“I will if you think it will help, Richard,” his wife answered. “But if not, I would more than dearly like to take in the sights this city has to offer. It's my first time here.”
“Don't forget it's mine also,” Richard retorted. “But if you would prefer to be out of the throng of day to day business, then in this instance, I think I'll allow it.”
“You'll allow it! Who do you think you are?” Liz said, in mock admonishment.
“I'm your husband and you have to do what I say.” Richard was smiling.
“Get out of it and get into bed you idiot.”
They both fell into bed laughing. Richard picked up the phone.
“What are you doing?” Liz asked.
“Just calling for my concubine,” Richard replied. Liz slapped him playfully.
“Reception,” the phone uttered.
“Yes. Can I have a wake-up call for 7.00 a.m.?”
“Of course, Mr Jameson.”
Richard replaced the receiver.
***
By quarter past nine. Richard was on his way to his new shop; Liz had stayed in the hotel getting ready for her excursion around Edinburgh.
Iain Younger was already outside the premises when Richard arrived but before Richard could say anything, after getting out of the taxi, the council's representative had handed him the keys to his business’s new public face. Walking up to the shop’s front Richard pushed the key into the door’s lock, twisted it and opened the door. Iain Younger and Richard entered. Richard wasn't quite sure of what to expect, even though the interior had been defined by the agreements he’d made with the council. At the rear was a typical shop counter with till. On either side the walls of the shop had been painted in a non-descript beige colour. Lining the walls were shelves ready to receive books of all sorts.
“What do you think?” Younger questioned.
“It looks like a shop to me,” Richard said.
“But you think it's where your business can take place?” Younger asked further.
“I do,” Richard said. “I think this will be the most magnificent place where new authors will start and established authors will thrive.”
“I'm glad you think that, Mr Jameson,” Younger said. “It's about time this city had some independence from annual events to mark it out as a special place. It's been a long time since we've received an award you know?”
“Really?”
“Aye, it is,” Younger confirmed, not going into any further detail.
“When will the new staff arrive for their inauguration?” Richard asked, wanting to get on with the business of the day.
“It's nine forty now, they're due here by ten.”
“That’s good. In the meantime can you show me around the rest of the place and by that I mean the staff’s rest area, tea room and the like?” Richard said, adding, “Before they arrive.”
“Of course, Mr Jameson, please follow me.”
The two businessmen left the area where the work of the shop would be done, through the door at the shop’s rear. Iain Younger took Richard to the other rooms that would make the shop a place people could work in.
By the time Younger's short tour of the premises had finished the shop's interior had filled up with the prospective staff.
Exiting the door at the rear of the shop Jameson and Younger entered its retail area.
“Are all of you here to find out about your jobs?” Richard said to the gathered crowd, always on his toes.
There was a collective “yes” from the group. Richard smiled at Younger.
***
Richard looked at his watch, it was quarter to seven and everyone had left.
Since ten that morning he’d been busy sorting out who would be on the tills, the shift patterns and who would be present for the grand opening.
He’d also identified the staff who would be supervisors, the staff who had the potential to be supervisors and the staff who only wanted to do well in their job. It had been a long day. Iain Younger had left in the early afternoon impressed with how Richard had conducted himself. Richard locked up his shop happily. Everything was arranged, he knew who would be present for tomorrow's opening and what they would be doing.
The moment he’d finished pulling down the shop's shutter, the cab he’d requested the hotel to arrange turned up, on time, ready to take him back to the Sheraton.
He unlocked the door to his hotel room and no sooner he’d got through the door Liz threw her arms around him.
“You did it then?” she asked.
“Of course I did it,” he said.
“You're so brilliant,” she said. “I wish Stephanie could have been here.”
“I don't think she would have appreciated it,” Richard said. “She's too young. She needs to have a childhood.”
“I suppose you're right; yet again Richard!”
“You know I'm always right,” Richard said grinning.
Richard Jameson's trip to Scotland for the opening of his first bookshop was a complete success.
Edinburgh's town council had welcomed the extra employment opportunities his business had brought to the city and the people had been more than welcoming when they knew that the bookshop would cater for, and promote, writers that had not managed to get a publishing deal on top of the jobs it offered. The whole concept vaguely echoed elements of the Fringe Festival, as a showcase in a specific area of the creative arts.
