The Reckless Engineer (7 page)

Before he had time to think of the significance of what he was getting himself into, he found himself putting Jack’s dark grey Golf into gear and racing out towards the McAllen BlackGold offices in Portsmouth.

CHAPTER 9

Saturday, October 16 — one Day Later

If this K.C. were any good Jeremy knew he would be too late to get to the offices before he did. He was right. As he approached the McAllen BlackGold offices he could see the lights on in one of the buildings. Caitlin’s Mercedes Benz SUV was parked by the side of this building and another SUV was parked next to it with its rear hood and two rear doors wide open. Jeremy slowed down. He would drive past inconspicuously, keeping an eye on the offices and the vehicles. The Sunday evening traffic on the road was sparse; there were only two other cars and one truck on the road as far as the eye could see.

When Jack had started work for McAllen BlackGold all those years ago the only building here had been the large converted barn that housed the machinery and the supplies. The main offices had been housed in a rented building in central Portsmouth just a ten-minute drive away. Jack had bought the adjacent land for the company, two and a half acres, from the farmer who had been using it as grazing land for his horses and to store his trucks, tractors, vans, wheelbarrows, harvesters, and other equipment that he rented out. Jack had converted the barn on the new land into BlackGold’s new electro-mechanical labs, and on the rest of the empty land he had built the two-storey office building that now contained the staff offices. The company’s original barn had been further built up to accommodate BlackGold’s increasing array of supplies, manufacturing machinery, and the range of electromechanical products that the company built.

Jeremy drove slowly past the three BlackGold buildings on his left, while a retreating sea possessively drained remnants of trapped water off the sands at low tide on his right. A little boy was running naked with his pup, collecting seashells into a bucket, while their mother packed up the picnic they had enjoyed earlier in the day. On Jeremy’s left, through the gaps in the row of thick hedges and trees that Caitlin had grown, he could see a medium built man carrying a pile of files out to the SUV that had its doors open.

This must be K.C.!

Having passed the BlackGold land, he slowed down further. On his left there were the farmer’s trucks, skips, vans, tractors, and harvesters and other equipment still parked on the remainder of the land that he had not sold to the company. The gate was closed but not latched, and no one was about to keep an eye on the equipment but a few grazing horses. He killed his lights, pulled over, got out, pushed open the gates, and reversed Jack’s Golf through the entrance into the land, backing it into a space behind a tractor out of sight from the main road.

He would take the camcorder he had in his case with the powerful zoom lens. He had no binoculars, but it should do. Jeremy ran quietly past the tractors up to the thick hedge and trees that separated the BlackGold land from the farmer’s. From this vantage point behind the thick hedge, Jeremy was about fifteen yards from the SUVs where the man was busy at work. He looked Eastern European or Persian, medium built and balding. With his back to Jeremy, he was busy vacuuming Caitlin’s SUV and wiping its handles and surfaces with a cloth. There was a bucket of water on the ground into which he dipped his cloth every now and again, and several bottles of cleaning liquid he sprayed liberally onto the surfaces he was cleaning.

Under the open hood of the other SUV, a Suzuki, Jeremy could see a pile of files, a PC base unit, a laptop, and two boxes set on the floor. Quietly focusing his camcorder on its license plate, he turned the recording on. A few more shots of the man as he went about cleaning Caitlin’s SUV and then headed back into the offices.

Jeremy knew that Caitlin used the SUV mostly for taking equipment out for demonstrations. What could have been in it that needed such a thorough clean-out?

The man left the office and spent about forty minutes in the labs; then returned to the office. A few minutes later, the lights in the offices went out. He came out carrying a black bag and locked the door.
A chance to get a face shot . . . now!
Jeremy watched him head back to the Suzuki, throw in the bag and the gloves he had been wearing, close the doors, get in, and start the engine. Slowly the vehicle pulled out and paused at the exit with its left indicator lights blinking. He was heading in Jeremy’s direction and therefore out of Portsmouth!

Jeremy dashed back to his car and waited for the SUV to pass. It was nearly 7:15 on a dark but unusually warm autumn night. They had had two dry years in a row and the water companies were predicting drought conditions and water shortages. He drove Jack’s Golf out of the farmer’s land and settled into cruise speed behind the SUV, keeping its rear lights just about in sight ahead of him.

