 
The Disappearance of

Sylvester Purbeck

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Promethean

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Smashwords Edition © by Hylton Smith 2019

# Chapter 1

April 1967

The weather forecast missed the target once again. Gale force winds, lashing rain and rolling thunder. The offices of solicitors normally conjure up sterile, organised workspaces which run according to strict practices, limiting any off-the-cuff modes of behaviour. This Friday morning was different. The unofficial entertainer within Jacobs, Watson and Middleton, a truly reputable name, hadn't arrived and it was already 10.15 am. This was very unusual for Sylvester, as he'd never been late for work or absent in almost twelve years. One of the lower paid members of the practice 'hierarchy', he was actually the lynchpin of scheduling, data retrieval and communication with the plethora of court personnel. Most of the senior partners and second tier managers considered him to be far too flippant regarding his view of their heavily buttressed clique, but he was nevertheless highly valued by the personnel at the front line. On this chaotic Monday everyone was concerned, a fluctuating cocktail of worry and anger.

Cyril Jacobs was sailing steadily towards full retirement within five months. A paternalistic replica of his father, who was a founding member of the organisation, Cyril was fonder of Sylvester than the rest of the senior echelon. His official remit had not yet changed but it was obvious to all that he was already freewheeling to herbaceous borders and extravagant world cruises. His intention was to spend every winter with his wife in their secluded villa in Portugal. Grey haired and quite stooped, he suffered from multiple arthritic complications and the warmer climes always eased his burden. He'd decided to drive to Sylvester's home, rather than continually listening to the engaged landline tone. He was no longer handling ongoing cases and his short absence wouldn't affect the workload at all.

Melanie Watson was overtly angling to occupy the void of the outgoing 'godfather' and didn't bother to feign otherwise. She was Teflon-like in rebuffing claims that she was far too abrasive to fill Cyril's boots. Typically, she was openly cursing Sylvester, saying his playboy persona was always destined to let the firm down at some time. She busied herself by re-allocating duties rather than procrastinating as to why Mr Purbeck had gone AWOL.

"Cyril, why waste your time chasing after that prima donna? There's more than enough to do here, just look at his desk, a total mess. Good riddance is what I'd say, this is a good opportunity to fire the disrespectful cretin."

"Melanie, give the drama queen a rest. He never leaves his desk like this, and that's why I'm concerned about his no show. I'll be back within the hour."

Meanwhile, another strand of conjecture was being aired. Geoffrey Middleton was trying to placate one of the junior staff. "Thomas, calm down. Just tell me exactly why you fear for his safety."

"I was in a hurry to leave last night and Sylvester was unusually disturbed about something," whimpered Tom Williamson, one of five junior clerks, "and I told him I had to meet my girlfriend even though I could see he was really upset. He looked scared, that's not Mr Purbeck."

Middleton stroked his chin ruefully. "You can't assume he's in danger or any trouble as yet. He might have had some bad news, like a family bereavement or something. Just go about your work as normal, I'm sure we'll know more before too long."

One of the retained barristers was rushing around, uttering profanities while trying to locate his case file for a fraud trial in the afternoon. Jeffrey Egan had an impressive reputation for winning lost causes in court, and at the same time being absent minded about practical stuff such as filing papers. Visibly sweating, he aired his frustration to Victoria Pinsent, whom he was tutoring. "What a total arse Sylvester can be! He knew I had to see the judge this morning, so why the hell didn't he leave the prep work on my frigging desk last night? Learn from this, Vicky, you have to spell it out in words of one syllable what exactly you want from these jumped up admin bods."

"I don't like to be addressed as Vicky if you don't mind. Leave me to look for the file, it doesn't help to merely rant about Sylvester without knowing why he isn't here yet. Do you want a coffee?"

"Yes, why not? I'm going to receive a reprimand whenever I do get to court now. Thank you Ms Pinsent."

*

June 1948 had seen the vessel - Empire Windrush dock in Tilbury. It heralded the impending welcoming of an entire generation of immigrants from the Caribbean region. Sylvester hadn't been long in this world when his mother stepped off the Windrush, unsure about what their new life would bring. In those days his name was Tobias Marley. Not the family name of his biological father, who was rumoured to be an obscenely rich American businessman. A love child of an unmarried mother wasn't particularly helpful to one's social standing in Jamaica so soon after the Second World War. Leona Marley, despite her total dedication to her young son, finally accepted she'd never be able to get employment of sufficient reliability in Jamaica to raise Tobias with any prospect of a decent future. Disembarkation was supposed to be the first step on to the blank canvass of a resurgent Britain. It didn't quite turn out the way she expected. Within six years she contracted aggressive cancer of the lymph with a prognosis of only a few months to live. In utter desperation she persuaded a neighbouring family to take in her son via the adoption agency. She passed away three and a half weeks later, but not before she wrote a message in Tobias's favourite storybook, and impressed upon him to look at it every single day. Tobias was never told that his mother had died, a charade was constructed to give him hope that she had merely gone back to Jamaica to see her parents, and would return sometime soon.

The ensuing years were incredibly difficult for him. No sign of his mother returning and a cuckoo-like existence within his foster family. He'd never been truly accepted by the Jacksons' children as one of them, and the parents appeared to be blind to such persecution. Indeed the father, James Jackson secretly forbade him from being registered as Tobias Jackson, telling him to pick a totally different name. As the alienation grew and the ache of missing his mother was ever present, he felt trapped and this triggered relentless emotional isolation. It was no surprise that he vowed to escape from the suffocating Jackson dysfunctional family life. On his eleventh birthday he went missing. Even though the adoptive father, James Jackson, reported to the local police that his son Jermaine West was missing, his concern was half-hearted at best.

Manor Cross, in the same way as many other suburbs in the capital was already transmuting from a diverse residential makeup to more of an enclave of ethnic origin. Many opportunities beckoned young boys in particular to drift into the murky world of gang subculture. Perfect if one didn't want to be found. Identity change was recommended and free if all other entry tests were passed. Tobias excelled in every respect and had already changed his name at his foster father's insistence. He'd chosen Jermaine West, thus satisfying the entry condition of being untraceable back to any family willing to cooperate with the police.

Having effectively bypassed childhood, he rose through the ranks steadily rather than meteorically, staying under the radar of competing gangs in other boroughs.

The years had rolled by with so much success, and at twenty-two years of age he reasoned that it would be dangerous to be promoted yet again. He enthusiastically planned his second journey to anonymity while ensuring that Jermaine West, just like Tobias Marley, would become a missing person. Renting an apartment in one of the more cosmopolitan areas, he quickly attended to the creation of the person he really wanted to be. Step one was a visit to an ultra-reliable passport forger. Thankfully his gang involvement had exposed him to a gateway of the slightly more 'legitimate' ones, relatively free of the tentacles of the violent underworld. Step two. Having studied four nights a week at evening classes he gained the necessary GCE passes to open up the chance of going to university. Sylvester Purbeck only became reality when he knew for certain that he was still untraced. Only appearing in an 'official' way at approximately the same time as he entered preliminary law school. His bizarre objective being to engineer becoming nothing more than a student of average ability, and to scrape through his final examinations. That achieved, he began his secret era of being strictly self-taught. This would have been a strange sequence for most students from privileged backgrounds, but essential for Sylvester to maintain a low profile. And where better than a starchy but reputable solicitor's practice? Chief cook and bottle washer seemed about right, apparently posing no threat to the high and mighty colleagues by whom he would be surrounded. In reality, he became infinitely more knowledgeable than most of the blowhard solicitors and barristers on the company books. A perfect position of invisible power and a potential entrance to other activities. Jacobs, Watson and Middleton was ideal, a traditional and highly reputable firm with no burning aspiration to worship at the altar of legal notoriety. A haven of modest stability was his perfect cover.

*

Melanie picked up the phone. "Hello, Cyril, so where is he?"

