by Pete Trewin
He paused. For a moment, Chris wondered if there had been a hint of sarcasm in Simon’s voice.
‘And our biggest problem is what?’ Simon continued. He walked over to the flip chart and wrote it up. ‘Complacency! We have to constantly innovate. Which is where Billy Whizz here comes in again. I dunno what we’d do without you, Whizz.’
He nodded to Chris, who half rose and bowed again. When he sat down, Chris took a swig of water to try and keep down the vomit.
‘Billy keeps on top of developments in computers, nets, webs, information: all that kind of crap. And it’s our ace card. We run checks on a company’s operations using a secret programme developed by Billy here. Very sophisticated, very powerful. Uncovers tell-tale signs that someone is up to no good. Then we send you boys and girls in. And, if it’s a biggie, Billy and me get involved personally. The future of the security industry isn’t in cocky watchmen sitting in huts on building sites. It’s in working for bigger and bigger clients and companies. It’s in working for the government. That’s where the real money is. That’s where our future clients are.’
He winked at Chris and punched a button:
SAFE ‘N’ SECURE
He walked forward and stood with his hands on his hips.
‘There’s lots of bad guys out there. But there’s also a lot of decent people trying to make a living and pay the mortgage, and you need to help them. Our job is to stop the bad guys.’
He went back to the laptop and pressed a button:
ANYTHING’S POSSIBLE - GO OUT THERE AND PROVE IT
Simon pressed another button:
OUR VISION:
TO BE THE BIGGEST, MOST PROFITABLE FORENSIC AUDIT COMPANY IN THE UK WITHIN 2 YEARS
Jeanette switched the backlight off, and they sat in darkness staring at the vision for a full minute.
The lights came on.
Simon nodded to Chris.
‘How do you think it went?’ Simon said as he closed the office door behind them.
‘Fine.’
‘Yeah, but someone tampered with it, didn’t they? I know what’s going on in this place.’
Simon took off his shirt and stood in the doorway to the small bathroom. His body was streaming with sweat.
Chris stared at Simon’s magnificently tanned and muscled torso. A puckered white scar stretched diagonally from one hip across the chest, round the shoulder and back to meet up with the original scar. It looked as if he’d been cut in two with a chain saw then sewn back together.
Simon laughed as he wiped his chest with a towel. He traced the scar with a finger.
‘Impressive isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I’m the luckiest man alive. The surgeon had my heart out in his hands and it actually stopped beating for five minutes. I’ve got a video of the operation. I’ll show you it some time.’ He looked at Chris. ‘How’s it going with Snug as a Bug? Stupid name that, isn’t it? But at least you can remember it.’
‘It’s almost there. Just one or two things to check.’
‘Well hurry it along, man. We need to keep the clients happy. Especially those clients. Chop! Chop!’
He looked at Chris again and smiled.
‘Can I ask you a favour, Chris?’
‘Of course.’
‘I need to go into Liverpool this afternoon to see some potential clients. Would you come in with me and check out the venue for the big presentation? It’s important for the company. We need all the work we can get at the moment. We can have a chat about things at the same time.’
SEVEN
Chris’s desk was in a corner, far enough away from the hustle and bustle of office life for it to be relatively peaceful. And the view from the edge of the business park was pleasant too, across fields and hedgerows to low hills in the distance. He was sitting at his computer when the phone rang. Mr Madison was in reception.
The coffee bar took up one of the smaller units on the park. It was next to a lake on which swans sailed back and forth in front of a fountain that sprayed water over a bronze statue, with ducks dabbling and quarrelling in the shallows. A delightful autumn morning. Warm but with the lightest of breezes.
‘The Arcadia Business Park uses nature as a selling point,’ he said to Stuart as he led him to a seat in the coffee bar, well away from Simon. Stuart was in his late twenties, with a spiky hairstyle and tight blue faded jeans. A black mac and pointy brown shoes finished off an outfit that was hardly suitable for a civil servant from the National Crime Agency.