The drive was about 35 minutes long, out of Portsmouth and heading inland. Jeremy turned on the voice recorder on his iPhone and read out the street names he passed into it every five minutes or so. They were heading into Petersfield when the SUV’s left indicator lights came on. Jeremy rapidly killed his speed and, as he followed it and turned left into a residential street, also killed his lights.

About a hundred yards ahead the SUV had turned right through the entrance into the grounds of a detached house. Jeremy pulled over and parked. He wanted a closer look. He would look just like a normal pedestrian in the twilight, right?

Walking past the house a minute later, he could see that his subject had parked his vehicle in the garage and was walking into the house through an exit at the back of it as its electric door closed behind him. The house number was 27 Cranford Road, a typical middle class suburban home. He took a few discreet photographs of the SUV and the house with his iPhone, in case Harry needed the evidence, catching the number plate just before the garage door closed. On his way back past the house he picked up several bundles of letters and bills from the recycling bin left near the entrance for collection.

Back in Jack’s car, Jeremy could feel his pulse racing. What had he got himself into? He leaned his head back on the headrest, shut his eyes, and breathed in slowly and deeply for a few long moments. There was nothing more he had the nerve to do tonight. He started the car and tapped Jack’s postcode into its GPS navigator. On his way he would pull over at a quiet spot and call Harry to get some of the weight of the past 24 hours’ knowledge off his shoulders.

CHAPTER 10

Sunday, October 17 — Two Days Later

‘Who was doing the work for you at Blackmoon Investigations, Caitlin?’ Harry enquired casually as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

It was shortly past 10:50 the next day (Sunday) morning. Jeremy had spent the morning until Harry’s arrival putting Caitlin’s office and Jack’s workshop back in order and making a set of copies of the papers that the police had taken for Harry. Now, Harry, Caitlin, and he were once again seated in the Guest Room around two fresh trays of coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice, croissants, donuts, cakes, bottled water, and glasses that Félipé had set down on the coffee table. The homemade cake, baked upside down with fruit in syrup, was so moist it melted in Jeremy’s mouth.

‘One John Smith, although it is clearly a pseudonym he uses for work.’

Harry nodded.

‘Did any of his associates help you with the work?’ He shot Jeremy a quick glance.

‘He did have a couple of private eyes doing his legwork. It was Papa and Ronnie who hired them, Harry. I have seen them just the once and have spoken to them a few times, always to John Smith. You could get all the information you need from Papa when he gets here.’ She glanced anxiously at the wall clock. ‘Papa’s running late.’

A swift change of subject there.
Jeremy responded to Harry’s look with one raised eyebrow.

‘How’s he getting here, Caitlin?’ Jeremy asked.

He had not met the legend that was Douglas McAllen in person before. Along the wall of the grand old main stairwell of the mansion hung two commissioned life-size portraits of the regal Douglas McAllen and the senior Douglas Wilfred McAllen, Caitlin’s grandfather, painted in oil on canvas and framed in gold. That morning he had stood on the landing and studied the portraits until he was startled out of his meditative attention by Caitlin coming out of her room. He was awaiting the impending arrival with awe-filled anticipation.

‘Peter’s driving them back. We have a firm in Southampton we hire limousines from whenever we have important clients flying in. Peter’s hired a limo from them big enough to accommodate Papa, his solicitors, Hannah, and the luggage.’

Harry fingered through the set of papers Jeremy had copied, asking questions and jotting down notes. Caitlin responded tensely, clasping and unclasping her hands. She glanced anxiously at the clock and out the large bay window every few minutes while Harry advised her on the questions that could be expected from Edwards based on the papers the police had. Jeremy refilled his glass of water and paced slowly towards the window. Max and Molly had started barking outside.

‘That must be Papa. Please excuse me.’

Caitlin hurried out of the room.

Through the window by which Jeremy was standing he could see the gates opening and what seemed like a silver Chrysler Executive turning into the long driveway. Harry got up to follow Caitlin, but then changed his mind and sat down again with a fresh glass of water. Jeremy watched Harry brush crumbs off his Armani jacket, adjust his collar, and cross one leg over into an apparently well-rehearsed “casual” pose. He walked back to the beautifully carved black wooden mantelpiece and leaned on it sideways on his left elbow himself, one leg crossed over. There was a sense in the air that the real master of the mansion had arrived and no one was sure of his place in the house any more.