"Not here. The concierge kindly let me into the apartment when I explained the situation. The place had been ransacked from top to bottom. I must say that the police responded quickly when I insisted something sinister was going on here. Anyway, it's a crime scene now and I'm on my way back, but there was a daubing on a living room wall, with just one word – 'traitor'. It's perplexing because there's money in his bedroom drawer and very expensive paintings hanging correctly in every room. His watches, of which he had many, and other valuable accessories are still lying around. There's no sign of blood as far as I could see, but the forensic squad may find some evidence of that when they arrive. It seems to me he could have been abducted, but let's wait until the police find something definitive."

"I'm so sorry, Cyril, I let my mouth run off this morning. Is there anything I can do here?"

"Not yet. Oh wait, the police said they will need to come to the office to investigate any possible link to his workplace. I told them that such a link was pure fantasy but they insisted it was standard procedure in building up a picture, especially of his recent movements. Just prepare the staff for this, we can't avoid it no matter that it may bring adverse publicity."

*

The frenetic office bewilderment ramped up another notch just as two individuals turned up at reception. The female was first to speak, announcing themselves as D.I. Norman Richardson, and herself, D.C. Helen Hunt. "We need to speak with the man who called the police to the apartment of err...Sylvester Pub...sorry...Purbeck."

"Please take a seat and I'll find Mr Jacobs for you."

"We'll stand if you don't mind," said Richardson, "we're very busy. So, could you track down Mr Jacobs quickly?"

"Of course, right away in fact."

Cyril Jacobs appeared at the top of the ornate carved Edwardian staircase and motioned the two police officers to join him. In his opulent chamber, Melanie Watson and Geoffrey Middleton were deep in conversation and obviously in disagreement about something. The door opened and Jacobs introduced the two officers.

D.I. Richardson wasted no time getting to the point.

"Can any of you explain to me why you felt the need to check out Sylvester's apartment when he was merely ninety minutes late? I mean, come on, he could have come down with the flu or had his car break down. Normally we would only consider a person to be missing after a couple of days."

Jacobs explained that Sylvester wasn't a 'normal' employee in that sense. "He was Mr Reliable, he'd have called to say he was going to be late. He was a man of impeccable punctuality. It was just a foreboding feeling on my part, so I called his number several times but nobody picked up. I wondered if he'd had an accident or a heart attack, or something out of the ordinary which prevented him from letting us know he'd be late."

Melanie and Geoffrey nodded in agreement. Jacobs noticed D.I. Richardson's sceptical expression, and was about to make a comment when the Detective Inspector resumed his rehearsed probing.

"In that case you'll be interested to hear that forensics have found dozens of different fingerprints in the apartment. There was also some spots of blood on a Chinese rug in the hallway. Tests are underway and at this stage we're looking at this as a potentially suspicious disappearance. What does that mean? We need evidence to rule in or out various scenarios, so we want to begin with finding out more about Sylvester. Did he get on well with people here?"

Melanie responded immediately. "I didn't warm to him and neither did one or two of the management staff, but I suppose it was nothing more than frustration or annoyance at what he didn't say when he patently disapproved of our instructions."

Geoffrey Middleton backed this up but said despite this 'insolent attitude' Sylvester was a likeable character. Cyril Jacobs agreed with both of his fellow partners.

Richardson nodded. "Then you won't mind us speaking with everyone here, beginning with whoever saw him yesterday just as he was leaving work."

An awkward silence ensued before Richardson altered his tone. "Can I assume you being lost for words means yes?"

All three of them affirmed this but looked utterly apprehensive.

# Chapter 2

Young Tom Williamson was visibly nervous as he was first to be called for an interview with the C.I.D. officers. D.C. Helen Hunt took the lead. "Ok, Tom, we understand you were the last one to speak with Sylvester yesterday. Is that correct?"

"Yes, well, I mean he was still here when I left work."

"Right, and what time was that?"

Tom thought about it for a few seconds, squinting and looking up at the smoke-stained ceiling. "I think it was about six-thirty, err, no, no, I heard the office clock chime as I left. It must have been a little after six, because I caught the twenty past six bus."

"And what were you talking about with Sylvester?"

"Uh, just the usual, I was going to meet my girlfriend for tea and then off to the pictures."

The two detectives glanced at each other. "So, what movie did you see?" asked D.C. Hunt, "and where did you have your tea?"

"I had tea at my girlfriend's house and at the cinema we saw the latest James Bond film – 'You Only Live Twice'."

D.I. Richardson spoke for the first time. "What was Sylvester doing when you left?"

"He was preparing the briefs for today."

Richardson pressed on. "Was it normal for him to be working when everyone else had left?"

"Yes," replied Tom instantly, "every evening, I think he did so because he could clear the workload a lot quicker when there was nobody to distract him. I've been told he often stayed until eight o'clock, when the cleaners arrive."

D.C. Hunt resumed her line of questioning. "Maybe he was worried or upset about something last night, did you notice any such behaviour?"

"Not at first, Sylvester doesn't talk about himself much, but he did say he would finish his workload by about seven o'clock. He then kept dropping files on to the floor and swearing. That wasn't like him at all, he always had everything under control, especially his language. I asked him if he was feeling ill, but he said not. I thought he looked pretty anxious and I asked if there was anything I could do to help. He then seemed to be on the verge of tears, but when he smiled he told me to go and enjoy the movie."

"Did Sylvester have any pets?" inquired D.I. Richardson.

"Err, oh, I believe he had a cat with a funny name, a strange name which I can't bring to mind."

"And what about friends, did you know of any?"

"No, I don't think anyone here knew much about Sylvester's life outside of work. He was a very private person. Oh, one day I overheard him on the phone telling someone called Lewis that he shouldn't be contacting him at work, and then ending the conversation by clashing the phone down."

"When was this?" pressed D.C. Hunt.

"About three weeks ago, maybe a month."

"Do you think Lewis sounded like this person's Christian name or surname?"

"I have no idea, but Sylvester would never speak to a client like that, so I thought it must have been an acquaintance. Whoever it was made him really angry."

"We'll need to talk to you again, Tom," said D.I. Richardson, "in the meantime, please try to recall anything else which might have seemed out of the ordinary about Sylvester. Sometimes tiny details can help us."

The detectives moved on to speak with Cyril Jacobs. The rest of the staff wanted to know if they could get on with their work and D.I. Richardson agreed, saying that the police would come back within two days.

"Mr Jacobs," began D.C. Hunt, "Can I just ask whether there was a cat at Sylvester's apartment when the concierge let you in?"

Jacobs screwed his face several times before replying. "Yes, I believe there was. In the kitchen if I remember correctly. However, I don't think it was there when I left. Naturally, my first concern was to call the police to report a burglary or worse. Maybe it wandered out via the front door which was left open. Anyway, why is this important?"

D.I. Richardson got in ahead of his subordinate. "We have examined the only evidence of blood spots in the place already and it turns out to be feline. We just need to eliminate lines of enquiry. So, what we can say at this stage is there was no forced entry, lots of evidence that the motive wasn't robbery, and the blood wasn't that of Sylvester. I'm afraid we haven't got much to go on and we can't be certain that he didn't trash the place himself. We're waiting to see what the fingerprints tell us. There may be matches to criminals on our records, but there are none so far."

Jacobs became a little ruffled. "It sounds as if you're backing off further investigation, am I right?"

"Partially," mumbled the D.I. "We have to allocate resource, as I'm sure you do in your business. If we come up with anything which justifies further investigation you'll be informed. Sorry, but that's the world we live in."

Jacobs felt a rush of anger but kept his tone civil. "Very well, in that case you won't mind if we investigate it ourselves."

"As long as we haven't reported it as a definite crime I don't see a problem. However, as you initially reported your concern to us you can fill out a written version and we can transfer that to our logging system, obliging us to keep the incident under consideration. If you do so in such an official way, then we have to retain responsibility to investigate within our resource. I'm telling you this because Sylvester has only been AWOL for less than twenty-four hours. Wait another day or so and then come to the station and report his disappearance to me directly."

