Her voice dropped a bit, and I stepped closer to the doorway. “Between you and me, I was a little bit glad when Adi left. Sorry for Karen and her girls, of course – but I couldn’t help thinking that your dad was better off without him.”
She’d never told me that. I’d never suspected that Sandy felt that way. I felt a curious sensation, as if the world had shifted slightly, was suddenly not quite the way I’d thought it was.
“But he wanted him to come back?”
“Oh, yes. He was very down when Adi left. Down in a way I’d never seen before. He just closed up, wouldn’t talk about it. Not even to me, and he always talked everything over with me. But not this. Honestly, Sam, the thing that worries me most about this business is that it might bring all that back. And with his heart trouble now as well…”
“Dad keeps telling me that that’s all OK since he had the stents put in.”
“Yes, he says that. It’s probably true. But once you’ve been through it, it’s always at the back of your mind. It is with me, at any rate.”
There was a long silence as we all thought about that.
Sam broke it. “There was another thing I wanted to ask you about, Mum. Just after it happened, Dad said something really weird. He was going on about a wave, and drowning. I don’t remember exactly, but it wasn’t anything to do with what actually happened. Do you know what he might have meant?”
“That is strange. I’m not sure. Except – well, you know about his younger brother David?”
“The one who died young?”
“Yes. Well, he drowned. In the canal.”
“I never knew that.”
“No. Not something your dad ever talked about. It was big news round here, of course – but that was a long time before I met him. I didn’t even make the connection until after we were married, when his mother told me some of the family history. But the thing is, Graham was there when it happened. So was Adi. Perhaps the shock brought it back.”
There was a quiet noise that I couldn’t identify at first. Then Sam was saying, “OK, Mum. It’s OK, he’ll be fine,” and I realized that she was sobbing.
I stood outside the door, shaken. I’d forgotten that moment of confusion. I didn’t want to remember it now, but that was the price of eavesdropping, I supposed.
Instead, I went into the room and joined my wife and my son. We didn’t talk – it wasn’t a moment for explanations – but just then we needed each other.
Tired as I was, I didn’t sleep well. There were no dreams that I could remember, but I woke up several times, with a feeling that something terrible had happened. Then remembering what had happened.
Eventually I must have dropped into a deeper sleep. When I woke up, it was to bright sunlight and Sam shaking me gently.
“What?” I muttered.
“Sorry, Dad, but Declan’s on the phone. He really needs to speak to you.”
“Declan?” Eyes only half open, I groped around the bedside table for my mobile, without success.
“You left it downstairs.” Sam had correctly deduced the object of my search. “And it’s dead. Battery, I suppose. Declan’s on the landline.”
We mostly used our mobiles nowadays. The landline handset downstairs was hardwired, practically an antique.
“OK.” I rubbed my eyes. “Ask him to give me a minute. Or I’ll call him back in half an hour.”
“Yeah. I think that’d be better. I’ll go and tell him.”
“Um. Put the kettle on, please.”
Sharkey’s naval-strength brew had left my mouth with what felt like a coating of paint. Probably battleship grey. I spent five minutes cleaning my teeth and splashing water over my head, fifteen minutes preparing a more sophisticated blend of tea, and the remaining ten minutes of my thirty minutes’ grace drinking it. Actually, Declan was five minutes early by my account, but I was feeling slightly human again.
“Graham? What the heck’s going on?” He didn’t waste any time on greetings, and from his tone was only barely restraining himself from much stronger language. “I’ve been trying to call your mobile.”
“Yes, sorry, it’s on charge. What’s happened?”
“That’s what I want to know! That meeting yesterday – cancelled at the last minute, so it was, and whenever I asked what was going on, they just hung up on me. Then another call this morning, telling me that we had ten days to clear all outstanding debts or they would commence proceedings to seize all assets. They repeated that the trustees were personally liable for any shortfall in the value. I asked them if we could meet to discuss things, and they said – some posh arse of a lawyer said – that they had decided there was no purpose to a meeting, that their position was clear and would be confirmed in writing in due course. When I tried to argue, he hung up again.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Well I don’t! What happened to this fake Adi you said they were going to bring out? Did you have anything to do with this?”
