The Dead Lie Down (Adam Lennox Thrillers: Book One) (18 page)

Bel turned to Adam's father.

"I love your place here, the house is wonderful," she said.

Adam's father, coffee cup in hand, didn't make any comment but a beaming smile
crossed his face as he turned to his wife.

"Told you she would," he crowed.

Joan Lennox reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a crumpled
fiver, which she handed to her husband.

"You bet too much," she said in riposte, and turned to Adam. "I worry about your
father and his betting habits."

"That's rich," interrupted her husband without malice, "coming from someone who
plays the stock market for a living."

She took on a hurt expression. "That's different," she insisted. "That is
business."

Adam looked fondly at the pair of them. "You're as bad as each other, like a
couple of kids with toys."

His mother adopted an indignant expression that was belied by the twinkle in her
eyes. "Bel, can you believe what our son has just said? We certainly didn't
bring him up to be that disrespectful, I can assure you."

"It's scandalous," Bel agreed, watching Adam with a grin. "I should disinherit
him immediately."

"Oh no!" cried Adam's mother. "Don't encourage him dear!"

Despite Adam's strenuous efforts, they failed to avoid a game of Scrabble with
his parents, where their competitive personalities came to the fore. The
dictionary, intended to be the independent arbiter was in grave danger of
becoming confetti on the floor.

They were persuaded to stay the night (during which Adam managed to safely
negotiate the minefield of whether he and Bel would like separate rooms). Bel
insisted on Adam giving her a tour. By the light of flood-lamps they wandered
around the outside of the house with the last blue fading in the western sky.
Thin wisps of grey cloud crossed the fading red sky of the sunset.

When they came to the stable block they went inside. A row of equine heads
appeared over stall gates to see who the late visitor was.

"I grew up to all this." said Adam. "Accepted it as the norm, didn't question it
until I went to London when I was seventeen and saw how other people lived, on
the streets, with nothing but the clothes they stood up in. I rebelled as only
teenagers can. We rowed about it all the time until one day I had had enough
and left. By that time my relationship with my parents was so bad that I think
they were relieved."

He stopped to stroke a nose and dish out a sugar cube.

"And you lived on the streets?"

"Two years. Made friends. Became part of the drop-out culture. Eventually
managed to sort out the good and the bad. Learned more about myself. Learned to
survive."

"And now?"

"Now I'm happy doing what I'm doing. Making my own way, using my own rules. I
guess I've tempered my views but I still can't agree with all this."

They sat down on a bale of straw in the dim glow of the stable lights and Adam
sucked on a stalk of straw in an absent-minded habit from childhood.

"The estate," said Bel. "Your parents own it all?"

"Every stick."

"What made them buy it in the first place?"

"They didn't. It's been in the family for centuries. My great-grandfather made
piles out of India."

"And when your parents have gone?"

Adam gazed around him, a resigned expression on his face. "It'll be mine. Every
damned stick and brick of it."

They walked on in increasingly comfortable silence.

At last Bel's curiosity could wait no longer. "Your mother's 'workroom', what's
that all about?"

"Ah. Mum is a genius. Mum spends hours playing the stock market, buying and
selling stocks and shares. Tokyo, Paris, London, Wall Street. You name it, Mum's
got connection to it."

"Isn't that a risky business?"

Adam laughed. "For some but not for Mum. She makes millions a year. That's how
they can afford to keep this place and the horses. The whole caboodle, financed
from the capitalist society we live in."

"Rather like you giving dead certainties to Gerry."

Adam stopped and turned toward her. "What?"

"Your Mum's genius and your father's racing knowledge rolled together and you're
using it to finance Gerry's lifestyle."

Adam went to say something and then closed his mouth as they walked on.

Minutes later as they turned the corner by the stable block Bel stopped in her
tracks.

Adam followed her gaze. "What is it?"

She turned and looked at him. "You know, just for a moment, I'd forgotten all
about the bloody awful mess we're in."

