Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1) (3 page)

For Johnson it was a captive clientele. If they
were having a lesson or were part of a group then they also bought their
canvasses and paper from him, their paints, brushes, thinners and cleaners
– and of course the essential wooden boxes to keep them all in and their
easels too. The courses were inexpensive but the supplies costly and profitable.

Unlikely then that one of his customers might
have been responsible for attacking him. The blue rinse brigade would hardly be
in a position to raise even a paintbrush in anger. But what about the idle
rich? What about those wealthy wives with nothing to do? Had Johnson struck up
a friendship with one of his more attractive and younger students and got
himself worked over by an angry husband for his efforts?

‘This place is going down the pan.’

‘Seems OK to me boss’ replied the sergeant.
‘Plenty of stock in the window, some nice pictures for sale too. Looks as
though he is doing fine.’

‘No, not the shop, the whole lot. I remember
this street when you had to drive round and round just to get a parking space
and there always seemed to be six people in front of you at every shop too. Now
look at it, it’s desolate. Most of these shops used to trade to six or
halfpast
but now they close before five. Talking of which,
it’s close to that now, or will be by the time we’ve got back to the station.’

Three

Yet again the council had done something
stupid. Of that they could be relied on. Everything they did upset somebody,
and this time it was him.

For several years, David Preston had operated
from an office at the end of a row of shops. It was ideal. Located at a road
junction, with its typical mid-wars architecture of metal framed windows with
stone sills high from the ground and an impressive stone framed entry door, the
former bank was high visibility from all four directions, saving a small
fortune on marketing. Since taking the building over, Preston had parked his
car right outside his office. Originally a garden but asphalted years ago by
the bank to create hard standing, the area between the pavement and the
building could easily accommodate eight cars, four along each side of the
corner unit. The first space, the only one with lowered kerb access, was always
bagged by David himself, but none of his clients had ever complained about
having to drive over the kerb to park. It all worked just fine.

Then along came the council to upset everybody.
The road surface at the cross road had been raised to the level of the pavement
in a sort of big flat road hump that they referred to as a raised table,
supposedly for traffic calming. An existing pedestrian crossing had then been
relocated closer to the junction – actually on the raised part –
and white lines painted on the pavement with cycle symbols. The overall result
had been to create a launch pad for vehicles that did not reduce speed, and
which couldn’t then stop for pedestrians trying to use the crossing, some of
whom had already been scared out of their wits on the pavement as they
approached the crossing by
harum
scarum
youths on bikes.

It all seemed sheer folly to Preston. Long
recognised locally as unsafe, since the works had been completed it had become
much worse, making a previously problem junction decidedly dangerous. And in
any case, what right had the council to mark up part of the pavement for
cycles? Riding cycles on the pavement was illegal wasn’t it? As a solicitor he
should know. But the worst of it all was that for more than fifty metres from
the junction, bollards had been fixed along the pavement, leaving the dropped
kerb at David’s parking spot the only means of access. If he parked in his
usual spot, nobody else could gain entry and any already parked were blocked
in. A once valuable client facility had become a small staff car park with only
a four-car capacity. So how long before the loss of client car parking affected
his business?

Hanging his jacket on a coat stand and setting
a monogrammed leather brief case down at his side, he dropped into his comfy
high backed executive chair and pulled himself up to his desk. A brown folder
was to his left while half a dozen letters and other sheets of paper had been
set out in front of him. Each had another sheet with neatly written notes and
questions folded around from the side and held by a paper clip. One by one he
worked through them, reading his assistant’s notes for each one, then signing the
letters and adding his responses to the questions on the others.

The door opened as he completed the last one. A
cup of freshly brewed tea was placed on his desk and the sheaf of papers,
including the now signed letters, gathered up. He didn’t thank her for the tea
and didn’t comment on any of the things she had worked hard to prepare for him.
He never did. She had worked for him since he had opened the office and knew
his ways inside out. Always in the office an hour before he arrived, she always
had any papers needing signing on his desk, his diary open at the day’s
appointments and the associated files ready. She knew that next he would quip
that she must have been early that day and would ask who his first appointment
was. Even if he had nothing else to do he would keep them waiting. He always
did, regular as clockwork. Even if they arrived late. The whole episode was a
ritual of which recently she was beginning to get more and more infuriated
every day. Why couldn’t he just be normal instead of being so pompous and
assumptive?

‘You must have been in early this morning to
get everything sorted before I arrived. That’s good, it means you won’t have to
break in to my first session. Who’s up first? What time is my first
appointment? What do you think of my new pen – it’s a Mont Blanc?’

One of these days she would really tell him
what she thought. And not just the pen either. If it wasn’t for the fact that
her salary went into the bank as regular as clockwork she would have let fly
long ago. ‘It’s very nice. But I wouldn’t know the difference between that and
a Parker myself’ she said. ‘It’s the family feud first. They are on time and
waiting in reception. Shall I show them in?’

‘No. Let them wait. Tell them I am on a
conference call. Show them in in about ten minutes.’

Preston liked family feuds. Surpassed only by
property
conveyancing
, family disputes gave his legal
practise a regular income and the particular problem now stewing in his
reception had the potential to out-perform most others. Not only had he taken
on their side of their dispute, with newly split loyalties he stood to also to
pick up the guy’s business account. Oh bully for families. And bravo for feuds
and disputes.

