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

by G I Tulloch

  "In that case get out. I need to convene a board meeting to get us out of this godforsaken mess that John has dumped us in."

  Now Adam never regarded himself as being prone to flights of fancy but he was sure that Brad had flinched at the mention of death threats, well one would, wouldn't one? He just wasn't sure what it meant. Come to that he wasn't sure what any of it meant.

  On the way out they stopped at Derek Travis' office. He was sat behind his desk, intent on the computer screen in front of him. He looked up as they knocked on the door. A tall man in his fifties with thinning grey hair and alert eyes. Reading glasses were perched on top of his head like designer sunglasses. Adam took an instant liking to him and introduced himself, re-iterating the need for speed and giving more guidance on what he was looking for. As they left him they bumped into Brad again in the corridor, going nowhere in particular. Once out of earshot Adam expressed his concern to Bel.

  "You think Brad was a little over-interested in our conversation with Derek?"

  Bel gave him a quizzical look, which she did from time to time.

  "You know your tendency to paranoia...?"

  He did the grown up thing and stuck his tongue out at her. It occurred to him that common need and purpose was overcoming their awkwardness in each other's company.

  Chapter 19

  The office appeared to be on automatic pilot when he and Bel returned. Gerry was in his office studying the racing section whilst Clare was polishing plant leaves. Adam stopped and surveyed the scene.

  "Honestly. I leave you for one minute to go and have a chat and a cup of tea at the Station and already you're swinging the lead."

  Clare grinned. "Drink?"

  "Coffee", replied Adam.

  "Tea please", said Bel taking off her coat and adding it to the pile on the coat-stand. The weather hadn't warmed up a great deal and the winter coats were still in evidence.

  A voice from behind Gerry's paper called out. "They let you go then?"

  "No of course not. I'm on parole." Adam said. "Of course they let me out."

  Gerry feigned astonishment. "After all, they've no evidence against you have they? Only the burnt out car, the opportunity and the motive."

  "Motive?"

  Gerry pointed to Bel. "Of course. Killing him was the only way to get your own PA."

  Bel laughed which seem to brighten the office considerably.

  Adam took the six quick strides necessary and swatted the paper out of Gerry's hands. "I wouldn't bet on anything today. Things are too unpredictable."

  Gerry mimicked fear and then reverted to serious. "Barry Sutton called. He wants to meet tomorrow. Reckons he may have something on this business."

  "Talking of business," said Clare. "The zoo rang. They're considering suing us for criminal damage."

  Adam grinned. "Ring them back. Tell them we're considering suing the elephant for common assault."

  He paused. "And whilst you're at it, ring around the city secretaries and find out discreetly what you can about Bradley Wilding." He glanced at Bel. "Paranoia. Wins every time."

  Back at the flat in the evening, lounging on the settees trying to relax, Bel watched Adam playing solitaire.

  "Okay Lennox, give, what's changed? Something's happened to you today. You're different."

  He put down the cards. "What do you mean different?"

  "You're less burdened, freer, more relaxed than I've seen you for a long time."

  He considered for a moment, made a decision and then putting down his cards he turned to her.

  "Fran was murdered."

  "What!"

  "Fran was murdered. Don't ask me how I know. I just know that her death wasn't an accident."

  Bel gazed at him with a total lack of comprehension as she tried to take it in. She ran her hands through her hair. Damn, thought Adam, I could get used to that.

  Bel interrupted his thoughts, very rudely he thought.

  "I don't understand why that makes you freer."

  "I can't expect you to understand, but deep down what has always bugged me was that Fran died needlessly, without reason. I'm sure now that her death is tied up in this business and I intend to find out how she died, why she died and who killed her. She will not have died pointlessly."

  Silence descended as both tried to come to terms with what had been voiced. As Bel took in the enormity of what Adam had said, the memories flooded back, tears began to roll down her cheeks. Adam wondered whether to intervene but decided to let her deal with the pent up grief. Sometimes his determination to do the right thing seemed like a curse. He went to make some tea instead.

