What is odd is that there has been a clumsy attempt
to disguise the payments."

"Strange. Do we have an address for this person?"

"Yes, and bizarrely it was updated only two years ago."

"I think we'll need to pay our friend a visit. Can you e-mail me the details at
my office?"

"I certainly can."

Adam rang off. Another piece of the jigsaw for which he didn't have the
picture.

Chapter 21

Adam walked without haste up through Bank and Cheapside back toward the office.
The side streets were virtually empty now. Adam had a habit of sorting out his
thoughts whilst walking the streets of London (not whistling the tune, no) which
was often profitable despite the odd altercation with a lamppost.

Okay, so four deaths. Three 'accidents' and a murder, all centred around the
common ground of Bartletts. So far so good. Tick in the box.

One accident twenty-six years ago. One three years ago. Two deaths in the last
week. Things seem to be accelerating uncomfortable quickly. Epidemic
proportions.

Adam side-stepped a lamp-post at the last moment and became aware he wasn't
concentrating. There were too many obstructions on the pavements these days,
what with pillar-boxes, parking meters and waste paper bins, not too mention bus
stops and traffic lights. Sometimes he felt he was safer walking in the
road.

All right Adam, clever clogs, what happened twenty six years ago and why has it
triggered events some twenty three years later? So what does it all hinge on?
Got to be Granger's death, who killed him and why.

So what was going on at Bartletts twenty six years ago and why was it still
important?

Adam Lennox. Specialist subject 'skeletons in Bartlett's cupboard 1960-1201',
two minutes, starts now. Heck.

All right Adam, current situation:-

One. Facts. At least four people have died in suspicious circumstances; the only
thing connecting them is Bartletts.

Two. Assumptions. Granger and John were both involved in, or aware of, something
that led to their deaths; whatever it was, it was inherent to the business and
wasn't personal; Fran stumbled on some secret or other that threatened someone
and therefore she was killed. The thought stopped Adam in his tracks as Fran's
death became more focussed. Her killer was still out there. Dangerous emotions
started to run through his mind. What would he do when he found out whoever he
thought was responsible?

He moved on.

Three. Questions. Why was John killed? Revenge, or to stop him spilling the
beans? Why was Granger killed? What was he involved in thirty years ago? Why was
Fran killed? What had she found out and who was so scared that they killed her
for it? Where did Brad fit into all this? Who was the Irishman? And who the heck
was Anna Low? (Adam was becoming increasingly frustrated at how often this
question came up, or was it just the fact that he was repeating himself?)

Bartletts had secrets that held the key to it. Adam just hoped that Derek would
manage to find out what it was before the stakes were raised and caused another
death.

Now Adam considered himself of reasonable intelligence and wit but did not
consider that he was prone to words of knowledge or premonitions which is why
what happened next, despite his thoughts, came as a complete surprise.

The hand that grabbed Adam's collar and pulled him roughly into the darkened
doorway was well manicured and soft, but the metal cylinder thrust into his
abdomen was uncompromisingly hard and rough. He had only had a gun pulled on him
once before but it was a sensation that you didn't forget in a hurry.

A
voice whispered in his ear and was no less threatening for all its cultured
tones.

"Don't make any sudden movements Mr Lennox."

Adam swallowed, endeavoured to appear nonchalant, and failed.

"Wouldn't dream of it. I'd hate to pull a muscle or put something out in the
current circumstances." Adam's voice belied his gut feeling. Like, shit why have
I been this stupid? Why didn't I listen to Mother and get the bus? Why didn't I
listen to the Irishman on the phone? Why couldn't I mind my own business for
once? He came back to earth from high geostationary orbit.

"You were given a warning, Mr Lennox." hissed Mr Culture.

Adam stalled. "What warning?"

"Don't stall, Mr Lennox." This guy was good. "You know what I'm talking about.
You were warned to steer clear of Bartlett's business and you've ignored the
warning. My friends don't like being ignored. That's why they've sent me."

Adam felt it time to interrupt. He had an uncomfortable feeling he knew where
this was going.

"To deliver another warning?"

"I'm sorry Mr Lennox, but my friends only ever give one warning, as John Bartlett
discovered."

"John Bartlett?"

"You're stalling again, Mr Lennox. Now you're going to have to say a permanent
goodbye."

The gun ground another inch or two and Adam feared for his appendix.

"I'm not alone." Clutching at straws Adam.

"Ah yes. The lovely Bel Trent. I shall enjoy taking care of her later. Perhaps
tonight." He paused and considered. "Yes perhaps tonight."

A
car pulled up beside them. A very old Mark three Cortina with rust everywhere.
Rather a conspicuous car to use for kidnapping but Adam's was not to reason why.
He was bundled in to lie on the floor in the back, whilst Mr Culture kept one
foot on his neck. He wasn't even offered a seat belt.

From his somewhat contorted position he could see very little of the passing
scenery. He tried to recall where they had picked him up and navigate by the
turnings of the car but he could tell very little other than they seemed to be
heading into the East End. He made a mental note to memorise the A-Z in case he
ever found himself in this situation again.

The journey lasted less than fifteen minutes by his reckoning. When the car
stopped he realised they were in an industrial estate, by the look of it largely
disused. He unfolded himself from the car when instructed and the silent driver
motioned him into a building that looked due for demolition. They stopped in a
large cavernous room that appeared to be an old machine shop by the look of what
had been left.

Adam began to doubt his future. He noticed blood stains on the ground and
deduced they hadn't been a result of an industrial accident. This was someone's
killing ground.