The Jameson shop was of a very different ilk from other book shops, it wasn't just a space for selling, it was also a space for nurturing creativity; this shop, apart from selling books by Jameson's writers amongst others, would take manuscripts across the counter, but only across the counter. There would be no promises made but at least the new writers, or even published ones, could meet a real person, someone tangible, when they handed over their carefully crafted work.
The last day of the Jamesons’ trip was about packing up and getting ready for the return journey back to London, and then to Hertfordshire and home.
Liz picked up her mobile; she wanted to tell her daughter that they were on their way back, and that everything had been a success. Liz's mobile phone was off.
“Richard, can I use your mobile? Mine's run out.”
“Here you go,” Richard said as he passed his phone to his wife.
“Yours has run out as well,” Liz observed.
“Didn't you charge them before we left?” Richard said sternly.
“I did, well I plugged them in.”
“Did you check the charger was on?”
“No, it's always on.”
“Liz, it's not on when we go away, you know I turn the socket off when we go anywhere. You know that.”
“I didn’t check, Richard, I’m sorry. No matter, I can use the room phone.” Liz picked up the telephone in their room.
“Reception,” a voice stated.
“Can you put me through to 01923 179 238 please?”
“Hold on.” The line went silent for a moment and then there was ringing. Liz waited. Minutes went by and the line continued to ring. After five minutes Liz put the phone down.
“What's the time?” she asked her husband.
“It's just gone nine forty-five, why?” Richard said after checking his watch.
“Natasha must've taken Stephanie out; they're not answering.”
“Good on Natasha,” Richard said. “I know she sometimes arrives late but she does look after our girl, don't you think?”
“Of course. Well, if they've gone out for the day, at least we'll probably be back before they get home. And perhaps I'll get a chance to cook a meal for us all, if Natasha doesn't get to it first.”
Richard and Liz finished their packing for the trip home, asking the hotel to book a cab to pick them up for the journey to the airport.
After a short trip around the nearby shops they made their way to the hotel's restaurant for lunch. After their lunch they would be picked up by the cab for their homeward journey.
At the time the Jameson's were having breakfast in their hotel before getting ready to leave Edinburgh, Janus was already on the train with the commuters; going back to London. He couldn't wait to see the look on the Superintendent's face when he presented the note he’d found on the roof of the R.J.P. building.
Janus left the tube station and walked the few minutes to the police station. Making his way in, he strode up to the front desk.
“Good morning, sir,” the desk sergeant greeted him.
“Good morning,” Janus said. “I would like to speak with Superintendent Harris please.”
“Have you arranged to meet him?”
“No I haven't,” Janus replied.
“Is there anything I can help you with, sir?”
“No. But I really must speak with Superintendent Harris.” Janus wanted to avoid getting bogged down in all the usual bureaucracy he assumed he would have to go through to speak with a senior police officer. “Could you just let him know Janus Malik is here to speak with him?”
“Sir, you must have an appointment, but if you let me know what it's about I'll see if he's available.”
“I'd rather not. Look, just phone him, please, I'm sure he'll see me,” Janus said, then quickly changed his mind. “Actually, you could mention it's to do with Amanda Strickland.”
The desk sergeant wasn't happy but he was sure that when he spoke with the Super', Harris would let him know what he wanted him to do.
“If you could go and sit on one of those seats over there I'll phone him.”
Janus walked over to the seats the sergeant had indicated and the desk sergeant rang the Superintendent.
“Morning, sir, I've got a Janus Malik here, says he wants to speak with you.”
Harris racked his brains; the name did not ring any immediate bells.
“Did he say what it is about?”
“He says it's to do with Amanda Strickland,” the desk sergeant answered.
Harris sighed at the mention of the woman's name. “Okay. Put him in interview room one.”
“It's already in use, sir.”
“Okay, put him in a free one then sergeant.” Harris was cross. What on earth could this guy want? Probably an ex-lover or something. “Tell him I'll be down in a few minutes.” Harris put the phone down. This was the last thing he wanted.
“Sir, Mr Malik,” the desk sergeant called over to Janus, “if you come with me the Super' will see you shortly.” The sergeant took Janus to interview room three.
Janus sat in the box like room wondering how he would tell Superintendent Harris about what he had found on the roof, and whether he should tell him about what he'd experienced whilst up there. After fifteen minutes the interview room door opened and a uniformed officer entered.