  The teapot got his confusion right between the eyes. Why did it make a difference? Shouldn't he feel guilty that a violent death makes him free? Nothing in reality had changed, he didn't love her any less, she was still dead. Was it that now he could pursue revenge? The thought produced a warm glow, not that he would admit it. Had he just found a place to park her memory, and a purpose to avenge it? Too deep Adam, too deep. Just make the tea. Finish the game of solitaire. Go to bed.

  Bel came into the kitchen behind him and interrupted his thoughts. Her eyes were dry and there was a change to her demeanour. A grim determination dominated her expression.

  "I'm going to help you find whoever killed Fran and then I'm going to kick the shit out of him. I need to do that much for Fran. I owe her."

  Adam raised his teacup. "We both owe her, Trent."

  Bel smiled. "Yes Lennox. We both owe her."

  They returned to the lounge where Adam finished his tea and lost yet another game of solitaire. He put the cards down.

  "What do you remember of the days before her death? Was she uptight, upset, tense, scared or what?" he asked.

  "I can't recall much out of the ordinary," replied Bel. "You know, several weeks before though, she had said that she thought she was being followed. She couldn't put her finger on anything. We laughed and put it down to paranoia at the time."

  Adam frowned, "she didn't mention it to me."

  "She didn't want you to laugh at her I don't think. Or perhaps even worry you." She unfolded herself from the chair and got to her feet. "I'm going for a shower."

  Adam went through into the kitchen where the subdued work surface down-lighters created a surprisingly intimate atmosphere. Why you would want an intimate atmosphere for cooking was beyond Adam but he didn't let it give him sleepless nights. He discovered Bel dressed in his Japanese silk dressing gown pouring a drink for herself. With the intention of checking that the back door was secure he went to move past her but as he drew level with her he spotted a red thread caught in her hair. Without thinking he reached out a hand and running it through her hair let the thread fall to the floor. As he did so he felt her stiffen, and realising what he had done he took half a step backward, ready to apologise. She turned to meet his gaze briefly and smiled.

  "Don't stop," she murmured, and closing her eyes, lifted his hand and began moving it once again through her hair. Her hand dropped away but he continued stroking, gently at first and then, responding to the shivers of pleasure he could feel passing through her body, he used two hands with increasing intensity. After a few moments he cradled her head in his hands and pulled her face towards him as their lips met. She pulled him to her and the silk dressing gown was soon the only thing coming between them. Their embrace intensified until the silk became superfluous and lifting the dressing gown off her shoulders he let it fall to the floor. His hand dropped and cupped one of her breasts and soon his clothes joined the silk on the floor. As her hands stroked his face she murmured, "Adam, this is against all the rules. We shouldn't be doing this."

  But they did it anyway.

  Lying on the bed comfortably relaxed he watched her naked body through the glass shower screen of the en-suite. Only her head, shoulders and breasts were clearly visible, the rest partially obscured behind patterned glass and water droplets.

  He considered their recent love-making. He wondered why mem
ories of Fran hadn't come to his mind as they had so often in the past. Self analysis for the beginner, he'd never make intermediate.

  As he watched he realised that Bel was more than just attractive, she was stunningly beautiful. She caught him watching her and adopted a look of mock disapproval.

  "You're staring," she accused, "that's very rude."

  His face adopted an innocent expression. "Not staring at all, admiring, worshipping even," he defended himself.

  She smiled and he could have sworn that the whole room lit up.

  Chapter 20

  Adam sat at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, when Bel strode into room. She looked as if she had been tossing and turning all night, which indeed she had. Looking up at her Adam smiled. "About last night.." he began.

  She interrupted him. "Last night was an enormous mistake."

  He went to remonstrate but she lifted a hand to silence him. "I don't want to talk about it," she declared, and having poured herself a coffee strode out of the room again, leaving Adam completely perplexed.

