The Power of One

by Jane A. Adams

  Hale was back in the winged chair close to the fireplace. No fire in the hearth now, of course, the August weather behaving for once, but Mac could imagine that in winter this would be a friendly, comforting position in which to sit and read. His two attendants seemed to have departed; obviously, Mac thought, they didn’t expect him or Andy to cause any trouble. He felt a little put-out at such a slight.

  A check of the kitchen and bathroom revealed little and they returned to the living room. Hale had not moved.

  A small portable television sat on a table with barley twist legs that Mac recognised as a Victorian aspidistra stand. Old bookshelves lined the whole of one wall and a roll-top desk stood beside the window, a modern office chair the only jarring element. Dark floorboards were covered in one large and a couple of smaller rugs, and instead of curtains the window was dressed with wooden, slatted blinds. Mac, watched by Hale, took time to check each book, flicking the pages and looking behind. Paul had possessed eclectic tastes and cheap, well-thumbed paperback thrillers rubbed shoulders with poetry and classics. He had a small collection of first editions, including the A.A. Milne the solicitor had mentioned.

  He’d had a habit, Mac noted, of tearing scraps of paper from the margins of magazines or newspapers with which to mark his pages. Some of the paperbacks still had their improvised markers stuck between the pages, their position telling Mac that they’d been replaced at random and with some degree of impatience. Still more of these lay on the shelf between two volumes of poetry, together with three or four ‘real’ bookmarks advertising local bookshops or an online dealer Mac had also used on occasions. A couple more such markers lay between the pages of the 1919 first edition of W.B. Yeats’ The Wild Swans at Coole, and an ageing gazetteer of the south-west.

  Mac moved on to examine the stack of papers on the bottom shelf but found them to be paid bills and bank statements, all mixed in with printouts of directions and leaflets from the local takeaways. He bagged them anyway, reflecting that if the state of Paul’s personal filing system reflected that of his business papers, it was no wonder Edward did not rate him as a businessman.

  Andy focussed on the roll-top desk, flicking through notebooks and photographs and the assorted detritus that gets pushed into the cubbyholes of desks and is then forgotten. Once or twice he called Mac’s attention to something and Mac, erring on the side of caution, told him to bring it all; they’d sift through it later. Hale had made no comment. He sat with his fingers steepled, elbows resting on the arms of the leather chair, his face a noncommittal blank. Mac, feeling increasingly foolish, stuck to his firkling and ferreting, Hale’s pale eyes burning into the back of his neck.

  ‘Andy?’ Mac straightened up.

  ‘About finished.’

  ‘Good.’ Hale rose to his feet. ‘Then we can all be off. I’m sure you both have better things to do.’

  Mac made no comment. Pride caused him to re-seal the door once they had all left.

  ‘What now?’ Andy said as they got back in to the car.

  ‘We make a call on the de Freitas’s, then Frantham,’ Mac said. ‘You park up, I’ll get the coffee.’

  Andy turned to look at him, eyes narrowed in expectation. ‘You went and found something, didn’t you?’

  ‘I might have done,’ Mac admitted. He dug out his phone and made a few calls. Was unsurprised, but chagrined to find that Hale was to ‘be given every cooperation’. Then he put in a call to forensics.

  ‘You’re getting the CSIs in?’

  ‘Hale wasn’t wearing gloves. Either he’s confident he won’t show up in the system or he thinks I’ll be too impressed by his credentials to bother.’

  ‘Superintendent Aims won’t like you doing that. Not if he’s already been briefed.’

  ‘Well, Andy, we definitely haven’t been briefed, have we? We don’t know those men from Adam.’

  Andy laughed but he sounded a trifle nervous. ‘What did you find then?’

  ‘Maybe nothing, but there was a prescription packet in the medicine cabinet, and it wasn’t Paul’s. Then there was a scrap of paper, wedged in one of the books. It looks as though Paul de Freitas folded it up and used it as a bookmark, which is probably why no one took any notice of it, and there might be nothing to take notice of but …’

  ‘But you think …’

  Mac sighed, suddenly deflated. ‘I think I’m rather desperate for them to have missed something,’ he said, but, offhand, he couldn’t think of any good reason why an obvious book lover would mark a first edition with a scrap of folded newspaper. And added to that anomaly was the fact that the book was When We Were Very Young by A. A. Milne, the one the solicitor had told him was promised to Lydia in Paul’s will.

