The Dead Lie Down (Adam Lennox Thrillers: Book One) (9 page)

Adam looked up from the mail he had been leafing through and after a brief
hesitation, shrugged. "Any number of ways to get hold of a mobile number."

"What? In the twelve hours or so between this thing blowing up, if you'll pardon
the pun, and your car going west?"

Adam hesitated, unwilling to concede the point. "It could be done."

"Or you were shopped by someone who already knew the number."

Adam considered the thought as he got up to stir the fire into life and throw on
another log. A spider ran off across the carpet to avoid being incinerated,
thereby proving that the logs were real at any rate.

"Gerry you're scaring me. Change the subject."

Gerry raised an eyebrow, shrugged his shoulders and re-addressed himself to his
favourite subject.

"'Begging your Pardon' romped home three lengths clear."

Adam stopped poking the fire. "Excuse me?"

"2.30 at Kempton Park. Trouble was it was favourite at 6 to 4 on. Hardly worth
the effort."

"Such is life Gerry. Such is life." Adam couldn't suppress a smile. He looked
across the room where Bel was almost asleep on a couch the other side of the
fire.

He lowered his voice. "Gerry. What can you remember of Granger Bartlett's
death?"

"Granger's? Not much. He wasn't my side of town if you know what I mean. It made
quite a stir at the time I remember." Gerry looked at Adam whilst helping
himself to a Scotch and handing Adam a Coke. Here was a ritual that had happened
before. "You think it's tied in somehow?"

Adam accepted the Coke and pulled the ring. "Gut feeling tells me it's central
but I don't know why yet."

"I could sniff around, call in a favour or two, get someone to search the
archives. See what we can come up with."

"That would be good but I need some quick answers. Something tells me that these
characters aren't going to take no for an answer."

Gerry stopped mid mouthful. "You think there's a real danger then?"

"Yes.
Don't tell Bel but my guess is these people have killed at least once if not
more and if Granger's death wasn't an accident then I guess it's more blood on
their hands."

The figure on the couch stirred. "Don't tell Bel what?"

"That you were sleeping with your mouth open Trent, and you were snoring,"
retorted Adam.

"Lennox, I don't snore and I didn't have my mouth open," came Bel's swift
denial.

Gerry turned to Adam with his serious face on. "You seem to be taking this
rather more lightly than you were earlier."

Adam looked briefly surprised before comprehension hit him. "I called
Mitch."

"Ah. Now I understand. " Gerry nodded sagely. "So if I appear to step on my
shadow it's just Mitch getting too close?"

"Correct."

At this point Gerry, having finished his drink, excused himself, and set off for
home to try and convince his wife that he had been delayed on legitimate
business and not 'stuck in the pub'.

Adam suddenly realised that seven o'clock had come and gone, and elected to eat
out. As they stepped out into the street and headed for the river Bel
hesitated.

Adam stopped. "Problem?"

"Let
me get this right," said Bel. "We are currently being threatened with a fate
worse than death."

"Correct," confirmed Adam. Call him fey but he thought he knew what was
coming.

"And yet we're walking across London on our own, a sitting target."

"Right," grinned Adam. "You've got to bait the hook with something tasty after
all."

Bel looked at him strangely and they walked on.

The 'Floating Duck' was a smart floating restaurant moored alongside the Thames
Embankment. It may have been a barge at one time but successive alterations to
the superstructure left it looking like a cross between the Mary Rose and
Captain Nemo's submarine. It specialised in fish and game, and removing cash
from your pocket, but at least the view was nice and the waiters didn't spit on
the plates before they polished them.

As
they approached, Adam wondered whether the 'Friday night crowd' might have left
them a bit short of tables and as they crossed the gangplank and ducked through
the low entranceway his fears were substantiated. A queue of four couples ahead
of them did not bode well. He was about to consider plan B when the Head Honcho
approached. He looked suspiciously at Adam, as if assessing him as worthy
clientele, or not as the case may be, before noticing Bel standing slightly
behind. His eyes lit up.

"Miss Trent."