The driver, who seemed to be in charge motioned to a chair.

"Sit down Mr Lennox."

Adam didn't move. The voice had stopped him in tracks. This was the voice on his
phone. The Irish intonation was unmistakable.

"I said sit down Mr Lennox."

He sat.

"You torched my car," said Adam.

"Ah yes. The Lotus wasn't it. I'm not a lover of cars but all the same it was a
shame to destroy something so nicely made. The upholstery badly needed cleaning
by the way."

Adam was only half listening to what was being said. He suddenly realised that
this man held answers.

"You bastard. What has this got to do with the death of my wife?" Realisation
dawned on him. His voice growled an accusation. "You killed my wife didn't
you?"

Reilly just smiled.

Adam lunged at him oblivious of any danger and the pile-driving punch into his
midriff doubled him up in agony. Shooting pains coursed through his torso and he
was convinced when coherent thought became possible, that he had ruptured some
major organ. Then the fist that caught him on the side of his head felt as if it
had knuckle-dusters attached. Pain erupted in his head and the power of the blow
took him off the chair and writhing onto the floor.

He braced himself where he still had muscles under control but the assault
didn't continue. This was a measured softening up. Phrases from his army
training on interrogation techniques came back to him. Rough hands lifted him
back into the chair and his vision slowly returned to normal.

"Mr Lennox. You are an irritation to me." Reilly continued. "But you may be of
use after all. What did you learn from John Bartlett?"

"Nothing that's of any use to you, besides, you're going to kill me anyway."

"That's not yet a foregone conclusion depending on what you can tell me. What
was Bartlett looking for on that ship?"

Adam looked up. "I don't know. I would have thought that you would."

"Ah, now I might and then again I might not. Did Bartlett ever mentioned
important papers that he has, or where he keeps such things."

"No. I assume he keeps them in a bank vault somewhere like everyone else."

"So you can't tell me anything?"

"I can tell you lots of things, mainly to do with your parentage but I don't
know anything about any papers, no."

Reilly smiled, it wasn't a pretty sight. "How about we go and get Bel to join
us. You can watch whilst my friends and I have some fun taking turns with her.
She's a very attractive lady now isn't she? Very nice body. What's she like in
bed I wonder? Do you know?"

Adam's reactions were still dulled by the previous blow and he was only half way
out of the chair before another blow sent him sprawling on the floor.

His brain was confused now. Should he pretend to know about the papers to stall
for time? Papers. Papers. Something rang a faint bell in the back of his mind
but nothing was clear any more.

"I still don't know what you're talking about."

"I thought that was probably the case." Reilly checked his watch and frowned. "A
shame. I have to be somewhere else."

He turned to Mr Culture. "Wait until I've gone and then get rid of him. Then
deal with the girl Trent."

Adam's wits were starting to return and he could see that gambling was the only
option he had left, bluff his only weapon.

"Wait. I know a man that Bartlett trusted. If he ever had anything that he would
want kept safe then he's the man he would use."

"Where do I find him?"

"I haven't the details with me but I know where I can get hold of his
address."

Reilly checked his watch again and cursed in frustration.

"Keep him here until I get back." And he disappeared through the doorway.

Mr Culture stepped forward and jabbed the gun into Adam's ribs, a manoeuvre he
seemed fond of.

"Watch it," said Adam. "That thing goes off and we're both in trouble."

"He didn't say what condition you needed to be in when he got back. You and I
could have some f.."

His voice trailed off and stopped.

Adam was suddenly aware of a third presence. A Glaswegian accent cut through the
atmosphere like a knife.

"Ernest, I think you've already worked out that I've got a gun to yer head. If I
was you I wouldn't be doing anything silly that you might be regrettin'
later."

Having initially stiffened, 'Ernest' appeared to relax marginally at the sound
of Mitch's voice.

"Ah, the redoubtable Mitch. I might have expected this I suppose, but you do
realise that I if pull this trigger Mr Lennox dies even before the bullet leaves
your gun."

You could almost see Mitch's smile in the gloom. "I doubt you could measure it
on a stop watch. It would be such a waste of body parts, ye understand."

There was a pause whilst 'Ernest' considered.

"Indeed you may be right."

Adam meanwhile was beginning to doubt his bladder control and silently wished
they would get on with it. Mitch seemed to have all day but then he wasn't on
the end of a gun barrel, was he?

"Ah'm askin' you nicely to put the gun down, but ma patience is wearin' thin.
Drop it quietly on the floor and kick it away."

There was a short second during which Adam thought 'Ernest' might call his
bluff, but there was a muffled thud as the gun hit the floor and Adam got his
abdomen back.

No one moved but Mitch was the first to speak.

"Who was writing the cheque, Ernest?"

Ernest started showing reluctance to partake in banter. "Can't say. Woman on a
telephone, never met her."

"Her? I think you're pullin' ma leg Ernest. Who wus he?"

"I told you. It was a woman. I don't know." For the first time it looked as if
Ernest feared he had misread the situation. "I told you, I never met her."

Mitch wasn't convinced. "Don't give me that. Describe her voice." To emphasise
the question the gun inched forward.

Ernest was now looking left and right for a way out of this. "She had a
mid-Atlantic accent. That was the only noticeable thing. For crying out loud
Mitch, give me a break."

Mitch stepped away and without moving his own gun chopped him on the back of the
neck.

Adam watched with satisfaction as the limp body dropped to the ground.

"Is he....?" He asked Mitch.

"Dead? No. He'll be out for half an hour maybe."