Chapter 24

The market was not one on the tourist trail, with all the colourful trinkets and
tourist junk, but a local market where the prices were based on the average Thai
wage rather than tourist dollars. Caged birds lined the roadside beside
vegetable stalls. Anything that was edible was covered in flies despite the
stallholders' efforts. The smell attacked Frank's nostrils. He had never got
used to it, the heat and decay that were part of everyday life. He stepped out
of the searing sun to examine some unrecognisable meat, probably wild pig or
chicken. No, not chicken, it wasn't scrawny enough. Against better judgement but
without much option he bought a piece, making a mental note to cook it more
thoroughly than usual.

He was brought up short by the sound of music coming from his pocket and it took
him a few seconds to realise that it was the mobile phone in his pocket. A
recent acquisition that they had decided was necessary given recent events. He
looked at it quizzically, trying to remember which button would answer the call
before putting it to his ear.

He started walking away from the market as he spoke.

"Gerard?"

"Yes it's me," came the confirmation.

The tone of the voice put Frank on his guard.

"What's the matter?"

"He's dead, John's dead."

Frank stopped walking and stood dangerously close to the middle of the road.

"What? How did it happen?"

There was a pause during which only laboured breathing could be heard.

"He was murdered." The voice was monotone, the depression almost audible.

"I don't understand," said Frank. "That can't happen. He's protected. We protect
him, that's what we do."

"It wasn't enough. Not this time."

Frank looked around him as if his surrounding were about morph into a distant
planet.

"Shit. So it's over. We failed. After all this time, and we failed."

Gerard's voice gathered some strength. "We didn't fail. We did what we could. It
just wasn't enough."

"So what do we do? Do we tell him? It'll probably kill him if we do."

"From what you've said he's close anyway."

Frank scanned the horizon and moved to the side of the road as rational thought
returned to his somewhat stunned mental processes.

"Gerard?"

"Yes?"

"We light the fuse and post the bomb?"

The reluctance in the voice was quite definite but so were the words. "Yes. We
light the fuse and post the bomb. And God help us all."

Chapter 25

They sat on a low branch and watched the sun come up behind the tall chimneys of
the place Adam referred to as 'the pile'. The fingers of clear early morning
light streamed across the lake toward them and bathed the trees behind them in a
glow that emphasised the green sheen where they had started to clothe themselves
in leaf.

Bel couldn't resist it. "Didn't they use this as a backdrop for 'Pride and
Prejudice'?

"No," retorted Adam, rising to the bait.

"Why do you resent it so much?"

"One day it'll be a millstone that I've got to do something with."

"So sell it, give it away, decision made."

"There speaks the voice of emotional detachment."

"Absolutely Lennox. Step back. Make the cut. Move on."

Adam stood up. "I thought we agreed not to discuss that, Trent."

"Okay truce. We agree not to argue until after we find out who killed Fran."

An argument could well have ensued regardless had Adam's mobile not rung. He
took it out of his pocket and glared at the named caller before putting it to
his ear.

"My mobile phone's not supposed to work here," he said.

DCI Ford dismissed the rebuff. "Tough titty, I need to talk."

Adam sighed, "You really need to chill you know?"

"Tell me about it. What do you know of a hit man known as 'Earnest'."

"You're kidding me," exclaimed Adam. "A hit-man called Ernest. Sounds like a
West End Play. 'A Streetcar named Desire' you know?"

"So you don't know where he was yesterday or how he came to be dumped on our
doorstep?"

"I don't know any Ernest. Do you want to make the introductions or what?"

Ford sighed and Adam could visualise him wiping a tired hand across his
eyes.

"Can I talk off the record?" asked Ford.

"Oh hold on. I'll just get them to switch off the wire tap on the phone."

"Very funny. Look Lennox, this thing is way deeper than you understand."

"Oh that is deep."