  Fleet Street just wasn't the same any more. It used to buzz with newspapermen out on the streets trying to pick up the gossip, pinch each others' headlines and inside stories, and drink as much on their expense account as they could get away with. Now it was all change. Phone, fax, email and the web were now the means of picking up the tittle-tattle, or even generate your own news out of nothing.

  Now the entire day's issue could be put together without leaving your desk. As a result the multitude of exotically named pubs had given way to the sandwich bars, coffee houses and wine bars. The buildings had all had their faces lifted, and the grime and news that seemed to be ingrained into the Daily offices had been washed away for good.

  The King's Head, the Writers' Arms, and The Wig and Gown had given way to the Riviera Deli, The Richer Bean coffee shop and The Deeper Glass wine bar.

  Gerry interrupted Adam's mental traveller's guide to London.

  "Lingfield, 2.30, Barker's Lad's the favourite at 2's." He looked at Adam expectantly.

  Adam stopped and looked at his business partner with something conjured up to look like pity but looked more like toothache.

  "Gerry, do you know, if it wasn't for me you might as well have your salary paid directly into William Hill's bank account."

  Gerry's face took on a hurt countenance. "I'm cut to the quick by your insinuation." He paused briefly. "So what about it. Barker's Lad?"

  "Who else is taking to the field with him?"

  Gerry consulted with great concentration the well-creased paper in his hands. "Devon King, Daisy's Sister and Highwayman, amongst some also rans."

  "Barker's Lad will undoubtedly romp home."

  Gerry was impressed at the lack of doubt. "Why?"

  "Because Ronnie Barker was undoubtedly the greatest comic actor of our time. Now put that paper away before you trip over your shoelaces."

  Gerry sulked briefly. "You're wrong you know."

  "I am very rarely wrong. Barker's Lad will definitely romp home." Adam at his most supercilious.

  Gerry shook his head. "No not that. David Jason is way ahead of Ronnie Barker. No contest."

  Street brawling is frowned upon by the general public, especially in broad daylight, even on the streets of London. Adam used a different tactic.

  "The Two Ronnies."

  Gerry spotted the challenge immediately.

  "Only Fools and Horses."

  "Porridge."

  "Frost."

  "Clarence."

  "Open All Hours." Chimed Gerry with a grin that implied 'Checkmate'.

  Adam frowned deeply. "That's cheating. They were both in that."

  "But I thought of it first so I get the points."

  The pain may have become excruciating had they not, at this point, arrived at the 'Cat and Litter'. Until recently a 'spit and sawdust' pub by the name of 'The Dog and Bone', the landlord had given way to the fashion for more avant-garde names. The regulars weren't sure that he had grasped the concept quite correctly.

  A group of newspaper hacks were gathered around the bar, looking as if they'd done an all-nighter on the Sunday editions, having a quick pick-me-up before disappearing to try and remember what their family looked like. The barman cleaned the mirror on the wall behind the bar and ignored the barrage of witty banter being levelled at him.

  As the change of name hadn't been accompanied by a change of decor, the old fashioned high-backed partitions still separated most of the bar into stalls and they found Barry Sutton, already half way through a pint of something black. A fresh round and introductions followed.

  Barry Sutton was not your archetypal newspaperman. Tall, slim bordering on thin, hair once black now greying inconsistently. His glasses perched on the end of a prominent beak-like nose. He reminded Adam of a Ralph Steadman cartoon caricature.

  Barry, having polished off the first pint, got down to business.

  "You wanted to know about Granger Bartlett's accident. Is that right?"

  "That's right. Anything that seemed out of the ordinary. Tell me what happened." Adam replied.

  "On the face of it, nothing much to tell. Bartlett had been out to dinner with some friends in the next village. Lord of the Manor it was I think. Anyway, he'd had one or two by all accounts, although his host swears he was sober as a judge." There was a pause whilst a mouthful of liquid was despatched down Sutton's throat. "Round midnight, one o'clock-ish he sets off for home, just him in the car. Five miles later the car fails to take a sharp right hander, leaves the road and dives into a dell, hitting a huge oak at full speed. Bits of the car everywhere according to the reports. The whole thing goes up in flames because the tank was full, he'd filled up that afternoon. Anything bigger than a postage stamp was burnt to a crisp."

