by C B Barrie
All he hoped was that the weather would hold and that he would have time to carry out his mission – he had to accept that there were too many factors outside his control – and yet, what were the alternatives?
He reached the location along the B3066 at 9.10 a.m. the next morning; feeling washed out from lack of sleep and for once, having left home without a shave or breakfast.
He’d feared oversleeping and missing Meredith’s car, so he neglected his habitually repeated morning routine and thirty-five minutes after leaving his bed he was driving down the road, anxious to get his scheme in place.
The weather was abominable; it was miserably overcast with low rain clouds that blanketed the sky. What daylight there was added to the wretched conditions, it was dark, dreary, dismal and depressing.
Nevertheless, he got to work and using the portable UV lamp he took a spool of the wrapped Stellite wire and watched for the glittering iridescence as he exposed the end. Carefully handling the wire with his hand protected by a double chain mail glove, he wrapped a length around the Morvah signpost and then laid a long length across the road up to the St Ives signpost. He held back from looping the wire around the St Ives post in case another car, one that wasn’t his target, came along.
Now he waited, gripping the spool between his chain mailed thumb and forefingers, preventing the spooled wire from uncoiling.
He could see far enough down the road to identify any vehicle approaching, and it gave him perhaps fifteen seconds to make his arrangements. It was a straightforward exercise except for the outcome. The fact was that his murderous intentions had to work, and without any other result except total success. He had no contingency plan, there was no plan B. But truth be told, he took the view that he didn’t need one. After all, he’d had one success, why not another?
Looking at his watch it read 9.40a.m. Two cars had passed him in the last twenty minutes, both with drivers too intent on the road to give him more than a fleeting look. In any case he had his back to them, and there was little to identify him from either direction. His car was off road and too far away to be have the registration visible, or for the car to be associated or identified with him.
All he had to do was dispose of Meredith as he had planned and not even his disappearance would evoke any accusation against him – after all, when Meredith was gone, he would be gone, and no one the wiser.
It was 9.45 and Meredith was extremely late.
He started to have doubts, was Meredith’s delay in appearing due to something that prevented him entirely from making the journey to Metlab – was he going to call off this mornings appointment? He hoped not. If Meredith failed to turn up and then sent an apology asking for another appointment, he was going to have to repeat the current exercise, only this time it might not be so easy to find out when Meredith might arrive.
He began to think about dismantling his trap and attempting to contrive another kind of ambush, but as he did so he looked left and in the distance saw a low white car on the road. It was undoubtedly Meredith.
He quickly pulled the loose, iridescently visible, roadway wire up until it was slightly taught, and then wrapped part of the surplus wire coiled about the Stellite spool around the granite block in front of him. Using the UV illumination to verify his actions he made three turns of the wire about the granite block making them as tight as possible. He then let the spool hang over the tightened wire thereby stopping it from being pulled back. He let go of the spool and then turned away, as though walking towards the cliffs. He gripped the UV lamp against his chest with one hand and hid his other in his coat pocket to avoid sight of the chain mail gloves.
Meredith would, as likely, entirely ignore him.
Meredith had his foot down, gunning the Escort RS rapidly through the curves on the B3066 and trying to make up time. He knew he was to be undoubtedly late for his appointment with Felton at Metlab.
Caplin heard the car approaching, with the engine revs lifting as the driver changed to a lower gear and then put down more power.
It was just as the car began to accelerate further around the curve of the road that it contacted the wire. At sixty miles and hour the eleven foot of body shell passed through the wire in just over an eighth of a second – what resulted was unprecedented.
There was a low scream as the wire sliced through the front of the car and dissected the radiator. Virtually as it did so, the water boiled out explosively but didn’t have time to dissipate far before the engine block was cut in two and the swiftly moving pistons broke away from the crankshaft and blew the cylinder block through the bonnet. This took no more than a brief fraction of second but the wire kept cleaving through the metal of the car’s bodywork. As it sliced through the bulkhead it instantaneously arrived in the passenger compartment.