Fake Adi. Mouth open in a scream as he fell away from me. I closed my eyes and shook my head to try to dispel the image.
“I… might have, Dec. That is – yes, probably I did.”
“So…?”
I took another sip of tea. “There was an incident,” I began, and proceeded with a summary of yesterday’s events.
There was a long pause when I’d finished. Maybe a few muttered words, but all in all, Declan’s restraint was impressive. “This Fake Adi – he’s dead then?”
“Yes.”
“And the body’s disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“Then they can’t use him to pressure us into a quiet agreement. But we can’t expose the scam, either. So we’re back where we started, and they’re going ahead anyway. I don’t think we’re any better off, Graham.”
“No. We’re not.”
“Worse if anything.”
“Yes. I’m sorry, Declan.”
“What were you thinking, Graham? We had a plan! We had a chance of getting out of this.” He didn’t sound as angry as he should have done. More tired.
“I know. I wasn’t thinking; that’s the truth of it. I just acted on impulse. Went with my gut. I’m sorry.”
“Not like you, Graham. Not like you at all.”
Just what Sam had been saying last night.
“It was a mistake, yes. And I apologize. But listen, Declan – it’s still a scam. I mean, if they were bringing out this fake Adi it’s proof that the real Adi isn’t behind it. So they don’t actually have the authority to do this. If you challenge them, they’ll fold. That’s why they needed a fake Adi in the first place, to stop you doing that. Dig in, tell them you’re taking legal advice, threaten to go public – whatever. Kick up a fuss and they’ll back off.”
“I don’t know, Graham. They might not have Adi, but they’ve got the paperwork and the lawyers, so they have, and I don’t know if I can fight that. Not if they can take me for everything I’ve got. The other trustees feel the same.”
I shook my head, a useless gesture over the phone. “OK, I understand that. But don’t give up just yet. We’ve got ten days, right? And they haven’t sent the paperwork either. So get back to them, in writing perhaps, and tell them that without the paperwork you can’t consider their demands. Tell them that you’re taking legal advice. Tell them that you don’t accept the deadline; that you insist on a face-to-face meeting… Tell them that you want confirmation from Adi in person, or you’ll go public, and never mind their confidentiality clause! That’ll scare them. They don’t want any publicity on this or they wouldn’t have bothered with that clause in the first place. My guess is that they know they’re on dodgy ground, and can’t afford to have too much exposure.”
“I don’t know, Graham. I mean – I hear what you’re saying, to be sure, but – you’re not the one with their head on the block.”
“Yes. Of course. But just hang on in there, all right? Don’t concede anything yet, that’s all I’m asking. I’m going to dig around a bit,
quietly of course. See what I can find that’ll give us an edge.”
Declan’s silence wasn’t a good answer. I hadn’t convinced him.
“Dec, that charity has been your life since you finished playing. And you know how much it’s meant to the kids round there. What it’s done for them.”
Still no reply.
“And it’s Adi’s legacy. The real Adi, that is. We don’t know what’s happened to him, but you know what it meant to him. We can’t just let that go.”
Finally, an answer. “OK. I hear what you’re saying, Graham. And I’m not in a hurry to roll over for these…” He paused, running through the various possible words. Finding nothing suitable that he could use, he carried on. “So we’ll wait out the ten days at least. I’ll talk to the trustees.”
“Thank you, Dec.”
“Right. But no promises, mind. And be careful. These people – there were people like them back in Derry, during the Troubles. People who can make dead bodies disappear can do the same to live ones. I wouldn’t want you to disappear, Graham.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve no plans to go up against them in person. I’m just going to dig a bit, that’s all.”
