Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  “Go on,” Mary said, now entirely drawn into the mystery.

  “I noticed that some of HICL’s clients had gaps in their custom. Take Hamper Inc., for example,” he said, pulling out a separate sheet of paper that had the individual company’s logo on it. “Hamper Inc. is a large industrial company based throughout the north of England and Scotland. Their insurance premiums were in the £50,000 bracket before HICL approached them.” He held copies of their annual renewal papers. Mary couldn’t even begin to imagine where he had got them from but knew now was not the time to ask. “In 1996 HICL approached Hamper Inc. and offered them the same cover at half the price. There was no way anyone else could compete with that. Their premiums remained really low for the next four years before starting to rise sharply over several years. HICL actually lost the business for two years before getting it back three years ago at £40,000.”

  Mary tried to work out what Simon was implying. He held back and continued to draw out his story.

  “I thought it was strange that HICL should raise their prices so much so that they lost the business, only to be able to get it back two years later at a fraction of the price.”

  “Isn’t that just business, Simon? They tried to make more profit and got caught out?”

  “That’s what I thought at first,” he said nodding, taking a moment to drink some of his coffee. “It was when I was looking at the Hamper Inc. website that I noticed some press cuttings from back then. The year after HICL lost the business there was a serious fire at their Edinburgh factory. Repair costs were around £4 million pounds. The following year a dock worker was killed in Merseyside. The settlement was very generous for that, and with the two claims, as well as the company’s growth, their annual premium was now six figures. No one else would touch it, but HICL approached again, offering a third of the price and they’ve had them since at about the same premiums.”

  “So what we’re saying is that they’ve somehow covered up their claims history,” Mary speculated, “or that maybe they have an in-house project going on where things get sorted without a claim,” but she turned her nose up at her idea even as she was finishing her sentence. Simon said nothing.

  “Maybe they sabotaged this Harper Inc. firm having lost them, knowing that they’d get them back, as a high claims experience would mean high premiums?” and she shook her head in disbelief. Simon got up.

  “Let’s keep to the facts, shall we,” he said calmly and picked up the coffee, then he continued. “I’ll keep working on the figures. Something will come to light, I’m sure.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, both finishing the remains of the coffee that was now just losing its warmth. Simon got up, dropping his cup in the bin, leaving the office again, keen to get to the bottom of the situation.

  Brendan Charles sat at his desk, pen in hand, scribbling notes down onto a jotter pad. He’d been speaking to one of his contacts for ten minutes already.

  “So you are sure that he doesn’t work at SecureCCTV?” he asked forcefully.

  “Certainly no one called Robert works there, and we are quite sure no one by his description...”

  “Quite sure?” barked Brendan.

  “I’m very sure that this man is not a SecureCCTV employee,” the voice continued unnerved. He had spoken to Brendan many times before and was learning to say the right thing, though on this occasion he’d had a momentary lapse. He continued, “Access codes, the kind used by, well the man we’ll call Robert for now until we know more, are changed every month, so even if he’d been a previous employee he wouldn’t know what they had changed to.”

  “But what if…,” Brendan jumped in but the caller was already ahead of him.

  “Now, of course, we’re checking out the current crop of employees to match up links to this Robert,” the caller pausing at this stage, merely to underline that he was on top of the game and didn’t appreciate Brendan’s constant interruptions.

  “Nothing has come up so far. We’re looking for the usual signs, but something tells me it isn’t going to be that,” and with that, he went silent.

  “So how did he do it then?” Brendan asked the obvious but currently unanswerable question.

  “We’re working on it!” came the quiet reply. Something told them both that they would have to try harder than usual this time around.

  The light on the desk phone lit up indicating that there was a call for him.

  “I’m going to have to go,” Brendan finished, “keep me informed and keep my nose clean!”