"I see," said Jacobs barely able to contain his disbelief at such manipulation of the system, but recognising budgetary pressure from the upper command of the police force, "until tomorrow then."

"Indeed, Mr. Jacobs, just bear in mind Sylvester could have faked his own disappearance."

Jacobs was beginning to see the red mist. "What about the message on the wall – 'traitor'?"

D.I. Richardson returned fire immediately. "We found paint and a recently used but unwashed brush in his garage space in the basement. And before you get out of your pram, the paint matches. Why would some geezer who painted the wall bother to put the paint and the brush back on the garage shelf?"

Cyril Jacobs was still unhappy that the police were playing for time but accepted that burglars, kidnappers, or even murderers wouldn't have planned to take paint from the basement and then return it with the dirty brush after they had trashed the apartment. He walked the detectives to the door and immediately called his staff together, explaining what the police had told him. The murmurings turned to a clamour of questions.

Melanie predictably agreed with the position of the police. "I certainly wouldn't put it past Sylvester to pull a stunt like this, and we all know he is a relentless attention seeker. I wouldn't be surprised if he just walked in the door and acted as if nothing had happened. He thinks this place can't run without him."

"That's a bit unfair," argued Geoffrey Middleton, "sure, he is a bit of a dandy, but he's always been extremely diligent in his work. Does anyone know if he has family? I confess my ignorance, because he's always been reluctant to speak about his personal life. We owe it to him to check this out."

A nervous voice emanated from somewhere near the back of the gathering. Hazel Kennedy, the most recent recruit to the typing pool cleared her throat. "He asked me to type a letter for him last week. He said it was confidential and asked me to keep it to myself. The content was phrased in an official way, but it wasn't on company headed paper. There was no address as to the recipient or the sender on the letter. I can't remember the exact words but the gist of it was the unknown person refusing to pay a sum of money to a third party until the two could meet to discuss the matter further. I was busy with something else and jokingly asked why he couldn't just speak to this person on the phone. He confused me by saying he would have done so if he knew his private number. Before I could ask any more questions he said the person had made contact with him at work but left no number or address, only his name. He laughed it off, saying he often had cranks 'trying it on' with some pathetic sob story. I forgot about it until just now. Perhaps there is an unpaid overdue account we can search for. When I think about it now, I suppose it's possible this was an off the books transaction of some kind, otherwise he would surely have had me type the address just as we would for a regular client. There was also no indication of a meeting place and he told me to forget about retaining a file copy. I'm sorry, I should have mentioned this sooner."

The gathering broke into small groups, obviously disturbed by the possibility that the man they thought they knew was leading some kind of double life. If he had staged his own disappearance that would be bad enough, but the inference that he may have used one of the company employees to hide a shady transaction to fiddle the books would be unforgivable. If true, was it the first time? Could it explain the daubed word 'traitor'?

Cyril wasted no time in driving Hazel Kennedy to the police station. However, insisting on speaking to D.I. Richardson in person wasn't gaining any purchase at the reception, at least not until he suggested to the desk sergeant that the young lady accompanying him was an important witness.

"Please yourself then, but I'm sure that D.I. Richardson will be livid when he finds out you turned us away."

"Just a minute, take a seat and I'll try to locate him."

"We can't sit here for long, I'm parked on a double yellow line and I don't want one of your officers on the beat to slap a ticket on my windscreen. I'll go and move my car while Miss Kennedy waits here."

After a few minutes it was D.C. Helen Hunt who appeared in reception. Hazel said she didn't want to say anything until Cyril Jacobs returned. Eventually all three of them took the elevator to an upper floor, where they could see D.I. Richardson in his office, speaking on the phone. His smile turned to dismay when he saw Cyril Jacobs, yet he motioned D.C. Hunt to show the visitors to an empty interview room. Almost ten minutes later he appeared in the doorway, asking, "What is it now? Another theory?"

D.C. Hunt intervened. "I think you should sit down, guv, we might need to look at this Sylvester incident in a different light."

"Oh really, let's have it then."

# Chapter 3

Sylvester Purbeck's life as an immigrant had always been divided into squeaky clean and murky phases, even when he was a boy. His current obsession with being the lowest paid senior fixer in the soliciting arena, but in his opinion the most knowledgeable, was his secret and his alone.

Helping those who could not afford to pay the outrageous fees of law firms was akin to a crusade for him. It also fitted with his invisible black market, latter day Robin Hood persona. At least until his accrued liquidity had hit the threshold of moving into a fresh strand of his ultimate destiny. Gravitas had become the new objective. Not exactly 'it's not what you know, it's who you know', rather a more scientific means of changing other people's perception of true success.

Apparently there is a tag for this kind of self-delusion, multiple personality disorder was one of the preferred choices of the psychological elite. Judging by the number of times Sylvester had accreted a new name this diagnosis would have been confirmed. He wasn't deterred by the opinions of purveyors of the abstract, indeed such flirting with boundaries was the cornerstone of his raison d'etre.

He kept no records. Droves of 'clients' from various levels of London's underclass had been his social media of that time. Anonymity was paramount; word of mouth with no strings attached. For a small fee, advice was given as an x-ray of the particular problem. Step two and final contact came in the form of a recommendation as to how to locate an appropriate law firm. One which would see the mileage in PR if they took on the task of defending the client for free, or at worst a mere fraction of the going rate. Sylvester had been quietly using his day job to trawl the court listings for targets. He would then introduce himself as John something or other, produce a plan in legalese jargon, plus a recommendation of a fledgling but ambitious law firm, and then evaporate into the ether. Small fees multiplied by large numbers delivered the foundation of his dark web. Self-fuelling concepts were his guiding mantra, and could always be found in abundance in unequal societies. However, this continually growing snowball had to be controlled if anonymity was to be preserved. A lone wolf must never return to the pack.

*

When D.I. Richardson heard Hazel Kennedy nervously claim that Sylvester may have had reason to avoid scrutiny over some contact he'd had from an unknown person, his frustration betrayed his true feelings. "So, we may have some individual blackmailing chummy, or Sylvester himself ripping off his employers? Is that it? When do you people get it that I need evidence? Speculation without evidence is just a distraction. You must look into him cooking the books yourselves before I can even reconsider his disappearance as suspicious."

Cyril Jacobs threw up his arms in a fit of pique at the apparent intransigence as he was ushered out of the office, yelling, "We will check out any falsification of our accounts, but I can assure you I'll be back, either way."

"Fine," said Richardson, "now, can you please respect our priorities as well as your own?"

"Certainly, and if it transpires that one of our people has been abducted or worse, my priorities will include asking for an internal investigation of your department."

Cyril Jacobs took Hazel Kennedy out of the station without uttering another word. As soon as they arrived back at the office he made a call.

*

Speculation within the law office ranks was becoming more polarised. Predictably, Melanie Watson, Jeffrey Egan, and his protégé Victoria Pinsent were quite happy to badmouth Sylvester. The latter was lukewarm in her criticism as it was basically supportive of the barrister Egan, in order to avoid negative comments from her mentor in his final report. The remaining contracted barristers folded in behind Egan for the same reason.

All of the junior staff were vocally supportive of Sylvester, insisting that just like some of the clients the firm defended, he was innocent until proven otherwise. Tom Williamson was the pied piper of this group. Hazel Kennedy was sitting on the fence for now, purely because she couldn't let go of the way Sylvester had involved her in this mess by typing his letter and asking her to forget about it. Her colleagues in the typing pool were split over such allegedly clandestine requests. The most interesting of all was Geoffrey Middleton, who parachuted from the fence to a soft landing on terra firma, at least until more hard evidence of Sylvester's whereabouts was available. Unsurprisingly, Melanie Watson seized upon this, calling his 'duplicity' an act of putting a marker down to replace Cyril Jacobs when the time came.

*

"It's the High Priest, for you, guv," whispered D.C. Hunt, handing Richardson the handset.