“OK then.”
Declan hung up. A little abruptly, perhaps. He wasn’t well pleased with me, and I couldn’t blame him. My interference had seriously messed things up. Lonza, on the other hand, should be sending me a thank-you message.
I set about making more tea, and some toast to go with it.
Sam had been sitting quietly at the table, listening to one side of the conversation and doing something on his laptop. I offered him a cup and a slice, but he declined. “I’m a coffee drinker, anyway.”
“Heretic.”
He grinned. “What did you mean by ‘digging a bit’, Dad? And just so as you know, before she left for work Mum gave me strict instructions not to let you do anything stupid or dangerous.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s rich, coming from the woman who got herself into the middle of the worst fire this town has ever experienced!”
“So what digging are you planning on?” he persisted.
“Honestly – I’ve no idea.” I gave the toaster a careful inspection. It had been unreliable lately. If you left it to pop the bread out on its own you’d probably end up with a burnt offering. The trick was guessing how much time it needed and getting it out at the precise moment of perfection.
“Well, perhaps I can help a bit. I’ve been looking at that mobile Alison found.”
“You’ve got something already?” Distracted, I missed my moment, and popped the toast out just after it had started turning from golden brown to black. Never mind, close enough. “That’s impressive. And perhaps a little worrying that you know how to do it.”
“Relax, Dad. It’s not a big deal. Not for something like this, anyhow. A cheap pay-as-you-go doesn’t carry much security, and with the right software…” He finished with an elaborate wave of his hand, a digital magician displaying his talents, and rotated the laptop so I could see the screen. It was displaying several boxes of information, all under a scrolling title, black on red: “HackerCrackerJax”.
“And where did you find that sort of software?” I asked suspiciously.
“Oh, someone I hung out with for a while… he wrote some of this stuff, taught me a few tricks. Nothing to worry about, Dad.”
There’s nothing more guaranteed to make a father worry than when his son says “Nothing to worry about”. Perhaps daughters as well, though I have no experience of that. But the time when I could push Sam for answers was long gone. I made mental notes, filed the information under “Son, Dubious History of”, and returned to the main point.
“Security or not, I’m surprised you got anything out of it at all. It looked pretty smashed up.”
“The screen was fragged, the casing cracked, and the battery’s probably still under the wheelie bin, but that apart it wasn’t in bad condition. The SIM card and the internal memory were still intact, and they were the bits we wanted. But, having said that, I wouldn’t get too excited. There wasn’t much on them.”
“Anything at all would be more than we’ve got now.”
“True. OK, so, let me show you. Here…” He highlighted a box, expanded it to full screen. “Numbers in the memory. Only two, you’ll notice, both mobiles. And here…” – flicking to another box – “Call history. Not long. Three incoming calls, four texts, all from the second number on the list. The last call was yesterday. See the time?”
“I didn’t take much notice of times yesterday. It got a bit blurry. But I take it that would have been about the time of the – ah – incident?”
“Yes. Near as I can tell. I didn’t check my watch either. But it fits. You said he’d been on his phone just before he fell?”
“Yes. I heard it ring and he answered it. Telling someone where he was. And then Leather Jacket turned up just after it happened.” I took a bite of toast, but it had gone cold. “That number is probably his mobile, then.”
Sam nodded agreement. “And the other one could be for Lonza. My guess would be that when he came over from the States to run this scam, Leather Jacket bought a few cheap mobiles just for communications between the team. Something they could dispose of easily when they were done, nothing incriminating on them like old numbers, or photos. Burners, they call them.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with the term. I watch TV, you know.”
“Just one of the kids, aren’t you, Dad?” He grinned. “But the point is, they’re not supposed to use these for anything but basic comms. So the texts only say things like ‘Downstairs, 10 min’ and ‘Be ready in 5’.” He frowned. “Though this one’s a bit puzzling. Answer to the first text – ‘Can’t find the stick’. Then there’s a reply which says ‘Come without it’.”