  ELEVEN

  They had driven halfway to Frantham when Mac’s phone rang. It was Miriam and she had disturbing news. Someone had taken Paul’s laptop.

  ‘An official someone?’

  ‘Hell no, Johnny got in this morning and it was gone. He checked the evidence locker and with other colleagues, thinking they might have already started on it, but it is most definitely gone.’

  ‘Nothing else taken?’

  ‘Yes, a PDA, but it was totally unrelated to our case. In fact, it belonged to one of the techs. He is not a happy bunny. Of course, we have the last laugh on them. Whoever it was doesn’t know how we work.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well you never work on the original hard drive. You make an image first, and work from that. They might have taken the laptop, but we’ve still got the information.’

  ‘Miriam, is there any chance …’

  ‘Already done. On the QT of course. I had Johnny make a copy of his copy. Of course, anything we find is inadmissible and, frankly, I don’t know what on earth you think we can do that Johnny can’t but … Anyway, he says you owe him dinner at the Palisades. He wants to see Tim’s act.’

  ‘Dinner it is then.’

  Andy had been listening in. ‘This is too unreal!’

  ‘You’re enjoying this?’

  ‘Too right. It’s like being in a James Bond film.’

  ‘I hope not. In the average Bond film half the locations get blown up and most of the cast die well before the final credits.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Andy agreed reluctantly, ‘but that’s fiction, ain’t it. This is for real.’

  TWELVE

  Rina had been about bright and early and walked along the cliff path to the de Freitas’ house. She found Lydia alone.

  ‘Do you mind if we go through to the kitchen?’ Lydia asked. ‘It’s Margaret’s day off and I was just making some tea.’

  ‘Is Edward not here?’ Rina asked.

  Lydia shrugged. ‘I think he went out.’ She led the way to the sunny kitchen and Rina sat down at the scrubbed wooden table, as like the one in her own kitchen as to be its twin. This kitchen was definitely more modern than her own though, melamine and faux granite instead of old pine. It was, Rina thought, strangely at odds too with the rest of the house which had been furnished with an eye to quality and luxury. This was off-the-shelf utilitarian and a little tatty and tired at that.

  Lydia must have noticed her appraisal. ‘This will be the last room to be done,’ she said. She opened a drawer and then dropped some sample books on the table. ‘I’m trying to decide whether to go for country kitchen or seventies retro. Margaret wants a proper hob and split-level cooker and a better dishwasher, and I suppose seeing as she’s the one that uses it most, she really should have her way but I’m kind of drawn to …’ She sat down suddenly, and looked at Rina with a stricken expression on her pretty face. ‘Oh, God, Rina, what does it matter? Really, what the hell does any of it matter?’

  Rina reached out across the table and took Lydia’s hands. It was evident that the younger woman was bursting to tell someone whatever it was that did matter, but Rina knew she mustn’t rush things.

  ‘It’s been an awful shock,’ she said gently. ‘Such violence. It really isn’t what you’d expec
t in a place like Frantham.’

  Not, she thought ruefully, that Frantham had exactly been free of such violence this last year, though Rina preferred to think of this as a statistical blip rather than a growing trend.

  ‘You must be devastated,’ she went on. ‘To lose someone like that … and of course, the man who was on board with Paul; from what I’ve heard they still don’t know who he was. Just imagine what his family must be going through. They don’t even know yet.’

  Lydia stared at her and Rina knew she was on the verge of revelation.

  ‘Imagine,’ she went on. ‘Someone goes missing and you don’t know where to start looking and then you find out that they’ve been murdered. Shot dead.’

  Lydia’s eyes had filled with tears.

  ‘Do you know who he was?’ Rina said.

  Lydia shook her head. ‘I already told that policeman I don’t know his name.’

