Looking For A Reason (#4 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series)

by Frances di Plino

  As they re-entered the office, George shrugged. “Our members are not really the type to put their feet on the coffee tables. Me, now, that’s different. I often do exactly that at home, but then my background is more, let’s say, earthy than theirs. Sit down again, do. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Not at the moment. Did you have any success with your advert at the centre?” Paolo asked, trying not to grimace as he swallowed a mouthful of lukewarm coffee.

  “A couple of young men applied, but neither of them wanted to live in.”

  “Does that matter?” Paolo asked.

  “You’ve seen how far off the bus route we are here. The only way to guarantee workers without their own transport get in on time is to have them living in. Chaz, the man you met at the door, lives in and Trudy drives to work each day. Is that everything? I am quite busy and must get on.”

  “Just one last question before we go,” Paolo said. “Do you know of anyone who might bear Montague Mason a grudge? Someone who would deface the plaque in order to cast aspersions on him?”

  “I can’t think of anyone. Montague’s always seemed pretty inoffensive to me.”

  “Oh, you know him socially?”

  “Not exactly,” George said. “I see him from time to time, but we’re not buddies or anything like that.”

  “Is he one of your members?” Paolo asked with a smile.

  George laughed. “Now you know better than to ask me that. This is a private club and unless you have a warrant to see the members’ list, I don’t have to tell you who’s on it, do I?”

  “Nope, there’s no reason you have to tell us anything. I’m curious about the name, though. Why Triple B?”

  George hesitated and then laughed. “Hubris. This is the third club I’ve opened and the B stands for Baron.”

  Paolo nodded, as if that made perfect sense, but had the distinct impression George was lying to him. For some reason George found the name of his club humorous in a way he had no intention of sharing.

  They said their goodbyes and headed back to the car park. As they got into the car, Paolo mulled over the way the world split into those with money and those without. A man like George Baron wouldn’t have been given the time of day by his wealthy members if he was poor, but since he clearly had the funds to own the building and finance the club, that made him acceptable to them – at least as far as mixing at the club went. Paolo was willing to bet few of them would invite George to a private dinner party in their own homes.

  “What did you make of him, Dave?”

  “I’m not sure. He was almost too affable and obliging for my liking. I felt he had something to hide, but not to do with the plaque at the youth centre. You?”

  Paolo thought for a moment. “I got the same impression. I felt he didn’t want us there, but went out of his way to give us the grand tour. It seemed as if he was trying too hard to show us how innocent the place was. I think he’s involved in something dodgy, but I haven’t a clue what it is. Oh well, until he breaks the law, Mr Baron is not our concern.” He smiled. “Did you see the look his secretary gave him? No love lost there, that’s for sure.”

  Dave laughed. “I’m surprised his suit jacket didn’t catch fire the way she glared at his back.”

  “The doorman looked more like a nightclub bouncer than a welcoming soul, didn’t you think?”

  Dave nodded. “If I’m honest, the place gave me the creeps, but I don’t know why.”

  He started the car and reached out to key in the next destination into the SatNav.

  “Where to now, sir?”

  “Fletcher Simpson. Let’s see what his reasons are for being in the youth centre. He was completely opposed to the renovations and tried everything he could to block funding for it, so it seems a bit odd that he just happened to drop in when he did.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Fletcher Simpson’s offices were housed in a former warehouse next to the canal in the industrial complex. In Bradchester terms, Simpson was considered a magnate. In world terms, he ran a very small, but rapidly expanding, mini-empire.

  As they got out of the car, Paolo’s thoughts must have shown on his face, because Dave laughed.

  “You don’t think much of Mr Simpson, do you, sir?”

  “Does it show?”

  “I’m afraid so. It’s that glacial look you get when we’re going to see someone you don’t approve of. You could freeze warts off with it.”

  “Glacial? Nice one, Dave, very graphic.” Paolo pointed to the warehouse. “Our Fletcher Simpson never shuts up about what he’s done for Bradchester. If you give him half a second he’s in and goes on about it as if he single-handedly saved the town from an economic crisis.”

  Dave shrugged. “He has provided lots of new jobs; you can’t deny that, sir.”

  “I don’t deny it. I know he has. It’s his attitude that grates. Everything he does is because it benefits him first and foremost. The fact that Bradchester does well out of it is secondary, but he promotes himself in that newspaper of his as the second Messiah – here to save the world one step at a time, starting right here, when in truth all he’s really doing is building his bank balance.”

  Paolo took a breath to stop the himself from letting fly with a full scale rant. The canal did need renovation, there was no question about that, but for Fletcher Simpson to put it across as if he was only interested in the improvements for the good of the community stuck in Paolo’s throat.

  He walked over to the canal edge, taking care to avoid tripping on the uneven paving. The last thing he needed was a fully dressed dip in the water. God knows what germs had bred in there.

  While at school he’d learned the history of the canal and its importance to industry. In years gone by, the canal had been the lifeblood of Bradchester. Massive barges carrying raw materials to the factories and transporting finished products to other towns and cities had been a common sight. In one picture he recalled from those far off schooldays, the canal had been so congested with barges coming and going they had devised a traffic system to keep the waterway moving.