  Nigel sat in the back of his car as it drove through the quiet country lanes. His Prada suit still sat well on him, his cane by his side next to him. The lavishly decorated Mercedes made him feel ready to tackle the world, his air-conditioned section keeping him cool no matter what the weather. The driver was separated by a black glass screen that was also soundproof, though Nigel had an intercom to the front if he required a change of plan. The car was built specifically for him by a sub-division of Mercedes in Germany, and there had been no expense spared. Even the windows were bulletproof and the frame as secure as possible for a vehicle of its size.

  Nigel sat there thinking the day through. He always carried a notebook with him, a red-fronted small pad that was as associated with him as the wealth that touched every aspect of his existence.

  The car had a satellite telephone installed with encryption technology that made it all but impossible to track him, let alone listen to his calls. He picked up the receiver and made a call. The phone rang a couple of times before it was answered.

  “Hello, sir,” came Brendan’s reply.

  “I’m on my way to see you,” Nigel declared. “Our usual meeting place will do. I will see you in thirty minutes then,” Nigel finished, more of a statement than a question.

  In any other situation, as a CEO of a large company that was just in the process of a takeover and with the world’s press trying to speak to him, there was no way he’d be able just to leave the office for a meeting. But this was different, and it always had been. And besides, Nigel was his boss.

  “Of course, sir. I’ll see you shortly.”

  The ’usual’ place was a spot just outside the city. Brendan rarely met him like this, only very occasionally even speaking to him on the telephone. His boss was a very elusive character, leaving his team of CEO’s to run his affairs for him, though none of them had the kind of relationship with Mr Gamble that Brendan had, which wasn’t even a close one at that.

  5

  Robert had finished packing his bag and clearing his room when the midday news came on the television that sat in the corner. He glanced up and watched the headlines, but it only played out what he already knew. He couldn’t help but feel that he’d done this all before, that he knew what was coming, but it was great for him to see history outworked, to be part of it as it unfolded. And who knew where it would lead, what would happen or how things would work out anyway.

  Robert pressed down hard on the bag so that he could get the zip done up. He picked up a folder that lay on the desk and glanced through its pages, all filled with handwritten notes, some scribbled down and barely readable. Robert then cleaned up around the hotel room’s safe, which sat on the second shelf of the cupboard by the door. He had emptied it earlier, wiping away a thin layer of grease that he had sprayed on previously. Picking up his jacket, he put it on and grabbed his bag, not even trying to put it over his shoulder but carrying it in his right hand down by his side.

  Pulling the door shut behind him, he walked down the hall and called the lift. It was on the ground floor, having evidently been requested and, not wanting to wait, he opted for the stairs and went down two at a time. Reaching the foyer a minute later, he dropped his key into the ‘express check-out box’ having already paid for the room in advance using one of many false credit cards he had in another name. The bill itself would get paid as it was just the name on the card that was false. As he walked out through the doors, the receptionist glancing up, he entered
the busy streets and looked for a taxi. A cab came past a few seconds later and stopped in the road, as the taxi rank was blocked by a black car. The car’s owner had obviously gone looking for something, apparently in a hurry judging by the position of the car so far from the kerb.

  “Some drivers!” the taxi driver said, shaking his head at the abandoned vehicle illegally parked, as Robert jumped into the back seat.

  “Where to, sir?” he asked, a definite Midlands accent coming through.

  “The UCI cinema on Greek Street,” Robert replied, as the cab edged back out into the steady flow of traffic. A few moments later Robert glanced back to see two men coming out of the entrance to the hotel. They looked around but apparently did not find what they had hoped. They then walked over to the abandoned car and got in. Robert watched them pull out, and they turned right, taking them around the south side of the building. They went out of sight as the taxi gained speed, green lights all the way.

  Ted Hague was the guy Brendan had called when he first came across Robert. It was Ted’s team of guys who had gone to SecureCCTV and come up with nothing. Having reported the news to Brendan, Ted put the phone down and smiled to himself. He didn’t trust or like Brendan as far as he could throw him, but he did pay very well, and they’d worked together quite a bit over the past few years. Having felt like he’d gained the upper hand, or at least given as good as he got, Ted sat down on his sofa and put his feet up on the coffee table.

