Deception Love & Murder

by K O'Hanlon

  Chapter Nine

  M r and Mrs Michael Fairchild’s wedding had gone off as planned albeit without Sam standing in as best man. Mike had known that his brother wasn’t keen on the idea of taking Ben’s place so he relieved him of that duty by asking another of his friends, Steve Wilkingson to step in.

  Mike had thought long and hard about giving Sam a job in his company but there really wasn’t a vacant position that Sam could fill and Mike knew that it wouldn’t work out well even if there was. Instead Mike had offered Sam a chance to dump the art that was going nowhere and switch to photography. They had agreed that Sam would take responsibility for his own finances and the running of a photographic studio after his first year in business. Michael would foot the bill for everything for the first twelve months including new equipment, new car, and rented shop premises with a small apartment above. Sam could use the wedding as a kind of springboard to launch his career being the only photographer on the day. Toni had several contacts in advertising and the world of publishing to help Sam get a foot in the door.

  It all seemed to be going well and Sam had seen his brother as a different person, a nicer person, a real brother. Maybe all the planning with dear old James had been worth it after all.

  Sam hadn’t been on the chess site since closing his Samantha25 account. He had no need of it now that his life had changed for the better. Maybe he’d use the internet again in the future and fake an attractive tall brunette profile if he got bored. There were plenty of other sites to choose from and all had fools queuing for attention. He might even search for that idiot Joe Costa again and get some more cash sent across from America. The authorities wouldn’t go to the trouble of tracing the money they had bigger fish to fry.

  Given that Mr James Russell had protested his innocence Sam felt quite sure that he would never be implicated in the death of Ben. Even if dear old James did have a conscience he couldn’t live with without the need to confess all to the world, it would be quite some time, if ever, before it could be linked to Sam.

  The use of his neighbour’s broadband and IP address would first lead them to her. That’s assuming they trace him from the site and that she still lives in her old apartment. Sam laughed at the thought of the police turning up with breathing apparatus to filter the stale smell of talc and piss. He was also pretty sure that she never really knew his surname and his place was registered with the housing benefits office as being rented to Matthew Sharp. There was also the fact that Sam had nothing to gain by arranging the death of Ben. Had it all gone to plan and dear old brother Mike had been killed and left his fortune for Sam to inherit he would probably be on the run now instead of having a relatively good life ahead of him with his photography business.

  James too was thinking of ways to use the World Wide Web but he wanted answers. It was easy to find Michael Fairchild and Benjamin Richards on a google search. He could even look up their individual worth. He found a small article about Antonia Bellingham but most searches with her name led him back to either Michael Fairchild or art dealers and publishers.

  Samuel Fairchild was the odd ball. He didn’t really appear to be of any significance but had recently appeared to be doing rather well for himself after years of being a nobody. It seemed like the death of Ben Richards had been beneficial to Samuel.

  “Were Ben and Samuel lovers? Did Ben provide for Sam in his will?” James had many questions but no facts.

  Nothing gave the answers to what he was looking for but he still wanted to know why Samuel Fairchild had been in the coffee bar in Oxford Street and on the underground train on the very same day that he had arranged to meet Samantha. Was he being followed? Did Samantha25 need to check James over before asking for help? Obviously if that were true then his photo on its own wasn’t good enough. That puts Samuel Fairchild right at the top of his list as prime suspect.

  The body of Benjamin Richards was released to his family for burial. The police investigation had all but ended with more serious local crime taking precedence. Staff shortages in the force due to illness and transfer of manpower to Central London for terror related incidents were keeping the remaining officers busy. DI Potter was only weeks away from retirement and his heart was no longer in the job. With 30 years behind him on the force he had seen pretty much everything. He’d seen wrong people convicted and sent to prison as well as those who got off scot free when they should’ve been behind bars for life. The job had become one of paper pushing and form filling rather than what he had original signed up for, that being to catch criminals and make the world a better safer place for his children and grandchildren. The justice system needed a complete overhaul in his opinion. Judges who lived in gated communities with security didn’t understand the level of crime in other areas. They don’t know the fear of living with thieves, muggers, rapists, and murderers. Sentences were far too lenient for serious offenders. What was the point of bringing the same criminals to justice over and over again?

  The funeral of Michael Fairchild’s partner was of great interest to James. After seeing the date listed in the local paper he felt the need to be there and watch from a distance and see the reactions of others who attended. His own guilt also prompted him to want to take flowers but he’d have to think about the consequences if seen doing that.

  The cemetery chosen proved to be the most popular in the area. It could handle two burials and two cremations at once. James parked over the far side of the car park in his new car. He hadn’t wanted his old car back and the insurance company had agreed a good price to write it off.

