The Dead Lie Down (Adam Lennox Thrillers: Book One) (2 page)

There
was hardly a need to check the fourth as he had already found what he had come
for but something in him felt the need to complete the task and he jemmied off
the fourth lid. At the sight of the contents his head whipped back involuntarily
and he emptied the contents of his stomach on the deck of the hold. After a
moment or two he raised his head and found the courage to look again. The body
in the crate was that of a tall man, European he guessed but thankfully a
stranger to him. The man's throat had been cut to the point that the head had
almost been severed when the body had been folded into the crate.

Now he was on new ground. He had not encountered death like this before and this
had been unexpected. His mind fled in several directions at once and he suddenly
felt a desperate need for fresh air. Avoiding glancing inside the crate again he
quickly hammered down the lid. An illogical thought crossed his mind, asking the
forgiveness of the body inside for returning him to his tomb, as if it cared,
before clambering his way out of the hold and up the first of many ladders to
the open decks above.

The First Officer and the Captain watched the lights change colour. The former
looked at the latter, who nodded, and picking up the radio-telephone handset he
made the call.

Chapter 2

Adam watched with some amusement as the elephant carefully leant down and
proceeded to eat the camera.

Well, that's not strictly true. The elephant leaned down, picked up the camera
from the photographer's hands and with a deft flick of its trunk sent the camera
spinning in a high and graceful arc over the high fence into the tigers'
enclosure, the strap flying out behind it for all the world like a kite's tail.
The photographer stood paralysed, still in shooting stance, stunned and
speechless, as if fully expecting the camera to miraculously reappear in his
hands.

A
scantily clad, if well endowed, young brunette lost no time in enveloping
herself in a duffel coat and the man in the suit lost his temper.

London Zoo had rarely seen such excitement and it was difficult to tell who was
the more surprised, the elephant or its keeper, for they both seemed to be having
trouble controlling themselves. The giraffes leaned out of their enclosure to
ascertain the cause of the neighbourhood disturbance.

"This
is all your fault Lennox," bellowed the man in the suit, his double chin
quivering with indignation as he turned and pointed an accusing finger at the
indicted individual. His eyes narrowed as if he hoped by the power of
concentration to cause a bolt of lightning to issue forth from his finger and
strike the individual down. If he did he was disappointed. Perhaps his rimless
glasses diffused the power thought Adam.

The small group stood in one of the open public spaces created by recent
improvements to the zoo, which had been carried out in the hope of encouraging
the public to come in and fill the spaces. Close by were the large animal
enclosures with their lofty fencing and ditches as appropriate, whilst concrete
had been replaced with more aesthetically pleasing materials. Whether they were
more pleasing to the public or the animals wasn't clear in the publicity
material.

The elephant had been intended as an active participant in the photographs,
something that had caused the brunette to hurriedly insist on injury protection
clauses in the contract, although no one had anticipated the activity it had
decided to indulge in.

Adam
Lennox stared for a moment in apparent disbelief, shaking his head slowly in
wonder whilst his business partner Gerry attempted to conceal a wide grin
without a great deal of success. None of the party appeared in the slightest bit
interested in attempting a foray into the tigers' enclosure to recover the £5000
worth of camera, least of all its owner who was starting to shake slightly at
what he would later describe in the pub as 'a brush with death'. The tigers for
their part seemed uninterested, either in the proceedings or in the camera,
beyond a slightly disdainful look at what was after all an invasion of their
privacy. Adam looked up at the grey April sky above London Zoo and decided it
was too gloomy a day to shoot publicity photos anyway, which was all right for
him to say, but it wasn't his camera, was it?

"Nothing to do with me Stan", he grinned. "It was you insisted we do the
promotional shots here. I told you it was a risk but you knew better. Animals
and children and all that."