Bel smiled. "Good evening Edward, how are you?"

"Very well, very well indeed. You will have Mr Bartlett's usual table?"

"Thank you Edward," replied Bel with a half grin that Adam was meant to see.

Edward pushed past Adam as if he wasn't there and solicitously escorted Bel to a
window table over in a quiet corner. Adam was left to find his own way.

Once seated they were handed menus that would have caused an eclipse over most
of the Southern Hemisphere.

"Mademoiselle will have her usual Martini?" inquired Edward.

"Thank you
that would be lovely."

"And the
gentleman?" started Edward. Adam was convinced there was an inflexion in the
word that was meant to convey the impression of lower life form.

"The gentleman
will have a ginger beer and lime," replied Adam.

There was a
marginal lifting of the eyebrows but Edward left them without further
comment.

A moment's
silence was broken by Bel who was having distinct trouble controlling her facial
expression. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you. John entertains here
regularly."

"Of course
Miss Trent," mimicked Adam. "I should have known Miss Trent. Will that be all
Miss Trent."

"Shut up you
idiot," she laughed. "Or I won't bring you out in public again."

Adam displayed
his maturity by sticking his tongue out briefly.

The drinks
arrived and food was ordered. Adam was suspecting the onset of paranoia but he
was sure that Edward fractionally shook his head pityingly when Adam made his
choice.

He checked the
strength of the drink. Hand it to them. They knew how to mix a ginger beer and
lime. He caught Bel's eye.

"About
yesterday, in your office. I'm sorry. I was out of order. I still lose it far
too easily when I start talking about Fran, and everything."

Bel shook her
head. "My fault, I shouldn't have pushed it." She paused, looking out over the
river. "Do you think we'll ever get over the past?"

"I hope so,
but every time I think about it I feel guilty, because I feel it's wrapped up in
Fran becoming a distant memory."

They waited in
silence for food to arrive and break the awkwardness.

Bel forked
some prawns and miscellaneous salad-stuff into her mouth. She had a way of
making it a delicate movement, whilst making Adam feel he was using a shovel.
"You think that this business is tied up with Fran's death?" she asked.

Adam paused,
fork in mid air, salad-stuff going everywhere. "I don't know. It's got to be
tied in with Bartletts but I don't know if the reference to Fran's death was
just designed to get at me."

"But you're
assuming it's connected."

"I suppose I
am," replied Adam. He retrieved the forkful before continuing, "Is there anyone
at Bartletts that you would trust implicitly?"

After a
noticeable hesitation she finally put her fork down. "There's a guy who works in
the IT side of Accounts. Derek Travis. We've worked on fraud security before.
I'd have to check where he thinks his loyalties lie but I think he might
help."

"Sound him
out. I want to know if there was anything irregular going on at Bartletts."

Bel bristled.
"If there was anything going on I think I would have known about it. Like I say,
I worked on fraud before."

Adam looked
somewhat disbelievingly but recognised that he was dealing with hot coals and
decided to tread carefully.

"If they knew
you were on the side of the angels they would have carefully hidden it from
you."

"Who's they?"
demanded Bel, the indignation losing its impact as she dropped a forkful of
prawn onto her lap.

Adam waited,
as a gentleman would, for the lady to recover.

"If I knew
that, we'd be laughing," he explained.

Bel retreated.
"What kind of thing are we looking for?"

"Anything.
There has to be a reason why John travelled on the freighter and why one of the
crew died."

The main
course arrived and Adam was getting the impression that Edward was warming to
him at last, or alternatively he could be completely deluded, it was a close
call.

Bel started to
bone her rainbow trout with a precision reminiscent of medical soaps. "I have a
confession to make."

Adam
over-acted aghast and put both knife and fork down with dramatic flair.

Bel was forced
to laugh. "I'm serious." She paused. "Someone tried to attack me this afternoon,
before you phoned me."

She outlined
what had happened. Adam went very still.

She tried to
catch his eye.

"You're mad at
me aren't you?"