"Sir, what can I do for you?"

"Actually it's Arlene Porter, Chief Superintendent's P.A. He doesn't normally make his own calls. I'll transfer you now."

Almost two minutes later a gruff voice crackled out only two words. "Cyril Jacobs."

"Oh yes, the solicitor. Well, I told him...."

"Yes, I know what you told him, you see he told me what you told him. It's called detective intuition. Listen, I don't want to stir up a hornet's nest for the sake of waiting another few hours to log this as a missing person case. All the man wants is for us to take him seriously. If his employee's apartment was trashed as thoroughly as he claims, and there is no evidence of burglary, you should take account of his apparent obsession with keeping the abode perennially pristine."

Richardson drew breath. "Yes, but you know as well as I do that the procedure is..."

"Of course I do, but like any law or working practice we find exceptions. Just log the damned case as I said and speak to Mr. Jacobs in the next hour. Confirm to me that you have done so by first thing tomorrow morning. You're looking at this from a workload viewpoint, I'm looking at it from a potential litigation angle. Tomorrow morning, without fail."

*

An incandescent Richardson uncharacteristically hollered at D.C. Hunt across the open office space. "Helen, in here, now!"

"What's got you in a strop, boss? Is it the call from His Highness?"

"Who else? It's the old boys club again isn't it? He wants me to go crawling back to that arrogant arse Jacobs and tell him we can begin to treat this Sylvester punter as officially missing, even though our bible says otherwise. Come on, let's go, I need you to witness what I say to this cretin, and more importantly, what I don't say."

"Ok, give me five to wrap up the paperwork."

"That'll wait, we're going now."

Richardson strode past the reception desk with D.C. Hunt having difficulty in keeping up. Barrelling into Jacob's office, he didn't wait for an invitation to sit. "Ok, you know what this is about. I want your written statement regarding this 'off the books' allegation by that girl..."

"Her name is Hazel Kennedy."

"Don't matter. It has to be signed by you, and you must state whether or not, in your expert opinion, forensic examination of your financial ledgers throw up anything which confirms what she said. When I get that I'll respond immediately as to what we'll do next. You already have assurance that going over my head has given you the comfort of the investigation being classified as a missing person with the possibility of involving foul play."

"Good, that's all I wanted to hear. You'll have it tomorrow."

"No, Mr Jacobs, it is required in the next couple of hours. You insisted we weren't taking this incident seriously and I have to report my plan of investigation first thing tomorrow. My boss will be disappointed if I don't have what I need to progress lines of inquiry by then. We'll pop across the street and take in a coffee while you decide whether there is an embezzlement issue or not. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, err... not in the least. I'm confident we can comply. We're busy on it now."

"Fine. So, at least now we're on the same page. If you get it done sooner you know where to find us."

*

It was all hands to the pump. But to no avail, there was nothing in the ledgers which pointed to dodgy entries. Everything balanced and there was a lot of head scratching because of Hazel Kennedy's revelation. She was questioned again by the senior management but she was unmoved – she became angry at insinuations from Melanie Watson in particular. "Are you accusing me of making this up? Why would I do that? Look, unless you people trust that my statement to the police is accurate, I'm going to quit my position with the company. Just because you can't find some irregularity doesn't mean Sylvester didn't ask me to type that letter. Maybe it was to do with something outside the business. Whatever happened after he took the letter from me does not change that he asked me to keep the matter between us. He was quite emotional about that, and it was so strange to see him behave like that."

Cyril Jacobs intervened. "Everyone needs to calm down. Your comments are unhelpful, Melanie. Choose your words more carefully. I won't have you casting doubt over our employees' veracity without due respect. I'm going to let D.I. Richardson know that we can't link Sylvester's letter to our business. Personally, I'm pleased to hear that, the converse would have been very hard to accept. Everyone should get back to work while I keep the police under pressure to find our missing person. As I'm looking at retirement shortly I'll become the only contact between this firm and C.I.D."

There was an awkward silence as he left the office, in sharp contrast to the broad grin this declaration put on the face of Richardson.

"Thank you, Mr Jacobs. As I said earlier, I've been told to progress the possibility of foul play from the top brass. So, from now on we won't necessarily share every lead with you as a matter of course, we may need to withhold some details from the public if it would disadvantage our investigation. Do we understand each other?"

Jacobs took a deep breath and bridled his dislike of this man. "If that's how you want it I have no problem with such an approach, but please bear in mind Sylvester was more than an employee to me, he was a dear personal friend. And in that respect I'll still look for ways in which I can help without compromising the police protocols. In that respect will I be prevented from visiting his apartment again?"

Richardson stroked his chin, glanced at D.C. Hunt, and quietly outlined the way things were going to happen.

"Contact me on an item by item request. I don't mind you helping us with legal paperwork residing in the apartment, as long as someone from my team is present. I don't want any unauthorised people in there, just professionals from the force or people contracted by us. If it is indeed a crime scene we'll let you know as soon as we can, based on evidence and not hearsay."

# Chapter 4

Back at the station D.C. Helen Hunt saw it coming. Her boss was going to reshuffle the workload aimed at giving two fingers to those in high places by claiming he was merely doing what he'd been ordered to do.

"Helen, gather the entire team together so we can brief them on where we're going with this damned solicitor case. I want you to take the lead in building up a picture of this Sylvester guy, but keep that separate from any hard evidence we collect, if we ever get any. I'll make a case for you to have an extra pair of hands to progress any leads you come up with. That will be dependent on whether they are evidence supported. In all honesty I expect you to piece together a pretty contradictory picture of this punter, so hopefully we won't be long in ditching the whole charade. Feel free to run stuff past me if you aren't sure about what to do next."

"Yeah, great guv. So, you're going to do the briefing exactly when?"

"Wrong. You're doing it. It's your baby – you could make a name for yourself, who knows?"

D.C. Hunt smiled sarcastically and rounded on her boss.

"Fine. But what kind of name?" She then decided, rather prematurely, to see if she could outshine Richardson by not asking for his opinion unless it was absolutely necessary. "Right, I may as well get everyone together pronto, and then I'm going back to have a word with one of the staff at Jacobs, Watson and Middleton."

"Oh yeah, which one?"

"I'll let you know if it comes to anything. You're probably right, hard evidence will be difficult to come by before we know the whereabouts of Sylvester. So, I'll follow your advice and try to build a picture. At least it might look as if we're doing something."

'Arsehole', she muttered under her breath as she walked out of the office. She sped out of the car park and began to get control of her anger, deliberately not engaging the police siren to quicken the journey, rather using the slow moving traffic to think through how best to approach Cyril Jacobs with a new blank canvass.

"D.C. Hunt, I didn't expect to see you again so soon. Please take a seat. Do you have some news?"

"No sir, at least not yet. I just wanted you to know that I've now been seconded to lead the case. The first objective must be to find Sylvester, and to do that I want to talk again to some of your people. I'd like to start with Tom Williamson. He said he'd overheard Sylvester speaking on the phone just prior to leaving our missing man in the office alone, and the name 'Lewis' was mentioned for a second time. I want to start there. We may be able to find something out from the phone company. We don't even know if Lewis was a surname or a forename. Can you ask Tom to speak with us?"

"Definitely. I'll send for him directly. So, if I understand you correctly, Silvester's disappearance is now officially under investigation, but the senior officer leading it is a detective constable rather than a D.I."

"That's about right, but we do work as a team, the D.I. will be kept updated daily and will obviously have overall responsibility. I'm only the lead officer at the sharp end."

"Fine, I have no personal desire to meet D.I. Richardson any more often than is necessary. I'll get Tom in here immediately."

*

Tom Williamson visibly relaxed when he saw D.C. Hunt was on her own.

"Hello, Tom. I just wanted a quick run over your statement to see if we can link anything you said to this name Lewis, which you overheard from Sylvester's phone call. Can you just go through the scene again in your head and see if it helps to recall any other observations?"

