The Dead Lie Down (Adam Lennox Thrillers: Book One)

by G I Tulloch

  And now this. A hot potato handed down from Suffolk CID. Normally everyone hung onto cases like they were gifted children or prize marrows, which meant only the really nasty political ones were given away. He could smell this one a mile off, worse than his son's socks after PE.

  Rumour had it that there was some very heavy clout about to muscle in on this one, not that it worried him particularly, but he hated doing everyone else's dirty work only to have the glory snatched from under him like the table cloth trick. Almost always left a mess to be cleared up.

  He shifted in the car seat to bring back feeling to his backside. Those piles'll be playing up again soon, you can guarantee that. The pain in his abdomen convinced him once again that he had an ulcer starting but as usual a good belch sorted it out. He put down the empty cardboard cup that had held what was reputedly coffee. He had his doubts personally. The bagel wrapper followed it onto the floor and he checked his watch. Time to molest the general public.

  He poked the Detective Sergeant in the seat next to him.

  "Come on. Wake up buggerlugs, time to earn our crust. Let's do it."

  He opened the door and got out, shaking the crumbs off a crumpled suit that looked as if it had been slept in, which indeed it had, and contemplated brain surgery as an alternative profession.

  Adam sat at the round beech breakfast table in his dressing gown with the morning post in front of him. Adam was not a morning person either. Bleary eyed, stubble chinned, heavy limbed, with hair doing an impersonation of Ken Dodd, he was the archetypal pre-cereal advert. He went through his morning routine, normally carried out in the office, of sorting the mail into dross, circulars for re-cycling, regulars for attention by Clare, and interesting mail concerning clients. The last pile was always the smallest but held the greatest value. It was the only one he paid any attention to.

  Somehow doing the habitual things helped the events of the last two days to recede slightly.

  But only slightly. Why did he get the feeling that he was being drawn into something that was none of his business? And yet the phone had threatened him, making it his business. That was bizarre in itself. Why had a visit to John's office provoked such a violent reaction in someone as to threaten him? He tried to concentrate on the post but failed. What did this caller think John had told him that was so dangerous? It presumably had to do with John's trip on the Hermes, or the death on board. Or both? He scratched the back of his head and stretched his neck to rid it of the cricks that had accumulated during the night. His brain ached with the questions unanswered. He hated unfinished business. His coffee mug, 'Advertisers do it in Public' sat on the table just out of reach and consequently the coffee was now lukewarm and well on its way to stone cold.

  Bel came into the kitchen wearing a pair of Adam's cut-offs and one of his pullovers. Adam looked up in surprise, almost as if he had forgotten that she was in the flat. Bel didn't give the appearance of someone who had slept well, and as if feeling the need to underline the fact, gave an enormous yawn. And then sniffed the air.

  "Any coffee Lennox?" she inquired.

  "In the pot, not too stewed. Sleep well?" Adam responded, the short almost monosyllabic conversation continuing unabated.

  "No, not really." Bel hesitated, "Did you go out last night?"

  "Yes. Just long enough to do some thinking."

  "Is that thinking for sharing or thinking for keeping to yourself?"

  Adam didn't reply so she moved across the kitchen and taking two slices of bread loaded the toaster. A weak sunshine was thinking of filtering through the window as she poured a mug of coffee. She managed to finish one mugful and pour a second before the toast declared itself done and erupted onto the work surface. She carried all across to the breakfast bar, starting to feel considerably more human. Totally psychological, the coffee was caffeine-free.

  They eyed each other across the expanse of breakfast bar.

  "So?" she exclaimed. "Are you going to share profundities or let them stew in that head of yours."

  Adam considered for a moment and waved a piece of toast theatrically in the air.

  "Okay, I've been thinking. Consider. Let's assume for a moment John is mixed up in something nefarious."

  Bel interrupted her butter spreading and shook her head. "Sorry Lennox I don't buy it. I don't think he's capable", coming to her employer's defence, very loyal, very commendable.