“Mr Malik, I'm Superintendent Harris, what can I do for you?” Harris extended his hand; Janus got up from the chair and shook it. He certainly hadn't expected the Superintendent to be so amicable. “Please sit down.” Both men took a chair either side of the only table in the room.
Janus didn't know where to start; the stance the police officer had taken had thrown him. “Er; I know you've decided to close the case on my friend Mandy…”
“Mandy? Amanda Strickland you mean?” Harris interrupted.
“Yes, sorry. It's just that I can't believe she committed suicide. She wasn't like that.”
“Mr Malik, if you knew how many times we're told things like this about suicide victims I doubt that it would surprise you.” Harris relaxed slightly, he'd thought there was going to be more to this than had transpired. “I can assure you that the investigation we undertook was completed thoroughly. Are you aware of her family history?”
“Yes I am. But it didn't affect her in anyway. I know this.”
“Mr Malik, depressives can cover, very cleverly, their inner turmoil. If all those who committed suicide moped around beforehand it would be a lot easier for us and for this type of thing to be prevented, but the fact is – they don't.”
“I know, but I found this note on the roof of Mr Jameson's building.” Janus took the note from his pocket and placed it on the table. Harris sighed to himself. This was the last thing he wanted; a civilian who thought they were skilled enough to be a detective.
“Mr Malik, I won’t ask you what you were doing up there, I’ll leave that. Did you find anything else on the roof, anything at all?”
“No, not really,” Janus responded.
“This was the only piece of paper on the whole of the roof?” Harris pushed.
“Well, no. There were some crisp packets, things like that.”
“Do you feel that it's at all possible those crisp packets could have been dumped on the roof by the wind?”
“I suppose they could.”
“Isn't it entirely possible that the piece of paper could have been picked up by the wind from some street or another and dumped on the roof in the same manner?”
“Yes, but look what it says.”
Harris read out the note; ‘
Meet me on the roof at midnight. G.S.’,
Harris placed the piece of paper back on the table. “This could have come from anywhere, Mr Malik,” Harris said forcefully. “It’s not even addressed to Amanda Strickland.”
“I see that,” Janus replied, “but look at the initials; they’re the same as R.J.P’s financial accountant, Gregory Smith.”
“I'm sorry, Mr Malik, but there are many other people in this world with those exact same initials.”
Janus felt as if he was fighting a losing battle; how could he convince the Superintendent there was something else going on without mentioning his vision? Then he remembered the note in the restaurant.
“A few weeks before that Richard Jameson received a threatening note.”
“Did he? When I spoke with him he didn't mention it.”
“He thought it was a bad joke,” Janus explained.
“What did it say?” Harris asked, trying not to lose his temper. If he’d had a pound for every time something like this cropped up in an investigation he would have retired many years ago.
“It said that if he went on publishing work of this kind there would be an accident in the family.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“I think it was meant to mean that if he continued to publish books like mine then someone in his family would have an accident.”
“Fine. And the motive?”
“I don't know,” Janus conceded.
“Is he a bad employer? Could one of his employees want to do him harm or his family for any reason?”
“No, no! Not at all. He's got a reputation for being a good employer.”
“Mr Malik, I'm having a lot of problems with what you're saying. Amanda Strickland isn't even related to him. Can you understand why I'm having so much trouble with what you're telling me and that, compared with the facts my detectives have ascertained through the course of their thorough investigation, it
just
does not fit?” Harris knew he was about to close down all avenues that Malik had to keep his silly ideas going, but he needed the note just to make sure there were no loose ends.
“Yes, I can see why you've reached your conclusions.” No matter what Harris said Janus would not be convinced.
“Having said all this, Mr Malik, I do understand your concerns. If you would like, I'll have the note you found on the roof properly examined. Would this help?”
“Yes, Superintendent, that would put my mind at ease.” Janus handed Harris the note. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Will you let me know the findings on the note?”
“Of course. As soon as it's been processed you will be informed.” Harris had no intention of letting Malik know, let alone having the note processed, there was no point.
Harris left the interview room. “Sergeant, Mr Malik and I have finished. Can you give him a card so that he has a number to call should he find out anything else?”
“Of course,” the desk sergeant said.
Janus went back over to the desk and collected the card, feeling a little better about the situation. Perhaps the police were not as dismissive as he had thought.