by Bill Kitson
‘Are you sure this is the right way to go about it?’ Lisa asked. ‘After all, it’s been a long time?’
‘I’m absolutely certain. It’s high time I talked to Harry Rourke again.’
Marshall slept on the settee in the Dickinsons’ lounge, whilst Lisa retired to the spare room. Lisa was undoubtedly more comfortable, but her companion had deserted her. Nell curled up on the rug alongside her master.
When he woke up Marshall went through to the kitchen. Shirley and Barry were seated at the table. Their expressions were serious. ‘There’s been an item on the news,’ Barry told him. ‘We heard it on the local radio. Officers from the Serious Fraud Office raided Broadwood Construction this morning. Apparently they’re still there, examining documents.’
‘I’d better wake Lisa, get her to phone Nash,’ Marshall said immediately. ‘This could scupper our plans unless we nip it in the bud.’
‘I’ll go,’ Barry said, but subsided in his chair as Shirley kicked his ankle.
‘What was that for?’ he asked when Marshall had left the room.
‘Sometimes, Barry, you fail to see what’s under your nose. How you manage as a keeper, I’ll never know.’
‘You mean, Alan and Lisa…?’
‘Of course. Why do you think she’s gone to all this trouble for him, risking her career and everything?’
‘Oh,’ Barry said. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say.
Marshall looked down at Lisa. He’d knocked on the door but failed to rouse her. Seeing her asleep, he was reluctant to wake her, but knew it was necessary. For the first time he realized what an attractive woman she was. Not only that, but she’d risked so much for him. He reached forward and shook her shoulder gently. ‘Lisa, it’s Alan. Wake up. We’ve things to do.’
She opened her eyes and smiled. ‘Gosh, I was well away.’ She sat up, the duvet slipping enough to expose her breasts. Marshall turned away, the glimpse of her semi-nakedness, despite the bra, acutely embarrassing. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears.
‘What’s the problem?’ she asked as she pulled hastily at the duvet.
Marshall explained.
‘Right, let’s see what we can do. Do you mind?’ She thrust back the duvet and slid her legs over the side of the bed. As she dressed, Marshall turned his back, suddenly aware of a hunger he’d thought long dead.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lisa Andrews’ car stopped at the end of the lane. The watching officers had plenty of time to take in the registration number from the safety of their car. The leader had chance to focus his binoculars on the driver and establish that Lisa was alone in the vehicle. ‘OK, this is it.’ They followed her to Netherdale, maintaining a discreet distance. They followed her car into the Netherdale railway station car park. They followed Lisa after she left the vehicle and headed into the concourse. They followed her to the ticket office, heard her purchase a return ticket to Leeds and bought two for themselves. They followed her on to the train and took seats in the carriage behind hers. At the next station they watched Lisa leave the train and followed her on to the platform. When they left the station they saw her climb into the Dickinsons’ Land Rover. They looked round in desperation for a taxi, but the rank was empty. When they caught sight of the man driving the Land Rover, they reached for their mobile phones. It was undoubtedly Alan Marshall. He’d made no attempt to disguise himself. Sadly, hoodwinked once again by the fugitive’s duplicity, they were unable to follow him.
Urgent messages were passed to all units in the area. Half an hour later the Land Rover was stopped, much to the surprise of its occupants: Barry and Shirley Dickinson.
Confident of the way the deception had been carried out, the police broadcast an alert for Shirley Dickinson’s car. Later that evening they discovered it, in the car park of the next railway station down the line.
Mike Nash was driving. ‘That was a brilliant piece of deception, which one of you thought it up?’
‘I seem to get the blame for everything, according to Lisa,’ Marshall replied, ‘so I’d better own up to that as well.’
As they neared their destination Lisa sensed a change in Marshall’s mood. He seemed tense. ‘You’re not nervous are you?’
‘Not really,’ Marshall replied. ‘I used to like Harry, until he turned on me. That hurt at the time because it was so out of character. If it had been anyone else I mightn’t have cared, but I was vulnerable; Harry deserting me was the last straw. I’m not saying I lost the will to fight but it all seemed hopeless.’