Meredith felt nothing for a brief instant as the wire chopped him in two at the waist like a cheese cutter. For a very short time it came to him that there was something terribly amiss, but as his blood pressure suddenly dropped his vision started to cloud over and he felt a great blackness beginning to descend over his consciousness. By the time the wire had passed entirely through the cars rear sections he was long dead.
Caplin watched from a distance as the car bonnet exploded but, wholly unexpectedly, for a short time the car seemed to stay in one piece. Had the wire parted? But then the bodywork started to dissemble as the top section, no longer attached to the bottom, began to separate. The front two wheels, although no longer under control and able to steer, yet stayed in line and the two sections of the car began to leave the bend in the road. Still at high speed the bottom section carried the unattached top with it, and both ignored the curve of the road and shot off in a straight-line onto the edge of the roadside verge.
Still attempting an undeviating straight-line ride, the two pieces had enough momentum to plough over the thirty yards of roadside thicket. It shook and bounced over the thicket, driving through the coastal bracken, sea grass and gorse.
As it careered on, it jumped the coastal pathway. It was only as the top and bottom sections of the car went on for another ten yards, and approached the cliff edge, that the very bumpy and entangled gorse surface caused the top section of the car to begin to escape the bottom. The top, still holding the dissected and now lifeless half body of Meredith, flopped over and landed on its side, gouging a surface tear in the cliff edge gorse and bracken. With little change in its momentum it rapidly made the cliff edge; and being in no way impeded, plummeted over. Almost simultaneously, the car’s bottom section, still carrying Meredith’s lower, blood drained remains, and still on its wheels, hurtled over the cliff edge emitting streamers of steam.
Like its other half, it vanished from view.
Caplin followed the car’s progress with fascination.
He’d never seen anything like it, and he could only revel in the success of it all. But he had no time to celebrate or to gloat. To ensure no other vehicle was involved he had remove the wire from the granite blocks and, as rapidly as possible, pick up any debris that had been shed by Meredith’s disintegrating car. He couldn’t afford to leave anything behind that could point to the reason the car had vanished. He was lucky; nothing came along the road while he was removing the wire. It wasn’t easy, even the incredibly hard granite had deep cuts into it and the wire had almost severed the top section of each block. When at last he had drawn the wire out and carefully spooled it again, he followed the tracks of Meredith’s car.
Fortunately the wheels had failed to score any visible furrows in the vegetation – it was too entwined and springy and the only visible sign was a shallow set of tracks leading up to the edge of the cliff and a short section of deeply gouged earth.
He had to pray that what might be visible today would weather away tomorrow - and quickly. Even if it was discovered, all it would indicate was that a car had lost control and vaulted over the cliff edge. No doubt investigators would assume it was Meredith’s last trace – but so what? It would be an accident – a sad con
sequence of driving too fast.
He collected a few unidentifiable components and a heavy, still hot, cylinder block. These he consigned to his car’s boot and threw in the chain mail gloves just before he closed it. Still curious, and yet delighted with his handiwork, he followed Meredith’s final wheel tracks and gingerly moved to the cliff edge. He looked down, feeling the blustery sea breeze rustle his hair. The sea was pounding against the lower cliff walls and seemed particularly violent.
He scanned the area below him for any sign of debris from a white car – he was relieved to see there was nothing. Given the immense difficulty of exploring the cliff face at the water line, he was quite sure nothing of Meredith’s car would ever be salvaged; and for that he thought, Amen.
He stood back reassured. Then he glanced at his watch – he was late for work. It was time to attend to other priorities.
He arrived back in the laboratory finding Nathaniel Ellis hard at work fingering the PC keyboard.
He was striking the keys so rapidly it sounded like a miniature drum kit. As he hung up his jacket, and slipped on his lab coat, Ellis finally desisted in his manic attack on the keyboard and looked at him through the office glazing.
