“Please sit down Mr Pratt,” said Badde.
Pratt pulled a wobbly chair from under his side of the desk and sat on it, feeling it lean towards the corner where one of the legs was shorter than the rest. The hard wooden seat and vertical back felt most uncomfortable. In contrast, Badde was sitting on a leather-upholstered swivel chair.
“Now then, Mr Pratt,” he said. “About your money. Probate is a long and difficult process at the best of times, and these are not the best of times, my goodness, no. If we try to short-cut the process, it will cause an awful lot of problems that I will have to clear up at great expense, but short-cut it we must, if you are to have the money you require by close of business today.”
“Did you say ‘close of business today’?”
“I did indeed, Mr Pratt, but as I warned you, it will not be easy. I will have to go to great lengths to secure that money for you, very inordinately great lengths.”
He opened a drawer in the desk and pulled a sheet of paper from it with the word ‘Contract’ at the top of it. Then he took a fountain pen from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, took off the top, and handed the pen to Pratt.
“Just sign here Mr. Pratt at the bottom, on the dotted line where your name is.”
“What am I signing for?”
“To agree to my fees so that you can get your money.”
Pratt looked more closely at the contract. After a while he realised that in order to get hold of sixty thousand pounds, he would have to pay fifty thousand pounds of his inheritance as a fee. He gasped.
“This is extortionate,” he said, wobbling on his treacherous perch.
Badde reached out as if to take the pen from Pratt’s hand.
“Then you don’t have to sign it Mr Pratt,” he said. “I thought I was doing you a favour, but it seems not. If you are unhappy with the advance that I’ve gone to great lengths to arrange for you, you can leave these offices and wait for six months to a year for your money, just like everybody else.”
Pratt thought of poor dead Kaz, all twisted and deformed because of the car accident. Then he pictured her, or his vision of her, coming to life.
But that can never happen unless I agree to be skinned alive by this ghoul of a solicitor, he thought sadly.
For a moment he prevaricated, but his wooden chair was digging painfully into his bony bottom, and the breathless office was making him feel bilious, and somehow it all conspired to break down his resistance.
“I’ll sign,” he said. “But I must have my money by close of play today.”
“You will, Mr Pratt,” said Badde. “And may I congratulate you, by the way, for making the right choice.”
Once again Pratt was led back to the waiting room. He paced, sat down, checked his watch, got up, paced some more, and repeated the cycle endless times until the offices of Lowe, Petty and Badde were about to close. He watched as all the staff left. Eventually Badde appeared with a set of keys in his hand.
“What’s happening?” He asked “Where’s my money?”
“Relax, Mr Pratt. Your money is on its way. But we don’t want everybody to know about it, do we now? Discretion is our watchword at Lowe, Petty and Badde.”
The door outside opened and a man came in with a small attaché case.
“Jonathan,” the man said with a smile. Then, turning to Pratt, he added: “And you must be Mr Pratt, pleased to meet you.”
I’m sure you are, thought Pratt glumly.
“Mr Pratt, don’t look so unhappy. You should have a smile on your face. I’ve got what you came here for.”
He put the attaché case on top of the reception desk, flipped open the two catches on it, and opened the lid. Pratt looked inside at the piles of notes it contained.
“You can count it if you like, but it’s all here. I’ll tell you what, because you’re a valued client of Mr Badde’s, I’ll throw in the attaché case for free so that you have something to carry it in.”
“Just sign here,” said Badde, pushing another sheet of paper in front of Pratt and offering his fountain pen once again.
Pratt signed. Then he picked up the attaché case and left, feeling as if he’d been raped, but nevertheless feeling a strange sort of joy at the prospect of getting his plan underway.
As soon as he was in his car he made a call on his mobile.
“Phil, I’ve got the money you asked for. I can give you twenty-five thousand right now and the other twenty-five on completion of the job.”
“Okay, where can we meet?”
“My place. That’s forty-one Acacia Avenue in Sutton, which is right next door to Croydon.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in an hour.”
Pratt drove home carefully and parked his car on the drive. It would be, he reflected, the last time, or almost the last time, he’d be driving it.
He went indoors into the gloomy kitchen at the back of the house and counted out twenty-five thousand pounds. He’d just finished placing the last note on the table when there was a knock at the door.
He skulked into the front room, parted the curtains at the corner of the window and cautiously peered in the direction of the front door. Unfortunately, whoever was there was outside his field of vision.
He went to the front door dragging his feet and opened it with a fast-beating heart.
Relief.
It was Phil.
“Hi, come in Phil.”
Phil stepped through the doorway and Pratt shut the door behind him and led him into the kitchen. Phil saw the money set out in neat piles on the table top. He looked at Pratt.
“Is something the matter?” He asked.
“No, why, should there be? Anyway, it’s all there, you can count it.”
Phil expertly scooped up the money and rammed it into the pockets of the large coat he was wearing.
“I’m not going to bother counting it. If it’s wrong, I’ll get it from you later. Right, I’ll get to work.”
“How soon can you get everything I need?”
“Within a week, maybe even a couple of days. The only thing that might take longer is the head. To get a head to the specification you want could take some doing. We’ll just have to hope that someone who has the right sort of features dies soon. Very soon.”
“Yes, yes of course. When will you make the delivery?”
“I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
The next day Pratt got the brakes on his car fixed and bought two large chest freezers along with the other items he wanted and installed them in his cellar.
Then he waited for Phil to call.
And waited.
And waited.
Every second that passed by felt as long as an hour, or a day, would have felt before the disaster with Kaz had overwhelmed him. He longed for things to return to normal, but that wouldn’t be possible, not unless Phil could deliver the goods he’d been paid for.
CHAPTER 22
Nigel Gresley headed for the toilets at his place of work.
He visited the toilet several times a day to get some privacy and to let his mind wander. Often when it did, he would fantasise about an alternative life, far happier than the one he had. It would be a life without his nagging wife, without his spoiled and ungrateful children, and most of all, without his mind-numbing job.
He would picture himself in his mind’s eye leaving local authority employment to set up a greengrocery shop in the Huddersfield conservation area of Edgerton, or its near-neighbour Lindley.
All the fruit and vegetables sold in his shop would be imported from Provence and Languedoc and other French regions the names of which escaped him. This would guarantee success, as his English customers would be dazzled by the colours and flavours of the goods on offer. The shop would be called ‘Monsieur Legume’ in recognition of the French origins of the produce sold.