by Iain Cameron
‘I have also approached the family solicitor, Mr Geoffrey Faraday and while he wasn't at liberty to divulge the contents of the will, he did not seek to contradict my assertion that most of the shares will be left to Suki Markham.’
Up until then, whenever he paused he could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall but at this point, everyone started talking at once.
‘But she’s an airhead,’ King said, pugnacious and direct to a fault.
‘She will ruin a fine business,’ Trudeau said, throwing his hands into the air in mock horror, a gesture only the French could execute with any degree of zeal.
‘Bloody hell this really takes the biscuit,’ Hallam said. ‘You might as well take a match to the place.’
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen please,’ Lawton said trying to restore calm. ‘I have known Suki Markham since childhood and if anyone can influence her, it is me. I think it’s safe to assume that when the dust settles and she inherits a majority share in the company, as I expect she will, she will ask me to carry on as before, as I’m sure she would like to get back to her old life as soon as possible.’
He looked around and seeing several nods of agreement, he ploughed on.
‘Now, in time, I will recommend she sells her shares in Markham to us. If, for some reason she decides not to, or decides to put the company up for sale, we will be in the same position as we are now, ready and able to make a winning bid. I’m confident all the bases are covered.’
‘How do we know,’ Green said, ‘when she does inherit, you won’t go back to your old life as MD, with Suki owning the majority of the shares instead of the old man?’
‘Why would she keep shares in a business she doesn’t understand and takes no interest in? If she won’t sell right away, I’m convinced I’ll be able to persuade her in time. From my perspective, I want her to sell it to us. I want to benefit from the riches Project Kratos will bring and the expansion in business resulting from my association with you guys.’ he said spreading his outstretched arm in an arc to include everyone in the room. ‘At the moment, I am a salaried hand but as part owner, I will share directly in the company’s success. With the money Kratos will generate, I’ll use it to expand our operations into new business areas we’ve never dreamed about before.’
By the grunts and nods coming from the group, he knew he was on the right track and went on to tell them how he planned to meet Suki regularly, to keep her appraised of developments and make sure no one else was feeding her a different story. He would have her ear and this was something they didn’t need to concern themselves about.
The meeting wrapped up ten minutes later and they all moved to a table at the end of the room, where Sir Stephen’s wife had laid out a cold buffet and drinks. Lawton started piling some tasty-looking ham, pork pie, and coleslaw on his plate when he received a slap on the back from King and a compliment from Trudeau over his handling of the affair, and from across the other side of the table, Sir Stephen told him he did well to make something positive out of what could have been a difficult situation.
He was feeling pleased with himself when Green took his arm and guided him away from the others. ‘When you asked me this morning if I knew anything about Sir Mathew’s death, I thought you were being a bit cheeky and so I didn’t give you a straight answer but now I see you’re committed to this consortium, I think I should tell you, maybe I know more than you think.’
Lawton looked back at him, shocked. He was too dumbstruck to say anything, but he didn’t know if it was due to the power of his words or the way his intimidating presence seemed to tower over him. These dark hooded eyes and furrowed brow gave the impression it was him being sized up for lunch, and not the mackerel fillets and salad lying uneaten on his plate.
‘What I mean is, I have taken a good look at Sir Mathew’s death and that of your Finance Director, David Young and I think they’re related.’
‘What, I’ve never heard anything so…so bizarre. How? What the hell do you mean?’
‘I think your company is being targeted by someone,’ Green said, a strange smile playing on his lips, reminding him of his schooldays when a big bastard called Joe Barnes used to bully him. He would smile at him in the same way, seconds before punching him in the head and leaving him on the ground, crying for his mother.
‘Dominic, we make microprocessors and video chips for phones, not bloody artillery shells, nuclear warheads or cigarettes. I mean, who…who would do such a thing?’ He began to sweat, little drops gathering above his eyebrow. Green was barking and it was unnerving him.
‘This is what I would like you to tell me.’
