“From what I’ve been able to glean,”, Saunders removed a portfolio from his briefcase as he spoke, “you snapped up adjacent premises to those you already own, giving you a perfect opportunity to create a good-sized complex in an up and coming part of the capital. For what it’s worth, my own vision and strategy to deliver is in this document. I hope it affords with your own.”
Dexter read the document carefully, taking his time over the detailed artist’s impressions that were even better than those he’d already commissioned. Halfway through, he called through to Zoe, who was on the desk at the time, and requested some coffee.
“Very impressive.”, Dexter handed the folder back, “And not far off my own thoughts. To be honest, it’s still early days for me on this one and we hadn’t got that far.”
“Keep it.”, Saunders pushed the folder back across the desk, “Even if we don’t progress here, you may as well have it. I enjoyed putting it together.”
“Thanks.”
“I also looked up the financials of the deal.”, Saunders said, “Hope you don’t mind? You got it for a very good price.”
“Sometimes it goes like that.”, Dexter shrugged, “Call out of the blue, cash available, keen seller and a tenacious agent and it just happens.”
“Samson, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,”, Dexter replied cautiously, “you know him?”
“Knew him, you mean. He passed away. All a bit sudden and shrouded in secrecy but it seems he wasn’t the cleanest of people. But, to answer your question, I knew of him. Not somebody I ever dealt with, but I was aware of his presence and heard his name a few times.”
“I’d heard about his death.”, Dexter remained on alert, “All very odd, but I was out of the country soon after. I take it there have been no new developments?”
“No, and I don’t think there will be. Still, you got in there just in time. With the combined properties, you are sitting on something of a goldmine.”
They continued to talk through details and an hour had passed before either of them noticed. It was Zoe calling through to tell Dexter of his next appointment that made him aware of the time.
“Well, thanks for coming to see us.”, Dexter rose to escort the candidate out, “I’m not always one to make snap decisions, so I can’t tell you anything now, but I think we might be in touch with positive news shortly.”
“Thanks for seeing me.”, Saunders smiled as he left the office, “I look forward to hearing from you.”
Returning to his desk, Dexter called Zoe into his office.
“What do you think?”, he asked her.
“Everything checks out.”, she replied, “I think he is what he is and we may just have struck lucky. You want me to do any further checks?”
“Follow up on his earlier years, if you can. Put out the feelers with some of his peers at university. If that comes back clear, put the offer together and let’s snap him up. As you say, it seems a little too good to be true, but I kind of liked him.”
Having somebody like Saunders on board was what he needed to help him move the business forward and let the past take care of itself. The Circle would do what it would do. Let them. He was a wealth-creator and that’s what he’d go back to doing.
Outside on the pavement, Saunders looked up at the thickening clouds and decided that it would be safer to take a cab than walk any distance. He hailed the first one that passed and gave his destination. Then he settled down and made a call as the car joined the heavy traffic.
“I think I’m in.”, he told the call’s recipient, “I should know in a few days.”
The other person replied.
“Nothing at all.”, Saunders answered him, “Mention of Samson didn’t distress him and the Spain project is genuine. He volunteered the information about Harrison. Joked about it, in fact. You want me to accept?”
He listened to the reply.
“Okay, if they offer it, I’ll take it. Usual terms, I assume. I’ll see the two projects through and then move on if it’s all as it seems. Any other developments?”
The reply was negative and brief, leaving Saunders with the phone still at his ear even after the call had ended. Sometimes his work was as uncomplicated as it was in this case. He was a very flexible individual and could turn his hand to most things. He’d do a good job of the project management for Dexter, if he got the chance, but he’d also do a good job for his main employers and ensure that they knew every detail of how and if the American was involved in the activities of The Circle. He didn’t see it, but then, he’d been wrong in the past.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In the three months that it took to complete the first stage of the London project and begin the planning of the Spanish one, Dexter’s decision to offer the position to Saunders proved to have been a sound one. He was one of those people who just got on with the job and only made contact to update on progress or to request essential support.
Whilst all this was happening, Dexter made a decision that he had been mulling over for a long time. Since moving to London, he’d found himself swept up in the unique buzz of the place and even begun to feel at home there. With property across the rest of Great Britain, he’d travelled most of the country by now and found that same level of personal comfort wherever he went. In short, he felt that he was becoming more British than American and that he should recognise that fact.
Nor was it just Britain that made him feel like this. He loved the closeness of Europe and the diversity of life that could be found by travelling for less time than it took him to cross his homeland. Sometimes he’d drive, other times he’d fly. Amsterdam provided escapism for him, Spain welcomed him as an investor and treated him well, offering him relaxation and sunshine. The harsher new arrivals to the continent never ceased to amaze him with their cultural diversity and then, there was Portugal and its seafood.
