‘Have you still got any contacts down there, Jim?’
‘At the Gare?’ He nodded. ‘A few. Fellas that have been there donkeys’ years.’
I knew the fishermen’s huts passed down the generations, prized assets for working men to go to on their days off for a bit of fishing, or just to sit and talk about the old days, when you could walk across the Tees estuary on the backs of salmon and porpoises. The huts were an alternative to sheds, greenhouses and pigeon crees on allotments.
I didn’t tell him about Nancy Peters. He would probably have been outraged. So far as I knew, the traditional embargo on women staying overnight in the huts still existed. So one of the huts actually being in female ownership would certainly have set him off.
‘Have you heard anything recently?’ I asked.
‘From down there?’
I nodded and yawned, resigned to having to be patient.
Still without looking up, he said with satisfaction, ‘There’s hell on at the minute.’
‘How’s that?’
For a man who never left the house now – in his own estimation, at least – he knew an awful lot about what was going on over a surprisingly wide area.
‘Rumours, and more rumours. Things, bad things, are going to happen, they say.’
‘Like what?’
He cut through a cord and dropped the knife he was using. Then he pushed the creel off his knees, mended. Finally, he looked up at me.
‘You want to keep out of it,’ he said flatly.
I chuckled. ‘It’s a bit late for that, Jim. What are you hearing?’
‘There’s trouble brewing.’
He picked up the knife again and pared a fingernail that had become a bit jagged.
‘There’s always trouble, Jim. Wherever there’s people, you can’t avoid it.’
He pointed the knife at me and said, ‘Don’t you go talking down to me, young man. I may not have your education, but. . . .’
‘You don’t. You’re right there. You got out of school when you were fifteen. I had to wait till I was sixteen.’
It took a moment, but then he grinned.
‘So what are you on about?’ I asked.
He sighed and stuck the knife into the ground.
‘There’s talk of some foreign company taking over the port and the river. They want to do all sorts of things, apparently. Getting rid of the fishermen’s huts is just one of them.’
‘How can they do that?’
‘By not renewing the lease on the land. That’s what folk say.’
‘The huts have been there a long time, haven’t they?’
‘Forever, nearly. Longer than I’ve been here, anyway. But the land they’re on is leased. Originally from Lord Zetland. Then the Tees Conservancy Commission. I don’t know for sure who owns it now.’
The private-sector company that ran the port, presumably, I thought. Or the owners of the nearby steelworks. But the huts were an institution, as was Paddy’s Hole where the boats were kept. Surely nobody would do away with them?
Yet, as soon as I framed the question, I knew that it was possible. Of course it was. Anything was possible now the world was run by accountants, and cutting costs and making money was all that counted.
It was the problem Nancy Peters had mentioned, and probably the reason she had come into contact with James Campbell.
‘There were fishermen there,’ Jimmy continued, ‘even before the South Gare was built. It’s not right.’
All this somehow had to be down to PortPlus. So far as I knew, no other foreign company had appeared on the scene. Besides, Nancy had said it was them. Jack Gregory had hinted at it, too. It had to be them.
‘That’s not all, either,’ Jimmy said darkly.
I looked at him.
‘There’s talk of them wanting to build another nuclear power station on what’s left of the dunes this side of the river. On the other side they want to do away with the Seal Sands nature reserve, and put some of them wind generators there. All to make money,’ he added, looking round for somewhere to spit.
I wondered if it could be done, all that, and again knew the answer as soon as I’d asked the question. Once someone said ‘new jobs’, all obstacles fell away instantly, especially when there was a downturn in the economy and politicians’ eyes were on the next election.
God help the seals on what was left of Seal Sands, I thought, if that was what PortPlus had in mind. Not to mention the fishermen at the South Gare – and probably a few other innocent bystanders, as well.
‘Anything else?’ I asked almost with dread.
‘That’s enough, isn’t it?’
I nodded. It was. For now.
‘They’ll likely cut off access to the South Gare altogether,’ Jimmy added with a sort of grim satisfaction. ‘By Tod Point, probably, just like it used to be.’
He was thinking of a time before the river improvements were made, and the Tees emptied into the sea by a vast delta that stretched from Hartlepool to the edge of Coatham and Redcar.
‘They can’t do that,’ I said dubiously. ‘What about the steelworks?’
‘How long is that going to last?’
I grimaced. You had to wonder. Redcar Steelworks was all that was left of the steel industry on Teesside. It wasn’t much.
‘The wind’s getting up,’ Jimmy said, pausing to stare past me at the darkening sky, as if that were another harbinger of calamity.
‘James Campbell,’ I said with a weary sigh. ‘Do you know anything about his involvement in all this?’
Why not ask? I thought. Jimmy seemed to know about everything else.
‘I know the fishermen’s association had asked him to look into this takeover. I wouldn’t be surprised if the people interested in wild birds and seals, and whatnot, hadn’t asked him as well.’
I wouldn’t have been surprised either. It sounded as if PortPlus had stirred up a hornet’s nest down there. Poor old James Campbell, as the local MP, must have been run off his feet.