‘I’ve told the police everything I know. Even they didn’t mention this.’
‘Phah. The police know bugger-all. Show them a body and I’ll show you an unsolved murder. They’re amateurs. Give me the names of the people you think it might be, William, and I’ll have my boys sort them out. After all,’ he said putting a hand on his shoulder, making him flinch, ‘we don’t want the same thing happening to you when we’re in charge, now do we?’
TWENTY-FOUR
He parked the pool car beside a smart Mini Cooper S, got out and stretched, as if he had come to the end of a long journey and not a trip from Sussex House to Ditchling, with a small detour via the seafront.
It wasn’t the fault of the Vectra, a comfortable enough car, but last night DS Gerry Hobbs was sleeping in the spare room with a thin duvet and a radiator that didn’t work well and the cold kept him awake at night. His wife, Catalina, was in one of her pot-throwing moods, this one about the lack of time he spent with the kids and when she was in one of those, there was no calming her down or sleeping in the same bed.
Before knocking on the front door of Stavely House, he walked across the driveway to take a look around while his colleague, DC Sally Graham, stood beside the car, texting on her phone. It was a large, imposing house with a style and elegance lacking in many of the neighbouring houses, as most of them were dull cottages with small windows and low ceilings, some of which had been extended with modern conservatories, rooms in the roof with plastic-framed, double-glazed windows and doors, and ugly ill-maintained garages.
He couldn’t see the back garden but the front was laid out as if modelled on one from the Chelsea Flower Show with bowling green-quality lawn, edged by a broad, uneven border containing a variety of plants displaying strong colour, even though it was early May and most gardens in the area were yet to bloom. Sir Mathew’s gardener had not been idle.
To one side, a wire fence surrounded an all-weather tennis court, part-hidden by a planting of mature bushes. He didn’t play, but his youngsters liked the game and this place looked a much better bet than the courts at Preston Park where even the slightest fall on the concrete could result in a skinned-knee and an abrupt end to the day’s activity.
He sighed, his usual reaction when he came across a beautiful house he couldn’t afford. In fact, with a sergeant’s salary, two kids and a needy wife who liked coffee mornings and cakes, he couldn’t afford most of the houses he saw, but it didn’t stop him feeling jealous.
He walked to the door and knocked, the noise rousing DC Graham from her reverie and she strolled over to join him.
‘I was enjoying that little bit of sunshine,’ she said. ‘There’s been so much rain lately, I thought I wouldn’t be seeing it again for a couple of weeks.’
‘Next thing we know, you’ll be asking me for a week’s leave so you can rent out Wallop’s apartment in Tunisia, but if this is your angle, the answer’s no. We’ve got a murder to solve.’
‘I know, I know. It’s just that I miss it when the weather turns cold. I really should have been born in a warmer country.’
The door opened and probably the most gorgeous girl Hobbs had ever clapped his eyes on, stood there. ‘Good morning Ms Markham,’ he said hoping his voice didn't betray the sudden rush of blood to his head and the surge of testosterone to his loins. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Gerry Hobbs a
nd this is Detective Constable Sally Graham of Sussex Police.’
‘I remember you from Monday, Sergeant Hobbs although I have to say I wasn’t at my best. Come on in, but call me Suki, everybody else does.’
Hobbs hadn’t forgotten Monday either, but then she was wearing an old t-shirt, her hair looked a mess, and her face was as pale as a sheet, in fact it might have been a different person. Now, with time to get herself together, her hair was lush and bouncy, her make-up subtle and flattering, and the tight top and trousers designed to show off her amazing figure, making her look stunning, and my God, how he appreciated it.
It wasn’t that his wife was unattractive, she had been at one time, but the effects of bearing two children had adversely affected her complexion, weight, and attitude. Gone was the bouncy, happy go lucky 34-year-old who didn’t drink much and could fit into a pair of size-twelve jeans, and if he managed to peel them off, couldn’t get enough sex. She had been replaced by a grumpy 40-year-old who waged a constant battle with her weight, was reluctant to go out anywhere nice or new, and was much too fond of cup cakes and cheap Pinot Grigio, a glass of which appeared in her hand almost every night.