"Sure. As I said I was in two minds whether or not to stay with him because he seemed really upset. I certainly would have if I hadn't arranged to meet my girlfriend."

D.C. Hunt flipped open her notebook and began scribbling, and without looking up said, "Would you say he was frustrated, angry, confused or even showing fear of the person on the other end of the conversation? Take your time, this could be important."

"Mm, I suppose he wasn't confused because he was mostly telling the person they had got everything wrong. He was definitely frustrated but it felt like he was still trying to get this caller to understand something, he wasn't angry but his voice made me think he was worried about something really important. He could have been afraid but it didn't sound like it was because of the person, more like something which had happened, and that Sylvester himself had nothing to do with - whatever the argument was about. Sorry, I'm rambling but maybe he was frustrated this person would not listen to him and kept interrupting him."

"That's very helpful, Tom. If this person was talking so much did you get any hint of whether it could be the same Mister Lewis or just Lewis who called him three weeks ago?"

Tom stared at the ceiling and began shaking his head, then suddenly burst into a garbled explanation. "I... err...yes, I think, no, no, I did see it. When I err...like walked up to Sylvester to say I had to go, he was writing something down. The other person was still giving it full blast on the mouthpiece and Sylvester covered the notepaper but I glimpsed the initials J.L. Now, after recalling this moment in my head over and over it seems clear that, well not absolutely of course, like you know, it was a mental snapshot but only for a few seconds, but it could have been somebody Lewis. Actually, when I think back the jabbering voice was a bit clearer when I was standing right next to Sylvester, but still going at full chat so I couldn't decipher all of the words. Now I know why. Sylvester used a few expressions I found strange, you know, a bit like you'd hear from the Caribbean. I might be dreaming this up but although I couldn't hear the precise words of the caller, something is telling me that it was high-pitched, shrieking, like out of control. Maybe even a woman. I don't know, probably wide of the mark. Sorry."

"Not at all, Tom. This could help us when we find other corroborating evidence. It's quite possible that you will recall more if you keep replaying the scene in your head. Thank you."

Tom left the office and she turned toward Cyril Jacobs. "Now, if it's possible Mr Jacobs, I'd like to show you a letter our people found amongst many documents when we first met you at Sylvester's apartment. It might mean nothing but could you take a look?"

"Of course." She handed him a copy - not the original. His brow furrowed. He read it a second time. "This is difficult to understand. Without it being a threatening letter it is suggesting some concern over investments made on behalf of the recipient. It is addressed to Sylvester, but he doesn't appear to be the actual investor. This really shouldn't have been sent to anyone other than the investor themselves. It could be a copy which has been sent by the investor to Sylvester. The organisation handling the investment is known to me. They are certainly into big investment portfolios on behalf of people who can afford to take qualified risk for the prospect of lucrative returns. A juggernaut of the venture capital world. I wouldn't have thought Sylvester had anywhere near the funds to get his foot in their door."

"What kind of numbers are we talking about?"

"Off the top of my head, more than ten million per sector."

"Per sector?"

"Yes, in order to strike balance of risk and return they usually offer a basket of sectors to mitigate fluctuation of any one of them which are heading in the wrong direction of travel. I'm flabbergasted by this, Sylvester may have been part of some consortium. I seriously doubt whether he could have raised the entry stake on his own. Maybe I don't know him as well as I thought I did."

"Well, Mr Jacobs, that casts a completely different shadow over his disappearance."

"You can say that again, detective constable."

Just as she got up to leave D.C. Hunt noticed Tom Williamson waving to get her attention. "What is it, Tom? You've remembered something else?"

"Yes and no, I thought about those initials, but forgot about what they were written on, or rather in. Sylvester never wrote on scraps of paper like some of us. He always used a notebook. There may be one in his desk."

The entire open office heard this and gathered round as Cyril Jacobs tried to open every drawer. They were all locked and the duplicate keys were in the safe. However, the one for his desk was missing. Jacobs gave the order for someone to break the drawers open. Hazel Kennedy threw a large pair of scissors to Tom who clumsily but effectively levered each drawer open. He saw what looked like a spare ledger in the one at the bottom left of the kneehole. When they opened it there was a collective sigh of disappointment - it was blank. Tom was utterly deflated but then Hazel shouted that the front page had been torn out.

"How does that help?" shouted Jeffrey Egan with all the authority of a 'know it all'."

"Have you never recovered imprint on the page below when you mistakenly shredded the original? Brushing graphite powder over the next page can often avoid an embarrassing mistake. Perhaps you never make mistakes, Mr Egan."

There was a rush of silent mirth as others turned away from the blushing barrister.

Within only a few seconds of spreading the graphite over page two, there was definitely a number of handwritten abbreviations and two words. A little extra gentle rubbing did indeed reveal the initials, but not J.L, literally the reverse. D.C. Hunt asked if the scribbles were a reasonable match for Sylvester's handwriting, and the reply was unanimous in the affirmative. L.J. was however not the only helpful snippet of information. It seemed to be a short but cryptic list of presumably bullet points from the telephone call which had been partially overheard by Tom. This in itself was apparently untypical of Sylvester, everyone claiming he had a near photographic memory. So, why was he making notes? Perhaps because it was about something very important to him of which he had no prior knowledge. For D.C. Hunt, this was speculative but good enough circumstantial evidence to suggest the disappearance was potentially suspicious. Putting this together with the daubing of the word 'Traitor' on his apartment wall, strongly underlined that someone wanted to get a message across.

D.I. Richardson was distracted from perusing the monthly statistics by the gathering of the team around the 'white wall'. He joined the session but initially kept quiet. As the debriefing proceeded, he began to shift in his seat. After D.C. Hunt concluded the distribution of follow up tasks, he beckoned her to his office. She closed the door and merely uttered, "What?"

"Good work, Helen. What's your next move?"

"Move? No moves guv, just legwork to do more checks, like handwriting experts, more interviews with the solicitors' employees, but not there – I want them pulled out of the shadow of their bosses. They all show signs of nervousness. For example, they all fell in behind Melanie Watson's immediate confirmation that the message notes were in Sylvester's handwriting. Some of the junior staff could never have seen the notes from where they were standing but nodded their heads like sheep. Some of them were in different sections and only ever saw Sylvester's edicts as typewritten documents. Anyway, sir, none of this falls into your hard evidence category, so I'll simply keep working on picture building. We have to keep the brass happy."

Richardson smiled and endorsed her approach. But he also felt the first tingle of doubt about his gut reaction that Sylvester had staged his own disappearance. He brushed it aside for now, confident in his ability to resume control of the rudder at a time of his choosing. "Spot on, Helen. Just keep me fully in the loop. Now I have to attend the wretched monthly meeting about important stuff like how many toilet rolls we've used this quarter, and whether it has anything to do with the rise in car thefts."

# Chapter 5

Helen Hunt pored over the order of Sylvester's untidy scribbles. 'Funeral, graveyard, P.M. - L.J. - DNR - L.J. Nothing really stood out other than someone maybe had passed away, and it couldn't be Sylvester himself, but someone he was close to. There was no date of death or any funeral, which was strange, P.M. could refer to post-mortem if that had been required. The rest could be anything, except for the final initials L.J. She didn't want to involve others in crystal-balling this just yet, but she couldn't get the daubed message 'Traitor' out of her head.

Heading back to see Cyril Jacobs, she visualised the crime scene again. If her boss was correct in the assertion that Sylvester could have staged his own evaporation into the London ether, he could have indeed painted that word on his apartment wall. It did seem a bit of a stretch that any abductor would take the time to put the can and brush back on the garage shelf. She put it out of her mind for now.

"Mr Jacobs, I know I'm being a bit of a pest, but I have to make you aware that if Sylvester has been abducted or worse, we need all of the people here to come forward with anything relevant without fear of repercussions from within your staff. Otherwise they would be obstructing the investigation."

"I'm not sure I understand, what are you implying?"