  "Including the body?" interrupted Adam.

  "Especially the body."

  "How much coverage did it get at the time?"

  "It was a big story for a very short time. You can imagine, someone as well known as that created some interest in business circles. The story ran for over a week, covering the accident investigation, and then overnight it died."

  Adam interrupted. "What do you mean it died?"

  "Just that. One minute still taking up a quarter page, the next minute, zip. No reason, just as if the editors had been told to pull it."

  "What about the police investigation?"

  "By all accounts it was progressing as you would expect it to. They were making press statements as normal and then something clammed up."

  "What do you mean."

  "It's difficult to describe, more 'reporter's nose' if you like. It was as if the whole thing was being orchestrated. Information came very neatly, very tidily packaged. Questions answered before they were asked. Interest died very quickly after that."

  "What was the final outcome?"

  Sutton wrinkled his nose, almost losing his glasses in the process. "Coroners verdict - Accidental Death."

  Gerry put down his pint. "You don't believe it then."

  Sutton leaned forward conspiratorially." Not a word of it. Classic cover-up if you ask me."

  Adam leaned forward to meet him. "Why?" He breathed.

  "Nothing was found wrong with the car. There were no drink or drugs in him at the time and the car was doing the safe speed limit before it left the road, ran down the embankment and hit the tree. No skid marks. It just doesn't stack up."

  "So what are you saying?"

  "Murder or suicide is my guess. Granger was under a lot of pressure apparently, no one knows why. There were no suicide notes that anyone found. It wasn't impossible that some business rival had him run off the road. He was getting a reputation for ruthless take-overs, making himself plenty of enemies in the process."

  "Was Granger the kind of man who would use suicide as a way out?"

  A pause as Sutton lubricated his throat with the second pint.

  "No, not likely. Strange thing. There was a strong rumour that Granger had t
aken over a million out of his personal account two weeks before his death. The million was never traced."

  Gerry paused in mid swallow. "What do you reckon. Bribes or blackmail payments?"

  "Dunno."

  Adam finished his Ginger Beer and Lime and then explored a different avenue.

  "Who identified the body?"

  "Granger's personal manservant. Granger's wife was already dead. Son John was abroad on a school trip." Sutton paused. "Must have been a difficult job, identifying the body burned as it was."

  Adam considered for a moment. "Can you do one thing more for me. Can you find out what was happening in Ireland in the couple of months running up to Granger's death?"

  Sutton shrugged. "Sure."

  Gerry turned to Adam. "You still think that Granger's and John's deaths are linked?"

  Adam nodded. "I'm sure of it. I don't know how and I don't know why, but I'm sure of it. Publicists' nose. He grinned. "The question is why did Granger have to die?"

  Gerry and Adam made to leave when Sutton cleared his throat meaningfully. They sat back down again. Sutton looked at Adam.

  "I recognised your name. You're the one that got shot up in the tank in Iraq, aren't you? I covered the story here. Friendly fire wasn't it? Shot up by our own side."

  The roof was green. The bed was as hard as nails and the nurses were all beautiful. That was how it seemed anyway. He could still vividly remember the sand in his mouth and the heat of the sun on the back of his head when he came to. And pain, lots of pain. And struggling to move with a leg that wouldn't work, eyes that couldn't see and ears that couldn't hear. He had eventually managed to roll over and through one eye see the devastation around him. In the vast Iraqi scrub the remains of his Challenger tank lay in pieces around him, gouts of smoke and flames still billowing from the ruptured diesel tank. As his sight improved he noticed, some five or six feet away, a leg, blackened and torn. In a moment of absurdity he looked down to see if it was one of his but thankfully no, his were still attached.