  Adam ignored her and continued. "Regardless Trent. Let us assume that John is mixed up in something nefarious." He looked up, almost daring her to butt in. She shrugged so he continued. "He takes a trip on the Hermes to take care of some dodgy business. Someone on board gets wind of it and John or an accomplice has to bump him off to keep him quiet."

  "I still don't buy it," she protested. "It doesn't make sense. Why would he radio the coastguard if he wanted it kept quiet?"

  "Ah. He knew that the death would be found out and that it would look suspicious if he hadn't alerted the authorities." Adam's tone wasn't convincing but continued anyway. "Is this the first time that he's used one of the Company boats?"

  "As far as I'm aware." Bel shook her head whilst finishing a mouthful of toast. "And they're ships, not boats. His actions on the ship were those of an innocent man."

  "So why were the police so interested, and why didn't he give us the full story. All his actions in his office were those of a guilty man."

  Bel shrugged. "Don't know your honour. Can I step down from the witness stand now?"

  "No Miss Trent. There are still too many unanswered questions." Adam picked up his mug. "Why did John go on the Hermes? Somehow I feel if we knew that then the rest would follow." He tried his coffee, grimaced in disgust and tossed the rest down the sink.

  Bel raised the unasked question. "Like who is Phone man who wants to warn us both off anything? And what does John's father have to do with it?"

  Or what does Fran's death have to do with it, thought Adam struggling with the reminder.

  As if on cue, Adam's phone rang in concert with the front doorbell. Adam signalled Bel to get the door whilst he picked up the phone.

  "Adam Lennox."

  "Adam. Mitch. Don't talk, just listen. Any minute now the fuzz are going to come to the door. They've been outside for......."

  Adam lost the rest of the words as Bel came into the kitchen with two rain-coated individuals who looked worse than he did.

  The older of the two did the introductions in a nondescript London accent.

  "Adam Lennox?" Adam nodded and the scruff continued, pulling a badge out of his pocket. "DCI Ford, London Metropolitan Police. This is DS Crawley."

  DS Crawley appeared more interested in Bel in the cut-off jeans and tousled hair than the main action. She had that effect on people. Adam was observant, he noticed these things.

  He leaned against the table with his fresh coffee in hand.

  "What can I do for you Chief Inspector?"

  DCI Ford pulled a photo out of his pocket and put it on the table in front of Adam. "Do you know this man, sir?" There wasn't a lot of emphasis on the 'sir' noticed Adam.

  He felt something crawl up his spine. "Yes." he replied. "That's John Bartlett, chairman of Bartlett International Shipping."

  DCI Ford tried not to be a cliché and failed. "Adam Lennox, I'm arresting you on suspicion, for the murder of John Bartlett."

  He turned to DS Crawley who appeared to be trying to pick some sleep out of his left eye. "Crawley, read him his rights and book him."

  And Crawley did exactly that.

  Chapter 15

  Hampstead Heath spread out like a carpet in the early morning mist, the vapour rising from the grass in clouds to hang momentarily whilst the sunshine decided what to do with them. The cobwebs hung from the trees bejewelled with dew. It was cold and wet and the overnight damp from the bench was already seeping through his coat. He was used to the cold and damp, goodness only knows his beloved Ireland had enough of it but he considered it insult to have to endure it in foreign clime
s.

  He put a cigarette to his lips and having lit it took a deep breath, perhaps seeking some inward heating effect on the cold damp air. His heavily ringed hand displayed manicured nails and fingers that hadn't seen manual labour for a very long time. His nose and mouth displayed a sense of cruelty that accurately reflected his attitude towards his fellow man, or woman and child come to that.

  Dermot O' Rourke liked to consider himself a success story. Others had very varying opinions. Born in Ireland to parents who were vehemently anti-British, at a time when militancy and violence were preached as the solution to all ills, he had watched and waited for the right moment to take advantage. There was little that he wouldn't use as a means to end. He smiled to himself in recollection at how he had taken advantage, and now here he was with power at his fingertips and the means to use it. He sighed in satisfaction at his own self-assessment. His train of thought was however rudely derailed by a small man sitting down next to him and pulling out a cigarette himself.