"Well, how do I put this without causing offence? Oh, to hell with tip-toeing around, I noticed there was instant agreement that the scribbles in the notebook were consistent with Sylvester's hand writing. There were only a few abbreviations, in capital letters and two actual words, yet everyone endorsed the view of Melanie, even though many of them didn't have a clear or close view. That's not normal."

"I see. Of course, you're right. I should have noticed that myself. Force of habit I suppose. I'm used to turning a blind eye to Melanie's sway with the junior executives and clerical staff. They rarely challenge anything she says. I'll have a word with her now."

"No, sir, I just want to speak to some of them one to one."

"Very well, give me the names and I'll ask them to speak with you in turn."

"Mr Jacobs, I'd rather tell them myself that they should come to the station to speak with me. It's only following procedure, getting them into an environment with much less stress about who is watching or listening. There's no insinuation of suspicion. We owe it to Sylvester to gather every piece of this jigsaw puzzle, without your young people feeling pressured to say nothing. I have to know if any of them have withheld something which they were afraid to mention. Surely you can see where I'm coming from."

"Ah, yes, I can. However, I will have to explain your rationale to the rest of the staff."

"Of course, but not until after I've interviewed them. Look I'm prepared to let them speak with me at the station on a voluntary basis if I offer the invitation. But if you tell your senior management prior to me canvassing their help I will then have cause to compel them all to come with me."

"Mm, well I'm certainly not going to stand in your way. I want this matter resolved as soon as possible. From a business standpoint as well as a personal angle. Sylvester's absence is like grit in the lubricant of our operation. We need him back and I need him back as a friend and loyal colleague."

*

D.C. Hunt appeared to be profoundly disappointed that less than half of the junior staff volunteered to come forward or agree to a visit to the police station. As she descended the ornate staircase and turned to sign out of the building she got another surprise.

The receptionist strangely whispered something which she didn't catch. Repeating the question with one hand covering her mouth the receptionist got her full attention. "Has anyone mentioned Sylvester's outgoing call the night he went missing?"

"Err, no, as far as I remember. How do you know about it?"

"Well, when I heard that the police were looking into this, I asked what time Sylvester left the office that evening. I didn't know because I leave at five o'clock. Then I was told Tom Williamson was the last one to leave around six, and I thought that was strange as the following morning my call list was showing a call out from here at just before eight o'clock. The staff never use my switchboard, it simply isn't allowed. Being a bit nosey, and thinking I'd get someone into trouble, I didn't mention it to anyone. When I finally realised it might be important to the police I did report it."

"Really, to Mr Jacobs?"

"No, I went to Mr Middleton, he's always been prepared to listen to people's concerns without making a fuss. I was quite shocked when he said it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. I don't think he believed me."

"Just back up a little bit err... sorry, what's your name?"

"Grace Gordon. Maybe Mr Middleton was right, it could be nothing."

"Hold on while I get my notebook out, Grace. This can be something I can claim I found out on my own from other sources if it proves to be of interest. Now go on, tell me."

"Well, I saw the last number that evening was a redial of a missed incoming call. It was a simple 1471 ring back of an incoming call fifteen minutes or so earlier. If Sylvester had picked up the incoming call he wouldn't have needed to make the return, and as he was last to leave the building he wouldn't have needed to use my switchboard, he has an outside line of his own. So, I contacted the telephone exchange and they said if it was registered on my board it did happen and they checked it out, told me that call was just under two minutes long, but they wouldn't say any more."

Ok, but you must have the incoming number on your board?"

I wrote it down because of Mr Middleton's advice. I thought it might get erased. I don't really know how these things work, I'm hopeless with technical things."

"Right, so is the number still on your system?"

"Yes, but please take the one I wrote down, and then I won't get into trouble."

"Ok. Thank you, Grace. As far as anyone else is concerned, my people got this from the exchange direct. We would have got it in any case. It would just have taken us a bit longer to get there. You can sleep well now Grace."

*

Cyril Jacobs paced around his office with the blinds drawn. He didn't want to action anything yet but felt his hand was being forced. He sat down impatiently and held his head in his hands before lifting the handset. "Ah, Melanie, could you spare me five minutes?"

Not right now, Cyril," lied his hitherto blatantly ambitious partner, ruthlessly determined to succeed him. He knew that clock was ticking faster than he was ready to step down. This moment was always going to arrive but now was a bad time, "I'm going over the Livingston case with Jeffrey," said Melanie, abruptly.

"Get the other Geoffrey to do that, this is urgent."

She put down the receiver very firmly and flounced out of her office, marched across the 'divide' while simultaneously reprimanding two juniors engaged in mirthful conversation while they were both devouring a sandwich. "It's still thirty minutes until lunch, kindly get back to work."

Entering Cyril's office she said nothing, gave him all of a minute to explain. "Well, who has screwed up now?"

"Melanie, you just can't lose the attitude, can you?"

"I beg your pardon. Don't address me in that way. You said it was urgent, just get on with it."

"This D.C. Hunt has found you out."

"Excuse me, what am I supposed to have done?"

"She insisted on talking to all of the staff individually on a one to one basis. Those who didn't volunteer to go to police HQ will be dragged there to make written statements which we will now not be able to see."

"Shit. And how is this my fault? Pray tell."

He drew a long deep breath. "You got at some of them didn't you, determined to drop any inquiry into Sylvester's disappearance. You don't care about him."

"Really, this is what you consider to be urgent. The man was an imposter in many ways, and frequently insubordinate. But you're right, I don't care about where he's absconded to, and good riddance – oh, and it's rather strange that D.I. Richardson seems to concur with me."

"Listen to yourself, Melanie, you are afraid of Sylvester because he can often show you up to be wrong about the finer details of the law. Your naked ambition to succeed me has finally come off the rails. I can no longer support you as a candidate to take over my role."

"I see, and you talk about loyalty. Well, for your information this seems like a good time to tell you that I'm in the process of resigning. You'll have the official letter with all of its impact by the end of the week. We both knew how this was going to end, so no tears on my part. However, I do have a parting gift for you. I'm selling my share capital to Geoffrey Middleton and there's nothing you can do to stop me. Maybe you now have something more urgent to address than drowning in your crocodile tears over your 'chosen son'."

He convulsed repeatedly before throwing up over the plush Chinese rug, and then collapsed in front of Melanie. Her normal Teflon exterior melted and she grabbed the phone, waving for help from the office. "Which emergency service do you require?"

"Ambulance, please hurry. It looks very much like a stroke. I can't feel a pulse."

Prior to the ambulance arriving, one of the company first aiders pushed past the voyeuristic gathering, none of whom could help. Lying Cyril in the recovery position and applying various therapeutic manoeuvres restored a very weak pulse, but as yet no return to consciousness.

*

The bad news ricocheted around the legal bubble as well as the media, most of the latter leaping on the possible connection with a missing employee of the firm. Isabel Jacobs was completely adrift with grief, particularly as she'd begged her husband to get out of the rat race multiple times over the last two years.

Internally, the apprehension was palpable. As well as the fondness most of the staff felt towards Cyril, there was an undercurrent of concern over who would replace him.

At last the suspended animation was punctured. Following the paramedics' emergency procedures, the initial hospital bulletin confirmed that the patient was conscious again, and was out of immediate danger. What it did not articulate was that he could no longer speak.

However, the prognosis, only given to his wife, was that he might regain some speech capability, but it would be a long road back to full rehabilitation. Cyril himself did not seem to be aware of this at present, he was just happy to see his wife at the bedside.

Meanwhile the mood at the firm was a mosaic of relief and speculation as to what would happen next. The fog wasn't about to dissipate any time soon either. Geoffrey Middleton hastily made it clear to Melanie Watson that he had grave reservations about acquisition of her equity. Understandably, she was furious, yet at a loss for words with his reasoning.

"Geoffrey, for Christ's sake, we shook hands on this. You couldn't wait, you pushed me to draw up the transfer agreement as soon as possible. It's in process with a reliable source. Why the hell have you changed your mind?"

