Authors: Huw Thomas
Thursday, 6.03pm:
With a conjuror’s flourish, John Harrison unfurled the map. He swept his hand across the rolled-up paper and pinned it in place with a pot of pens and some folders.
‘Here you go.’
He stepped back and glanced at his audience. He had convened the meeting. Like him, the four others in the room had a variety of interests: some public knowledge, some not. They had worked together behind the scenes on a number of past occasions and all knew this current project’s potential could outstrip anything previous. There was substantial profit to be made. Unfortunately, at the moment they were stymied: the seed money was there, waiting to be spent, but the deal eluded them.
As he caught their eyes in turn, the three men and one woman each nodded at Harrison; he had their attention, now they wanted the explanation.
The map showed a section of the city centre. Harrison gestured at an area highlighted in red. ‘That’s it: the old Vauxhall showroom and the rest of the block. Now, on Monday night when I asked Isaiah Van Hulle about the site, he said he didn’t know anything about the place. Told me his company wasn’t interested in commercial property.’
The woman in the group looked unhappy. She was in her mid-forties, her dark hair pulled tight back from her face into an unadorned ponytail. A slim gold chain was the only jewellery she wore; there were no rings on her fingers. She had an expression to match the severity of her look. ‘Wasn’t that risky, asking him directly? None of us want our names connected with the site; you most of all considering the role you’re supposed to be playing with the planning committee.’
Harrison shrugged. ‘Sure, it was a bit of a gamble but I don’t think there was any real risk involved. Anyway, I wanted to see if I could draw him out. He’s a strange fish; you can never quite tell how he’s going to react. And I don’t reckon he could have read much into what I said. I just told him I knew someone who was interested in the place. If it had been true his company didn’t deal with commercial property, he wouldn’t have cared one way or the other.’
The councillor smiled at the others. They were in an office belonging to another member of Harrison’s party. The nondescript, borrowed room was safe territory: somewhere their meeting was unlikely to be noticed.
‘Now, as we know, at least one party has registered an interest in the property previously. The agents didn’t seem to be proceeding but they weren’t exactly making an effort to market the place either and we had no idea who we were up against. I tried nosing around the usual suspects to find our mystery buyer but without any joy. That’s when I wondered about Van Hulle. It was a bit of a long shot but I reckon it’s hit the target.’
Harrison shrugged. ‘And even if it’s not him directly, someone’s taken the bait. I’ve got someone in Van Hulle’s office who passes on information. I know that the morning after I spoke to him, first thing, Van Hulle’s secretary was talking to the firm handling the sale. Now, I don’t know what was said but I doubt it was just a social call. Next thing, though, the agents are asking for final offers on the place and it’s full speed ahead on a sale.’ He looked around the room. ‘Personally, I reckon Van Hulle is the one pulling the strings.’
The woman frowned. ‘But can you be sure it was him that expressed the interest? How can we be sure he didn’t just decide to inquire about the place after you mentioned it to him and then decided it looked a good possibility?’
Harrison laughed. ‘Hey! Come on, you know what Van Hulle’s like. He’s not exactly the impetuous type, is he? He wouldn’t have made a snap decision like that; he must have at least known about the place already.’
The city councillor gave a sly grin. ‘And I realise he doesn’t like me but I doubt even Van Hulle would try and buy a building simply to annoy me. He wants the building himself. The question is, why?’
‘So tell us,’ said one of the other men. ‘What’s the Dutch bible-basher up to?’
Harrison pulled a face. ‘Well, I can’t say for sure but, apart from what my informant’s been telling me, I’ve made a few other inquiries over the past couple of days. I wouldn’t claim to know the exact plan but it’s starting to make a bit more sense and I’ve got a theory why he might be after it.’
He picked up a ruler and gestured at the map: a suited strategist showing how the enemy was deploying his forces. ‘Over here we’ve got the Barber Estate. The place is bad news: full of the lowest forms of life. No one with any sense wants to live in it. And those who can choose don’t want to live next to it either. But all along the old Buckland Road we’ve got that massive social housing project of Van Hulle’s. Very worthy, I’m sure, lots of nice neat flats and new terraces: the kind of places lots of young families are going to want to live.’
Harrison’s ruler drew a rough triangle over the map.
‘Now, that leaves this area, Bath Street, Wilson Road and all those old Victorian houses. Sandwiched between the city centre, the railway and what used to be Buckland Road: all a bit run-down now but ripe for a bit of gentrification if you could persuade people to live there. And I reckon that’s where Van Hulle’s master plan comes in. I think he’s hoping to use his social housing to create a kind of buffer zone between the Barber Estate and this area here.’