He put all of his American business interests up for sale and spent several months over there, saying goodbye to the place and ensuring that those who were buying up his assets would look after them well. He’d retain his dual US citizenship, courtesy of a substantial balance in one of its banks and a few farms that he leased out at peppercorn rents, but he wanted to be known primarily as an Englishman. It was only a reversal of his own nation’s founding days, so he didn’t feel any pointless nostalgia over the exercise. He just wanted to recognise the country that he had adopted as his home and he wanted to make the most of the opportunities that it presented for him. Things were happening in London that he wanted to be a part of, and there were huge opportunities in the growing countries of mainland Europe that he saw that he could leave as a long-term legacy of his existence. Brexit, if it lasted, could also work well in his favour. America would be fine without him. Europe had some areas of need that he could make a difference in.
The details of his move kept him occupied and he had little time to think about the strangeness of that brief period in his life when he had been on a mission to find a long-lost acquaintance. He kept up with the news and made a cursory note when he recognised the name of the latest victim of the serial killer who continued to leave behind corpses marked with a branded ‘C’. And he caught a few of the names of those that the legal system caught up with, either because they offered themselves up for their own protection, or because the police were tipped off. It seemed that The Circle had different categories of members: those who had to die and those who were safer in prison. Either way, the names that Dexter had so painstakingly got together, appeared regularly in the papers and he saw the list of outstanding offenders get smaller every day.
He still thought about Philian Gregory. His main concern was that he would be found as a victim of the elusive killer and the next time he would see him would be as a corpse. He’d done his best to track the guy down and there was little more that he could do. Dave was wise counsel. What was happening behind the scenes was someth
ing that was bigger than Dexter and which he couldn’t do an awful lot about anyway. He’d just have to accept that.
At least, that was his thinking until one dank October morning when he settled himself in a rare seat on the tube and began to read the free paper that had been thrust into his hands as he’d descended the stairs at the station. He recognised the name immediately. It was the last name on the list he had and he thought that now, maybe, this was the end of that episode in his life. But it wasn’t that simple.
‘Outcry Over Sentencing’, read the headline to the story that described in detail how one Arthur Baxter, retired social worker, who had recently been convicted on numerous historical counts of child abuse would receive a suspended sentence for his crimes. The presiding judge had given detailed and convincing reasons for his decision to follow that route and were it not for one of the victim’s family members being a loud-mouthed Scouser, it might all have been forgotten by now. It was a very English story for Dexter. A story that spoke of the forces that underlay this strange nation and which created different tiers of justice for different tiers of society. In the big scheme of things, these cases were the exceptions that proved the rule of the general decency of the justice system, but he’d never felt comfortable with that part of England. That said, he was more than aware of the same sort of thing in every other nation under the sun and his birthplace was no exception. Then there was Africa. It was a part of the human condition.
What stopped Dexter in his tracks was the name of the judge who had made the decision. Baxter hadn’t appeared on any of the records he’d found and there was no reason to attribute his actions to any connection to The Circle. But was it too much of a coincidence that William Falstaff QC, a man whose past depravities Dexter was very much aware of, was the one letting Baxter off so lightly? The file he’d seen on Falstaff was detailed enough to mark him as one of the senior members of The Circle, but Dexter hadn’t been able to do anything about the information that he had, given the challenging circumstances surrounding his obtaining it.
He read the article again before loading up his phone and searching for more details on the case. He was so engrossed in this that he missed his station and had to walk back towards his office from over a mile away. That didn’t concern him. It was good thinking time and it was thinking time that he needed. Things began to take on a new clarity in his mind. The Circle was mopping up its ordinary members who were dropping like flies. But whoever was doing that mopping up had to be acting on the instructions of the senior members of that perverted grouping. He’d never thought of it in this way before, but Falstaff’s actions made it crystal clear to him. The Circle was cleaning things up by losing their pawns, whilst all the time, the knights and the bishops, the king and the queen, remained protected.
“Cancel my ten o’clock.”, he told the two twins as he entered his offices, “And meet me in my office in fifteen. We need to talk.”
In the end, they cancelled all his meetings for the day. It was easier to do that, using the excuse of a sudden illness, than to try and field visitors one by one, and somehow, they felt that they would be with him all day. Which they were.
As they left in the darkness of the early evening, they resolved to start work on the agreed plan as soon as possible. It was a plan that required a complicated deception, a healthy period of gestation, and which relied on the twins’ ability to create a shadow on the internet out of nothing. It also relied upon the Great British public’s propensity to move on from one scandal to the next without too much concern for the outcome of their previous cause for concern. The lenient sentencing of Baxter was silenced within a few days by the tragic death of a celebrity and by the veiled promises of a few politicians who assured the concerned relatives that there would be a review of the case in the near future. Other scandals would rise to help them forget this one and, with Christmas coming soon, there were enough distractions to ensure that the lack of definitive action against Baxter wasn’t a concern anymore.