  He worked from home as a free-lance investigator, though at times that was putting it mildly as he often got his hands dirty in more ways than just the usual investigator would. The day was still early, though an empty jug of coffee already sat on the floor, a half cup of coffee next to it long since gone cold. Ted pulled out his mobile phone and called one of his guys.

  “Any luck on the hotel listings front, Vincent?” he asked. With the likelihood that their target had recently come to the area, Ted had got a team looking at recent arrivals at some local hotels.

  “I think we might have one, actually, Mr Hague,” came the respectful reply. If ever the phrase honour among thieves meant anything, Ted Hague was a strong enforcer of the concept.

  “Good, what do you have?”

  “Sid knows someone at one of the George Street hotels. They mentioned that a guy fitting the bill checked in two days ago and under the name of a Robert Sandle. We sent over a photo about an hour ago, and she thinks it could be the same guy.”

  “Good, get around there now,” Ted said.

  “I’m already on the way, sir. I’ve got Sid with me.”

  “Are you carrying?” asked Ted

  “Do I need to be? Anyway, Sid has his 20 mm tucked away, but I won’t be, just in case the hotel has X-ray machines, in which case I’ll walk on, and he will suddenly remember something he’s forgotten in the car. Hold on Ted; I think we’re here. Pull over there,” he instructed Sid, who was driving and he swung the black Mercedes into the kerb outside the hotel in a careless fashion.

  “I’ll call you in a while, Ted,” and he shut the phone, opening the door as the traffic moved by slowly. The two of them walked through the main doors and it was clear that there were no such machines. Sid smiled at the girl behind the desk. She smiled back.

  “Good to see you again, Sergeant” she beamed. “Are you on some undercover mission again?”

  “Something like that,” he said. Some months before they had needed to get into one of the rooms of a business associate staying at this hotel. He had something to which Ted wanted access. Sid had worked the receptionist, first bumping into her in a café on her lunch break and then chatting her up, with the cover that he was a police officer. It happened to come up that a certain person was staying at a certain local hotel. Caught up in the glamour of it all, she offered up that she worked at a local hotel and was even more excited when it was the one in question. Lunch led to dinner, and that led to her helping the police by sneaking them into the room when they arrived the following day. The nature of the case meant she couldn’t tell anyone what she was doing, especially her boss, for fear that they would lose this dangerous criminal, one that threatened every citizen of her great country.

  “I need your help again, sweetheart,” he said, as charmingly as possible. “Can you let me know what room this man is in?” and he showed her the same photo that had been faxed over.

  “He’s in…,” she started and then paused, changing the subject slightly as she tended to do. “Why haven’t you called me since, you know what,” she said, her cheeks going a little red.

  “I’ve been deep undercover,” was the short reply. After a little silence and knowing she wasn’t going to get any more from him, she reluctantly continued.

  “He’s on the fourth floor, room 419, five doors down on the right once you’re out of the lift. One of the girls saw him yesterday morning, with barely anything on. Some people get all the luck,” she stated, taking her eyes from Sid’s face and turning back to her screen.

  Since their last meeting, Sid had apparently no need to speak to her again or carry on the cover story so had just disappeared. Now needing her once more, he’d surprised even himself that she had bought his story, though maybe she wasn’t the type of girl who had many one-night stands.

  They both turned and went to the lift. The doors opened, and they got in and pressed the fourth floor. She looked up as they entered and saw the lift doors close, the lift starting to ascend. About a minute later the doors leading from the stairs opened, and she looked up to see Robert leaving. She wanted to shout out to him but didn’t have anything to say.