  The funeral of a Mr Frederick Jones would be held in chapel number 2 whilst at the same time chapel number 1 would house the mourners of Benjamin Richards. James had bought a bunch of flowers, partly to hide behind if Michael, Samuel, or Antonia were to get too close. Every man there wore black so it was quite easy to mingle without standing out. James followed a large group of people towards chapel 2 for Mr Jones’s service but he wanted to look across the pathway and rose gardens towards chapel 1. He could see a group of people standing round an elderly couple who he assumed to be Ben’s parents. The woman was crying and the man with her had his arm around her shoulder. The group broke away and there in plain view was Michael Fairchild with his wife who was also in tears. Samuel Fairchild stood to the side. He looked different in his dark suit, uncomfortable and fidgety, more nervous than James.

  “Will you be joining us sir. The service is about to begin?”

  James was lost in thought and hadn’t realised he was the only one left standing outside the chapel. “Yes, sorry, I was just remembering poor Fred.”

  He gave one last look across the rose gardens to the other group. Samuel Fairchild was staring straight at him.

  He was left with little choice but to hand his flowers to the man stationed at the door and sit through Frederick Jones memorial service. He took a seat right at the back. Nobody questioned who he was or why he was there. It seemed that Fred had friends in many places and clubs that he’d once belonged to.

  James was amongst the first to leave the funeral party. He wandered over to the small coffee shop that catered for the many guests at the cemetery. It was relatively empty while other services were still to be completed. A seat by the window gave a good view of the car park so he could watch for the Fairchild’s although he didn’t know if they would be included in the chauffeur driven limos or whether they used their own vehicles.

  The first person he spotted was Samuel Fairchild who was walking ahead of his brother and his wife. He seemed impatient to get away and looked slightly agitated at being held up by people hugging each other and shaking hands. Sam’s eyes were looking around, looking for something, someone, and James knew exactly who that someone was.

  They eventually made their way towards a big Mercedes of the same colour and spec as the one owned by Benjamin Richards. Michael held the front passenger door open for Antonia while Sam quickly jumped in the back.

  A very attractive dark haired wo
man was fumbling with her keys by the side of his car. Michael spoke to her before wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her close to his chest. She was obviously crying. He then held her at arm’s length and wiped away some of the tears that spilled down over her face. Whatever he was saying made her nod her head in response before he kissed her forehead and opened her car door.

  James had no idea who the attractive dark haired female was. His concentration was focused on the big Mercedes.

  Was Ben Richard’s Mercedes a company car, now being driven by Michael Fairchild, or did both partners drive identical cars? “Oh fuck, I think I have the answer.”

  “Sorry, Sir. Did you say something?” The elderly woman collecting dirty cups on a tray walked over towards James.

  “No, sorry, I was just thinking out loud. Sorry about the language.” James left a tip on the table and made his way to the car park. If he was quick he could follow the Fairchild’s.

  Sam didn’t know what car James was driving now. As long as he kept a distance he wouldn’t be spotted. He followed his prey until the Mercedes turned into a driveway with electric gates that automatically opened up to let them through.

  James went over everything in his head that he could remember and the finger was now pointing in one direction and that was right at Sam. It all made sense and came together like a giant puzzle.

  “Well well, Mr Samuel Fairchild, or should I say Samantha? Just look at what you would’ve inherited if I’d killed your brother as you had planned, instead of his partner.”

  No wonder the police couldn’t find a motive for the death of the wealthy man, there was no motive. The reason why Benjamin Richards instead of Michael Fairchild was the last one leaving the office that evening was obviously something Sam had no control over. People were generally creatures of habit but sometimes things happened to change that. Had James chosen any other evening the chances are that Michael would be dead now instead of Ben. Samuel Fairchild would now be a multimillionaire, assuming he was the main beneficiary and Antonia hadn’t been moved up the list. With the wedding fast approaching Sam had panicked and pleaded to James to act quickly for fear of Antonia claiming the prize.

  Those photos of Samantha had obviously been taken by Sam at his brother’s posh house just to entice him into committing murder but the look on Antonia’s face down at the station when he called her Samantha was genuine so she wasn’t an active player in this game, just a pawn to be used, as was he.

  They say revenge is a dish best served cold. James could wait, he was in no hurry and he must be really careful how and when he makes his move. He couldn’t risk being pulled in again for another murder or even his good friend Vivian wouldn’t be able to save his hide. He needed a plan of action, a change of job, a new look, and a new place to live where he couldn’t easily be found. He would transform into a completely different person but all the while he would keep up to date with the general movements and routine of his prey.

  He’d retain his given name. He had to or the police might question his actions and he hoped that no other witnesses or incriminating evidence surfaced from his previous crime.

  The first thing James did when he got to work Monday morning was hand in his notice. He dropped the envelope on Claire’s desk while she was sitting there on the phone to a client. Then he went to his own office and started putting some of his personal things in a box.