  Dermot appeared to ignore him to all intents and purposes but eventually deigned to acknowledge him.

  "Sean. You're late. I've been sitting here catching pneumonia and I don't appreciate it."

  The small man shifted awkwardly. "You could have found a more accessible spot."

  His companion turned. "I'm not going to risk being seen with you. It's difficult enough to evade press and security as it is. I make a speech to the Assembly on the Peace Process in five days time and I'm not going to chance arousing unwanted interest by being seen with you. Do I make myself clear?"

  Reilly kept his eyes down, this was not a man to anger, he knew that. "Aye. Clear enough."

  Dermot ran a hand through his damp grey hair and brought them to business.

  "You're convinced that Bartlett knew nothing about the package."

  "I am", Reilly shuffled slightly. "He wouldn't believe it at first, couldn't accept it. He knew nothing about the package never mind the contents. He would have told me. I'm sure he would." A slight smile. "He didn't like the pain. You're still convinced that it wasn't destroyed?"

  "I can't take the chance. If those papers come to light then I'm finished, and if I'm finished then you're finished. No, I'm sure that the package was passed on after Granger's death. It didn't vanish in the accident, I would have known. So someone somewhere has it."

  Reilly acquiesced. "And Bartlett's friends. Mister Lennox and company."

  Dermot sunk his head into his coat collar to keep the cold out. "John Bartlett's trip on the Hermes wasn't a coincidence but I'm sure he was nothing to do with our meddling friend who 'broke his neck falling down stairs' either. So something smells very fishy and Mr Lennox has wind of it. No, something prompted our Mr Bartlett, which means that someone knows about the boats other than Greg. And that's not good news for us or for Greg. We need to keep Greg focussed. If he loses it now we may have to cut our losses. Watch him."

  "You think Lennox knows about the massacre?" questioned Reilly.

  Dermot considered it. "It's unlikely. If young Bartlett didn't know then there's no reason to suppose that Lennox does either."

  "So how to we deal with Lennox?"

  "The police picked him up as expected and should hopefully deal with him for us. Failing that then I suspect he has a soft spot for Miss Trent. Whilst he may be happy to take risks himself I suspect he wouldn't like to see her come to any harm."

  Reilly smiled. "So he has an Achilles Heel as it were?"

  "I think he does. So keep tabs on the lady." He stopped and checked his watch. "We need to talk to Anna and find out how Mr Lennox reacted."

  There was a pause whilst he speed dialled and his call was answered.

  "Anna my dear. How are you?"

  The voice at the other end didn't share his veneer of civility.

  "Godammit O'Rourke. What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

  Dermot winced, more at the use of his surname than the sentiments. "Ah. You mean our little demonstration for Mr Lennox. I'm sorry we couldn't warn you about that but we did need to make sure that your reactions were genuine."

  "They were that for sure but you pull a stunt like that again and I'm out, you got it?"

  "Of course. How did Mr Lennox react to the fireworks?"

  "Oh you've got him well and truly hooked. He's not going to let this go. You're demonstration's backfired big time."

  Reilly scowled and Dermot sighed. "That's a shame, we may have to convince him in that case."

  "Don't you go making any silly moves. I intend to speak to Adam again, and besides, we made a deal and if you don't stick to it there will be consequences."

  Dermot sighed audibly. "Don't threaten me please Anna, we're on the same side remember?"

  "I'll remember it as long as you do." The line went dead.

  There was a moment's pause whilst both men appeared to reflect on the conversation as they gazed east toward the rising sun, now giving some vague warmth to the day.

  Dermot finally rose to his feet. "I fear that it may be necessary to take Mr Lennox out of the picture."

  Reilly smiled in reply. "that won't be a problem."

  "I hope not. I also fear that at some point we may have to deal with our headstrong Miss Low. Miss Low is dispensable, but not yet." Dermot gazed across the heath. "No. Not quite yet."

