by Mike Price
“You want ten thousand pounds, are you mad? I can’t get that sort of money in cash.”
“Of course you can, and just thank your lucky stars I’m not greedy, you’re a bloody millionaire. I’m letting you off pretty lightly so don’t make me angry otherwise I might up the ante.” The boy gave a hollow laugh; he was enjoying knowing that Martin would be squirming on the other end of the line. “You’ve got a week to come back to me and arrange payment. If I don’t hear from you by this time next week, then you can forget all about being an MP, it’ll be in all the papers the next day.”
Before he could say anything, the line went dead and Martin sat, for a moment, on the edge of the bed trying to come to terms with the events of the last few minutes. How could he have been so stupid, why on earth had he kept those photos? He opened the draw and took out the remaining pictures taking them to the sink in the kitchen. One by one, he burnt them, flushing the ashes down the drain. If only he had done that the day after taking them then this nightmare would not be happening to him.
He noticed his glass was empty and although he needed to be leaving shortly for the meeting, poured himself another drink. He had to get control of himself, to focus his mind on his prepared speech, to block out all thoughts of Joe and his threat.
Maybe I should just pay what he wants and be done with it, he thought, but knew in his heart of hearts that once he paid, the boy would come back for more and more, going on bleeding him. He would have to find a way to get rid of the threat once and for all.
Having reached the conclusion that Joe would have to be dealt with in some way, he felt a lot calmer and finishing his drink, picked up his notes and slipped them into his briefcase.
It was not far to the hall where the meeting was being held so he decided to walk, hoping the fresh air would clear his head and give him more time to concentrate his thoughts on the speech he was about to give.
The meeting had gone very well and he felt what he had said had been well received. A number of the audience had stayed behind to ask him individual questions on local matters, which were obviously more important to them than Trident and Afghanistan. His only disappointment had been when a young couple, sitting near the front on the right hand side, got up and left before he had finished speaking. He had wondered if he had said something to offend them, but on reflection, could not recall saying anything too controversial.
Perhaps, he thought, they were supporters of another party and they had heard all they needed to. This had been the first time anyone had walked out on him, but he suspected it would not be the last and no doubt he would have to get used to it. The hecklers, Tony had warned, would make their presence known especially if his opponents perceived him to be a threat.
After the meeting, Martin asked Tony if he would like to have a pint with him before he went home, he felt the need to wind down after the upset that Joe’s phone call had engendered. Tony had been surprised by the invitation, in the past, Martin had always been keen to get back to his apartment without any delay, but was happy to accompany his boss for a drink.
“How do you think things are going?” he asked Tony, once they had their drinks and found a couple of free seats.
“I think we’re doing really well. I’ve had a lot of offers of support and volunteers to deliver your election literature.”
Martin smiled, he was amazed at Tony’s enthusiasm, he had been a real find, not like that little bastard Joe. The two men sat for a while discussing the diary for the next two weeks and before they realised the time, it was eleven o’clock. Martin rose, thanked Tony again for all his hard work, wished him goodnight and walked back to the apartment, his mind inevitably going back to Joe’s phone call.
Once home, he slumped down in the armchair, he had to think rationally. Although his first thought had been to pay Joe the ten thousand, he had quickly dismissed the idea; blackmailers don’t go away that easily. He had to find a way of making sure Joe never came back. The more he mulled over the problem, the more he thought the only way to stop him was to eliminate him. Martin was repelled the thought had even crossed his mind. There had to be another solution, though what that was he had no idea. Finally, he went to bed, the problem unresolved. He would look at it again in the cold light of day and, when he was back in London, maybe he would come up with an answer.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Maddy had left a note for him when he returned home.
‘I have asked Gill and Alan round for a meal tonight, hope that is okay with you? I will be home as early as possible and have arranged with The New Delhi to deliver the food for eight thirty. Love, Maddy.’
He smiled as he read the note. Gill and Alan were good company, and it was just what he needed to take his mind off of the problem of Joe. The more he thought of Maddy, the more he realised what a fool he had been to risk everything by seeing the lad, and he needed Maddy, she was his rock.
Maddy arrived back from the boutique just after six and found Martin in the dining room laying the table.
“Hi, how are things in election land?” She put her arms around him and reached up to kiss him.
“Good, but I’d rather be here with you.” He bent his head and their lips met, Martin holding the kiss longer than normal.
“You old smoothie, you know you love all this playing at being an MP.” She smiled at him.
“Oh be fair, I’m not playing at it, I’m serious. You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face if I win.”
“Yes, yes, I won’t tease you anymore, but can we have a politics free night tonight? I don’t want you and Alan falling out. He already thinks you’re a let down by standing against the Conservative candidate.”
“Okay, I promise. Now would you like a drink before you get changed?”
“Please, gin and tonic would be great, but not too heavy on the gin, it’s usually a long night when those two come round and I don’t want to get drunk too early.”
He grinned at her, he knew exactly what she meant. Alan could drink wine like water and invariably they had to pour him into a taxi at the end of the night.