Adam Lennox stood his ground in a casual jacket and jeans. Five foot six, or
seven on a good day, fair hair that would have blown in the breeze if it wasn't
kept short, partly out of laziness, partly his old Army habits. As a tank
commander in the 1st Royal Tank Regiment you didn't want hair getting in the
way. His face still showed the remnants of long days in the desert sun, left
over from the Iraq campaign, whilst a fading scar from ear to chin across his
left cheek was a further memento, as was the missing small finger from his right
hand. He still maintained that he was lucky to get off so lightly but didn't
like to talk about it much.

Stan
Hollis, a good three inches shorter, and advertising manager for Colores Skin
Products, attempted to get in Adam's face, which was when the three inches proved
crucial. Nor could they be offset by the expensive suit or the camel hair coat
that went out of fashion when they finally took Minder off the TV.

"I'll sue you for every penny if I have to, Adam."

Adam made a point of looking down, and smiling fondly at his old adversary, gave
him a metaphorical pat on the head.

"No you won't Stan. You'll go home, have one of your wife's delicious beef
stroganoffs and wrap your hand around your favourite single malt whisky, because
you and I know that the publicity business is fickle. And next week I'll call to
set up a more appropriate venue to advertise your skin cream."

He looked around him at the continuing mayhem, the curvy brunette disappearing
over the horizon, the photographer still hopping from foot to foot and the
elephant keeper still struggling with his charge.

"Mark you, I've rarely seen a photo shoot as entertaining as this."

Stan Hollis considered a retort but the elephant was gaining ground on him and
he beat a hasty retreat to his car parked nearby.

Since
starting his Advertising Consultancy and Publicity firm (cunningly styled JAM
PUBLICITY), Adam had always maintained that outdoor publicity shoots should be
scheduled during the summer months, preferably somewhere warm in the
Mediterranean or the Caribbean, and it was days like today that cemented that
view firmly in his mind.

He turned to his still grinning, but so far mute, partner whose thinning hair
was blowing in the breeze, giving the impression that his head was about to
burst into flames.

"Consider this Gerry. One must always expect the unexpected." He stopped Gerry
as he went to say something. "And I don't mean Monty Python's Spanish
Inquisition either." Gerry looked somewhat crestfallen.

Adam continued. "This morning when we got up we assumed that we were in for a
run of the mill photo shoot, in the cold of an April morning. Instead we have
been entertained by a fine display of Nature's ability to take Man to the
cleaners with a vengeance."

"It's still friggin' cold though," protested Gerry.

Adam grinned. "Gerry, coffee".

Adam having been in the Army managed to carry the air about him of someone in
command, something which Gerry found necessary to deflate occasionally in their
egalitarian partnership. However on this occasion he was happy to acquiesce as
he had virtually lost all feeling in several fingers.

"Coffee it is."

Gerry
Grant, three years older than Adam, was more or less the same height (depending
on what shoes he was wearing), however, where Adam was lean Gerry was generous,
something to do with a penchant for cream buns and real ale, not necessarily
together. His wife couldn't understand it as she continually supplied him with
nutritionally balanced meals at home and still wondered why he put on weight. He
generally put on an air of surprise when asked and declared it to be a mystery.
Gerry was deluded.

The two of them adjourned to one of those coffee shops so beloved of British
tourist attractions that seem to do their level best to keep you out. The 50's
decor of special peeling paint and Formica. To be fair many of these refreshment
houses had come a long way since the 'bad old days', but this one appeared to
have lost the map some time ago. Out of curiosity and the yearning for free
entertainment they took a window table with a view over to the tigers'
enclosure, where the still irate photographer was remonstrating with a keeper
and threatening all sorts of law suits if the powers that be didn't do something
to recover his camera. The keeper appeared unmoved by his remonstrations.

Gerry gazed in appreciation at the scene. In his newspaper days this was the
wonderful sort of occasion for filling in the funny little paragraphs that
amused the readers of the weekend editions.