‘You can walk and picnic at lunchtime in a nature reserve,’ Chris said as they sat down. ‘Only, if you look closer you notice the plastic sheeting at the edge of the lake, and that the white boulders and pine trees aren’t from the local area – and that the reeds have been planted in bunches.’
‘It’s very pleasant, though, isn’t it,’ Stuart said . ‘I feel like I’m really in the country when I come here.’
‘Except for that effort on the other side of the lake.’ Chris pointed at Prospect House, a two-storey office block, occupied on the whole of the upper floor by Safe & Secure Ltd. The building had been mainly constructed of glass with a few areas of handmade brick but, unlike most modern office blocks, which tend to be brick sheds, this building had a weird curved shape which came to a point at one end with part of the first floor cantilevered out over a pillar.
‘It looks like something from a surrealist painting,’ Stuart said. ‘It’s certainly got the wow factor.’
‘More like, holy shit! They must have spent a fortune on that!’
‘OK, let’s get down to business,’ Stuart laughed. ‘Snug as a Bug. Incidentally, can’t you people think up some new names for your businesses? It’s cliché city out there. Why not Safe as a Bug or Snug and Secure? OK, let’s have a brief summary.’
‘Snug as a Bug pay all their taxes and national insurance on time,’ said Chris, spreading his notes on the table. ‘Even company pension contributions. The directors are Kenny Mason and his wife. I’ve got a number of photos of Kenny but none of his wife yet. She keeps a low profile - she hasn’t even got a driving licence. But all the profits from Snug as a Bug go into her bank account.
He put a photo of Kenny on the table where they could both see it. Kenny looked confident and relaxed – like a crime lord from Central Casting.
‘His whereabouts are currently unknown,’ he continued, ‘along with the other two top men in the operation. Probably lying low for some reason. They bought Snug as a Bug a year ago in a fire sale when it went bust. They used the proceeds from property sales. Customers nearly always pay by card, or occasionally cheque. Hardly ever by cash. As you know cash flow is a problem for many businesses. For this kind of business the problem is too much cash. But they seem to be an honest double glazing firm. One of the few around.’
‘Until we received a tip-off that they are using it to launder drugs money.’
‘That’s right. They’re moving out of the naughty stuff and going legit. They started off with houses, shops and pubs but the recession has meant a drop in income from them. The latest wheeze is to take over failing businesses and turn them round. And this double glazing firm’s doing well, reporting good profits and adding staff. They are doing something right in business terms.’
‘And something wrong in legal terms?’
‘The problem is I can’t work out what they’re doing wrong. We know that the property the Masons sold to buy the company was probably bought with laundered drugs cash in the old days. It would be difficult to get them on that now. And everything’s above board. Income tax, Corporation tax. NI, Pensions. All paid. They get their vans in a deal with Fords and make the double glazing units - the windows and doors and suchlike - at a place in Speke. And they’ve got a reputation for honesty. No hard selling. Thing is, I can’t work out where the cash they’re putting into the company goes. It’s got me foxed.’
There was a silence.
‘They’re getting better and better at this money laundering thing,’ Stuart said at
last. ‘At one time they sent a bagman on the train down to London to a bureau de change. All you had to do was tail him and nab them with the cash on the table. It’s harder now.’
‘There was a fellow in a big off-roader in the car-park. He might have been a bagman.’
‘Could be. Did he see you? The rule is if you’re noticed get out of there. You’re surveillance only. We deal with the rough stuff. You know what the score is, Chris. If you end up in the Mersey wearing concrete overshoes it’s a real hassle for us. Dealing with the ordinary plods. Insurance. Claims. Up to our necks in paperwork.’
After a brief silence, he laughed.