  ‘So you did,’ Rina agreed. She thought for a moment, weighing the woman’s reply. ‘But, Lydia, you may not have known his name, but do you know what he was?’

  ‘Oh God.’ She buried her face in her hands and wept noisily. Rina got up and switched the kettle back on. Tissues were nowhere in evidence but she found a kitchen roll and tore off several sheets, handed them to Lydia and, with surprising gentleness, stroked the younger woman’s shoulders and back.

  ‘I know, I know how hard it is to lose someone. Here, wipe your eyes and I’ll make some tea and you can tell me what’s going on here and we can start to work out what we can do about it.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be done,’ Lydia told her tearfully. ‘They killed Paul and now we’re just sitting here, like we’re waiting for our turn. Edward won’t see … he just won’t see.’

  Rina tried to stay calm, not to push too hard. ‘Who killed him, Lydia? Who is threatening you?’

  Lydia shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone.’

  ‘You have to confide in someone,’ Rina objected gently.

  ‘I can’t, Rina. I really can’t,’ Lydia said, but her expression said something very different. Persuade me, it said. Make me tell you, and then I won’t feel to blame.

  Rina opened her mouth to speak but then, echoing through the house with a piercing jangle, the doorbell rang. ‘Bugger,’ Rina thought. She got up with a placatory smile. ‘Probably someone trying to sell you something.’

  Lydia sniffed and wiped her eyes, the moment lost. Rina knew she’d have to work hard to get it back. ‘We’ve had journalists calling all morning. I put the answerphone on. It might be …’

  ‘I’ll get rid of whoever it is,’ Rina told her. ‘You stay there. You don’t need to talk to anyone.’

  Irritated, now, she marched back into the hall. The front door was partly glazed and it became obvious before she got there that she’d be unable to keep her promise.

  ‘Mac, you do have the most lousy sense of timing. Can’t you just go away and come back later?’

  Andy, standing just behind his superior officer, sniggered at the sight of him being told off by the redoubtable Mrs Martin. Mac scowled.

  ‘No, Rina, I can’t. What are you doing here anyway?’

  ‘Well, I was on the point of making a breakthrough, that’s what. Fat chance of that now.’

  ‘Making a … Rina, this is a murder investigation.’

  ‘I know that! Look, Lydia says she doesn’t know the name of the man on the boat but I’m pretty sure she knows why he was there and I’m equally sure now that he was some sort of bodyguard. Not that he did much good.’ She lifted her chin, daring Mac to argue about her conclusions. Revealingly, to Rina, he did not.

  ‘Rina, please. Go home, leave this to the police.’

  ‘She’s in the kitchen,’ Rina said. Still irritated, she led the way.

  Lydia’s eyes were reddened by the tears she had shed, but she’d had time to compose herself again and she stood, leaning against one of the counters, the kitchen towel Rina had given her screwed tightly in her hand.

  ‘Inspector McGregor,’ she said. ‘Do you have any news?’

  ‘Very little, I’m afraid. Mrs Martin, I really don’t want to delay you. I’m sure Mrs de Freitas will understand if you have to go.’

  Rina glared at him, her eyes shooting daggers. Andy, catching only the backwash of her anger, nevertheless took a quick step back. Rina gathered up her bag.

  ‘Lydia, if you need me, you know where I am,’ she said. She swept out of the back door, and strode across the lawn to the cliff path.

  Mac watched her go with very mixed feelings, knowing that, for her own good he had to make her back off but aware also that he’d offended a friend.

  THIRTEEN

  DI Dave Kendal was waiting for him when they returned to Frantham. Pre-warned, Mac had brought him coffee from the cafe on the promenade. Andy had arrived first and Mac could hear him regaling Kendal with descriptions of Hale and his associates and his speculations that they were caught up in some sort of spy ring.

  Kendal looked up with a smile as Mac deposited his coffee on the desk. Sergeant Baker came through from the front office, pulled up a chair and claimed his coffee and Andy took up a position by the door so he could keep an eye on the outside world while being included in the briefing.

  Mac brought everyone up to speed. Hale and the papers they had taken from the flat; the fact that Hale had claimed the second man on the boat as one of his own and that Lydia de Freitas had clammed up ever tighter than before.

