Bacchus and Sanderson (Deceased) (23 page)

***

              Charles Cortez; in life and now in death wasn’t a man who accepted the word ‘no’ if it didn’t suit him to accept it. Felicity quoting his own line; ‘if you can’t see it, it doesn’t exist’ back to him rankled, but her recollection of that phrase might help him make her see sense. Turning to Helena he grimaced and said,

“I think we need to watch Jemima. I’ve never trusted that little bitch and her perfidiousness might give us leverage over Felicity.”

“Have you forgotten the repetitive little play we watched together? Did you not understand its significance to you and why I was showing it to you? Would you like to guest in it for a week? Give the nice policeman a break from all that painful and horrible dying? I can arrange that if you’d like Charles. In fact, I will arrange that for you Charles unless you get inside that woman’s head and convince her that not helping will be very uncomfortable for you and I guarantee it will also be for her. Is that clear enough?”

Without appearing to be concerned by her threats, Charles walked across the room index finger on his lips and a frown creasing his brow. Without looking at her he said,

“What do you need Felicity to do for you? That might be the key to engaging her interest.” Turning to face Helena he raised an eyebrow in question and continued,

“I’m assuming it was something specific you had in mind. I’m sure it wasn’t just common or garden violence you needed perpetrating on a random person, but something a little more precise, tailored? So if I know who the victim is to be, then I might be able to use this information to excite Felicities more sadistic leanings.”

              Helena paused before answering. She hadn’t wanted to tell Charles any more than she had to and only then when she had to. Now she was being manoeuvred into a corner. She didn’t trust the odious little man. For now though, she had been instructed to play the game.

              The devil was testing her. Testing her obedience to him, obligating her to do what he wanted, to obey. Compliance was not in her nature, but he demanded obeisance in his acolytes and he merited her devotion. It was her intellect not her degeneracy that had attracted her to him. Behaving demonically was passé. She; of course, had all of those tools at her disposal, but combined with a natural ability to see the bigger picture and look beyond pure malevolence to offer her lord a refreshing new approach to tormenting. This was why she had been chosen to guide Charles Cortez. If he was, as her lord supposed; just another odious little shit, then he would become her plaything. If this assignment showed that he could offer a little something else above and beyond the normal degeneracy one expected, then his future might be a little more certain than it was at the moment. 

              So, she thought, returning to the problem in hand, how much do I need to tell him to keep him compliant? Let’s get him excited.

“Jonathan Andrews.”

“The Home Secretary? Alexander’s boss? A member of her Britannic majesty’s government?”

“Yes, all of those and a vast amount more. His family and the man himself have been playing very dangerous games. Well, now his chickens have come home to roost. Do you think your pretentious granddaughter will find Mr Andrews an exciting plaything?”

Trying to disguise his palpable excitement, Charles with an exaggerated air of calm said,

“I know him; he’s stayed with us, shot with Alexander, dined with my family. The man is a bloody genius, intellect the size of a house. You don’t get to be Home Secretary by nodding with vigour and applauding. The current prime minister for go
d’
s sake is talking him about as the next prime minister. Sorry. What has Jonathan done to generate this animosity? ”

              Charles flopped into an armchair with an air of exhaustion. Staring up at the ceiling he pushed his hair back and demanded,

“Well?”

“You know him? Well?” Charles nodded, gesturing with his hands for her to get on with the explanation.

“Were you aware that the family wealth; including his own personal fortune was embezzled? Were you also aware that this fortune has been grown over the last hundred or so years by slavery, child labour and child prostitution? No, I don’t expect you were. Your grubby past looks a lot less soiled if we stand you next to Mr Andrews.”

              Helena stared straight ahead ignoring everything in the room, focusing on telling the story of Jonathan Andrews and his family.  She allowed herself a triumphant smirk as she noticed Charles out of the corner of her eye perched on the edge of the armchair. Snapping out of her apparent reverie she continued,

“His grandfather was a confidence trickster. A very competent confidence trickster.  Good enough to fool my Aunt and Uncle, who I lived with after my parents were killed. He stole everything from them. Money, stocks, jewellery, the house everything. The ridiculous thing was he had managed to convince them that they had just been unlucky.” Exhaling, she shook her head and continued,

“Unlucky. You know they believed that it had been their fault and he had been trying to help them recoup their losses. They trusted him. That’s why they kept going, why they poured good money after bad, chasing that elusive winning streak. The house was the last thing he persuaded them to gamble with. By now my Aunt was having doubts about his sincerity and tried to persuade Uncle David that enough was enough. Even if the man of the house was a certifiable simpleton; he was still the head of the house and the decision maker. Aunt Jane stood by and watched while the man she loved put their stately home up as security for his stock market infatuation. Reginald Andrews always whispering in his ear, assuring him that the market is capricious, but this time it would change for him. When he lost, as was inevitable; it killed him. He jumped from the roof of the house, their home, to his death. I should perhaps say appeared to lose, because none of his money jewels or property was ever invested.  Andrews had been taking the money, fencing the jewels and rather than placing the money with a genuine bona fide stock broker he had a fellow con artist who appeared to be a successful broker. We were evicted, thrown out with as small bag of personal possessions and escorted to the property boundary. Andrews took up residence as the Lord of the Manor.  Aunt Jane never spoke a word, from that day until her death six months later. After her funeral, I stood by her graveside and swore that her family would one day be reunited with their ancestral home and every penny that had been stolen; plus interest would be returned to them.”

Charles looked at her and clapped his hands together mocking her.