  She wedged the phone on her shoulder and carried on talking while she opened the letter and read through it. “James, can you come in here a moment please?”

  “Yes, Claire. Give me a second.”

  Claire didn’t wait she went into his office and watched him filling the box. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving. I’ll work my full notice if you want me to but I rather hope you’ll let me just do a week. I can transfer my clients across to other staff and make it as smooth as possible for you.”

  “But why are you leaving? You’re on a good salary, in fact you’re the best paid person here apart from me. Would it be worth staying if I offer you more?”

  “No, sorry, it’s not the job or the salary. I just need to get far away from this town. Since I was arrested for that man’s death I can feel people watching me when I’m out. They will always have their doubts until somebody is arrested and charged. If that ever happens I’ll return but for now I really need to get away and start over.”

  He wasn’t joking when he said he’d return if someone was charged as he knew it would be him who they arrested again.

  “Ok then, I’ll let you switch your clients over to the other staff and settle what I owe you in wages and commission up until this Friday. I can see you’ve made up your mind and I can’t say that I blame you given what you’ve been through.”

  “Thanks, Claire. I’ve enjoyed working for you and you’ve done a brilliant job turning this business around since you took over.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know yet but I’ll be sure to let you know once I find somewhere.” James had no intention of giving her his actual destination. You can’t get lost if you tell the world where you’re going.

  Chapter Ten

  D uring his last working week James was busy clearing out his house. His wife’s belongings had long since gone so only his own basic stuff remained. Anything he wasn’t taking with him would join his wife’s truck load of designer bags and shoes at the charity shop.

  He had already contacted a letting agent who had a queue of tenants just waiting for the chance to rent his fully furnished house. He was actually quite amazed at the sums of money that people were prepared to pay. The small country cottage that he’d be moving to was half the rent he’d get for his place.

  Although James hadn’t finished his degree course in journalism at university when he was younger it didn’t mean he wasn’t good at writing. In fact he quite enjoyed a good murder mystery novel. He had read all the best crime dramas and even penned a few short stories himself though none were ever published. The hardest part was always thinking of ways for the criminal not to get caught, but he had a few ideas. He just needed one of those ideas to be fool proof enough to work in a real crime.

  James notified his bank that he would be moving around a lot so only internet banking and high street branches would be used in the foreseeable future. He agreed to go paperless so nothing would be posted to his old address. All his utility services would be taken over by the new tenant and they would also pay the rates. His letting agent would pay rent he was owed into his bank account each month. Everything was in order and once he’d said goodbye to his work colleagues on Friday and given them a town name that he knew he would never visit he’d be ready to go.

  Scamp sat in the front watching the towns and villages pass by the window at speed. In just under an hour with no hold ups they arrived at the narrow country lane that would lead them to their new life. A short drive of half a mile brought them to a row of four terraced cottages. James pulled into the narrow driveway of number 4 on the end. The lady at number 1 owned all four properties and would receive a cash payment each month. James lifted the flowerpot, picked up the key and let himself in. This lovely picturesque setting would be the ideal place to write a murder scene.

  James had totally destroyed and disposed of his own computer in case the police had issued a warrant to search it. He still had his work laptop and was busy connecting it to the WiFi system when a knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in, it’s open.” He guessed it would be either the owner or another tenant coming round to say hi.

  “Mr James. I saw you arrive and thought I’d wait until you got unpacked before bothering you. I hope the cottage is to your liking. If there’s anything you need, milk, bread, eggs, that sort of thing, I usually keep a small supply of goods for locals as it’s quite a long walk to the nearest shop and most people here are elderly and don’t have their own transport. There’s a list with prices in the kitchen. I only charge a few pence mo
re than I pay for them to cover the cost of my petrol.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Highwater. I’ve brought a few bits with me for now but I’m sure I’ll be in need of your supplies once they’re gone. Do you stock any dog food?”

  “Yes, I sell two brands of dog food and two brands of cat food but if your little dog here is a fussy eater I can always buy in a supply of his favourite kind.”

  “I’ll take a look at your list in a while and see what I need.”

  “Ok, Mr James. I’ll leave you to make yourself at home.”

  When he first saw the advert for the cottage he had introduced himself as James. She had assumed it was his surname and he hadn’t corrected her. She need never know his real name and there wasn’t really any reason why she would question the name he’d given her.

  The price list he found in the kitchen was a long one. The woman’s cottage must be much bigger inside than out. She had enough stuff listed to stock a small supermarket. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had a website and a fleet of delivery drivers. As for her only charging a few pence more than what she’d paid to cover her petrol costs, he had to wonder if she was doing a two hour drive to the Brompton Road in Knightsbridge to replenish her stock.