When they reached the outskirts of Leeds, Marshall directed Nash to take the ring road towards the western edge of the sprawling city. The evening rush hour had passed, so their progress was relatively quick. They followed a local signpost that pointed the way to a village named Calverley, in the no man’s land between Leeds and Bradford. Although it was dark, Lisa could see that the built-up area had given way to fields and small wooded copses. She was surprised how closely the countryside encroached towards the city. They switched to a smaller road, similar to one of the country lanes around Kirk Bolton. After they’d driven for about ten minutes, they pulled to a halt at the end of a long tarmac drive. Large wrought iron gates blocked their way. ‘Looks as if we’re on foot from here,’ Nash commented, pointing to a pedestrian gate alongside the main ones.
A quartet of motion-sensitive security lights sprang to life as they walked towards the front of the house, bathing the whole area in a stark halogen glow. Behind these Lisa could see a large, stone-built farmhouse, its exterior soot-blackened to match the walls alongside the drive. They walked unchallenged across the tarmac to the front door. Marshall pressed the bell and they heard the chimes resounding within the building.
Dinner had been eaten in silence. In Tara’s case it was diplomatic. In Harry’s case sullen. During the first few minutes Tara tried one or two conversational openings but without response. Eventually she demanded, ‘What’s gone wrong now?’
‘I’ve had the quarterly figures from the accountant,’ he told her bitterly. ‘I’ve only looked at the bottom line so far and that’s bad enough. On top of that, there’s this bloody investigation by the Serious Fraud Office.’
‘What happened there?’
‘It was totally weird. They arrived mob-handed, started going through all our files, pulling out contract after contract, examining them. Then, all of a sudden, the bloke in charge got a phone call, following which they upped sticks and departed. Without a word of explanation, just warned us they’d be back, and took all the stuff they’d been looking at with them.’
When the meal was over he stood up. ‘I’m going into my study to look through this report properly. Then I’ve got to decide what I’m going to do. I don’t want to be disturbed by anything or anybody. Got it?’
‘Yes, Harry. If I come in, you’ll know the house is burning down.’
That had been an hour ago. Now Tara hurried to answer the door before the caller had chance to press the bell again. Harry’s temper and patience were almost exhausted.
She opened the door and stared at the trio standing there. She thought momentarily of Jehovah’s Witnesses; then discounted the idea. Admittedly one of the men was carrying a folder, but they didn’t seem the type. If anything, they seemed threatening. One of the men was dressed in black, which contributed to the image. The presence of the woman was comforting, if only slightly.
‘Yes?’ Tara asked nervously.
‘Is Harry about?’ the man standing directly in front asked. Tara looked at the speaker properly. There was something vaguely familiar about him.
‘He left instructions he wasn’t to be disturbed,’ Tara told them. God, she thought. I sound like a bloody butler.
‘I think he’ll want to see us,’ the man insisted.
‘I’ve told you. He can’t be disturbed,’ Tara answered coldly. She made to close the door.
The move was blocked by the second of the men, the silent one. He braced the door with on
e arm.
Tara pushed but to no avail.
‘Harry will want to be interrupted, once he knows who we are and why we’re here,’ the speaker insisted.
‘I’ve told you twice. Harry said no calls, no visitors. Please leave.’ Tara pushed against the door again, but with no success.
‘I’m sorry,’ the second man said, as he leaned on the door. Tara found it opening despite her resistance. Then the trio was inside the hall. Tara was on the verge of panic. The woman spoke for the first time.
‘Don’t worry. This is for his benefit. We’ll tell him you did your best to stop us.’
‘Where’s Harry lurking?’ the first man asked.
‘I’ll tell him you’re here.’ The last semblance of Tara’s resistance crumbled. ‘Who shall I say wants to see him?’
‘No. We’ll announce ourselves. Just tell us where to find him.’
‘Don’t be scared. We’re not here to harm him,’ the woman added.
Tara was scared, not only that they would hurt Harry but her as well. She pointed to a door leading off from the hall.