“Fascinating story. All bollocks though isn’t it? That fairy tale isn’t exactly you. I’m sure it all happened, but I don’t quite see you as a victim or as a soft hearted sop that would allow herself and her family to be ruined. I have seen a little of the real you; torturing a policeman for being inventive. What really happened?”

              Helena looked at him hard, appraising him.  If he hadn’t passed that test he would be on his way downstairs.

“I was an accomplice. Andrews was my lover and Aunt Jane and Uncle David were my aunt and uncle. He did jump and she was evicted as was I. Andrews and I were to share the stately home and the money.” Helena snorted,

“Then I was naive, trusting, smitten with this older man. He played me like the fool that I was. His son has enjoyed the wealth that his father stole and along the way, has managed to increase the value of his fortune even though he powdered his nose until it killed him. Now his woeful offspring is pimping the fortune to new heights. The miserable little shit will try and talk his way out of the mess and hope to walk away intact. That isn’t going to happen. We are going to stop him. Felicity is going to stop him.” Taking a deep breath Helena looked at Charles and said,

“So now we go and see Felicity and persuade her to help us. Be aware Charles, if being pleasant fails, I will scare the shit out of her and she will do, as I want. “

***

              William, Annabel and Ben squeezed into the office above the shop. Once they were in and the door was closed, William asked them to look at the wall.

“Ben, how well do you know this shop, or I should say the building that houses the shop?”

“Pretty well. Dad and I did a lot of the refurbishment ourselves before we opened. So as well as anyone other than the original builder back in whenever. Why?”

“Have you seen anything about the wall that makes you curious?” Their blank expressions confirmed that they had no idea what he was talking about. He began removing the files that he had used to disguise the gaps that showed where the hidden door was. Removing a key from a hook to one side of the shelving, he unlocked the door opened it and beckoned them to follow him. They climbed the stairs and followed William into the duplicate office.

“This explains how dad could disappear without a trace when he needed to be alone. Crafty bastard. Though it doesn’t explain how he could reappear in the shop drinking coffee hours later without having left the office” Looking around, he saw the safe that William had asked him about when they had first met. The far wall caught Ben’s attention, but he couldn’t decide why. It appeared to be the same tongue and groove panelling that covered the rest of the room from floor to ceiling. He stared at the wall angling his head from one side to another to try and get a different perspective on the same piece of wall.

“William can you see anything odd about that wall? Anything at all?”  William nodded and said,

“Look closer at the wall. What do you see?”

Ben moved to look at the wall. He examined it peering at it from different angles. He squatted down to see if the different angles would show him anything. He saw a hole in the wood and peered into it.

“Have you got the key?” William opened the top desk drawer and tossed a small key to him. Ben slid the key into the lock and turned it, unlocking the door. He used the key to pull the door open and saw the light switch on the opposite wall. He switched it on and saw the steep staircase.

“Where does it go?” William grinned,

“If you follow the tunnel at the bottom of the staircase it will take you to a door that leads into the Vergers office of the Abbey.”

“Can we?” Ben asked.

“We need to get on Ben; can we investigate later? Annabel needs to see parishioners; we have a shop to run and a puzzle to solve.”

              William sat at the desk and looked at his two assistants.

“This is our first meeting other than brief chats I have had with each of you to allocate tasks. So, updates. Shall I begin?” He looked at Ben and Annabel. Both nodded their agreement.

William began by identifying the section of the documents he had responsibility for and giving a brief overview.

“As the person with the most time on their hands and the one who was tasked with sorting out this bewildering mass of documentation, theory and conjecture, I opted to look at the largest element of our task. What I have called the conspiracy. It’s concerned with answering three questions. One; was Jonas killed. If he was, how was he killed, by whom and why? The ‘why’ is also linked to question two. What did Jonas discover? Why did this discovery necessitate Jonas dying? Last, question three. CHC Industries. What is it they do alongside their legitimate endeavours that they are so desperate to protect? They behave like gangsters scattering bodies around the countryside. First Jonas, then Ernest.”

The iconic music from the original film ‘The Italian Job’ blasted out of Ben’s pocket, ‘This is the self preservation society’ startling everyone into silence.

“Sorry” Ben said, then looked at the display, smiled and answered the call.

“Hi. Yes, Debbie said you wanted to meet up later, she also said you looked quite upset, are you OK?” He waited a moment listening to the reply and then continued,

“OK, eight o’clock at your hotel. See you then.”

“Sorry.” Ben said, “You were saying that you think they killed Uncle Jonas and dad. That’s a big leap. What have you found that show’s that happened?”

William looked a little uncomfortable and hesitated before saying,

“Nothing as yet, but to me it seems logical. How can fit men have heart attacks serious enough to kill them? Jonas is more believable, the care on offer in nineteen seventy three would have been less sophisticated than it is today. But Ernest? I have a little experience of heart attacks and the standard of care, drugs, procedures and operations on offer is mind-boggling. Either; his heart attack was massive, he didn’t receive the care he needed fast enough or something triggered his heart attack ensuring he wouldn’t walk away from it.”

Ben still looked sceptical,

“So we need to get substantive proof for both Dad and Uncle Jonas showing how they died. Any ideas?”

Annabel who had remained silent while Ben and William debated, felt it was time she joined the discussion.

“Ernest will be easier than Jonas. William needs to ask the hospital, speak to the nursing staff and doctors who treated him. Dig. Jonas will be a matter of trying to get access to medical records and speaking to anyone who might have been involved in his treatment and who is still alive.”

“I can try” William said, “but why would these hospitals release confidential information to a stranger.” Annabel and Ben both looked at him in amazement.