‘Your late Michael, any problems?’
He threw a lame excuse at Ellis, ‘No…just some house leasing stuff to sort out – how goes the paper?’
Ellis smiled triumphantly, ‘Done, just banged out the conclusion. Took your advice not to give too much away, it’s as ambiguous as I can make it while dangling expectation in front of the reader.’
Caplin laughed, It seemed that Ellis was getting well immersed in the deceptive business of academic papers; that was by leading readers down the garden path without giving them even half a chance to catch up.
‘Can I have a look, as soon as you’re ready that is?’
‘Yeah, sure, I’ll print it out and it’s all yours. Oh, by the way, Nick Gordon was in earlier, says he needs to see you about me being here – do you want me to stay on or to go elsewhere?’
Caplin was puzzled.
‘Surely that’s a decision for you isn’t it Nathaniel, you might want to stay, tie up with someone else or strike out on your own. I like working with you, but I wouldn’t want to impede your progress here at Metlab.’
Ellis screwed up his face in a parody of indifference, ‘Not too fussed about making a move in either direction as yet, still got to finish the next two papers. What’s your thinking?’
He nodded in appreciation, ‘Well, I’d like you to stay for as long as it all takes, you know I welcome your support and value it. If you’re willing, I’d like to talk to Nick Gordon and get you transferred to this laboratory permanently. It would prevent any idea on Gordon’s side that you are straining at the leash to get going on assigned, or your own, research projects. It would give you a greater sense of security if you were permanently located here that is.’
Ellis smiled, ‘I did tell him that I was quite happy working with you and had no objections to researching ultra-hard materials. As I pointed out, it was a central aspect of my PhD and of particular interest.’
‘I take it your didn’t mention or detail our research progress to Gordon – he’s not to know.’
Ellis gave him a reproachful gaze. ‘Who me? After what you and I have agreed? No way Michael, not a word.’
Caplin gave a thankful wave of his hand, ‘Okay, leave it with me, I’ll have a word with Nick Gordon and then see Charlie Felton in order to get personnel to officially document you as my assistant. Right, give me ten minutes and when I’m back I’ll have a look at your paper.’
Sergeant Mike Nichols was becoming agitated. Alec Meredith had failed to turn up after his trip to Morvah and he had no doubt Meredith was away on a jolly.
Typical young policemen, he mused, give them an inch and they take a mile. Still, he had to be located and, as and when found, torn off a strip for taking liberties.
He’d had a look at Meredith’s desk and seen the initial report on Meredith’s visit to Metlab and subsequently his comments following the forensic report he had asked for concerning the metal specimen from Metlab’s foundry. As Meredith had said that morning before making his trip to Metlab, the visit was only to inform the Metlab management that the disappearance of their employee Holden was as likely an accident, he having slipped sideways on climbing the ladder to the gantry cab. Unable to recover, he had fallen in to the fatefully positioned smelter and expired in the intensely hot molten alloy. As far as Meredith could attain, there was nothing sinister in Holden’s death
That being so Nichols decided, Meredith needed only a few hours to make his way to Metlab, say his piece, reassure all concerned and then return to the police station for further duties. And yet, he hadn’t. His mobile rang but remained unanswered, his home landline gave the same response; in each case all he got were Meredith’s messaging services.
There was nothing for it but to make contact with Metlab to see if Meredith was still enjoying himself at Metlab’s expense. His earnest hope was that Meredith was elsewhere, and that nothing untoward had distracted him.
When Felton’s phone rang he was about to make headway to the Metlab canteen for a lunchtime snack. Tempted as he was to ignore the call, he turned on his heel and picked up the receiver.
‘Felton.’
The voice that answered him was not known to him, so to avoid failing to appear professional he assumed his politest stance. The voice queried again.
‘Mr. Felton, Mr. Charles Felton?’