At six foot four in height Douglas McAllen was an immense, imposing, and regal presence that owned every room he walked into. Like Caitlin he lightly packed his tall and broad frame with lean flesh and muscles, somewhat slackened with time, without being either over or under weight. His face was crinkled with fine lines like cracked drying mud, and the equally wrinkled hand he extended to them betrayed a slight tremor from his sixty odd years of life on earth and from the strain of his daughter’s plight.

‘Harry Stavers?’ His deep voice resounded through the room. He slouched down and extended a hand to Harry whose five-foot eight-inch slim frame was dwarfed by the presence of the older man.

‘Pleased to meet you in person, Mr. Stavers, and thank you for stepping in to help my daughter and son-in-law so effectively. This is Magnus Laird from McKinley & Laird Solicitors.’

Magnus Laird walked in a step behind Douglas McAllen and was also a presence of massive proportions in his own right. The two or three inches in height and the half-a-dozen or so years in age he lacked relative to his client, he made up for with three or four stones of extra weight packed liberally around his torso. His face was dominated by a thick walrus moustache, which he was in the habit of combing down with his right forefinger every now and then.

‘How do you do, Mr. McAllen, Mr. Laird? Please call me Harry.’ Harry stood upright, greeting them with a steady voice of strength and confidence, like David facing Goliath.

‘Och aye, Mr. Stavers. It is a pleasure indeed my dear fellaw. I have heard much abit yer courtroom antics in the High Court from me fellow members of the bar in London.’

Laird bent forward to shake Harry’s hand heartily, taking care not to topple over, then straightened back up with great effort, momentarily holding onto his own back with his left hand the way pregnant women did.

‘And this must be Jeremy Stone.’ McAllen’s blue eyes crinkled further into a smile as he lithely took the half-length of the room with a few long strides. He put his left hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and shook his right hand. The old man liked him.

‘I have heard much about you, good things, from Caitlin and Jack. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, son. You must come and visit my factories in Aberdeen some time. I am always in need of a fine engineer of your calibre.’

‘I am honoured to meet you, sir.’ Jeremy bowed his head and smiled.

‘Och, aye, Mr. Stone, the Engineer. The one who made the laboratory in the barn for our dear Jack, I hear. Very clever, very clever indeed.’ Magnus Laird waddled, carrying his bulk across the room, and shook Jeremy’s hand heartily for a long minute or two with both of his.

‘I only gave Jack a hand, Mr. Laird,’ Jeremy protested, but he couldn’t help being cheered by his hearty appraisal.

‘It has already been a long morning for us and we don’t have much time before we have to face this bloody interview. I need a word in private with Magnus and Caitlin first, and then we can discuss matters over a spot of lunch. How does that sound, Mr. Stavers, er, Harry?’

‘That’s the best way forward, Mr. McAllen,’ Harry agreed.

‘Help yourself to anything you need, Jeremy, and look after your friend. Peter will be in for a chat with you shortly and will keep you company.’ He turned towards Caitlin and his solicitor. ‘Let us talk in the library, Magnus.’

‘Of course, let us talk in the library where we shall finally fin’ a seat we can sit on. These airplanes are like packed chicken pens taking us to the slaughterhouse. The seats are just a perch . . .’

‘I’m sorry we couldn’t get you a first-class seat this time in the rush, Magnus.’

Their voices retreated down the hallway.

The table was laid for six, but Peter had excused himself and retreated into Jack’s lab with a sandwich. Hannah flowed about the room in her ghostly black robes serving a light Sunday roast cooked by Félipé without an appetizer or desert. The meal was to be followed by a round of strong cappuccino to keep the stressed and very tired people alert through a trying afternoon. Douglas McAllen sat at the head of the table, with Caitlin opposite him, and Magnus Laird on his left with his fingers clasped together and palms down on his pregnant stomach. Harry sat across the table from Laird on McAllen’s right with Jeremy next to him.

‘I gather the police are expecting to interview both Caitlin and me, Harry.’

