The Dead Lie Down (Adam Lennox Thrillers: Book One) (19 page)

"That he knew was there?"

"He either put it there, or had been told it would be there is my guess. The
question is who or what it was, and did he find it, alive or dead?"

Joan Lennox had been listening to this with increasing frustration. "Adam you
will be careful, won't you? I don't want to leave all this.." she waved her arm
around her at the 'Pride and Prejudice' look-alike. "..to cousin Dennis. It
wouldn't be right."

Adam just looked at Bel and raised his hands to say 'I told you so'.

Joan insisted on hugging Bel. "Come back soon my dear. You don't have to wait
for my delinquent son to invite you, you know. You're welcome any time."

Before they left, Adam got hold of Derek Travis on his mobile.

"Derek."

"Mr Lennox, you beat me to it. I was about to ring you."

"Don't tell me. There's something fishy about the ships."

"There is. Nothing major but definitely consistent and odd."

"Go on."

"Two ships, the Hermes being one, always take one day longer on their sailings
to the States than any of the others on what is ostensibly the same
passage."

"What? They stop somewhere?"

"Can't tell. There's no paperwork to suggest they make a port."

"Anything else that's odd?"

"Well it may be coincidence but the trips that take a day extra are always
signed off personally by Brad Wilding."

"Are those the only ones?"

"No, but there is no pattern to the others. On these he is consistent."

"It is odd isn't it? Thank you Derek, I owe you."

"Mr Lennox, there is one other thing. Paperwork related to these particular
voyages went missing on the night of your wife's death."

Paperwork. A shiver went down Adam's spine. "And?"

"Your wife was last to book it out of Records."

Chapter 26

Adam jogged away from the door of the flat in singlet, shorts and running shoes.
He liked to think he had that hip, trendy appearance. He failed, and deep down
he knew it, but one had to try. Deep down he didn't care. He did however find
that jogging helped him to think, unless it was freezing or raining cats and
dogs, in which case he got fit or caught cold, one of the two. He turned the
corner and pounded along the pavements, thinking not for the first time that,
given the state of the pavements, climbing boots might be more appropriate than
running shoes. He looked down Brixton Street and marvelled at the Cosmopolitan
neighbourhood where he had set up business and home.

The local Pizza & Pasta Restaurant was 'Toni's', owned by an Irishman known
as Mick for some reason but reputed to be an O'Shaunessey from Limerick. The
head chef was a Ukrainian, always addressed as 'The Count', a genial giant who
only turned nasty when you criticised his pasta, which fortunately was rare as
he was the best pasta chef north of the Thames and east of Tower Bridge.

Across the road was the local watering hole, 'The Black Swan', aptly named if
politically incorrect, whose publican was a Nigerian. A man, who would have been
invisible in a brightly lit coal cellar but for the wide grin of white teeth
that habitually decorated his face, he had earned the pseudonym Errol Flynn for
reasons that were lost in the mists of time.

Down past the bus station was the local baker, an Italian, Giancarlo, who could
turn out the most traditional English cakes that were the ultimate challenge to
the local dieting fraternity. At certain times of day Adam's jog could be an
assault on his olfactory senses.

The local betting shop, tucked between the railway bridge and the bakery, or the
'Wager House' as the proprietor liked to call it, was of course a Cockney
affair, run by Fred Bassett (no, honestly) who had rarely stepped foot beyond
the audible radius of Bow Bells. He and George were of course like brothers,
with a lot of give and take, depending on who was winning and who was losing at
any particular point in time.

Two miles into his run and on the point of turning back he was slowing to a walk
when he was aware of two cars passing him and drawing to a stop ten yards ahead.
Black Range Rovers with darkened windows. Someone had been watching too many
American FBI movies, or was that Adam? As they pulled to a stop the rear
vehicle's front passenger door opened, effectively blocking Adam's path. The
occupant, a tall individual complete with broken nose slicked back hair and
sunglasses, jumped out and confronted Adam.

"Get in the car."