David Preston had known them for as long as he
could remember, though more as acquaintances than friends. The wife’s father
had been a small-time local farmer. Her brother was well known around the area.
All the family used the father’s solicitor, so although Preston played golf
with her husband he had never been able to take his legal business until the
feud had blown up.

Family feuds were never pleasant (except for
the solicitor raking in his fees) but when all you had worked for was at stake
it was bound to have an effect. The woman looked apprehensively at her husband
who sat awkwardly in one of the two upright chairs facing the solicitor’s desk.
He hadn’t complained, but it had been obvious that even the short walk from the
car had caused him pain and he was tired and edgy.

‘Let’s get this over as quickly as we can’ he
snapped. ‘We’ve driven round and round the block trying to find somewhere to
park and ended up outside the Post Office. We are stuck between a big truck
unloading potatoes for the chip shop and a Spar van delivering to the
supermarket. God knows how many dents there will be by the time we get back.
And with the state of my ribs and legs I was dead on my feet by the time we had
walked to here. Let’s get on with it.’

‘Really’ she said. ‘There’s no need to get
tetchy with David. I know that you are uncomfortable but we need to face this
together and consider everything properly, not rush anything or get grumpy.’
Indeed, she thought, with a dispute like this, husband and wife needed to join
together to face the rest of the family, taking them to court if necessary. But
the procedure had taken its toll. Once a bright, articulate and pleasant man,
he had become introverted and cool, no longer cracking jokes incessantly; no
longer playing the fool or making their daughter laugh. Once, their lives had
been full of laughter, but now it had all turned to sadness. Just let them get
through this mess and they could sell up and move away. Make a new start
somewhere far away from her troublesome family.

‘I’m not tetchy and I’m not bloody grumpy’ he
said. ‘But the sooner we get this all sorted then the sooner we can get on with
our lives.’

‘That’s all as maybe,’ observed the solicitor.
‘But as soon as there is money involved, the vultures come out. And in this
case the vultures are seeing a fair pay day if they can exploit an illegal acquisition.’

‘No, hang on a minute,’ he stormed. ‘As far as
the money is concerned, we’ve had the account for years. It’s nothing to do
with the family at all.’

Coming to her husband’s defence, the woman
added ‘There’s nothing illegal about it. It wasn’t acquired illegally. It was
all above board. We have even paid tax on it every year.’

‘Quite so. But with the suggestion that you
coerced it in some way from your father and that you are not actually entitled
to it, the whole situation looks dicey. Money laundering, tax evasion - call it
what you want – it is all illegal.’

‘Oh come on David, that’s being a bit harsh.
Lots of people move money around to avoid duties and so on later when a parent
dies. I thought that if something was gifted and the person making the gift
lived seven years then there was nothing to pay anyway. Surely that’s all
straightforward. The account has been in Joan’s name for far longer than that
so I cannot see any grounds for the family to try and grab it. As for the land,
that was a gift, so what has our house and land got to do with anything?’

‘OK David, lay it on the line,’ she said.
‘What’s the legal position? Can my brother pull the rug from under our feet?
Are we about to lose all we have worked for? I am sure that we haven’t done
anything illegal.’

‘It’s not black and white I am afraid.
Actually, I don’t think that the property is significant at all. It’s just a
blind. I think he is using it to put pressure on you to give up more of the
money.’

Husband and wife exchanged knowing looks. They
didn’t appear convinced. Perhaps there was something they had not told the
solicitor.

‘You’ve mentioned that before but we don’t
think it is his motivation at all. His business is struggling now that there is
some competition. If you pardon the pun, to regain lost ground he needs land to
expand and even then without a swish restaurant it will be difficult to
compete. It’s our guess that contesting the will is his way of getting
lifesaving land and throwing the money and house into the pot isn’t a ruse but
an actual attempt at getting what he needs on a plate.’

Preston raised his eyebrows. Why couldn’t
people see what was in front of them? Clearly the brother could see a cash cow
and wanted his share. If the guy was experiencing business problems then the
possibility of a cash
handout
would be even more
attractive, but expansion, restaurants, and grabbing his sister’s home had
nothing to do with it at all. Somebody needed to steer this towards a
negotiated settlement before it all got out of hand.

‘OK. Let’s cut the personalities. First the
money. The account is in your name but you agree with your brother that it was
originally your mother’s. Since she died the amount has steadily increased and
we are now talking about a large sum of money. And both you and your brother
agree that all of it has been deposited by your father – none of it came
from yourselves.’

‘But that’s not the point David. Dad gifted it
to us. Well, to me actually. It was his money and he gave it to me. My brother
had nothing to do with it.’

‘Well, that may not be strictly correct. As I
understand it, your father claimed state benefits over a number of years, and
importantly, the years that funds were being added to the account. Being blunt,
had your father still been alive, with the amount of money in this account,
your dad would have been in deep water with respect to benefit fraud. You
simply cannot hide your wealth under a false name and then claim state
handouts
. It’s illegal. And if that is proven there could
be accusations of fraud against you. It looks to me that your brother knows
that only too well and is using it as a lever to get a negotiated settlement.
Make no mistake, if it goes to court then you could be in big trouble because
you clearly knew what your Dad was doing and condoned it. Not only that, if the
court decides that the money belongs to the state because it came from
illegally claimed benefits then they will take the lot and neither you nor your
brother will get a penny.’ Or me my fee thought Preston.