Rourke was staring intently at the computer screen. He didn’t look up when the study door opened. ‘I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed.’
‘That’s not a nice greeting for an old friend, Harry.’
Rourke looked up at the strange voice. His study seemed crowded. He briefly noticed Tara, hovering nervously in the doorway, uncertain whether to venture in or stay outside. Her indecision might have been influenced by the man standing directly behind her. Harry transferred his gaze to the man and woman directly in front of him. He didn’t know the woman, but when he focused on the man, recognition came immediately. ‘Alan Marshall! What the hell are you doing here?’
‘That’s a damned good question, Harry. I reckon you’re the only one who can answer it.’
The cryptic remark was lost on Rourke. ‘I thought you were wanted by the police? I can’t believe you’ve suddenly appeared. You’ve picked the worst possible time for a social visit. Who are these people with you?’
‘I’m sorry, this is Lisa Andrews. She has a vested interest in what happens to me. Lisa, this is Harry Rourke. Rourke owns Broadwood Construction. He used to employ me. Rourke was the man who sacked me after I was charged with Anna’s murder. A very caring soul, is Harry.’
Marshall turned to face Tara. ‘I’m sorry if we scared you, but we need to talk to Harry and I wanted to surprise him. It’s been nearly ten years since he fired me. He might have forgotten me.’ He held out his hand to her. ‘I’m Alan Marshall and this is Lisa.’
‘I’m Tara,’ she replied cautiously, shaking hands.
‘What did you say about sacking you?’ Rourke stood up and came round the side of the desk.
When Marshall replied the bitterness in his voice was apparent. ‘So you can’t remember? I suppose I was just some worker who’d proved unreliable by getting arrested. OK, so just sit in your fancy office and have him sacked. Don’t give him the satisfaction of a personal letter. That might make him feel as if somebody cared. Instead, have the company secretary send him a little note telling him he was in breach of contract and that his contract had been terminated. Send it care of his prison cell.’
‘Harry, you didn’t do that. Tell me you didn’t,’ Tara sounded disgusted.
‘No, I bloody well didn’t.’ It was Rourke’s turn to be angry. ‘I’m not sure if it’s your memory or your brain that’s failing, but you’ve got the facts all wrong. I didn’t sack you, you resigned. I was all set to visit you. I’d requested permission for a prison visit; then you resigned. That seemed as if you were admitting you were guilty. I lost interest in you then.’
‘No, Harry, it’s you who’ve got it wrong,’ Marshall told him quietly. ‘But I can understand why. Tell me, how did you know I’d resigned?’
‘You sent a letter.’
‘Did you see it?’
‘I didn’t see it myself. I was told about it.’
‘If I were to tell you the statement about that letter of resignation was a lie, designed to prevent you contacting me, what would your reaction be?’
‘I’d say, prove it.’
There was a long silence as Marshall looked at his former employer. Then he reached inside the folder he was carrying. ‘I’m not one for keeping souvenirs, but for some masochistic reason I kept this.’
He produced a single sheet of paper and passed it to Rourke. Rourke stared at the tersely worded note. ‘Like I said, Harry, you were deceived, just as I was. We were taken in by a very cunning, devious and ruthless man who’ll go to any lengths to get what he wants. I think it would be best if you were to sit down. I’ve a few more shocks for you.’
Tara suggested they move into the lounge, where Lisa looked round appreciatively. The leather suite, comprising a couple of three-seater settees and four armchairs, didn’t overcrowd the large room. Expensive-looking occasional tables adorned with lamps were distributed randomly around. The curtains were luxurious, as was the carpet.
‘Why are you here?’ Rourke asked wearily. ‘Apart from finding out whether or not I fired you? This is a really bad time for me, and I can do without the police thinking I’m involved in helping you escape.’