  Having arrived at the room on the fourth floor, they checked the hallway, which was quiet and lightly tapped on the door, the sort of tap that the hotel’s domestic staff would make. Not hearing anything, Sid produced a key which he passed to Vincent while keeping a lookout down the hall. As Vincent worked quickly at the lock, Sid put his hand inside his jacket and held onto his gun. A credit card was used to slip the catch, the door opening, and both men went inside. Having looked around quickly it was clear that Robert wasn’t in the room, but the lack of personal items tended to mean he had already left. Was it possible he’d seen them coming? Unlikely, he thought as they turned, not a word said as they exited the room.

  The lift was still on their floor, so the doors opened quickly, both men getting in and pressing for the ground floor. When they got to the bottom they headed for the exit, Sid glancing at the receptionist, who was busy with an elderly couple, who were just checking in.

  Out on the street, they glanced around. Was it possible they had just missed him? Had he seen them coming and exited the building? They jumped into the car, edged out and turned right, wanting to do a circuit of the hotel just in case he was still around.

  Brendan was already parked up and waiting as Nigel’s car pulled down the narrow lane and stopped in front of the derelict buildings, which once had been a factory, though now stood empty, broken and falling apart, large pieces of glass hanging loosely from the open and exposed windows. Isolated and quiet, it was a perfect place to meet up, which is why Nigel, and occasionally Brendan had used it.

  Brendan waited for the car to come to a standstill, which it did in no great rush. Being kept waiting wasn’t something that Brendan usually came across, but with Nigel, it seemed all things went according to his timing.

  Nigel sat inside watching as the car came to a stop, his driver jumping out and opening the left-hand door. Gathering his things together, Nigel slowly made his way out of the vehicle, being helped by his long-suffering driver.

  Brendan stood relaxed, his face a blank page, giving nothing away. He knew it was just a show Nigel put on to make himself look older than he was, the frail old man who needs a stick to walk, needing help out of a car. Brendan was one of only a few people alive who wasn’t taken in by the charade. Not that he’d dare tell Nigel; Brendan doubted he’d see out the day alive if Nigel ever found out.

  “It’s so good to see you loo
king so well, sir,” Brendan said, coming across to Nigel with a big smile on his face and holding out his arms to support him while he walked. Nigel waved him away.

  “Never felt better. I have a good doctor, you know,” Nigel replied. “Highest paid doctor in the world, no doubt,” he continued, with a slight smirk. Brendan could well believe it. “A young Korean chap. Brilliant mind…,” and Brendan wondered to himself why they were discussing such things, as small-talk wasn’t a thing Nigel ever really did. His doctor apparently wasn’t the reason they’d come to meet again like this.

  Sensing the same, Nigel quickly started on a different subject, as if to catch Brendan off guard.

  “So things are progressing on the business front?” A general question if ever there was one, but Brendan understood it as a reference to the Nottingham Forest takeover.

  “Yes, things are nearly all in place. We’ve confirmed the appointm…,” Brendan replied, getting cut off mid-sentence.

  “Good, and Mr Lawrence is in place is he?”

  “Yes, I was just about to…,” Brendan said, defensively, when Nigel jumped in again.

  “Very good. We need to talk about the next few months, therefore,” Nigel stated.

  Brendan remained silent. ’What is he getting at?’ he thought to himself, put out by his constant interruption but not wanting to let this be known. He smiled.

  “What do you have in mind, sir?” he asked, as politely as anything.

  Driving twice around the hotel and having not spotted anything, Sid pulled over the car and stopped by the side of the road.

  “I don’t think he’s around.”

  “He can’t be far. Maybe you carry on driving around, and I’ll recheck the hotel. I want to make doubly sure before I have to call back Mr Hague.” He got out of the car and Sid pulled away again, driving south and then back around the block. Pulling a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, Vincent stood there and smoked it for a few minutes, just watching the passers-by, thinking about what had just happened. Had the girl on the desk warned him? Had they only been unlucky? After five minutes, he went back to the hotel and took another look around.