Adam was
confused. In situations like this it was so much easier if you were on your own.
Decisions were simpler. Actions less critical. When people you cared about got
involved it all became a lot more complicated. Like Iraq...

He took one of
her hands in his. She seemed slightly disconcerted by the move.

"I need you to
be honest with me if we're to get out of this mess," he said.

"Sure," she
said brightly. Adam didn't believe a word.

They finished
the main course and Adam indulged in light banter with Edward over the choice of
dessert. Either Adam was winning him over or Edward was going for the big
tip.

Half way
through her profiteroles Bel picked up the gauntlet.

"So what are
we going to do?" she asked.

Adam frowned
briefly. "I've told you. I'm going to find out the connection with Granger
Bartlett's death and then I'll take it from there."

It was Bel's
turn to frown. "I said 'what are
we
going
to do'. If Fran is involved somehow then I need to find out why as much as you
do." There was defiance in her expression that Adam wasn't going to argue with.
Not yet at any rate.

"Ah." It was Adam's turn to think. "Then for safety's sake I think perhaps you
should stay in the flat until things become clearer. You can use either of the
spare rooms."

Bel's frown returned with a vengeance and she toyed with a profiterole she was
studying intently. "You know, I'd prefer not to."

It was a statement that could be easily interpreted a number of ways. Adam took
the safe course.

"I know you don't want to stay around but it can't be helped."

Whether that was what Bel was actually asking or not she didn't push the
point.

Conversation returned to the safe ground of the common place. Edward appeared to
look down his nose at the tip but Adam didn't take it personally. They made it
back to the flat without mishap and Bel excused herself to turn in for the
night. Adam sat in silence, staring into the still glowing embers of the fire,
listening to the sounds of her padding around, in and out of the bathroom until
she finally settled into the bedroom.

He transferred his attention to the portrait of Fran that sat on a large oak
bookcase to one side of the fireplace.

What happened, Fran? What was going on that's coming back to bite us?

His own portrait, taken at the same time, didn't seem to offer any answers, but
he asked the questions anyway.

So, what are you going to do Adam? How do you get out of this one? Where do you
go from here? You haven't got a bloody clue have you?

Above all he kept coming back to the same question that had been plaguing him
all day.

He looked at his watch and decided it was time for a walk.

Chapter 13

Much of the East End of London had been tarted up but there were still many
places where the homeless congregated under an open sky. Drive around and if you
were careful you could spot them by the glow of a brazier under a railway arch.
The local coppers kept an eye out but generally it was 'you leave me alone and
I'll leave you alone'.

Adam didn't have far to walk and although the night was cold a brisk pace kept
the chill off. Still, he was pleased to see the fire burning brightly as he
approached a group of four or five shadows sitting around the red hot brazier
under the railway bridge on the waste ground behind the Red Lion. The smell of
stale beer mixed with curry assaulted his nose as he turned off the road and
picked his way past piles of rubble, old sofas, broken beds, sodden mattresses
and old milk crates. The light of the fire threw magnified shadows up into the
arches like some old 'Tom and Jerry' cartoon.

At
the age of sixteen, Adam did what all teenagers do best and rebelled against
his parents' values and expectations. Dropping out of public school he took to
the streets and soon became a well-known figure amongst the homeless of London.
He still remembered with fondness the camaraderie he had found there amongst
those who had chosen to drop the burdens of society, live without
responsibilities and breathe the free air.

He had found it bizarre at the time that whilst he rejected what his parents
stood for, his relationship with them hadn't suffered. Looking back now he
realised how mixed up he had been and admired the fact that his parents hadn't
abandoned their wayward son but continued to love him at a distance, giving him
time and space.

More embarrassing were the food parcels, which became legendary. The speed of
the homeless bush telegraph was no more evident than when a 'Lennox Box' had
arrived at some homeless shelter with Adam's name on it. Frequently he never saw
any of it as his generous nature (or was it his rebellious nature?) distributed
it in a blur reminiscent of UN humanitarian food drops. Ma Lennox became the
toast of many a gathering in those days.