They were shown into the sitting room. It had been four days since the murder of Mathew Markham and Scenes of Crime officers had completed their work in this part of the house and were on the point of finishing up in the kitchen. Suki must have brought in specialised cleaners or she and the housekeeper must have been working like Trojans, as the room looked bright and welcoming and smelled fresh and airy. Gone was the musty aroma of chemicals and sweat that hung around, long after a crime scene had been examined and the SOCOs had moved on to analyse someone else’s misery.
They declined the offer of coffee as prior to their arrival, they had stopped at a mobile diner near the seafront for some lunch but the coffee was so strong, if he drank another cup he would never be able to get to sleep, even if he was in his own bed.
‘First of all,’ Hobbs said, ‘let me again give you our condolences on the death of your father. I know this must be very hard for you.’
‘Thank you, detective. It’s much appreciated.’
‘How have you been coping with everything going on?’
‘Better than expected. A few friends from my old school heard about the...the murder and came over to help. They kept me company, held the paparazzi at bay, and helped me tidy the place up.’
‘Whatever they did, they did an excellent job as this room looks great.’ He paused. ‘The reason DC Graham and I are here today is to try and flesh out some of the details you gave me on Monday.’
‘I understand. I wasn’t at my best on Monday, as I’m sure you would have gathered, and much of what I said didn’t make sense, even to me.’
‘What I’d like you to do Suki, if you could, is go over the events of Sunday one more time and in as much detail as you can remember, starting at the time you last saw your father. I know it’s not easy, so take your time.’
She blew a puff of breath, making the fringe hanging over her face flutter. It was a charming and sensual gesture, no doubt developed to impress the opposite sex or charm journalists, but he was in work mode now and more or less immune from her obvious charms.
She walked them through the events of the fatal night, from the point when she left her father sitting in favourite chair, to the time when she found him dead in the kitchen. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but an officer who hadn’t visited the crime scene, suggested Suki could well be the murderer.
Hobbs rounded on him for his insensitivity, as he hadn’t met her and couldn’t see how heartbroken she was. Not long afterwards, he realised it was not the dumb suggestion he first thought and while he wasn’t yet a convert, he could understand why so many of the team were beginning to come around to this way of thinking.
There were many pieces of circumstantial evidence pointing in her direction, as she was the last person to see him alive, she was the only one who claimed to have seen the car thieving gang, and without knowing too much about the old man’s finances other than to know he was rich, she had much to gain from his death. In fact, many newspapers were speculating that she would inherit most of her father’s shares, which were valued at anything between three and six hundred million pounds, depending on which paper he read, but neither he nor Henderson were convinced.
His counter argument would point to fresh tyre tracks found over a section of the flower border, indicating the presence of a car, other than Sir Mathew’s Bentley, and concurring with Suki’s description of events. The issue of the inheritance was a bit of a red herring as Lawton told them she was already a wealthy woman with full access to a substantial trust fund set up by her father, which had matured on her twenty-fifth birthday, and she was also the owner of a flat in Earl’s Court in London worth over a million pounds. In addition, everyone they spoke to, were of the firm opinion that she loved her father, and Lawton said he detected not a shred of animosity between them when they played tennis earlier in the day.
‘Thank you, Suki,’ Hobbs said. ‘Now I’d like you to and try and describe the voices you heard.’ He was treading carefully, not wanting to push her too far and lose her but the more they spoke, the more he realised she was stronger than she looked.
‘You said you heard voices from the bedroom and again when you were standing at the top of the stairs. Think hard; could you make out anything they were saying? I’m thinking here about accents and inflections, the words they used, how they spoke, that kind of thing.’
‘I’ve been giving it a little bit of thought myself. I’m sure I heard someone say, ‘you bastard, you bastard.’