"Okay. So you say you've never met Ernest and we'll keep that as your official
answer but another one like him will turn up eventually and you're history."

"Your concern for the well-being of the English public is commendable Ford but
it's not an original line. Anyway, you'll have to get in line. You're one in a
long list of people who don't want me to find out what's going on."

"I just don't want to have to pick up the pieces."

"I knew it, selfish to the core. Well the Metropolitan Police can keep the
shovel in the cupboard. I have no intention of ending up in pieces."

"Oh well, you're funeral."

"Yes. Very good. You write comedy scripts for the BBC in your spare time don't
you? Go on. You can tell your Uncle Adam. Your secret's safe with me. I won't
tell the tax-man."

"Take a hike," retorted Ford and promptly hung up.

Adam turned to Bel and shrugged. "Wrong number or nuisance caller. Probably the
latter."

He looked back at the tree branch they had been sitting on. "When I was six I
climbed onto that branch. It was so high I was afraid to jump back down. It took
three hours for someone to hear my cries for help."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He shook his head. "I haven't a clue. Let's get some breakfast."

Breakfast was being laid out on one of the many patio areas surrounding the
house. Adam maintained that you could use them as a sundial. You could always
tell the time by which patio was being used to serve tea in order to catch the
sunshine. They were the only ones out of bed and were half way through second
helpings of toast when Robert Lennox came out in dressing gown carrying the
morning papers.

"Not watching the horses gallop this morning?"

His father looked up, acknowledging their presence with a look of surprise.

"No. Head lad's in charge, grooming him for more responsibility."

Adam groaned. "Was the pun intentional or just the product of a naturally keen
brain?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Catch me doing something like that this early in the
morning on a day off. Good morning my dear."

This last to Bel who was watching them both with amusement.

"Any response to yesterday's questions?" asked Adam.

"Not as yet."

As if on cue, like the contestant in a quiz show, Adam's mother emerged from the
French windows clutching a sheaf of papers.

"E-mails," she announced. "Printed off two copies. Thought you might want them,"
and handed them to her husband.

There was a pregnant pause whilst the contents of the e-mails were digested
through reading glasses. Adam's fingers itched to grab the second copy, the
impatient younger generation, always in a hurry.

After a moment his patience ran out. "And?" he demanded.

Robert Lennox looked at him over his reading glasses and sighed in exasperation.
He consulted the emails once again.

"Apparently there were two deals that Granger was notorious for and my US
contact remembers more than I do."

"Where were the deals?"

"The first was in South Africa. Granger pulled some political stunt to pick up a
major contract in competition with a local company called Ramboks. Apparently
there was some trouble between gangs of enforcers that each company had used.
Started a mini riot. A man died in suspicious circumstances but the truth was
never really uncovered apparently. It was a no go area for the police at the
time."

"When was this?"

"Back in 1960-ish. Long before the troubles started, when the whites were still
very much in control."

"What about the other deal?"

"In '64 it seems. Granger attempted a hostile bid to take over a family-owned
shipping company, Lakes, in New England. He failed first time but manage to
influence enough government contracts that Lakes started losing business hand
over fist. Eventually it reached a point that the family either sold to him or
went under."

"He got it?"

"Yes, but the worst bit is still to come. Shortly after they sold for a song,
Lake and his wife committed suicide leaving a young family."

"Did they know about Granger's meddling."

"I don't think so. That didn't come out until later."

Adam swallowed another bit of toast washed down with coffee.

"Granger certainly knew how to make enemies. He deals dirty in business almost
as a matter of course. He promotes, and by all accounts, joins the IRA, with the
danger and political consequences that go along with it. I can see plenty of
motives for killing Granger but I still can't see a link to Fran's murder, or
John's death come to that."

Bel posed the question that was bothering her. "And it doesn't answer why John
was on the Hermes."

Adam put up his hand. "I have a theory over that. I think John was going to
check on something, or someone, that was on the Hermes."