That worked for Dexter and the twins, but their plan also rested on Baxter himself feeling threatened. Dave supplied those threats in his own way. As the press forgot about him, Baxter had begun to relax a little and was considering how best to use his unexpected freedom when the first letters were posted through his front door. They were gentle at first, simply making him aware that he would be made to pay for his escape from justice but giving no more specific details. He didn’t take them to the police. They were unlikely to be too sympathetic to his cause and he couldn’t really see them offering protection.
Deliveries of certain unsolicited goods cranked up the pressure on Baxter. He was sent handcuffs, extreme sex magazines, a hangman’s noose and assorted other goods that were as direct in their message. He left the flat he lived in only when he had to, but nobody approached him and he didn’t see anybody acting suspiciously around him. A beard had done enough to hide his appearance and a little-used fire exit at the rear of the converted Victorian house allowed him anonymous passage to his home. The phone calls began three weeks after his release from custody. They were calm and subtle, but they began to get to him. Personal threats didn’t seem to disturb him too much. He’d heard enough of them in his time and he was comfortable that the secrets that he held were enough to protect him. When the calls started to mention his mother, then he became a little more nervous. That was when Dexter needed to step in.
“Arthur Baxter?”, Dexter approached the man in the overcoat who had spent the last hour or so sitting alone on a bench that looked out over a park to his own front door.
“I think you’re mistaken.”, Baxter replied.
“Oh, I don’t think so.”, Dexter’s voice was soft and gentle as he sat next to Baxter, “After all, it would be strange for you not to be, given that I observed you leaving your flat earlier. So, shall we start again? Arthur Baxter?”
“What do you want?”
“I’ll take that as confirmation of your identity.”, Dexter leaned back on the seat and looked away from Baxter as he handed him a card, “My details. Oliver Johnson, The Justice Foundation. We’d like to offer you some help.”
“What sort of help?”, Baxter studied the card carefully.
“Accommodation, primarily.”, Dexter replied, “Safe accommodation. For you and your mother. We understand that you may be at risk of attack. And no, there’s no cost to you. The Foundation will sort everything out.”
“And the catch?”
“No catch at all. We are a little-known organisation that monitors anomalies in the justice system and seeks to help smooth them out. In your case, whilst the public outcry over your sentencing has died down, you are still in danger. Maybe more so now than ever, given that those who continue to pursue you are the last of the most dogged ones. You are receiving threats, are you not?”
“I am.”, Baxter sighed, “And now they’re threatening my mother. She doesn’t deserve that.”
“So, you’ll accept our help?”
“I need to think about it. It certainly sounds attractive and I appreciate somebody coming to my aid. With all that’s gone on, there are few who give me a sympathetic ear.”
“You should be made aware.”, Dexter turned to look directly at Baxter, “That our sympathies are as much for justice as they are for you. This isn’t an offer of support that in any way condones your actions. Our sympathies are not with you being a convicted paedophile enjoying the gift of a lenient sentence. No, no, not at all. We are as appalled at your actions and that sentence as any right-minded person would be.”
“Then, why would you help me?”
“Because justice is bigger than any individual. You’ve been through the system, you’ve had your day in court and justice has been done in the technical sense. For there then to be a witch-hunt against you, shifts you from being the unjust to being a victim of a new injustice. We would feel that justice had been hurt if you or any of your family suff
ered at the hands of vigilantes. It’s what we do. Sometimes, it’s very satisfying. Other times, it’s almost sickening for us, but then it becomes a duty. Our offer is extended to you, please don’t leave your reply for more than twenty-four hours. Goodbye.”
Dexter left the bemused Baxter and hurried out of the park. He knew how it would pan out over the next day or so and he was comfortable that the bait was enough to ensure the trap was sprung quickly. Baxter would go home, boot up his computer and search the internet for the multitude of references that confirmed that The Justice Foundation was exactly as he’d described it. The twins had been busy building up that store of references and had created some lively and encouraging testimonies from others like Baxter who had been helped and supported in their hour of need. It was then very likely that Baxter would contact his mother with the offer of a home for them together in a safe place. She knew the type of man that he was, but she loved him more than she hated his ‘little peccadillos’, as she referred to them. She’d jump at the chance of a new life for them. All Dexter had to do was try and execute the whole deception without her suffering too much. Then again, he was only a little more sympathetic to her than he was to Baxter. It was all about more important people than them. They would be the Trojan horse that Dexter would use to get to the judge and so, get closer to the heart of The Circle.
Chapter Thirty
Having satisfied himself of the organisation’s authenticity, Baxter wasted no time in making contact with them to accept their offer. He was savvy enough to bypass the details on the card that Dexter had supplied him with, but it really made no odds. The details he entered into the contact form of The Justice Foundation’s website found their way straight to Dexter who replied and advised Baxter to await further instructions.
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