What? Two times in as many days, that's too much even for a crime-busting
maverick. Maverick? Okay strike that from the record.

Adam checked the skyline to make sure he was still in London and not New York.
He shook his head thoughtfully. "No, I don't think so."

His prospective 'dinner date' opened his jacket, revealing a gun in its shoulder
holster, with ominous overtones.

Adam cringed. "No, I definitely don't think so." He pointed to the gun.

"Is this supposed to reassure me or what?"

At this point he turned away and started to walk, not quite sure what to expect.
Behind him there was the sound of an electric window and a familiar voice
reached his ears. "Adam, just get in the car."

Adam stopped. Why does that always happen? You're making the perfect getaway and
all of a sudden the pretty girl makes you change your mind.

Anna Low repeated. "It's okay Adam just get in the goddam car."

This, he thought, had better be good.

He turned and moved back to the car without haste. As he reached it he tripped
on the uneven pavement and stumbled against the gangster look-alike. When they
had untangled themselves, Adam found himself holding the gun by the barrel,
pointing at himself. He looked at it in surprise and looking up said, "Yours I
believe."

He ignored the restrained fury that crossed his adversary's face and got into
the car beside Anna.

He turned and met her gaze. "We can't keep meeting like this."

"We need to talk."

"I thought we might."

They let him sit on a seat and look out of the window, which was a significant
improvement on his last ride.

They headed down to the river and across Tower Bridge and ended up in some down
trodden office that looked like a stage set out of 'Who framed Roger Rabbit'
even down to the half glazed office door that looked as if it should have
'Private Investigator' stencilled across it.

They had sat in silence on the journey. Adam wondered if Anna was concerned that
his witty repartee might upset the front seat passengers.

There was a desk. There were two chairs and a coffee machine. And that was all.
They sat down and looked at each other. Anna was dressed for business in suit
and open-necked white blouse.

Adam looked around and used the classic ice-breaker that always got the girls.
"Nice place you have here."

Anna appeared uncertain as to how to proceed. They continued the sponsored
silence. Adam decided that she looked almost as good in a suit as in the
bathrobe. Almost. The open necked blouse displayed enough to bring back memories
for Adam. Anna caught the look and smiled.

"You might have guessed by now that it wasn't co-incidence that I was in that
ditch in Suffolk."

"Suspicion is an ugly word."

"In fact I'd been in that goddamn ditch for three hours waiting for you."

"And now you're going to tell me why, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but first, coffee." She moved over to a coffee machine that probably had
'Made in the Ark' stamped on the bottom. "You're going to need a drink."

Adam grimaced. "And this is the strongest thing you've got?" He shook his head.
"Government cut backs I suppose." He paused. "It is Government isn't it?"

"It is. How did you know?"

Adam slapped his knee in delight. "I must put in for 'Who Wants to be a
Millionaire?'. I feel lucky."

Anna brought back the coffee. Adam eyed it suspiciously. There's coffee, and
then there's coffee. Drink it anyway, throw caution to the wind.

"Adam. You're not taking this seriously."

He tried the coffee. Well, anyone can make a mistake. "So. Tell me why I should
take it seriously."

"You're in too deep Adam. You don't understand what it is you're involved in and
you're going to get hurt."

"My prerogative?"

"Not when you get other people hurt as well."

"Meaning?"

Anna came around to his side of the desk and leaned against its edge.

"I know about the hit-man."

Outside nothing changed. Inside Adam's brain went up several gears. How did she
know? How could she possibly know, or was she just guessing?

"Give it up for Bel's sake if not your own. You know it's only a matter of time
before one of you gets seriously hurt."

He met her eyes with a question. "Is that a threat?"

"No."

Adam crossed his legs, sat back and looked relaxed. Remembered that it's bad for the
circulation. Uncrossed his legs again. Game on.

"So let's suppose you tell me what it's all about and convince me it's too
dangerous. Then I'll decide whether to drop it."

Anna returned to her chair. This was obviously going to take some time. Adam's
coffee was going cold, but not fast enough.

