The roof had been spilt through the middle and the bonnet lay twisted twenty feet away.
“Charlie knew that something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it, you know?” I said to no one in particular while staring at the large screen.
“I’ve been thinking about recent events. We should take a closer look at dear old loveable Harry Caplin. Something about him is definitely odd.” I sat at the end of the large maple table staring at nothing in particular.
“What makes you think that he is anything other than what he says he is?” LJ asked, pompously.
“Call it a hunch,” I said, ignoring his intonation.
“Um, your hunches have been my embarrassment before, Jake. Give me one good reason why I should concentrate the firm’s resources in this area of investigation. When there is no evidence whatsoever to substantiate my doing so.”
“For the simple reason that Charlie is laid out in pieces at the local morgue,” I retorted flatly.
“Don’t be smart. I’m as saddened as you, or anyone else who had the privilege to know him, could possibly be. What makes you so sure that this Harry Caplin had anything to do with the explosion? It was my car that was bombed, so whoever carried out this despicable act was obviously after me and not Charlie. Wouldn’t you agree?” LJ’s face had reddened and sweat trickled off his forehead.
I got up and moved to the end wall, standing with the projected image behind me.
“There is evidence,” I said, pausing for effect. “Harry Caplin, George Ferdinand and Robert Flackyard, there is some sort of link between them.”
“Caplin has been seen entering Flackyard’s house at all hours and frequents a number of his, how shall we say, less reputable establishments. As for George Ferdinand, well he really is rather odd, and he’s exceptionally good at lying. Flackyard; he is a very serious individual, and capable of just about anything. But that is merely my own opinion, of course. As for Flackyard, what do we really know about him? Well, he is extremely wealthy; influential beyond belief, almost certainly has a Cabinet Minister in his pocket. Has been able to elude the boys in blue for many years with his own private army of lawyers, and is an international playboy. That last bit by the way, I firmly believe is nothing more than a charade, a sleight of hand, like a magician creating an illusion. Do you know what the most fascinating thing to date is?”
“Well, let me tell you. Flackyard is the only one asking for the opium to be given back, but he’s not the one who owns it. It will be the drugs though that will flush the real owner out, and Charlie’s murderer. Because the two are almost certainly linked, and if we’re looking for reasons why he may want you dead, need I say more?”
I sat down; Tats poured me some more coffee.
“Oh, I see the pattern as far is it goes, Jake. But let’s not jump to conclusions. I still feel that Flackyard would not jeopardise his position.”
“Especially as he is fully aware of the Partners’ power and far-reaching influence that they can wield if they need to. No, if anyone wants me dead it will be someone whom I’ve really upset in the past. Of that, I’ve got no doubt.”
“But no matter, we will attend to that in due course and before I forget, I’ve been contacted by former general Franco Santori. He’s now the elected spokesman for our group of Italians. Apparently they’ve sacked the two negotiators whom you met with at Ahmed’s house in Cairo.”
“They’re saying that the agreement made in Cairo was not legal and that they want the firm to cough up a lump sum of Euros. If you recall the timing of this initial sum of funding was a sticking point in your negotiations. And I’m afraid that you’re going to have to go back to Egypt sooner rather that later, old son, and sort this one out.” LJ’s mobile rang; excusing himself, he went outside into the corridor.
While he was out of the room Tats informed me from across the table.
“The Partners won’t hand over the cash you know. Not unless they have the counterfeit Euros that Flackyard has promised them. Do you remember that time Flackyard came to see the Partners? Well he tried to wheedle his way into the action, of course he had no idea that his fake Euros were going to be used to fund another of the firm’s client ventures. All the same he’s not stupid and somehow, God knows how, he’s got wind of something big going down. The outcome as you can imagine is that the Partners told him in their best Eton drawl, to basically crawl back under his stone and to stay there.”
LJ came back into the room, looking less flustered and more composed.
“Do you really think that Flackyard or Caplin was involved in the bombing?” he asked.
“Yes I do,” I said. “Caplin I’m not too sure about, but Flackyard — he definitely has a motive. That is to say, although he is extremely wealthy, he is also extremely greedy too. A man like that is always looking for the next fix to increase his fortune. My personal view is that when the Partners sent him scampering back to Bournemouth full of rejection and anger, he realised that blackmailing the powers upstairs wouldn’t work, so he sent a professional to bomb your car. Why, because he is as evil as any one human being can be and because you are an easy target, unlike the Partners who are watched all the time. That explosion was a carefully planned venture have no doubt about that.”
“Um, well, you’d better be right about this because I’m going to have to pull in a lot of favours. Tell me what you found out about him when you went to his home.”
“Well, he obviously speaks perfect English — syntax and inflection is faultless. He dresses conservatively, always a black suit, tailored, not off the peg. I have sat opposite him at the dining table, I can tell you the caviar and Champagne are genuine.”
“He was an only child; his mother was a Moscow society prostitute, and his father a wealthy Russian aristocrat who defected and came to England when Flackyard was ten. Public school educated at, Bryanston in Dorset, after which he went on to Oxford to gain an honours degree in law. That’s about all I got out of him. His small talk is virtually non-existent.”
We were all quiet for a moment, then Tats said softly, “I’d like to blow out the brains of whoever murdered Charlie.”
“I’ll forget that you spoke.” LJ looked at her with eyes like steel for a moment, then said, “If you want to continue working down here you’ll never even think a thing like that, let alone say it. There is no room for heroics, vendettas or associated melodrama in my very efficient department. You make your commitment, take the rough with the smooth and quietly do your job. Suppose, Jake had been full of macho heroism and gone running back to Charlie yesterday. He would have attracted undue attention from any number of reporters that inevitably hang around there. As well as having to answer a barrage of questions from some very inquisitive policemen. Act grown-up Tatiana or I’ll have you frog marched out of here immediately.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Apology accepted, but don’t ever hanker after tidiness. Don’t ever think or hope that the great mess of investigation that forms a large part of our work down here is suddenly going to resolve itself like the last chapter of a whodunit: I’ve-got-you-all-gathered-together-in-theroom-where-the-murder-was-done, kind of scene. Be thankful for odd scraps of information or tip-offs from a source. Don’t desire vengeance, or think that if someone murders you tomorrow, anyone will be tracking him or her down mercilessly. They won’t!”
“We’ll all be strictly concerned with keeping out of the tabloid newspapers and the Police Gazette.”
Tats was determined to prove what a master of her emotions she was.