I scratched my chin. “The stick? Adi’s walking stick, perhaps? When were these sent?”
“Saturday. Oh, look at the time. That was while we were at the wedding reception.”
“Yes. Not long before I went for a walk. And saw Adi – as I thought – in the bar, without his stick.”
“Yes, that fits!”
I sat back and sipped my tea. “I’m wondering why they were there at all. You’d think they’d want to keep their fake Adi undercover for as long as possible.”
“Dry run, maybe? Sort of dress rehearsal. Practise the accent, how to look English. Only the stick was misplaced. They probably didn’t think that would matter. They certainly wouldn’t have expected to be seen by Adi’s oldest and closest friend!”
“No, I suppose not. But anywhere round here you could bump into someone who’d recognize Adi. Heck, anywhere in Britain, for that matter.”
“Perhaps they didn’t realize how big a star Adi was, especially in these parts. Or perhaps they did, and thought that being recognized by a fan would be a good test. They wouldn’t need the stick for that – not when he was sitting at the bar – and they could always spin a story about getting some new surgery on his knee.”
I turned the idea over in my mind. “They did leave in a hurry when it was clear that I’d recognized him.”
“Job done. They’d proved that he could pass for Adi, didn’t want anyone getting into conversation with him, so time to leave.”
“Right. It could have been that. But does it get us any further? It still looks like a dead end.”
“Perhaps not completely dead. I think our boy broke the rules… see here, Dad? There was one outgoing call, made to a US number. I don’t think he was supposed to do that.”
“Ah!” I put down my cup. “If we can find out whose that number is –”
“Way ahead of you.” Sam opened another tab. “The number is for this place – the Harding Friemand Star Talent Agency.”
The website showed a picture of a middle-aged man with a cheesy grin pasted over a fake tan. Underneath was an equally cheesy strapline: “I will turn your talent into stardust!” As Sam scrolled down, there was a lis
t of exciting job opportunities in film, TV, commercials, modelling, and voice-overs.
“I don’t think he’s keeping his promises,” Sam commented. “I’ve been all through his list of ‘stars’ and there’s not a name I recognize. But there was this…”
He brought up a page of thumbnail pictures. Men and women of various ages, smiling or frowning or just staring into the camera. Whatever they thought would catch someone’s attention, I supposed.
“Third row down, two across. That’s him, isn’t it?”
He looked younger, with thicker, darker hair and no moustache. A thinner face as well. But the resemblance was still clear.
“That’s him. With a bit of make-up and hair dye – yes, that’s Fake Adi.”
The name under the photograph was “Jimmy Wayland”. I read it out loud and felt a sense of relief, a lightening.
I didn’t know Jimmy Wayland. The man I saw die wasn’t my friend Adi. It was a stranger, an American actor from California.
Of course, it was still a tragic death, and mingled with the relief was a backwash of guilt for not caring more about this person. His life had been just as valuable as anyone’s.
But it wasn’t Adi I’d failed to save, and knowing that released something in me that I hadn’t been fully aware of until it went. Now it had gone, I couldn’t quite identify it. Grief? Sorrow? Dread?
But it was gone, and I felt myself breathing more easily.
“Dad?”
“It’s OK, Sam. Just – well, it wasn’t Adi, that’s all. Do we know anything about this person? Jimmy Wayland?”
“Not much. He’s got a few acting credits – as an extra in some films, a bit part in a TV show I’ve never heard of, some commercials. Nothing more recent than last year. Not a Hollywood A-lister, for sure. There’s nothing else on this site. I’ve Googled his name. He’s on a few social media sites, the usual things, but there’s nothing that tells us about his links with Lonza.”
“I think we can work that out for ourselves. Here’s an actor struggling for work who looks a bit like Adi, and here’s an opportunity to give this scam some extra credibility. I wonder if he had any idea what he was getting himself into?”
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