She began, strangely, at the beginning.

"Six months ago the US Coastguard got a tip off that some UK registered ships
were involved in smuggling."

Adam interrupted. "Smuggling what?"

"They didn't know. I got seconded to the UK Customs Investigation branch to
liaise."

"Ah."

"What?"

"That explains the Government cutbacks."

"Do you want to hear this or not?"

Adam tried to look contrite, failed, ham actor.

"Sorry. Carry on."

"We had a number of ships under suspicion. We engineered a vacancy on each ship
and put one of our people on board each ship."

"And one was the Hermes."

She nodded. "And one was the Hermes. The night John Bartlett took the Hermes
back from Holland, our man found what he was looking for. Semi-automatic
weapons, grenades, small rocket launchers. All new, all manufactured in Eastern
Europe."

"And all heading west." Adam chipped in. "But not for the US. It's already awash
with the stuff. So destined for Ireland perhaps. The IRA, or a loyalist paramilitary splinter
group." As he talked, all sorts of uncomfortable pennies were dropping into
place.

"We suspect so but we've no proof. They never reached the US that's for
sure."

"So what went wrong that night?"

"Our man sent a radio message out to our twenty four hour listening
station."

Adam frowned. "A bit risky wasn't it?"

"The message was encrypted so that its content couldn't be intercepted, but we
believe that the radio message was detected and alerted the crew."

"And he was murdered."

She shuddered. "His throat had been cut, with considerable violence. His body
was found in a crate in the hold, by John Bartlett."

"And the weapons?"

"By the time it reached port they had disappeared."

Adam got up and stretched his legs, looked out of the window across the Thames
to the Docks opposite.

"It's strange."

Anna looked up from her paperwork. "What's strange?"

"John Bartlett gave a very different report of what happened on the Hermes." He
told her John's account.

She fiddled with her empty coffee cup. "So did John Bartlett know about the arms
or not? Why did he go on the Hermes that night? Was he behind the arms
smuggling?"

Adam shrugged. "I was hoping you were going to tell me." Light dawned. "Wait a
minute. Hold the bus. You suspected I was involved." He pointed an accusing
finger at the witness in the stand.

Anna held up her hands in mock submission. "The speed with which John Bartlett
contacted you rang alarm bells. We contacted your office and they said you'd
gone to Dunwich. A helicopter dumped me in a suitable ditch. The rest as they
say, is history." She paused for breath. "It was a lousy plan."

But with compensations, thought Adam.

"So why was John murdered?" he continued.

"We don't know. Either he found out something he shouldn't, or he reneged on
something he already knew. The intriguing thing is that they tried to frame you
for it. Did they see you as a threat?"

"Beats me, I don't see why," replied Adam.

There was a moment's silence whilst both of them seemed to weigh up the way
forward, Anna made a move first.

"Where does Bel fit into all this?"

Adam registered surprise. "She doesn't."

"But if John Bartlett were involved in the smuggling, wouldn't it be risky for
his PA not to be in the know. Wouldn't it be safer for her to be a part of it,"
she argued.

"I don't see your logic."

Anna sensed his defensiveness but pushed further.

"Didn't Bel take over from Fran when Fran died?" She hesitated and then
continued. "Yes, I already knew about Fran. I'm sorry."

Now Adam was very careful. Things were taking a turn he didn't like. He
desperately tried to work out if there was something he had missed. Something
bothered him but he couldn't pin it down.

"Is there a link back to Granger Bartlett's death?"

If Anna registered the change of subject she didn't show it.

"We don't know. We haven't had time to do the research. It was a long time ago,"
she replied.

Now communication broke down. Neither appeared willing to say much more but Anna
insisted on repeating her mantra.

"Don't get any more involved, and don't get in the way of our investigation, you
really don't know what you're mixed up in."

Adam shook his head. "I'm mixed up in it whether I like it or not. I don't think
it's under my control any more."

They called it a day before they started to go round in circles.

She dropped him off at the flat after a journey in near silence. The thinking
was, however, deafening.