"You've never had a forgiving nature, Melanie. Always conniving to get what's best for you regardless of what anyone else thinks. Their advice and feelings are of no consequence relative to your searing ambition. You are blind to the bullying you visit upon the young trainees. It would be crass of us in the extreme if we went ahead with this transaction while Cyril's life hangs in the balance. But you know what this awful situation has taught me? You were overheard shouting at Cyril when he had that stroke and yet you show no remorse. I suddenly realised that I don't want to step into his empty shoes. I seriously underestimated what he achieved here, and now I can see why he hung on, he didn't want you to succeed him and knew I wasn't up to scratch. So, I'm not buying you out, you can put your resignation on hold if you like until we know more about Cyril's prospects. You may as well know the rest, it will come out anyway. Isabel wants her husband out of danger and out of this firm. She wants me to buy his stock so that if he pulls through he can retire immediately. So, if you still want to resign we can make new arrangements regarding your equity, especially as you will be a minority shareholder with less than what is required to have veto over strategic decisions. Let me know what you want to do as soon as you can."

"Piss off, Geoffrey. I never had the remotest idea you could be such a devious swine. My resignation stands."

"Fine, so just try and convince your new employers you still have vested financial interest in Jacobs, Watson and Middleton. Much better to tell them it's only a matter of time until it becomes Jacobs and Middleton. Name your new reduced price. Perhaps it's you who would like to piss off."

# Chapter 6

The vigil showed no sign of improvement in Cyril Jacob's condition. Isabel stroked his hand but there was no discernible reaction. He stared expressionlessly at the window as the sun lay low, approaching the horizon. She got up to go for a coffee and as she closed the door quietly spotted a woman sitting outside. "Are you waiting for someone, love?"

"No, I'm just hoping to find out how Cyril is doing, from the horse's mouth, so to speak. I find from experience that the nurses don't give much away. Are you Mrs Jacobs?"

"I am, so may I ask who you are?"

"Of course, I'm Detective Con..."

"Oh, no, I won't permit you to see him. Can you just go away please?"

"Yes. I can, but I wasn't looking to see him or pester him with questions. Mr Jacobs was very good to me when we started the investigation of, well, you know..."

"I see. Then how can I help you?"

"I don't know. I just felt so sorry when I heard about his collapse. Is he comfortable? I'd better go, Mrs Jacobs, I'm being too intrusive."

"Come to the reception and have a coffee with me. I could do with some company."

*

"You see, when we first got married Cyril was obliged to join his father in the law firm. That's the way things were, but he didn't really want to be a solicitor. His dream was to see the world. We had an offer from the environment agency, but Hector, Cyril's father pleaded relentlessly with him to stay in London and help take the business to the next level, whatever that was. I was heartbroken but basically ignored by Hector. For the last three years Cyril pledged to retire and travel Europe with me. So, you can see, err... oh my, I didn't let you tell me your name."

"D.C. Helen Hunt, just call me Helen, I'm not on duty."

"I really did think something like this would happen. I'm angry because we would have been free from that awful place in a few weeks. We had advance booked a twelve week tour of historic European cultural sites. It's such a cruel world. It's bad enough for us to have that break snatched away from us, and then the media come out with a trashy story saying there might be a link between his stroke and Sylvester's disappearance. He loved that boy. I often thought he saw him as the son we couldn't have. You see, I was declared as sterile, what an awful word that is. It's supposed to be a positive word when talking about germs and disease by the medical people. Although having said that, it's not as bad as barren, which I used to hear at social gatherings. Sorry, I'm droning on a bit, you shouldn't really be hearing this from me."

"Not at all. When I do go back on duty tomorrow morning I'll definitely have a word with these rags parading as newspapers, telling them that the police see no connection whatsoever between the two events. If you don't mind me asking, in what way did Cyril treat Sylvester as family?"

"Oh, well now you're opening a can of worms. I'll have to go back to when he first interviewed Sylvester. Cyril's first reaction to him was that his dress sense was inappropriate. It was awkward in a way, but he came straight to the point and Sylvester responded with that cheeky broad grin, he could be so disarming for most women. He then told Cyril that he hadn't realised a uniform was in the job description, and assumed as he was not expecting to be dealing directly with clients it wouldn't matter. He challenged Cyril, or should I say charmed him. 'I promise to get some flannels if I get the job, sir. You can trust me on that. I would just like to see what you think of my grasp of the maze within the legal statute and how to use it to your advantage internally'.

"I also remember Cyril saying he was astonished at the almost photographic recall the boy had to anything thrown at him, followed by a recommendation of acceptable loopholes within it. That clinched it, but Middleton and Melanie were appalled that he virtually offered Sylvester the job there and then. They did have a point, and at the second interview marshalled every argument they could to appoint someone else. Now, I shouldn't really be telling you this but Cyril fell for what the other two partners called a sob story. During questions of how he'd amassed such encyclopaedic knowledge, Sylvester revealed that he had been adopted after his mother died at a very young age. It proved to be an uncomfortable conversation thereafter. Sylvester became tearful and told my husband how he'd been treated by this adoptive family. They already had four other children, none of them by natural birth, they were in effect serial foster parents with eyes on all of the aid and financial support available. It became three boys and two girls after Sylvester arrived. All of Caribbean stock, as were the adopting couple. I won't go into details but Cyril was shocked and asked Sylvester to come back for a further interview. I could see what was coming, he wanted to take the young man under our wing. We argued about this, I felt guilty that I'd blocked adoption all those years before because I just couldn't face the difficult situation if a natural attachment didn't develop with someone else's child. Cyril eventually accepted my advice to push ahead to give the job to Sylvester and leave it at that. Sylvester repaid him with how he revolutionised the workflow and efficiency, yet Middleton and Melanie seemed to deepen their resentment of him. Anyway, when Cyril collapsed during an alleged shouting match with Melanie, as well as probably triggering the stroke, it kicked off an underhand discussion of the firm's share capital distribution. Melanie Watson approached Geoffrey Middleton to see if he wanted to purchase her stock. It came on the back of her declaration to him that she was leaving anyway and it would finally tip the scales away from Cyril. She's a very devious woman. If this was her only worry there was no need for tempers to get so frayed, as I had insisted that Cyril was not going to postpone his retirement again."

"Forgive me for interrupting, Mrs Jacobs, but how do you know about this pact between Middleton and Watson?"

"Because Geoffrey immediately came to me to express his sorrow, but she didn't, and he warned me about this proposal."

"Warned you?"

"Yes, well, of course Geoffrey isn't stupid. He gave her the reassurance that he would buy her out, but asked me how this might affect my husband's recovery if he got to know about it. Cyril has 60%, Geoffrey and Melanie 20% each. In any strategic voting sense you must have over 75% to favour any unilateral decision, but to veto such a decision one has to have more than 25% to achieve blocking of the said decision. Melanie couldn't do this on her own. Geoffrey didn't have to buy her shares and knew that if Cyril passes away, his stock comes to me. He also knows that I don't want such an inheritance. As I said, he's not stupid, rather a wily old fox. He just has to play Melanie along then purchase Cyril's shares or mine if the worst scenario comes to pass. He has leverage in both directions. Now, I must say that Cyril actually believes that his mentoring of Sylvester was the main reason for his spectacular running of the internal office. However, as he was invited to dinner with us on many occasions, it was plain to see that it was the other way around. Sylvester was ahead of his time and that weary old triumvirate running the company was the problem, it was obvious even to someone like me. But, I felt I couldn't say so because of my denial of Cyril's wish to go for an adoption back in the day. Sylvester was his son, in all but name."

Helen's brow furrowed as she replied. "I hope you appreciate what you've told me casts shadows in many directions as far as the police are concerned."

"I thought as much, but I've simply told you the truth and my only concern now is for Cyril. I hope it helps you to find Sylvester and if any suspects are questioned because of what I've said, so be it. There hasn't been any rush of work colleagues to express their sorrow, other than Geoffrey, but even he had his own agenda. It disgusts me. Do whatever you wish with what I've told you, other than publicising my stubbornness over adopting a child with Cyril."