‘Yes indeed, how can I help’?
‘Mr Felton, my name is Nichols, Sergeant Nichols of the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary at St Ives. I got your name from a business card you gave to DC Meredith when he visited your site to investigate the disappearance of your employee Mr. Eric Holden. According to what Meredith told me, he was due to visit your laboratories this morning. May I ask, is DC Meredith still with you?’
Felton was momentarily flustered, he had entirely forgotten that Meredith was due to arrive that morning – so where was he?’
‘I’m sorry to tell you Sergeant, DC Meredith never kept his appointment, I assumed other, more pressing, matters had distracted him. I supposed he would call later to explain his absence and make another appointment.’
For a good few seconds Felton heard nothing coming down the telephone line.
‘I see, so you have had no contact with Meredith since last you saw him?’
‘No – he made this mornings appointment some days ago after some forensic reports got to him, That’s all I know I’m afraid.’
Nichols let his mind run over the possible reasons why Meredith might not have made it to Morvah and Metlab.
‘Okay, my thanks Mr. Felton, I seem to be involved in another missing persons investigation. If you learn something regarding Meredith’s current location please let me know – I’ll be very grateful.’
Felton nodded his head, although utterly futile in terms of the unknown and invisible person at the other end of the line.
‘Of course, you can rely on it.’
‘Thanks.’
As the line went dead the ominous aspect of Meredith’s disappearance gave Felton a sense of dread. After all, two individuals vanishing without cause or reason was just too much of a coincidence. He only hoped that Meredith would reappear, making the tally just one. That at least didn’t send shivers down his spine.
Nichols had the same ill-omened premonition.
That Meredith’s failure to return to the police station didn’t bode well for Meredith’s safety. Meredith might well be a young and relatively inexperienced detective constable but he wasn’t stupid and in reality was far from being the irresponsible and naïve young policeman that the older men in the station treated him as.
No, something was up, and Nichols had to find out. First things first, get one of the team to follow Meredith’s supposed route to Metlab and confirm that no unreported road traffic accident had taken place with Meredith involv
ed; unlikely though this was. After all, as regards the B3066, had the emergency services been involved the police would definitely have been notified, or more likely Meredith would have called in a report. But those possibilities had been discarded; by the ever-deepening silence that had surrounded Meredith’s ominous disappearance.
Nichols called in all of his four man team and started a strict process - check the B3066 first, Meredith’s lodgings next, the St Ives’ pubs and then Meredith’s out of town relatives.
If nothing turned up he had no option but to call in the CID from Camborne.
13
Bartholomew Gregson had been with Consolidated Mines for most of his career.
As the 43 year old, un-married Director of Commercial Intelligence, and a board member, his job was to keep CM highly competitive. It meant he had to keep CM well abreast of CM’s competitors, their business, their strategic directions and research interests. He was very good at what he did, and had built a reputation within his corporate hierarchy as someone who, on the face of it, was dedicated and successful. Yet that success, in all corporate and external respects, sprung from a corporate reputation built on dread; Gregson, six foot, well proportioned, balding and immaculately dressed, was someone you offended at your peril.
Gregson had made it to the top because he was deceitful, conniving and ruthless, a combination of attributes unlikely to make him endearing to others. But his executive colleagues knew his worth and it ensured Gregson’s survival, even though he was loathed by at least half of those seniors he worked with. The rest simply pretended he didn’t exist.
His secretary, the 35-year-old Miss Barbara Tillitson, was equally feared and despised. To her, Gregson was the epitome of an efficient and principled employer, a man who had been instrumental in saving the company during the economic slowdowns and had ensured that CM remained profitable and expanding. That Gregson indulged in underhand and frequently illegal activities against the competition worried her not one little bit – her loyalty was to Gregson and the company. If he was the reason her pay-checks continued to roll in, who was she to complain? Miss Tillitson was Gregson’s first line of defence, cross her and you crossed Gregson.