‘Right,’ came the reply. ‘I am going to arrange for a package to be brought to you. The same package that you unfortunately handed over this morning. You will take that to head office straight away. Its contents will almost certainly encourage the board to believe that the business can be saved, and that all they have to do is keep things going until the will and the trust fund papers the briefcase contains can be put into operation...’
‘But B..., I mean, she, said it could take weeks for a death certificate to be issued—’
Freddie wasn’t allowed to finish.
‘The family business has survived for centuries, I think it can survive for a few more weeks, as long as the board can be convinced of the ultimate result. That will be your job. And following the regrettable absence now of any other family member to take over the reins, you must make yourself available to chair the board. It is what will be expected.’
Freddie’s jaw dropped. Quite literally.
‘I can’t chair the board,’ he blurted out. ‘I wouldn’t have a clue. I don’t know how to run an international company.’
‘No. Of course not. But I do. And I shall run the company with you as a mere figurehead. Which, by the way, was all that the person who regrettably is no longer able to fulfil the position was ever going to be. Only, unlike you, she didn’t know it.’
‘B-but, you’re going to be in hiding for the rest of your days, that’s what you said, wasn’t it?’
‘The Internet makes the world a very small place. I have always intended to remain in control. To be, quite literally, the power behind the throne.’
For the first time it occurred to Freddie that his caller had gone mad. Quite mad. But he still felt he had no choice but to rely on him.
‘Look, I’ll try, I’ll try to do as you ask. But it’s going to be way past office hours before I get to head office. There might not be anybody there.’
Freddie could hear a dry chuckle.
‘You needn’t worry about that,’ said the voice. ‘Under these circumstances I reckon the lot of ’em will be working all night.’
‘All right,’ said Freddie. ‘There’s something else, though. Vogel’s on his way to see me. He insisted. I don’t know what to say. I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing. You must help me. You must tell me what to do—’
Freddie was by then in a total panic. His words came tumbling out, until he was finally interrupted by that almost irritatingly calm voice. What would it take to make that man panic, Freddie wondered obliquely.
‘Of course, I will tell you what to do. You will have to speak to the police eventually, but not now. You need to calm down, and we should have a meeting so that I can brief you thoroughly. Meanwhile, when we have finished this conversation I want you to destroy your phone, and purchase a pay-as-you-go one as soon as you can. You mustn’t use it again to call anyone. The police have probably put a track on you. We can’t be too careful. You should check out of the Sofitel immediately. Take the Heathrow Express into town, and book yourself into the Paddington Hilton. I will get the briefcase delivered there. It should be waiting for you when you arrive. Then you should take it to head office, as I’ve already told you. And you must pull yourself together. The board have to believe that you are capable of running the show, because they need a figurehead as much as I do...’
‘But I can’t. I can’t run the show. I can’t run anything...’
‘I just told you. I will be with you every step of the way. You don’t have to run anything, just pretend that you are. You were a promising actor, once, weren’t you?’
‘I don’t know. People said so...’
‘Yes, they did. You still have the talent, I’m sure. Now what are you wearing?’
‘W-what...?’
Freddie actually had to look at himself in order to answer. He had finally showered, shaved, and changed into fresh clothes for the first time since his flight over. But he was still similarly clad.
‘Jeans, and a shirt, but everything’s clean,’ he said.
‘Do you have a suit with you?’
Freddie did. The only one he owned. His funeral suit. He had, after all, been expecting to attend a funeral, his father’s funeral. Now, with Bella’s death, it looked as if he might be attending two funerals. At least.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘OK, put it on. And a tie?’
‘Yes.’
It was a black tie. His funeral tie.
‘Put that on too. We need you to look like a businessman. If you look the part you will be all the better equipped to play it, right?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Freddie.
‘Good. Now all you have to do is to believe that we can still pull this off. We can, you do believe that, don’t you?’
‘Can we?’
‘Yes. Without any doubt at all. And you know what, dear boy? I think we’re both probably going to be better off without her. Really I do.’
‘Right,’ said Freddie. And then to himself, after the call ended, he muttered, ‘You really are quite mad, aren’t you? Quite mad. Why on earth didn’t I see that before?’
Nonetheless, he proceeded to do exactly what he had been told. He could see no alternative.
Twenty-Three
Ultimately Freddie checked out of the Sofitel whilst Vogel and Saslow were still ploughing through the heavy late-afternoon traffic on the M4 made even worse than usual by equally heavy rainfall.
What he didn’t know, however, was that Vogel had put a contingency plan into operation as soon as he’d ended his earlier phone conversation with Freddie. There had been four murders, almost certainly, whatever could or could not be proven in a court of law. Not only did Vogel mistrust everyone who was remotely involved with this case, he mistrusted the perennially illusive Freddie Fairbrother more than most. So he’d taken no chances.
He’d asked Nobby Clarke to divert a couple of her people from Brentford, less than half an hour away from Heathrow, where they were still conducting door-to-door and other inquiries into the George Grey affair, and dispatch them to the Sofitel on a watching brief.
They had seen Freddie leave, and followed him onto the Heathrow Express. Vogel and Saslow were still a good twenty minutes away from the Sofitel when Nobby Clarke called with the news.
‘Your bird has flown his nest,’ she said. ‘But don’t worry, Vogel. We’re on his scent. Right up his arse actually.’
‘That’s good,’ said Vogel. ‘Only, don’t let your guys approach him, will you? I’d like to see where he leads us and what he gets up to without alerting him, if that’s possible.’
‘Teach your grandmother,’ said Clarke, ending the call.
Vogel was smiling as he related the exchange to Saslow, albeit without including Nobby’s last remark.
‘So what do we do now, boss?’ asked Saslow.
‘I’m not sure, Saslow,’ replied Vogel. ‘Just give me a moment, will you.’
He now had the footage on his phone of the mystery man arriving at Bella Fairbrother’s apartment block. Almost certainly her killer. And he’d been playing it repeatedly ever since leaving Chelsea.
The niggle at the back of his mind was growing more and more insistent. There really was something, something about the mystery man’s body language which was sending him a signal, a signal that this was somebody he knew, or at the very least had met. He just couldn’t quite get there. Vogel, however, was the most dogged and determined of policemen. His mild manner and equable personality gave little indication of just how stubborn and intractable he could be. He was like a Canadian Mounty, or the Canadian Mounty legend, anyway. He worked on the principle that he would always get his man. And, eventually, he nearly always did. Because no case was ever closed without a result, as far as Vogel was concerned, whatever his superiors might say.