Apportionment of Blame (7 page)

“People can do strange, unexpected things when they are angry,” I said. “When they are let down; when they lose the one thing in the world they really want.”

“I wasn't angry with her, but I am angry with you for suggesting that I could hurt her. I would never have harmed her. I worshipped the ground she walked on.”

He stepped back from the chair.

“OK, I was disappointed, bitterly disappointed. But I could never hurt her.”

He hung his head, and I found myself believing him.

Chapter 4

N
ext
morning I looked up Colbox online and then found them on Google Maps. It was only a short drive and I was there in ten minutes.

I hadn't made an appointment, and wondered if by suddenly turning up I might catch someone unawares.

The company was based in a metal version of its own product - a cream painted, rectangular box of corrugated steel. There were few windows except in a ground level extension which I took to be offices. A double glass door faced east and reflected the outline of trees picked out by the late rising sun.

Inside and facing me there was a hatch with a sliding door, above which it said Enquiries. There was no bell, so I tapped on the glass.

The bright and cheerful face of a young woman appeared. She looked about my age and was dressed in a tee shirt and pedal pushers. Clearly it was a lot warmer inside than out.

“Can I help?”

“My name's Greg Mason. I wonder if it would be possible to speak to your manager.”

“Are you a client of ours?”

“No. I would like to speak to him about Helen Hetherington.”

“Oh! So sad that was. We were all gutted. Are you with the police?”

“No. I am working privately for Helen's family.”

No point in concealing the fact, I thought. My questions will make it clear why I am here.

“Mr. Jordan is in a meeting just at the moment, but he shouldn't be long. Would you like to wait?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“There are some chairs round that corner.”

She pointed behind me and I turned.

“Can I get you a coffee?”

“That's very kind. Black, no sugar. Thank you, Miss...?”

“Overton. Sarah Overton.”

Not G then, I thought.

As I walked back towards the waiting area I wondered how many others worked there, and how forthcoming Mr. Jordan might be.

The coffee arrived, and very good it was too, and I immersed myself in some motor magazines that would soon be as much in the vintage class as the cars they featured.

I was just glancing at my watch when Sarah came across and invited me to accompany her to Mr. Jordan's office.

“Mr. Jordan,” I greeted him across his office. “Thank you for seeing me without an appointment.”

“Frank, please. No need to be so formal.”

That settled the FJ question.

He came out from behind a large desk; a tall, bluff man in crisp white shirtsleeves, with his arm outstretched to greet me. I took his firm handshake and held out a business card with my left hand.

“Greg Mason,” I said. “I'm a friend of Helen's family. They are shattered by what's happened and have asked me to help by making some enquiries.”

“Do you have any idea what happened?”

“Not as yet. I was hoping you might fill in some background for me.”

“Of course. Helen was wonderful. Probably the best PA I ever had. I am finding it hard to replace her actually, and I realise now how much I came to depend on her.”

“Would you say she was happy here?”

“Yes. I would. She worked hard and she was very popular with everyone. Her loss has left quite a gap here.”

He was looking straight at me as he spoke and his voice carried a measure of sincerity. Either that or he was a consummate actor and I am useless as a detective.

I could see no reason why I should not come straight to the point.

“Do you have someone working here with a name beginning with G?”

“What an extraordinary question. Why G?”

“Something on Helen's laptop. Can you remember the day she died?”

“I remember how I felt when I heard. It was terrible.”

“But can you recall anything particular that may have been happening here at that time, to do with Helen?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Jordan. Frank,” I corrected myself. “Neither Helen's sister nor I believe that Helen's death was an accident. That means someone caused it, for some reason or other. Therefore I am talking to her friends, her family, her work colleagues, anyone with any connection with her at all. I am convinced that someone knows what happened, and why.”

“I see. Do the police share your suspicions?”

“Not at present, no. But I think they will when every avenue has been explored and all my questions have been answered.”

He smiled.

“You sound very confident. How long have you been a detective?”

He must have seen my expression on hearing that question.

“Not very long, I'm guessing,” he continued, and smiled even more.

This was another of those occasions when either I had to go with my initial judgement, or not. Did I trust this person? I couldn't trust everyone. Some people tell lies as easily as they take breath. I knew there were villains out there who could charm the birds from the trees, who could sell fridges to Eskimos and central heating units to Borneo tribesmen.

Or perhaps I didn't have to make an immediate decision.

“Do you have your diary there?” I asked him.

“Always,” he said, putting the flat of his hand on the laptop which lay closed in front of him.

“Could you look at the day Helen died, and perhaps the day after?”

He looked at me curiously, then opened the computer and made a few clicks. I watched his expression.

“Yes,” he said, without any apparent attempt to hide the fact. “We were due to meet that day.”

“The day after she died.”

“Yes.”