  Now, the only barges in evidence were those that had been converted into houseboats. Paolo’s eye was drawn further along the canal to the permanent moorings provided by the Simpson Holiday Accommodation and Travel Company. Brightly painted exteriors, with plants cascading from roof gardens, made him smile in spite of his objection to the man who’d made the burgeoning houseboat community possible. It must be nice, he thought, to wake to the feel of gently moving water and know that, if the urge was strong enough, you could start the engine and chug off to a different place every day.

  Paolo shook his head and turned to Dave.

  “You think I see people only in black and white?”

  Dave nodded. “Very few shades of grey in your world, sir.” He drew an imaginary line in the air. “This side good guys, that side bad guys.”

  Paolo shrugged. “You think that’s wrong?”

  “Not if we’re talking about villains, but when it’s someone like Fletcher Simpson, I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt. You see it as making money for himself and the town benefitting as a side effect, which could well be the case, but is that so bad? The town still does well out of it.”

  Paolo smiled. “That’s not what gets to me. It’s the saint’s halo he carries around with him that pisses me off. If he was honest and said, ‘I’m out to make money for me. If I do well, then so will Bradchester,’ I wouldn’t have a problem with him. But he doesn’t. He tries to appear as if he is running his various businesses as benevolent ventures and the fact that he makes money from his activities is something he had never anticipated nor wanted. In short, he’s a hypocrite and that’s what I can’t stand–”

  He heard the anger in his voice and stopped midsentence. He grinned at Dave, then turned and walked towards the buildings set back from the canal bank.

  “You do it on purpose, don’t you?” he said when Dave caught up with him.
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br />   “What, wind you up? Course I do, sir. It’s so easy.”

  “Bloody well stop it. I’m not here for your entertainment.”

  “No, sir, whatever you say, sir,” Dave said, pulling a non-existent forelock.

  Laughing, they reached the building and went inside. Although from the outside it still looked like a warehouse, from the moment they stepped over the threshold all traces of its previous incarnation disappeared. Their surroundings could have been photographed for an interior design magazine feature. Walls had been erected to segregate the previously open area into smaller self-contained office units. On the left as they entered, a wrought iron and stained wood spiral staircase led to the floors above. A mini waterfall cascaded down the wall to their right. Directly in front of them was a waiting area with three cream leather couches, a low metal and glass table was covered in glossy magazines, and against the far wall, a higher, but matching, metal and glass table holding the type of coffee machine Paolo had never quite got the hang of using. A wooden bowl contained capsules that he had been told he simply had to insert into the right slot for the coffee of his choice to appear from the spout. Jessica had one in her kitchen and it made Paolo look like a complete idiot every time he tried to use it. If he got the capsule in the right place, the water wouldn’t come through. If the water came gushing out, it would be as clear as day because the capsule wouldn’t have opened.

  “This is all very nice,” Dave said, “but are we supposed to wait here in the hope that someone will arrive?”

  As he spoke, the waterfall slid to one side revealing an open plan office with three desks. The occupant of the desk nearest to them stood up and walked over.

  “Hello, I’m Melissa Taylor. You must be Detective Inspector Storey and Detective Sergeant Johnson. Mr Simpson is expecting you. If you take the stairs to the first floor, he will meet you there.”

  “Thank you, Melissa, but how did you know we were waiting?” Paolo asked.

  She smiled. “One way mirror. The water is reflected on the lobby side, but we can see through from this side. Neat, huh?”

  “Very,” Paolo agreed, enjoying her enthusiasm.

  When he and Dave reached the floor above, Fletcher Simpson was there to meet them, as promised. At six feet five, he towered over them. His fair hair had been brushed into a style more suited to a teenager, but Paolo guessed that was more to hide the man’s growing bald patches than for fashion.

  “Welcome, Paolo. Let’s go through to my office. Have you come to interrogate me about the vandalism? I’ll be honest, it made my morning when I saw Montague’s humiliation splashed across all the papers.”

  He led the way along a corridor lined with photographs of his various businesses. Everything was represented, from the local dairy to his newspaper and radio interests. His office reflected the man perfectly. It was all cold colours, shades of silver, blue and grey, and sharp edges on modern furniture that looked unyielding, but turned out to be surprisingly comfortable when Paolo sat down.

  “Would you like some coffee, or is this a flying visit?”

  “Not a flying visit, but no coffee for me, thank you,” Paolo said.

  Dave, taking a seat opposite Fletcher, shook his head as well.

  “Right then, down to business. Why are you here? I wasn’t even at the ceremony, so don’t see what you want to question me about.”

  “The message was written at some point earlier in the day, or the day before. We know this because prior to that it hadn’t been covered with the drape, so any vandalism would have been noticed.”

  “Fair enough,” Fletcher said, “but I repeat, what has that got to do with me?”

  “You were seen at the centre during the day of the opening. Taking into account your animosity towards the place, I need to ask you why you went and what you did while there.”

  Fletcher laughed. “Do I look like the type to sneak a lipstick into a place to scrawl a badly spelled accusation?”