Soon afterwards I left Jimmy to it. He had given me a lot more to think about, but I almost wished I hadn’t bothered going to see him – or listened to Jack Gregory and Nancy Peters either. Until I’d started talking to them, I’d had a good job in prospect.
I groaned when I saw Bill Peart’s vehicle coming back along the track. I was in a want-to-be-alone mood by then.
‘The sea has calmed down a bit,’ Bill said as he announced himself.
I nodded without much interest. ‘I’m going to have a beer, Bill. Fancy one?’
‘Why not?’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘I’m off duty now.’
‘You’re kidding!’ I chuckled. ‘Since when have you started knocking off work this early? Have they done away with overtime payments?’
He made a face and settled himself in a comfortable chair near the stove. It looked like he was here for a while.
I opened a couple of bottles of Newcastle Brown Ale, handed him one and flopped onto the sofa with another.
He inspected the bottle carefully. ‘I thought they’d stopped making this stuff?’
‘In Newcastle, they did. But it’s still made somewhere. Nottingham, maybe.’
‘The modern world, eh?’ he said with a sigh. ‘I wonder if you could put your finger on when it stopped making sense.’
‘Just before you were born, probably.’
He grinned.
‘So how’s it going, Bill?’
‘Nowhere fast. We know how Campbell died and where his body was found, but not much else. No-one seems to know why he was at the South Gare, and there are lots of possibilities when it comes to who might have killed him.’
‘He was a busy man,’ I said. ‘Plenty of friends, and just as many enemies, probably.’
‘That’s about right. I suppose it was worth it? His lifestyle, I mean.’
I shook my head. I wasn’t getting into that. I hadn’t had enough to drink. Besides, I was tired. I just wanted the day to end soon.
&nb
sp; ‘How’s Jac?’
‘All right, I think. She’s gone away for a bit.’
‘Sensible girl. We don’t want her caught up in this.’
That, at least, I could agree with.
‘What’s happening about that job you mentioned?’
‘I’m not sure, Bill. I talked to the CEO, and I met the chairman of the company. The contract is mine if I want it. The trouble is I’m not sure I want it now. I’ve talked to a few people since then, and they’ve told me things I didn’t like to hear. It’s a company that seems to be upsetting an awful lot of people.’
‘Who is it?’
‘They call themselves PortPlus. They may be an American outfit, although I’m not sure about that. Anyway, they’re making a takeover bid for Teesport.’
‘Really?’ He whistled. ‘That’s going to be big news.’
I nodded.
‘They’re talking about big investment in the area and making the port operation more efficient. Presumably that will result in new jobs, but it’s also going to threaten the fishermen at the Gare and various environmental interests.’
‘What’s your problem?’
I grimaced. ‘Frankly? I didn’t care for their chief executive, and I do like some of the people opposed to what they plan to do. James Campbell was opposed to them, as well,’ I added for good measure. ‘At first, according to his agent, he was supportive. Then he changed his mind and was about to start campaigning to get them stopped. Instead, it was him that got stopped.’
In the sudden silence we stared at one other, Bill seemingly as startled by the implications of my throwaway remark as I was myself.
‘Well, now,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t that interesting?’
‘Isn’t it?’ I agreed, wondering why I hadn’t thought of it earlier.
Then I went to find a couple more bottles of Newcastle Brown Ale.
Chapter Seventeen
A lot of work was done in the nineteenth century to make the Tees a more navigable river. As well as building staiths and docks, and developing the new towns of Middlesbrough and West Hartlepool, the coal owners and the ironmasters created the Tees Conservancy Commission and charged it with improving the river for shipping. The TCC dredged deeper channels, built miles of retaining walls and also built both the North Gare and the South Gare breakwaters to improve the entrance to the river. Most of these structures were made of slag, the waste from the new blast furnaces.
The TCC did a good job, good enough to suffice for well over a hundred years. Then in the 1980s the government of the day started hunting for things to privatize. One of the things they found was Teesport and, in effect, the role of the TCC. Control of the river, the port and much associated land passed from public to private control. After that, a succession of ownership changes had led up to where we were now.
Now, it seemed, some sort of American collective investment fund – or whatever PortPlus was – was looking to take everything over, and do away with the fishermen’s huts, the seals and much else besides. Once they had made their money, the way these things worked, they would no doubt soon be away again, leaving a bitter legacy. The new jobs would turn out to be fewer and less permanent than hoped, and the area would be changed forever, not necessarily for the better. It didn’t seem good enough.
It was time I gave PortPlus my answer to the question they had put to me.
I met Mike Rogers in his office.
‘Frank! Good to see you again. How are you?’
I smiled my answer. Then I declined the offer of coffee but sat down at the guest coffee table with him.
‘So what do you think?’ he asked. ‘Going to take up our offer?’
‘I have a few questions first, Mike. I was wondering what plans PortPlus have for the area around the lower reaches of the Tees.’
‘Where are you thinking of, exactly?’ he asked with a puzzled frown.
‘The undeveloped part of Seal Sands on the north side, say, and around the South Gare, south of the river.’
‘Plans?’ He looked dubious now. ‘No plans, Frank. We haven’t even got hold of the business yet. How could we have plans?’