  Chapter 16

  Adam was disappointed.

  It had taken half an hour to get dressed, washed and shaved, and then a further ten minute car journey to Bow Police Station. In that time he had had an opportunity to come to terms with the news that had been broken to him. John Bartlett was dead, murdered, and in truth Adam wasn't surprised at one level. The speed of events had taken him aback but in the circumstances it was his current surroundings that now surprised him more.

  The interview room descried all the television police dramas by being light and airy with windows overlooking the Thames. Mind you, thought Adam, there was still just the basic table, stained and scratched, and uncomfortable chairs, with the obligatory tape recorder, so they were trying to maintain some sort of authenticity. Perhaps all predictability hadn't been lost yet.

  Should he feel the urge to display his guilt and remorse by flinging himself out of the window, hurtling ten floors to the ground, someone had thoughtfully put bars across all the windows, somewhat spoiling the overall view.

  Nothing had been said so far, part of the softening up process Adam presumed.

  He had been left in the company of a uniformed officer, a small man with red cheeks who could easily have passed as 'The Laughing Policeman', except that he didn't look as jolly. DCI Ford et al had disappeared, presumably for a second breakfast in the canteen. Despite attempts to strike up a conversation silence prevailed. It was a toss up as to who was more bored.

  Just as Adam felt the desire to start singing to himself, the door opened to admit Ford, this time without sidekick. He kicked the door shut behind him and sat down opposite Adam, loosening his tie even more to match the television image of hardened, overworked detective.

  "I'm obliged to tell you that you may have a legal representative present."

  Adam nodded but made no move. "Duly noted."

  Ford leaned back in his chair and absent-mindedly scratched his stomach, pulling his shirt tail out of his trousers even more than before. A cocktail stick appeared in his hand as if by magic and he started chewing on it. Without removing it from between his teeth he made his opening gambit. "Mr Lennox, you are in deep trouble."

  Adam feigned surprise. "I am?" He watched Ford. Privately Adam thought he was going on a fishing expedition, but he had been wrong about these things before. He was terrible at guessing the murderer in whodunits.

  Ford leaned forward. "Let me tell you what I think happened and you can correct me as we go."

  "Pray enlighten me with your theory", quipped Adam.

  "You and Bartlett never really got on. Always that social divide that got in the way didn't it? Something happened two days ago.
Bartlett got into some trouble. A murder he was implicated in. Did you know anything about that Mr Lennox?"

  "No." So far so good.

  "You and Bartlett had a major row. Bartlett's a big client of yours isn't he Mr Lennox? You can't afford to lose his business can you? Bartlett threatened to take his business away and that's something you couldn't let happen because others might ask questions as to why. You might lose other clients. Publicity works two ways." Ford paused waiting for a reaction he didn't get. "So you killed him."

  It occurred to Adam that Ford had some information from someone who had been there in John's office and he knew it wasn't Bel. At this point he decided it was time for some input.

  "I think not," he said. "That would seem to be cutting off my nose to spite my face. With John Bartlett dead I would be unlikely to retain the business anyway don't you think?"

  Ford paused and having dispensed with the cocktail stick chewed what was left of a fingernail. Adam took it as a good sign.

  "The anger of the moment," suggested Ford. "Did you see John Bartlett after that meeting in his office?"

  "No."

  "And you haven't seen him since."

  "No."

  DCI Ford leaned forward in anticipation, and then seeming to change his mind he got up and stood with his back to the window, forcing Adam to look at him in silhouette. Then Ford delivered his coup de grace.

  "Then how do you explain that John Bartlett's body was found in the burnt out shell of your Lotus outside your cottage in Dunwich?"

  Adam had to take a breath while he digested this, and Ford preened himself, a grin on his face.

  "I can't." was Adam's honest reply.

  Ford smiled. "Like I say, you are in deep doo-doo."

  Sitting down again he continued, sensing the need to maintain the momentum while he had the upper hand. "Where were you between the meeting in Bartlett's office and yesterday morning?"