“Why would Helen feel the need to make a special appointment to see you? She must have seen a lot of you every day, through a normal course of events.”

“That's true.”

He furrowed his brow and leaned forwards with his crossed arms resting on the desk.

“She said there was something particular she wanted to tell me about. No, not wanted,” he corrected himself. “Needed. I remember now. I asked why she couldn't just ask me straight out. And she said it was difficult.”

“And you have no idea what it was about.”

“None at all,” and he sat back in his chair as I continued to monitor his expression. He seemed to be telling the truth. So there I was again, not being sure about the person I was talking to.

“That brings me to the person whose name begins with G. It was that person Helen wanted to talk to you about.”

“How do you know that?”

“It was in her diary. I quote,” pulling out a notebook: “
meeting FJ to discuss G.
So who is G?”

“G,” he said, thinking aloud. “There's a Gemma in the office and there's a Grant in dispatch. That's all, I think. We are not a large company.”

“Could I speak to them both?”

“Of course, if it would help. In fact it might help me to know of something that was going on here I didn't know about.”

He got up and came round his desk.

“No time like the present. Why don't you see them in here? There are other places I can be for a while.”

That struck me as the offer of someone prepared to be totally open with me. Perhaps I was right about him after all.

“Thank you. That would be very helpful.”

“I'll get Sarah to fetch Gemma, and then you can see Grant after that.”

He was quickly at the door, leaving me to wonder how to proceed. Where should I sit? Would it be appropriate to take the boss's chair behind the big desk? I decided not, and stayed where I was.

Sarah came in after a couple of minutes, leading a young woman who looked very nervous. She was wearing a tight skirt and a white pleated blouse which extenuated her figure. Her hair was short and pulled back above her ears, with some sort of gel holding it in place. I rose to greet her.

“Gemma?”

“Yes. Mr. Jordan said you wanted to see me.”

“Sit down, won't you?” I indicated the other chair provided for visitors.

I smiled to put Gemma at her ease, but she still looked wary and uncomfortable.

“My name's Greg Mason, and I'm helping Helen Hetherington's family to try to find out what happened to her.”

“I thought it was an accident.”

“We hope to find out one way or another. Tell me how you got on with Helen, here at Colbox.”

“I didn't have much to do with her. She worked in Mr. Jordan's office and I spend my time in the main office.”

The worry lines I had noticed above her nose and across her forehead were still in place. I thought her answer a little too simple and straight forward.

“How long have you worked here?”

“Just short of five years.”

“Always in the same position.”

“I had a promotion just over a year ago.”

“A big promotion?”

“Well - more money and more responsibility, but in the same department.”

“Which is?”

“Process Management.”

“Which means what exactly?”

“We monitor the performance of the company and try to find ways of keeping us ahead of the competition.”

“Is there a lot of competition?

“Yes. Always.”

I had kept my notebook in my hand and began to write a few words.

“Do you know how long Helen has worked here?”

“Er...I should think just over two years or so.”

“And was she appointed as Mr. Jordan's PA straight away?”

“No. She started in our department and was promoted later.”

“How did you feel about that?”

“It had nothing to do with me.”

“But were you jealous? Did you think you would have made a better PA than Helen?”

“Helen was good. I had no complaints.”

“I see.” I wrote a few more words.

“Now you said earlier that you didn't have much to do with Helen. Yet you worked in the same department. For how long?”

“I don't know. Several months.”

“Did you get to know her very well in that time?”

“She was very quiet. A bit studious. She liked to get on with things. Most of us are a bit chatty, but Helen wasn't like that.”

“So she was different. And did that create any sort of problem between you?”

“No. She got on with her work and we got on with ours.”

“So there was no sense of bitterness about her being promoted, when you had been there longer?”

“No. I told you.”

A slight edge had come into her voice and I wondered why. Why should she be annoyed? What was she not telling me?

“Can you remember the day she died?”

“Not really. I know it was just a few weeks ago.”

“Do you know the place where she died?”

“No. Why should I? What are you suggesting?”

“I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just trying to get to know as much as I can about the people Helen knew.”

“I told you. I didn't know her very well.”

“Yes. Yes, you did.”

I wrote a few more words in my notebook, then closed it, looked across at Gemma and stood up.

“Well, thank you for your time. You have helped me fill in the picture of what it was like for Helen at work.”

She looked relieved as she got up and accepted my handshake.

I gave her one of my cards.

“If you think of anything else which might be important, or just interesting, you can reach me here.”

She looked down at the card, back up at my face and then left without another word.

When she had left I read and reread what I had written, and a few minutes later Grant was ushered into the room. He looked very puzzled and not sure what to do.

I greeted him with a handshake as he looked about him at the office. “I've only been in here once before,” he said. “It's a bit more comfortable than where I work.”

He didn't sound resentful, just matter of fact.