That sounded pretty naïve to me, given the scale of the investment they were contemplating. No plans? Come on!
‘A wish list, then. What do you want to do down there. I gather there’s some controversy building with the locals.’
‘Locals? There’s no-one lives there, Frank.’
‘The fishermen, for example, and various environmental groups.’
‘Oh, I see.’ He nodded and his expression became grim. ‘Do I gather you’ve been talking to people?’
‘I have. I need to know what I’m getting into.’
He looked down and studied his hands for a moment while he worked out what he wanted to say.
‘We are considering various options for land both sides of the river. As a responsible, well-run company we would naturally want to maximize the return from our investment. Yes?’
It was a corporate speech, the kind of stuff someone like him would deliver routinely at press conferences. I could tell he was unhappy with the way the conversation was going. Me asking questions, and talking to people, was not what he had wanted.
‘Then there’s the local Member of Parliament, James Campbell,’ I said undeterred. ‘Or there was. He’s dead now, murdered. I’m wondering how he fitted into the situation.’
Rogers shook his head impatiently.
‘Frank, let me be blunt. We’re intent on moving quickly on our acquisition proposal. We asked you to undertake an overview of security issues and develop an outline strategy. For that we would pay you a handsome fee. Either you can do that for us, or you can’t. And I’m bound to tell you, Frank, I’m getting negative vibes from your attitude and the questions you are throwing at me. Now,’ he said, fixing me with a piercing look, ‘are you in or out? With us, or not?’
‘Not,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘I’ll show myself out.’
After I left the PortPlus office, I went to see a guy I know who has been making a living as an independent forensic accountant for a few years. His office was in the centre of the town, not far from the town hall.
‘Frank Doy!’ he said with a grin. ‘Boy, you’re looking good. Life must be sweet. Business booming?’
‘It’s not bad, Henry. All I need is a bit more cash. A lot more, actually.’
‘So you want me to find you some?’
‘Wouldn’t that be nice? No, I’ve come to invite you out for lunch. Yes, you’re right,’ I added, anticipating his next question. ‘I do want something from you in return.’
He chuckled with delight and shook his head. ‘I saw that one coming! What do you want?’
‘I want to pick your brains about takeovers, especially hostile takeovers.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘What sector are we talking about here?’
‘Ports, basically, and everything to do with them. Shipping, industrial land development – all of that.’
‘What’s in it for me?’
‘My company for an hour or so, and a pork pie and a pint.’
Henry scratched his bald head and pushed back his glasses, which had worked their way down his nose. ‘Sounds good,’ he said after a moment’s thought. ‘C’mon! Let’s go.’
Henry steered me to the Blast Furnace, a pub in the old Middlesbrough tradition, a place where a lot of serious drinking was done. It was heaving. Our entry was no more noticed than it would have been on the terraces of old Ayresome Park, half-way through a derby against Sunderland. There was lots of terse conversation, and lots of eyes glued on the horse racing being broadcast on the many televisions dotted around the big room.
Henry sighed with satisfaction and smiled at me. ‘Who says pubs are dying?’
‘The only thing missing from the old days is the cigarette smoke,’ I said agreeably.
‘Ah, well. You can’t have everything.’
We got what we wanted from the bar and foun
d seats in a comparatively quiet corner. It wasn’t my idea of a secluded watering hole, but it seemed to be Henry’s.
‘So what are you up to?’ he asked me.
‘Not a lot. A potential client asked me to do a job for them. I’d never heard of them, and what I’ve discovered since has not impressed me. I want to know what they’re doing.’
Henry nodded and sipped his beer. ‘Takeovers, eh?’
‘Takeovers. These pies any good?’ I asked, scrutinizing the paper-wrapped packages we had picked up at the bar.
‘The best. They get them from the old Newbould’s place.’
The legendary Middlesbrough pork butcher. I raised my eyebrows with approval and unwrapped one of the pies.
‘I don’t care for salad,’ Henry confided, following suit, ‘and foreign muck like that.’
‘No, of course not.’ I nodded. ‘So you come here?’
‘Most days.’
It was a wonder he was still with us. Henry had never enjoyed the best of health, and he carried on in the same old way with fags, beer and pork pies as he always had done. It was as if the twenty-first century had yet to arrive.
But he was good at what he did for a living, very good, and I wasn’t going to be the one who criticized his lifestyle.
‘Hostile takeovers,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘How hostile?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I admitted.
‘Well, it’s pretty straightforward. If the board of the target company says no to a proposed offer, and the predator company continues anyway, it’s a hostile takeover. The predator then makes a public offer for shares or simply starts buying them on the open market. Sometimes they try to make things easier for themselves by engineering a change of management, and getting a more sympathetic board.’
I nodded, as if I knew all this. ‘And after that it’s a matter of which side has the strongest will, and how much the prospective buyer wants to spend?’
‘That’s about right.’
How much money, I wondered, did PortPlus have and want to spend?
‘Ports, you said?’ Henry mused. ‘Not Teesport?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘So who are we talking about?’
I hesitated briefly but there was no point in concealment now I’d come this far.
A Death at South Gare Page 6