They re-enacted El Alamein with salt, pepper and sugar bowl whilst waiting for
the coffee to arrive. Gerry was two-nil up at half time when it arrived and the
game was abandoned through lack of interest. The coffee itself had the
appearance of something you were more likely to employ as a preservative on your
garden fence than drink, but it was hot and wet and in the circumstances beggars
couldn't be choosers. Adam was still slightly concerned, nevertheless, that his
stomach might rebel at some later and inconvenient time, and made a mental note
to give up begging.

"I suppose we'll have to find ourselves another photographer then?" mused
Gerry.

"I rather suspect you're right," Adam agreed reluctantly, looking over at him
and smiling wryly.

Gerry
the ex newspaperman with contacts everywhere was the perfect foil to Adam's
suave sophisticated and debonair leadership, at least that's what Adam
considered an objective appreciation of the partnership. They had met four years
ago when, starting a publicity consultancy, Adam had been pilloried by the
tabloid press because of his silver spoon background. In the ensuing furore,
Gerry, assistant editor of one of those tabloids had decided that there was a
limit to how low he was prepared to stoop, and the limbo bar had just gone too
far. He quit. As it happened a newly formed Publicity Consultancy had a vacancy
for someone with contacts everywhere, and so what was to become a lucrative
partnership was born.

"Oi, you're doing it again" interrupted Gerry.

"Doing what?"

"That misty eyed dreamy look that says you're not in touch with reality."

"My creative and philosophical nature coming out you mean."

"Yeah just before you have to unblock the toilet because the plumbing's up the
creek again."

Adam shook his head in wonder. "Gerry, you are living proof that God has a sense
of humour. That's what I like about you. You have the knack of bringing
everything back to the lowest common denominator. I can always rely on you to
bring me back to earth with a thump hard enough to put both legs in
plaster."

"My pleasure Guv'nor."

"But if you start calling me guv'nor I may have to break both your arms."

Gerry tried to look scared and missed.

"In that case what would you recommend for the 2.30 at Kempton Park?" he
demanded.

Adam
leant back in his chair. "'Begging Your Pardon' to win or 'Generation Gap' for
a place. The ground suits them both."

"Thankee kindly squire." Gerry doffed an imaginary cap to the fount of all
racing knowledge. Adam in his past life had developed a penchant for the horses.
Not betting on them you understand, just predicting the results, accurately more
often than not. Gerry found it very useful, and the form books removed the need
for coffee mats around the office. Adam Lennox was not one of the bookies
favourite people.

At this point the conversation could have descended into derogatory repartee had
Adam's mobile not rung and saved the café's occupants from torture outlawed by
the Geneva Convention.

Adam fished in a pocket, pulled out his mobile and hit the green button.

"Adam Lennox."

"Adam, it's John". The agitated voice of John Bartlett, chairman and owner of
Bartlett International Shipping Ltd, a lucrative account gained on the basis of
being at school together. The fact that Adam had been two years below John
appeared to give John the right to continue the Prefect's role. Sometimes Adam
felt that the account was not worth the profit it brought, but business was not
yet good enough to turn away clients, however much they got right up your
nose.

"John, what's the problem?" asked Adam.

"I need you here at the office now."

"What's the rush?"

"I have the police with me and they're saying that I've killed a man."

Chapter 3

The brisk walk through Regents Park aided by a weak mid-day sun helped to warm
Adam up. He rarely drove in London if he could avoid it. At Great Portland St.
he managed to jump on a Circle Line underground as the doors were closing,
something that always gave him a ridiculous amount of satisfaction. The fifteen
minute journey to the Bartlett building in the City gave Adam plenty of
opportunity to conjure up possible scenarios that would have caused John
Bartlett to have called him in. Adam was always ambivalent about his working
relationship with John Bartlett. Despite their schooling together their
backgrounds were worlds apart and they had never quite felt at ease with each
other. John Bartlett now headed up a major corporation, a multinational company
founded by his grandfather and built up by his father, a classic case of the
self made success, the underclass coming good and winning through. It was
something that John never let Adam forget.