  “I don’t know,” Paolo said. “Is there a type for that? I would have thought someone with reason to want to see Montague humiliated might think that was as good a way of doing it as any.”

  “Not me,” Fletcher said. “So you can just scratch my name off your list.”

  Paolo nodded. “I’ll do that with pleasure, but you still need to tell me why you went to the centre.”

  “I happened to be passing and decided to call in to see how public money had been used.”

  “Really? You just happened to be passing and dropped in?”

  Fletcher sighed. “Yes. It was a spur of the moment decision. I told you, I wanted to see what had been done with the money I’d hoped would go into the canal restoration. Not that it matters now. I intend to fund the project myself as a gift to the community.”

  Paolo caught Dave grinning at him and realised his face must have reflected how he felt on hearing Fletcher’s predictable words.

  “How exactly will it be a gift to the community when you are the one who will benefit from it the most?”

  Fletcher looked at Paolo as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “Business and tourism, Paolo. The two biggest money spinners for the town. Renovating the canal and opening it up to narrow boat holidays will improve tourism. The hotel further along the canal, which I admit I own, will also benefit, but so will the town. The more businesses grow, the more jobs there are. It’s a total win, win situation for everyone. The youth centre, on the other hand, doesn’t provide jobs in the same way. Yes, you’ve taken on a few instructors, but in the main, you’re simply encouraging young people to hang around waiting for things to happen.”

  He finished by muttering something Paolo didn’t quite catch, but it sounded derogatory towards Montague Mason.

  “I’m sorry; you’ll have to repeat that last comment.”

  “I said and who knows what might happen with Montague let loose near impressionable teenagers.”

  Paolo sat forward. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Do I really need to spell it out for you? I would have thought, having spent the last year in Montague’s charming company, you would know exactly what I meant.”

  “Yes, you do need to spell it out. If you think the young people at the centre are in any kind of danger, you need to tell me.”

  Fletcher shook his head. “I wasn’t implying he likes them young, just that I wouldn’t want my teenagers, if I had any, to use him as a role model. Why don’t you dig into his private life a little? I’m sure there must be one or two who will have a tale to tell. Now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I have a business to run and I’m sure you have criminals to catch.”

  He stood up and held out his hand.

  “Don’t look on me as an enemy, Paolo. I don’t like Montague Mason, but that doesn’t make me a bad man.”

  As they descended the stairs, the sound of the waterfall got louder, but overriding that was a voice in Paolo’s head reminding him he hadn’t yet asked Katy and Danny what they’d done to get on the wrong side of Montague. If he discovered the man had tried it on with Katy, Paolo wasn’t sure the policeman in him would be able to control the father who’d want Montague’s head on a plate.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Nemesis in Action Blog

  Day Three - Jason Corbett

  I keep getting this feeling I’m being watched. Maybe I’m imagining it, but the sensation is quite strong. I’m pretty sure I’ve not been careless enough to let anything slip, but maybe someone has found out who I am. If that is the case, I won’t take any chances. I’ll deal with the problem; grit my teeth and do it. My work is too important to allow any nosey bastards to stop me.

  When I went into the punishment room to deliver Jason’s final course of treatment, he was lying so still, I thought at first he was dead. Then I saw his body quiver. It was barely perceptible, but it showed he was alive. I went over and shook his shoulder, expecting another snarl of defiance, but he barely moved. I suppose I might have gone a bit overboard with
the tazer the night before, but he’d been harder to break than the others. I’d managed it in the end, though. The marks on his flesh would heal soon enough. I knew from experience, the marks on his mind would last him a lifetime.

  “Time for your final session, Jason. Come on, I need you to be awake for it.”

  A groan was all I got in response, but that was enough to show he was still in the land of the living. Although, I suppose he was probably wishing he wasn’t. There were times when death seemed preferable to life and the way I’d ridden Jason last night might well have pushed him to that point.

  As I forced my way through his ruptured flesh, his scream of agony almost deafened me. I pushed in as deep as I could, whispering to remind him of the hold I had over him.

  “I know where you live. I know where you work. I can pick you up any time I choose, day or night… I’ll be watching your every move,” I warned, exertion making it hard to speak without gasping.

  I had to wait until I’d finished before I delivered my final threat. I needed to make sure he was paying attention. I pulled out slowly, knowing each tiny movement would bring fresh agonies. When his final scream died down to broken whimpers, I leaned close to his ear.

  “If you go to the police, I’ll pick you up again. You can never hide from me, not even if you move to a different town. I’ll find you and bring you back. The next time I’ll keep you here for four days. Think you can handle what you’ve already gone through plus an extra day?”

  Jason muttered something. It didn’t matter what he said, he was mine to do with as I pleased. There was no way he would go to the police knowing I was watching him.

  “This is what you have to remember, Jason. These are the new rules for the rest of your life. If you want sex, you stay home and play one-handed. If you feel the urge to terrorise someone, you stay home and remember what you’ve experienced here. If you even think about returning to your old ways, do yourself a favour and stay home because going out could cost you your life. I am Nemesis. Remember that I’ll be tracking your every move. I will know if you step even an inch out of line and I will come for you. Don’t ever doubt that. When you least expect it, I will capture you and bring you back here.”