‘Sorry, Chris, only joking. But watch yourself on this job. Kenny Mason has a history of wanton violence against anyone who upsets him. He hates plods. And he absolutely loathes feds. The top brass really want to nail him. This is our big chance. We’re going to be reorganized soon. We’ll be getting a new name but we’ll be doing the same old job. If I can box this off it’ll help me. And to be honest, Chris, and don’t tell anyone I said it, this is a big opportunity for your outfit to prove itself.’ He paused. ‘Look, Chris, we could send someone in undercover. It would have to be one of our own lads, of course...’
‘No need for that, Stuart. I’ve got some ideas I’m working on.’
Stuart laughed.
‘Thank God for that! We’ve already exceeded this year’s budget for undercover operatives. Look, Chris, we need that report as soon as. Two days tops?’
‘Fancy a coffee?’
Too much caffeine too early in the day but Chris was flattered. At first glance Jeanette was the clichéd blonde bimbo receptionist rather than an accountant; tall with long legs and the looks of a model. But if you looked more closely you noticed that she wasn’t blonde at all - her hair was a light shade of auburn - and that her features were a degree or two too small for her face.
Chris took the cups outside to a table and waited for Jeanette, who had nipped to the loo. He looked out over the lake, watching a duck upending and splashing in the water.
He took a swallow of coffee. Together with the fresh air it was just enough to stop him from being sick.
‘So what did you think of this new lot?’ Chris said as Jeanette sat down.
‘The new lot?’ she said. ‘The usual. Young and keen. Don’t know what they are letting themselves in for. With Simon.’
She looked at him, and he realized that she wanted to go on about Simon. Chris wasn’t a hunky stallion; he was a shoulder to complain on.
He sighed, trying to stop it from being too heartfelt. ‘What’s he been up to this time?’ He should have known all along that this would be what it was about.
‘Chris, I can take the condescension, treating you like a kid. I can put up with the moods and the lies. I can even handle the complete lack of social skills when outsiders aren’t around and he’s not putting on the “hale fellow well met” act. All that crap about how this company cares about its staff, how it treats people as human beings.’
‘All the MBA speak,’ said Chris. ‘And the acronyms: USP, AIDA, KISS, SMART and all the rest. Drucker and Peters. “Small is Beautiful”. I.e. keep your staff small, and keep down the numbers of salaried staff.’
‘All that crap. I can even live with him finding double entendres in everything I say. But I draw the line at him coming creeping out of his office – he spends hours in there with his computer and with the door locked, God knows what he’s up to in there. Well I draw the line at him coming creeping out of his office and actually touching me up.’
He looked at her.
‘You mean actual, er, physical contact?’
‘I mean like tit-squeezing.’
He couldn’t stop himself from blushing. Sweat popped from his temples and ran down his cheeks.
She blushed herself. ‘Sorry to be so crude, but that’s what he did. I punched him, harder than I meant to, and he got really nasty. Started giving me jobs no one could do, then changing the goal-posts half-way through. Cold shouldering me for no reason. Not talking – and when he does, snapping and finding fault with everything. Just look at the way he humiliates Tony Scoggins. I know Tony’s a scruffy bugger and takes a lot of time off sick, but he is useful isn’t he? Simon shouldn’t treat his financial director like that.’
Chris nodded.
‘And Simon’s a liar,’ she continued. ‘I did a report for him, and when I gave it to him I made a note in my diary. Two days later he told me off for not doing it. And he’s always skitting people. Copies my accent.’
‘I’d not noticed that you had one.’
‘I haven’t, hardly, but he’s always making cracks about thick woolly backs. I could kill him, I really could. Get a gun and blow his brains out or put a bomb under his car. Everyone feels the same way. Everyone hates him. I don’t know what he’s on at the moment but whatever it is it’s made him worse.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You must know.’
Chris said nothing.
‘I know that not everyone who takes that stuff is a junkie,’ she said. ‘Professional people can keep a front up for years. But it’s definitely having an effect on him. He’s becoming more and more deluded and irrational. Like all this stuff about moving into private investigation. Taking on bigger customers. When we can’t even keep the ones we’ve got. It’s reached the stage where it’s affecting the company.’