He jabbed at the triangle. ‘If it works, I reckon you’ll soon see property prices rising here.’
The oldest of the three other men shook his head. ‘But how would that work? Social housing is like council housing, isn’t it? You’ll still get all the dropouts and problem tenants. It’ll be just as bad as the Barber Estate within a year or so.’
Harrison grinned. ‘Ah, but the beauty is that it doesn’t work like that anymore. The people who run the housing might be a private company. It’s much easier for them to pick tenants. And to get rid of the ones they don’t want.’ He shrugged. ‘And even if it does go downhill in the long run, it will change the tenor of the area for a few years at least. And, if Buckland Road gets cleaned up, Bath Street and the rest of that area is suddenly going to appear much more attractive.’
The woman nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘So, the old showroom site, you think he sees that as a long-term move?’
Harrison nodded. ‘That’s right. Which is why, before I spoke to him the other night, nothing much was happening. He wanted the site but, with no other buyers as competition, he was in no hurry to move.’ He grinned. ‘Can’t say I blame him. After all, no point spending your money until you have to in this game.’
The older man frowned. ‘But that makes it sound as if talking to him was a bad move then.’
‘No.’ Harrison shook his head. ‘If I’m right, and I think I am, it wouldn’t have made any difference in the long run. Whether it was now or in six months time, we’d still have come up against him.’
‘So how does this tie in with pushing up house prices?’
It was the woman who replied. ‘Because at the moment, as a commercial site, the area along The Parade isn’t particularly valuable. That part of the city isn’t high rent because none of the multiples are interested in the area and there’s no market for the specialists. They want to be in the High Street, not some tacky street next to bedsit land.’
‘But,’ Harrison picked up the thread, ‘if Van Hulle’s got some regeneration master plan up his sleeve, that could all change. Create a buffer for the Barber Estate and that area is ripe for renewal. It might look a dump now but that just makes it all the more attractive if you can get the timing right. If he can get the yuppies to move in, that area along The Parade will be ripe for redevelopment too. In fact, a bit of money spent there in advance, getting in a few trendy cafés or something like that, might help move things along with the local housing market.’
‘Hmm,’ the older man looked thoughtful. ‘So, if you’re right and Van Hulle’s the mystery buyer, how does that affect our game plan? What’s our next move?’
Thursday, 6.08pm:
There was silence as the two men looked at each other; from outside came the rattle of rain driving hard against glass.
‘Stacey Cole?’ repeated Paul Cash.
Harper nodded. ‘You knew her?’
‘Oh yes,’ the older man paused. ‘I certainly did. Lovely girl. Great fun, sharp too. I had a lot of respect for her.’ He frowned. ‘You’re sure about this?’
Harper spread his hands. ‘Yes. As much as I’m sure about anything. Which means, no, I’m not sure. But I do know what happened to her in one… reality. That doesn’t mean the same thing has definitely happened here but on the other hand…’ He shook his head. ‘And those guys that interrogated me… They wanted to know where I was last Thursday. It’s obvious something has happened.’
He looked at Cash and smiled awkwardly. ‘So… did you know her… socially or professionally?’
‘Ha!’ Cash gave a short laugh. ‘That’s a neat way of saying it. You mean was I aware that she was a ‘professional woman’ and pay for her services? Of course I did! She was bloody good at her job.’ He grinned briefly. ‘And always a pleasure to work with.’
‘Hmm.’ Harper raised an eyebrow. He glanced up as another fusillade of rain hammered at the window then turned back to the fire. Resting across a pair of original Elizabethan firedogs, an armful of logs crackled in a nest of glowing embers. Harper shuffled further to the front of his armchair and stretched his hands towards the flames.
‘That surprises me,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t have thought someone like you would need to pay for women. I always had the impression you got your pick of them.’
‘Well…’ Cash shrugged. ‘I suppose it has been like that at times.’ The artist smiled. ‘Being a pillar of the anti-establishment can have its attractions. And I suppose I’ve made the most of it from time to time. After all, I did have a reputation to keep up and, at the risk of boasting, it’s fair to say that was fairly well deserved. I certainly worked hard enough to earn it in my younger days.’
Cash sighed and gave a casual, dismissive wave: every inch the tired old stallion who had lost interest in his wilder, salad days. ‘But you know what? It’s one of those things that always seem more attractive in theory than in reality. Having women throw themselves at you can get tedious… eventually.’