‘I understand how bad a time this is for you. But I shouldn’t worry about the police.’ Marshall glanced sideways, a smile fleetingly appearing on his face. ‘This isn’t a social visit, Harry, far from it. This is business, pure and simple. Except that it isn’t pure and it’s far from simple.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You’ve been having a rough time recently, haven’t you? Things have been going wrong, and it’s getting worse. You’ve been losing contracts you should have won. Big contracts too, and that’s worrying you. Then all this vandalism on top: sabotage, which was aimed at uninsured risks. I bet the bill for that runs into millions? And now the SFO is investigating you. Things must have got pretty bad. Almost enough for you to consider a takeover bid. Or you would do, if the offer price wasn’t so ludicrously low.’
Rourke’s head jerked up at the last sentence. ‘How the hell did you know that?’
‘I not only know about it. I know who the bidder is and the price they’re offering. I even have a copy of the offer document.’
‘How did you get that? Don’t tell me you’re mixed up in this? Is this some perverted sort of revenge?’
‘That’s a fairly low opinion you’ve got of me, Harry. I’m not mixed up in it. At least not in the way you mean. Didn’t you ever think that all these events were linked?’
Rourke was past words. He merely shook his head.
‘Well they are, and I can prove it. And if you think that’s bad, there’s worse to come.’
‘How could it possibly get worse?’ Tara interrupted.
‘Believe me, it does. And it would have succeeded, but for a little bit of luck. Imagine a scenario where you’ve received a bid for the company, but the offer is too low, even as things are. I guess you’d stick out for a better offer, but the bidders don’t want to pay more than they need. They may even retract and get Broadwood for less. How do you think they’d go about that?’
Rourke shook his head, bewildered.
‘Simple; they arrange the one event that would guarantee the collapse of Broadwood Construction: the removal of Harry Rourke. They could have you killed, but they had a better idea. What would happen to Broadwood if you weren’t there to run it, Harry? If, for example; you were serving a life sentence for murder?’
Rourke’s expression changed as Marshall explained. From disbelief to incredulity; from incredulity to acceptance; from acceptance to anger. It took three repetitions of the plot before Rourke grasped it fully. That was when the anger kicked in. ‘Tell me who’s behind this. Tell me and I’ll kill the fucking bastards with my bare hands.’
‘Join the queue!’ Marshall told him. ‘Some of us have prior claims.’
Rourke looked at him in astonishment. ‘You mean Anna’s dea
th was connected to this? All that time ago? It’s been going on that long?’
Marshall nodded. ‘Anna discovered the plot and had to be silenced. I had to be framed for her murder to prevent me snooping around. Before I go any further, I’ve a question for you. There’s one aspect of the whole business that still puzzles me.’
‘Fire away.’
‘Don’t use the word “fire”, it makes me twitch. I want to know everything you can tell me about Gary Watson.’
Rourke stared at Marshall open-mouthed. ‘Gary Watson?’ he echoed, ‘You mean the foreman on the Wharfside development, the one who fell from the building?’
Marshall shook his head. ‘Not fell. Gary Watson was murdered. Thrown off that building, his death arranged to look like an accident. The killer’s confessed to Watson’s murder along with all the others.’
‘I don’t get it,’ Rourke said. ‘You’re talking about a plot to undermine Broadwood and ruin me. What could Watson’s death achieve?’
‘Precisely; so why was he murdered? Tell me everything you can about him.’
Rourke told them all he knew. His last sentence gave Marshall the motive.
‘Now we know the worst. What the hell am I going to do?’ Rourke asked.
‘I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve come up with a plan.’
‘If you want my advice, Tara,’ Lisa told her, ‘you’ll emigrate immediately. Alan’s plan will probably have you robbing a bank or kidnapping someone. He’s got some very immoral ideas since he was in Durham Prison.’
Marshall ignored her and began to outline his idea. When Marshall finished Rourke looked at him in awe. ‘You really think this will work?’
‘Why not?’ Marshall countered. ‘It depends on you. Do you think you can do it?’
‘How long will it take?’ Rourke asked.
‘I reckon it should be wrapped up by Friday. Probably Thursday will be the critical day.’
‘It would be ideal if you could keep out of the way during tomorrow, Wednesday and Thursday,’ Lisa suggested. ‘But I don’t suppose that’s practical.’