‘Yes. The investigation is being run by one Detective Chief Inspector John Edwards who, from what I have seen thus far, is a shrewd and thorough man. We know that the suspected cause of the death, er, deaths, is poisoning, though they are awaiting the post mortem and toxicology reports for the confirmation. They have a vial of some sort containing remnants of the suspected poison recovered either from Michelle’s premises or from here. From what I can judge by the lines of questioning and Jack’s arrest, they believe Jack poisoned Michelle and her unborn child. But they have not ruled out the involvement of others, and his current list of other suspects unfortunately includes Caitlin, your son, Ronald, and yourself, Mr. McAllen. Edwards is looking for any links he can find to anybody associated with the situation.’

‘Ronnie’s on the list too?’ The mud and furrows on the old man’s face cracked further with added concern.

Peter had stolen back in quietly. He seated himself unobtrusively at the far end of the breakfast bar with his sandwich, listening intently. Jeremy raised his eyebrows, smiled, and nodded to greet the lad.

‘Jack gave primarily a “no comment” interview at my advice except for denying any involvement in the poisoning. And yesterday I advised Caitlin to cooperate cautiously until Edwards slammed down that thick bundle of reports from your private investigators on the table, whereupon I swiftly walked Caitlin out of the interview.’

‘Thank you for that, Harry.’ Douglas smiled gratefully. ‘I must admit, I have done my background checks on you. It is your quick thinking that you are well known for in the London circles, as well as for your brilliance as a defence attorney.’

‘Well done, ole boy. I would hae done the same thing,’ Magnus concurred in a monotone voice, clearly not liking another law firm getting close to the client he had cultivated for decades. Then, becoming aware that he might have betrayed his displeasure, he suddenly got up from his seat, toppling his chair over backwards. He lent forward with great effort and extended his hand across the table to Harry which Harry then shook with a bemused but polite smile.

Caitlin sprang up and picked up and held the chair upright for Laird who, after shaking Harry’s hand for a good minute, sat down with deliberate care and placed his hands back on his stomach again, pleased with himself.

‘Would you have copies of those reports for me? The police have not left copies of that bundle with the papers they left upstairs, no doubt to maintain the element of surprise,’ Harry commented.

‘It’s a collection of reports from a couple of private investigators, Blackmoon Investigations and one other man Ronnie and I put on Jack and the woman. I hid it up in the attic so that Caitlin would not find it and be distressed. Caitlin has only seen the first report from when we first confronted Jack. He promised that he had finished off the affair and cut off all contact, but unknown to anybody else I kept the investigators on them. Magnus has some of the reports you can make copies of and I’m sure we can find copies of the others, get them off the investigators if necessary.’ Douglas McAllen looked at Caitlin, who acknowledged the glance with a nod so barely noticeable Jeremy could have imagined it.

Why had he looked at Caitlin and not at Magnus? Of course that was because it was Caitlin who currently had the reports. The old man was covering for his daughter.

‘Who was doing your work at Blackmoon, Mr. McAllen?’ Harry queried.

‘Our account was handled by one John Smith. I know. We all found the name funny. He had two or three other associates doing the work for him: a black lad called David, a white guy, Michael, and a girl, Jane, I think.’

Hmm . . . so no one with initials K.C.?

‘I have some of the reports ye want wi’ me in the library, Harry,’ Magnus cut in. ‘I shall get any others I can fin’ during the course of the week and have them DX’ed to yer offices, but the copies in the attic migh’ be the only ones we had of some of them. Here’s me card, ole chap. I think we are gonnae be working closely on this for some time tae come. We have our English law offices in Birmingham and Leeds, and me good ole friend Tim Brown from our Birmingham office will be assisting me on this matter.’

Magnus Laird reached into his coat pocket and handed Harry about a dozen McKinley & Laird business cards over the table, dropping some on the table and the remaining ones, on the floor.

‘I hae given Douglas and Caitlin the same advice, to be cautiously cooperative today,’ he continued as he tried to bend sideways to pick up the dropped business cards, failed, and then brushed them under the table with his shoe.

Harry followed suit and politely handed three Barrett, Stavers & Associates business cards to Douglas McAllen, Magnus, and Caitlin.

‘We shall, of course, get copies with the prosecution bundle during discovery, but the sooner we have all the information the better the defence as you know, Mr. Laird.’

‘Please call me Magnus.’

The two solicitors exchanged information about the firms and then proceeded to advise Douglas McAllen and Caitlin on what to expect from DCI Edwards and how best to handle the questions that were due them within the hour.