  ‘You should have let Mrs Martin wear her down,’ Sergeant Baker decided. ‘I don’t know of many people who can resist that woman. Maybe you should give her details to that Hale bloke. Chief interrogator to Her Majesty’s Forces.’

  Mac laughed but he was aware too that Baker was probably right. Had he not interrupted, Rina would probably have the whole story by now, but that was hardly the point, was it? Rina was a civilian. She should learn when to leave well alone, shouldn’t she?

  ‘From what I’ve seen of Mrs Martin, I’m inclined to agree,’ Kendal said. ‘Though I suppose we really shouldn’t even be thinking about it. This Hale, Mac. Did he give a rank?’

  Mac shook his head. ‘No, I don’t believe he did. He was adamant that Superintendent Aims knew all about him and so it seemed, when I called in to ask.’

  ‘Well, Aims has certainly been briefed,’ Kendal confirmed. ‘Being his usual officious self, he’s keeping us plebs in the dark as to what that briefing told him.’ Ostentatiously, Kendal tapped the side of his nose. ‘Need to know and all that and apparently all we need to know is that we’ll have an officer from the MOD assisting us in our enquiries. He should be joining us later today.’

  ‘Do we have a name?’

  Kendal consulted his notebook. ‘Jackson,’ he said. ‘Abe Jackson. Sounds American. Do we have Americans working with the MOD? Who knows? Anyway, I’m told he’s a military man, a redcap originally, now on secondment. I did ask what the military police had to do with a civilian operation. I mean, you wouldn’t find them bending over backwards to assist us if we were on their turf. However, Superintendent Aims seemed to think that was need to know as well.’

  ‘Which,’ Mac commented acidly, ‘probably means that no one thought he needed to know either.’

  ‘Very likely. Mac, just what is going on here? We’ve got a man shot aboard his yacht, together with another man who may or may not be MOD but is almost certainly a minder of some kind and now various government departments running interference on our investigation.’

  ‘Not to mention two people too afraid to confide in anyone,’ Mac added. ‘Though one of the big questions in my mind now is what Lydia was about to tell Rina.’

  ‘You’ve got more than one?’ Sergeant Baker queried. ‘And here’s those experts saying we men can’t multitask.’

  Mac chuckled. ‘Andy, where’s all the stuff from Paul de Freitas’ flat?’

  ‘In the corner, back of DI Kendal.’

  ‘Ah.’ Mac got up and rummag
ed in the box. All of this would have to be gone over later, see what needed to be shipped out to documents for further analysis. ‘Two more things actually.’ He dropped a couple of evidence bags on to the table, slid the contents of one out and, after donning a pair of gloves, unfolded it carefully. ‘This was slipped, like a bookmark, in to one of Paul’s books. He seemed to have a habit of using torn paper from magazines and the like.’

  ‘Lots of people do that,’ Sergeant Baker commented.

  ‘True, but this was in a first edition. Would you really want to risk marking a collectible book with newsprint?’

  ‘Maybe Hale’s lot just put it back in the wrong place,’ Andy suggested. ‘We know they searched the place.’

  ‘Maybe, but I happen to know that the book was mentioned in Paul’s will. It was left to Lydia de Freitas. His sister-in-law. I just find that interesting.’

  ‘So, what’s on it?’

  Mac sighed, turned the paper over, and shook his head. ‘Probably not a thing and Andy’s right.’

  ‘Something from the classified ads by the look of it,’ Kendal said. ‘What’s on the other side?’

  ‘Half of an announcement in the personal ads,’ Mac said. ‘Looks like a funeral announcement, but there isn’t enough to tell.’

  ‘Imagination running away with you?’ Kendal suggested.

  ‘Oh, probably. You know, I think I was just so eager to get one over on Hale, I’d convinced myself … anyway, these are maybe more interesting. What woman leaves her contraceptive pills in a man’s bathroom?’

  ‘One who expects to be there to take them,’ Baker said. ‘You sure that’s what they are.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Mac said, earning himself a guffaw and raised eyebrow from his Sergeant.