The artist stretched with cat-like grace and poured another tot of whisky into his glass, raising an eyebrow at Harper’s refusal. ‘You see,’ he continued, ‘although I’m older now, I still have no trouble attracting women. But I wouldn’t claim any of the credit anymore. It’s not
me
that they’re after. What attracts them is my reputation, the money, the house or the lifestyle. Sometimes it’s the challenge; they like the idea of taming Paul Cash. Sometimes it’s a combination of a number of those things. Often they’ve got no real idea what I’m like; they’ve fallen for their own idea of what they think I’m going to be like. Or they fancy being lady of the manor. And the problem is, with these women who turn up wanting to be seduced… to be honest it’s more trouble than it’s worth. The fun soon gets overshadowed by all the other baggage.’
He sighed. ‘That’s why I prefer professional women like Stacey Cole. You understand where you are with girls like that. Sex, good fun and a simple invoice at the end of the day. Let me tell you, it’s a lot more straightforward and a damn sight cheaper than getting involved with some of these women who claim to be offering me love.’
Cash rolled a sip of whisky around his mouth. ‘And don’t let anyone tell you that girls like Stacey are exploited. She does it… or did it, for good reasons. One is that she liked sex. Two is that she was first rate at making others feel good. Thirdly, she made lots of money.’ He sighed. ‘It’s a real loss if she is gone.’
Harper shrugged. ‘Like I said, I can’t swear to what’s happened but I wouldn’t be hopeful.’ He stared back into the flames. ‘I’d like to know who that was quizzing me about her though. Something must have happened to her and they must have at least some idea of what.’
Cash nodded. ‘Probably her brother. Did he have red hair?’
Harper frowned. ‘I’m not sure. He was shining a torch in my eyes most of the time. I didn’t get a good look at him. Who’s her brother? And what’s his connection with that policeman?’
‘I’ve no idea about the policeman,’ said Cash. ‘But her brother’s Nelson Cole. I don’t know him well but we’ve met a few times.’ He smiled. ‘He comes across as a bit of a wide boy but I think there’s more to him than meets the eye. On the surface, he seems quite straightforward. Used to be a professional dancer, did a few big West End shows; I think he even toured with Rambert once. He’s gay and acts quite camp when he’s in public but he’s tough as nails underneath. I certainly wouldn’t underestimate him. Or cross him come to that.’ The artist took another sip of whisky and narrowed his eyes. ‘So, have you told Rebecca about all this?’
Harper grimaced. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Oh… god.’ Harper gave an empty laugh. ‘Instinct? Fear? I don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘To be honest, I’m not quite sure why. Either that or there’s a hundred reasons. When I look at her,
I forget about Van Hulle. I don’t want to think about him. Until I spotted him last night, the only thing I cared about was getting Rebecca back. Now, it’s just… I don’t know.’
He sighed. ‘She’s still the most important thing but I can’t ignore the truth about Van Hulle. I don’t want to tell Rebecca about it, though. I guess I’ve already dropped a big enough bombshell. I don’t want to now turn round and say “oh yeah, there’s also the serial killer I’ve been meaning to tell you about”.’
Cash gave a wry smile. ‘I can see how it might kill the romance.’
‘Yeah.’
‘So when are you going to tell her about it?’
Harper waved his hands in the air. ‘Maybe when I’ve worked out what the hell I’m supposed to do next.’
‘What are the options?’
Harper sighed. ‘I’m not sure. Part of me wishes I’d never seen Van Hulle. But the trouble is, I did see him and I can’t just forget it. I want to sort out things with Rebecca more than anything. But if Van Hulle’s doing the same things here… I can’t just pretend it isn’t happening or that it’s nothing to do with me. Even if there are others who know something’s going on, I might be the only person who knows who’s responsible.’
He gave a frustrated groan. ‘I’m just not sure what to do next. I’ve already tried a few things but they haven’t worked. The police aren’t going to do anything unless they’ve got evidence a crime has been committed. I mean, I can hardly go and tell them what I know; at best the most they’ll do is tell me to get lost. And I can’t confront Van Hulle without any proof. Besides, if he knows someone suspects him he’ll probably just be more careful and it’ll be even harder to catch him.’
‘Ah,’ said Cash,’ perhaps you need to be a bit more subtle.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, you don’t need to challenge him directly. Maybe you should try provoking him. Rattle his cage and see what happens.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t mind helping you.’