Martin made the drinks whilst Maddy had her shower and then, while she was making up her mind what to wear, he had showered and dressed. After another thirty minutes, she emerged from the bedroom, wearing a red, very low cut, dress with matching shoes that had heels so high, he wondered how she could balance on them, let alone walk. The dress was figure hugging and showed her curves off to perfection. He could see she was not wearing a bra, which was usually a signal that she would be expecting him to perform at the end of the evening. He was unusually excited by the prospect and made a mental note not to keep pace with Alan, or he would not be in any state to comply with the unspoken request.
Just after eight, the intercom buzzed and Martin answered, releasing the lock to the main entrance. Within a couple of minutes, Gill and Alan were in the flat, and Martin was pouring glasses of Dom Perignon.
Alan was an architect, a senior partner in a very successful practice, and was one of Martin’s oldest friends, having met at university. He was part of the group who went skiing together and had been married to Gill for ten years. They had two children, boys, aged six and eight. The children were no problem as they had a live-in nanny who babysat for them. Martin had often wondered why they bothered to have children as it seemed the nanny spent more time with the boys than either Gill or Alan.
Alan was shorter than Martin and had the first signs of a middle-aged spread, a legacy of good living and hard drinking. His wife was stick thin, together, they reminded one of Laurel and Hardy, though no one actually said so in their presence. Gill did not work and seemed to spend most of her time either shopping or having coffee with her girlfriends. In spite of their different life styles, Maddy and Gill had hit it off from the first time they met. Martin had been pleased that the four of them got on so well together.
They were on their second glass of champagne when the food arrived. Maddy had warmed some dishes and quick
ly transferred the different courses on to them, then left them in the oven to keep warm whilst they ate their starters.
Within the hour, they had finished their meals, and Maddy and Gill cleared the dishes away and went into the kitchen to make coffee, leaving the two men alone.
Martin poured two large brandies. He did not even bother to ask Alan if he wanted one, he knew brandy was his favourite tipple.
“I’m glad we have a few moments alone, I wanted to ask for your advice on a little problem that I’ve got,” Martin looked at Alan, his voice lowered in a conspiratorial way.
“I’m intrigued, what’s the problem?”
“This is in the strictest confidence; you must promise not to tell a soul.”
“Yes, yes, I promise, now go on what is it.” Alan lent forward so that he could hear every word.
“I’m being blackmailed,” Martin blurted out.
“What! Who? How?” Alan asked in disbelief.
“It’s a long story, but an old one I’m afraid. You know I’m standing for Parliament?” He raised his hand to stop Alan interrupting. “Yes, I know you don’t approve, but leave that aside for the moment. I bought a flat in Kenilworth, so that I could be near the constituents, thought it would look good,” he added by way of explanation, “Well, I employed a local man as my agent, good man I can tell you, and he took on two part-time girls to help in the office. I’m afraid I got a bit too friendly with one of them, and we’ve been seeing a lot of each other and I do mean a lot.” He sniggered at this to emphasise the nature of the relationship.
“You dirty old man, I never thought you had it in you. Until Maddy came along, you never seemed to bother with women.” Alan was grinning, almost as if he was enjoying Martin’s so-called problem. “So have you dumped her and is she blackmailing you?”
“No, it gets more complicated. One night we got a bit drunk and I took some photographs of the two of us in rather compromising positions, and I stupidly kept them. The problem arose when her brother, who is still at school, volunteered to help deliver my election leaflets and he came to the apartment to meet me. It turns out he is a bit of an unsavoury character and has been in trouble with the law; she’s been trying to straighten him out. Anyway, he took a fancy to my silver cigarette case, which he pocketed but worse still, while I was in the bathroom, he must have gone into my bedroom to see if there was any money lying about. He found the pictures of his sister and me, and took one. Now he is threatening to send it to the papers unless I pay him ten thousand pounds.”
Martin took a large gulp of his brandy, he had kept as near to the truth as he could, whilst making it appear that he had just been one of the lads who had made a mistake.
“Is the girl involved in the blackmail?”
“I’m sure she isn’t, she acts as though nothing has happened and I don’t think she’s that good an actress. I’m at my wits end. I can afford to pay him, that wouldn’t be a problem, but I think he will just come back for more.”
“You’re right, once a blackmailer has his claws into you, they won’t let go.”
“I don’t know what to do and he’s given me till next Saturday to come up with the money.”
Just then, they heard the sound of voices and the chink of cups as the girls headed towards the dining room.
“Look, give me a ring on Monday, I may have a solution,” Alan just managed to finish speaking as Maddy entered the room.
Martin had been at the office since eight o’clock, but had waited until nine before phoning Alan.
He tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk while he waited for the phone to be answered. Eventually, Alan came on the line.
“Martin, how are you? By the way, thanks for a great evening on Saturday. Gill was quite pleased because I didn’t get steaming.” He laughed as he thought back to last Saturday. For once, he hadn’t over indulged and had been rewarded with a romantic end to the night. “I take it you’re ringing about the little problem you told me about.”
“Yes. You said you might have a solution.”