‘Good. Could you tell anything about the voice of the person speaking? Were they young or old, black or white, deep and bellowing, or thin and reedy?’
She paused a few moments. ‘Yes, one of the voices sounded young. A white guy, I think.’
‘Did he have an accent?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you think, Irish, Scottish, London?’
‘No, I would say it was local. It sounded Sussex, maybe even Brighton.’
‘Good, well done. Now you’re at the top of the stairs and you’re listening hard. You hear shouting ‘you bastard, you bastard.’ Could you tell what they were shouting about?’
Her face crinkled up as she tried to conjure up fading memories. ‘No, I can’t remember,’ she said shaking her head.
‘Don’t worry,’ Hobbs said. ‘Did you hear one voice or more than one?’
Her face brightened. ‘I know I only heard one voice and at the time, I thought it was strange but my father has…he had a soft voice and it doesn’t carry.’ Tears welled up in her eyes.
Whoa. Hobbs didn’t expect this; he needed to rein back.
A minute or two later, he tried again. ‘Let’s talk about the cars. You’re peeping out of the curtain and you see two cars. One we know is your father’s Bentley, but what about the other one? You said you saw a light coloured saloon. Do you know anything about cars, could you tell what it was?’
‘I should know this,’ she said, ‘I’ve owned plenty of cars. Let me think about it for a second.’ She shut her eyes, her brow furrowing in concentration. Her eyes popped open. ‘Hey, I’ve got it. The other car was a Subaru Impreza. I know that for sure as I used to have one myself.’
TWENTY-FIVE
Henderson pushed open the door of the Shakespeare’s Head and walked in. The friendly face of Maggie Roberts behind the bar would normally split into a wide grin whenever she saw him, but this time her jaw went slack as she stared first at him, and then at his brother Archie beside him.
‘A pint is it Angus, and the same for your son?’ she said, once her composure had been restored to normal.
‘You’re a cheeky bugger Maggie Roberts, sometimes I wonder why I drink in this place.’
‘Oh, I think it’s the lovely staff or maybe it’s the short, staggering distance back to your flat, but I’m not sure which is most important.
So come on, aren’t you going to introduce us? I know it’s your brother, and apart from the hair and the obvious age difference, you’re like two peas in a pod.’
‘I can talk for myself Maggie,’ Archie said, stepping forward and sticking out his hand. ‘I’m Corporal Archie Henderson and if you haven’t guessed from the dickhead haircut and tattoos, I’m in the army.’
‘Pleased to meet you Corporal,’ she said. She finished pouring the drinks and placed them on the bar. ‘For fighting for Queen and country and all that, these ones are on the house. Only the one mind, you can pay for the rest yourselves.’
‘Thank you, dear lady,’ Archie said sweeping two pints of Badger Ale off the bar and engulfing them in his big mitts. ‘I’m sure we’ll more than make up for your fine hospitality by coming back a few more times over the weekend.’
‘How long are you staying?’
‘I’m not sure yet, maybe three or four days, it all depends.’
‘Well, enjoy yourself.’
‘I will. Cheers and thanks again for these,’ he said raising the glasses in salute as he walked away.
They had the choice of seats as it was still early evening but Archie chose a table beside the window where he could monitor all movement in and out of the pub. He said it was a habit he picked up in Afghanistan, but his brother remembered him doing it long before then, so he could clock all the girls coming into and out of a bar.
The pub was in a residential part of Seven Dials and there wasn’t much to see on a Thursday night, except a long row of tightly packed terraced houses running down the hill on both sides of the road, like a parade inspection of disciplined soldiers, and the occasional slow moving car as a driver searched for a place to park.
It all changed on Friday and Saturday evenings when groups of young girls in their glad rags and tottering heels, tried to make their way down to the bright lights of the city centre or the railway station. They often had to hold on to one another for dear life, despite walking at a snail’s pace, as they tried to descend the steep hill without making complete arses of themselves.