‘Like how?’
‘Like we could go bust. He lost us our best council contract because of his unprofessional behaviour. Tony’s going out of his mind.’
Chris said nothing.
‘Weren’t you involved in that job? What happened, Chris?’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘But don’t go spreading it around. I spent several months of my life building up a file on a lady called Alison Kirkpatrick. You know, the one in the presentation. Simon boasts about taking her down but it was me who did the hard work. She ran a big department in one of the Greater Manchester councils but she tended to disappear during the day. And she ran up exorbitant expense claims. The dopes who worked with her in the Corpy hadn’t cottoned on to it. Until someone from District Audit noted that her life-style - Porsche, fancy holidays and all the usual stuff - was beyond even her ample salary. Safe n’ Secure were engaged to put her under surveillance, and to check her background. I didn’t know which was more interesting, the slot-machine habit or the fact that her CV was totally fictitious. From a Master’s degree and straight Grade A’s at GCSE and A level, to her leisure pursuits.’
‘All made up? That’s pure class, that.’
‘If I’m fair, the bits about skiing and dining out were true.’
‘I know it’s an obvious question but why didn’t someone check her CV out before they appointed her?
‘I dunno. It could had something to do with her being as good-looking as a minor film star, flaunting a perfect body, and being obviously intelligent. They were probably mesmerized by her. You know what, Jeanette? From doing this type of work I’ve come to realize that local government is an excellent medium for the clever chancer on the way up from humble origins. Image counts for more than results so the con man or woman who can market him or herself can quickly rise to the top.’
‘I’ve noticed that.’
‘And Alison could market herself. I often wondered to myself during the job, why didn’t you do it the right way? You’re obviously intelligent. You could easily have got a degree. Though there again she had an addictive personality. A thousand pounds a week cocaine habit. And, amazingly, she worked as a call-girl at night. And managed to hold down the day job with the faked identity as well.’
‘Pure class.’
‘I never spoke to her or met her up close,’ he said. ‘Just took photos from a distance and compiled the dossier. Which is where Simon shuffles onto the scene.’
‘I think I’ve got an idea what’s coming next,’ she laughed.
‘She was known for offering “free ones” to coppers who
got too close, something that Simon had shown an interest in when he’d gone through the case with me prior to final submission of the report. And he’d shown a lot of interest in photos of Alison and her posh house.’ He sighed. ‘The next day, I was putting the final touches to the report - I reckoned that Alison was due for a long custodial sentence - when the news came through from my council contact that she’d done a runner. Someone had given her the nod. She was caught at Manchester airport trying to catch a flight to Brazil but Safe n’ Secure were dropped from the council’s select list of contractors. I couldn’t believe that Simon would have done it for a free one. You would have to be an impulsive, junkie psychopath to put your own livelihood in jeopardy for a free one. I couldn’t believe it.’
‘Chris, Simon is an impulsive, junkie psychopath. He’s the classic bullying boss who enjoys power and status. He’s got all the traits; orderliness and compulsive list-making, treating people like objects to be manipulated.’
‘But he isn’t some stereotype from a psychiatry textbook, Jeanette, he is human. Moody, selfish, self-indulgent even. He’s just not aware of himself. And he’s treated me OK.’
‘Up to now. You are useful. You are his Billy Whizz.’
‘Maybe you repulsed his advances a bit too energetically. No one likes being punched hard by a woman.’
She looked at him, again.
‘Look, Chris,’ she said. ‘If I took out a formal complaint about him, would you back me?’
He thought for a long time.
‘Whew!’ he said at last. He tried to laugh but his headache was thumping away. ‘No way. Not in a trillion years. Simon is one very clever man. Who knows how he would react against a formal complaint? It would confirm him in his paranoia. He’s got this operation sewn up. You’re just an expendable piece of shit, like me and the other full-timers. And as for the cannon fodder…’