“Not a solution exactly, but I know of someone who could perhaps help you. His name is Stan Kenton, runs a private detective agency but really he’s more of a problem solver. He is ex-army, SAS, I think, and can handle himself. He did a job for my brother who was having trouble getting paid for some building work. The customer was refusing to pay and had even threatened our Jim if he came calling. Well, Stan collected the money and sorted the problem, and Jim never heard another word. He charged him ten percent with a minimum fee of a thousand pounds. I’ve spoken to Jim and he gave me Stan’s phone number, so if you want to ring him, you can say he was recommended by Jim.”
“He sounds just the man. Thanks for that.” Martin took the number down and rang off. He immediately dialled the number and was answered by a man with an East End accent.
“Stan Kenton speaking, how can I help you?”
“Good morning, my name is Martin De Glanville; I have been given your number by Jim Renwick, I understand you did some work for him.”
“Yeah, I remember, collecting some money from some smart arse that had refused to cough up. It was an easy job really. Are you in need of something similar?”
“Not exactly, it’s a bit more delicate, I’m being blackmailed, and I need someone who is discreet and can keep things confidential.”
“Discretion is my middle name,” he laughed. “Seriously, I give an undertaking in writing that any information you give me will not be disclosed to a third party, my reputation is at stake so don’t worry on that score.”
“Right, can we meet so that I can give you the details?”
“No problem, where do you want to meet, at your office or home?”
For a moment, Martin panicked, he didn’t want the man at his flat and neither did he want him at the office. Too much explaining would be required.
“There’s a pub, just around the corner from my office, the King William, in the city, can you be there in half an hour?”
“Okay, see you in half an hour.”
“Just a minute, how will I know you?”
“I’ll be wearing a red tie.” He did not wait for Martin to say anything further and put the phone down.
Martin looked at his watch, twenty past nine. The pub was only a couple of minutes away so he would just have time to dictate a couple of letters before he left.
There were only a few people in the pub and Martin looked around to see if anyone was sporting a red tie. Having established there wasn’t, he walked to the bar and ordered a ginger beer. It was too early in the day for anything stronger and he wanted his wits about him when talking to Kenton. He sat down at a table facing the door so he could see anyone who entered.
He went over in his mind the story he would tell Kenton. It was basically as he had outlined to Alan. He was pleased that the version he had made up when explaining to Alan about his ‘problem’ had sounded plausible, more importantly, he had not had to expose his guilty secret.
He had been there for about five minutes when Kenton entered. He immediately saw the tie and held his hand up to indicate to the man to join him. Kenton walked across and held out his hand.
“You must be Mr De Glanville. Stan Kenton,” he said
“Please, call me Martin. Sit down; I’ll get you a drink?”
“I don’t drink, thank you, but a glass of lemonade would be fine.”
Martin walked to the bar and returned with the lemonade. He studied the man as he drank half of the glass in one long draft. He was about five eleven, lean with a tanned face that looked as though he had spent a lot of time in a hot climate, Afghanistan maybe, when he was in the army. He had short-cropped hair, which was brown turning to grey and brown eyes set deep in his head. There was a small scar on his chin. He looked what he was, battle hardened.
“So, tell me about your problem.”
Martin repeated the story he had told Alan, finishing with the fact he had only five days left in which to pay the boy.<
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“Let me get this right, firstly, are you prepared to pay the money to get back this photograph? Secondly, do you want me to make sure he never bothers you again?”
“Well, I don’t really want to pay him anything, but if I have to and you can assure me he won’t be coming back for more then, reluctantly, I’ll pay.”
“Look, from what you told me about the kid, he’s just a chancer and I think I can scare him off with a few threats. If I can get your property back without you paying, then my fee will be two thousand pounds plus expenses, if you have to pay the money, then I’ll only charge a thousand plus ex’s. Is that okay?”
“I’m happy with that, but you will need to move fast.”
“I’ll email you the terms and if you can email me back with your acceptance I’ll start straight away. Do you have the boy’s address?”
Martin suddenly realised that he had never known where Joe lived; their only contact was via the phone.
“I don’t have his address only his mobile number.”
“That’s okay, email it to me.” He handed Martin a business card with his details on and Martin handed him one of his
“Right, thanks, Mr De Glanville, I look forward to hearing from you.” He stood up and turning headed for the door.
Martin had been back at his desk for a little under an hour when the email came through from Kenton with his terms and a letter of confidentiality. He quickly read it and, satisfying himself that everything was okay, replied agreeing to the terms and giving Joe’s mobile number. He felt a sense of relief as though a burden had been lifted from him. Kenton had impressed him that here was a man who would clinically and coldly deal with the matter, and he would never hear from Joe again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kenton was not an ostentatious man; he drove a pale blue four-year-old Renault Megan, the sort of car that went unnoticed, which was just the way he liked it. His business was very successful; his reputation for sorting out problems passing by word of mouth and, since leaving the army, he had earned himself a tidy sum. He could easily have afforded a smarter car but expensive cars attracted attention and he preferred to remain anonymous.