"Ok. In that case could I ask if you think Geoffrey Middleton has his eyes on other aspects in this 'conspiracy theory'? Nobody can be declared as a suspect at this stage without evidence or clear motive."

"No, ha-ha-ha, Geoffrey? I see him as a scavenger. He seems to think he's a wolf in sheep's clothing, but he's realistically only halfway correct. He's not your man for strategic revolution or calculated risk analysis, rather he's a dull resistance to change. What he's very astute at is observation of unfolding scenarios from which he can profit. You have true predatory animals and others which seek out carrion, sustenance stolen from leftovers. However, Geoffrey is a friend and a very good one at that. I'm sure Cyril would endorse that if he ever can."

"Good. Then can I also ask if you have a name for this foster family which Sylvester disliked so much?"

"I can't bring it to mind. I'll check the bureau when I get home, Cyril kept lots of confidential business papers in it. I don't think you'll get much joy though. Sylvester never referred to them being kindly and only used the family name if he had no choice. He did speak about the two girls though, using their forenames. Both beginning with 'L'. Lucille, and... err... Louise, yes Louise. There was no specific address but he did mention in which borough they lived. You need to bear in mind something which Sylvester stressed as strictly confidential – he changed his name when he ran away from the family, and Cyril told me that he hinted he'd changed his name a second time. He was thorough about everything and he really did not want these people to find him. So, I have no idea what his birth name was or what he changed it to, maybe Cyril does but he never mentioned anything to me. Well, Helen it's nice to have met you and I'll contact you if I can find something relevant in the bureau."

"The pleasure's been mine, Mrs Jacobs, and please tell your husband at the appropriate time that I will do everything in my power to find out why Sylvester is missing. We'll not rest until we find him."

"Oh, thank you, dear. He will be pleased when I tell him. Bye for now."

# Chapter 7

As she'd hoped, Helen Hunt's boss wasn't particularly interested in the progress her new information offered and seemed quite happy for her to carry on with her crusade.

Her first item of follow up was Sylvester's foster family. The strange phone call was just before he left work that night and obviously not long before he would have gone home or somewhere else. She was convinced it would take some time to get information from census sources and borough councils about names and locations of family members, so she decided to chance her luck with leaning on the phone company about the other phone call which Sylvester made from the firm's switchboard on his way out. The police had proof of it being a return call via 1471 and they could easily ring that number, but that might alert the receiver that they were possibly suspected of something.

"Yes, hello. I'm a police officer, my name is D.C. Helen Hunt. I have an unusual request. You may need to speak to your superiors about this, so could you get one of them to call me back at the station on this number to verify my identity. You are the phone company so I don't need to give you the number I want. It's from Jacobs, Watson & Middleton solicitors' switchboard via 1471 dial facility to the number and name of the recipient. The call was apparently just before eight pm earlier this week. It is rather urgent, involving a serious incident, otherwise I'd just get the information I need from sources I already have. However, that would be quite a protracted method and time is crucial. Thank you, if I don't hear from you within 30 minutes, I'm afraid the most senior ranking officer from the precinct will replace me in seeking this simple information. I do apologise but we need this information now" She evaded all attempts from the person on the other end of the line to find out more and put down the receiver.

As she also wanted to have a chat with Geoffrey Middleton, she reluctantly accepted that she needed more experienced people on her team. However, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon, so she pulled one of the more reliable juniors to sit at her desk and man the phone. "Do not move away from this telephone until I get back, even if you suffer a call of nature. One of the phone company big wigs will call me in the next twenty-five minutes to say whether they can release the information I want, which is an address and name of a particular client. Just write down whatever they say, do not get into any discussion. Tell the caller I'm on my way to update the assistant Chief Constable on the case, so I can't be contacted until I've done so. They will either refuse or give you the info. If it's a refusal just put down the receiver, and if they cough up the name and address write everything down very carefully and say I'll call them back later. Got it?" The young man was petrified but nodded his affirmation.

Turning into the solicitor's car park, she saw Melanie Watson leaving. That was good news and bad. She wanted Middleton on his own, but she was intrigued as to where Ms Watson was going, especially as she was said to be leaving the company for new pastures.

The receptionist recognised D.C. Hunt and asked how the search was going. "We're making significant process but as usual we can't divulge the details yet. I'd like to see Mr Middleton, please."

"He seems to have been interviewing all morning. I heard they want to fill Sylvester's position temporarily. The work schedules are apparently in chaos."

"I see, well, I'm sorry but I have to add to the chaos. I must follow up on information I've been given. If we could actually locate Sylvester it would presumably assist Mr Middleton in clearing up that chaos. Anyway this isn't a request. It's a requirement. Call him please, now."

She was kept waiting for over five minutes, and the receptionist seemed a little embarrassed when she said Middleton was now free. D.C. Hunt opened his office door and was offered a handshake but declined, and duly noted a poorly disguised expression of frustration.

"Please take a seat, detective. I'm not sure what else I can tell you, so could you enlighten me?"

"I can. You know, we all have crosses to bear, and I do understand that your missing employee means disruption in the running of things. I'm told that he is almost indispensable, so perhaps what I have to ask will help both of us. We are doing our best to find him."

"Well, depending on who has said he was so pivotal in the smooth running of the workload you may have to look beyond mere words expressed at such emotional time, during which people could have been distressed or rather glad. So, please begin."

"I have information now which will lead us to whoever contacted Sylvester the evening he worked late and alone."

"That's very reassuring to hear, and....?"

"When we put that together with the notepad with initials and scribbles about a funeral and a graveyard, we should have a sketch of what the call was actually about, and why Sylvester made a return call from your switchboard to that person."

"Ok, that sounds like welcome progress, but you could have told me that by telephone."

"True, however, what I need to ask you now could not."

"Detective, there's a whiff of shadow boxing in the air. Can you just get to the point?"

"Of course, and I hope you will reciprocate accordingly. What is going to happen to the company shares of Cyril Jacobs if he doesn't make it?"

"What? Is that any business of the police? Anyway, he's recovered consciousness hasn't he?"

"Yes, but he can't talk yet and he was about to retire shortly. As we go through all aspects around this case we have to break down information into evidence, motive and opportunity. Financial gain falls under motive. I thought you'd want us to be discreet in the way we go about this."

"Oh, right. Indeed we would appreciate that. Do you have anything yet which could link motive to people here?"

"I suppose you know what I'm going to say. We can't discuss details of an ongoing case. I just wanted to give you a heads up before we need to ask anyone to come to the station, because I'm afraid we can't conduct that kind of interview here."

She felt she'd ruffled his feathers judging by his body language, and what he did next would be interesting. Another unexpected thrust might do the trick. She closed the door and walked five or six yards, then turned suddenly and reopened the door, faking forgetfulness.

"My memory is getting worse. I forgot to mention that we now know more about Sylvester's background. Not just that he spent years of his early life being fostered by adoptive parents. He was apparently one of five during that period."

"Yes, that was one of those interesting aspects which Cyril kept from Melanie and myself when we finally offered him a provisional contract. We weren't best pleased to find this out later, by which time Sylvester had remarkably sorted out the admin side of the business. It has been running like a Swiss watch ever since, we do miss him. But how is this relevant?"

"Maybe it wasn't before he was reported missing but it is now. If you recall, my boss, D.I. Richardson still believes we can't rule out that he just ran away again."

"Again? You mean he's done this before?"

"That's what I'm hearing. I mentioned motive, so maybe he had a financial motive and had it off on his toes because something had blown up in his face. Perhaps you should have a chat with your accounting people."

Middleton's face contorted as he excused himself and told his secretary he had to accompany D.C. Hunt to the police station. When they got to the car park he actually suggested a quiet nearby restaurant where they could have a spot of lunch. She said it was irregular, yet reluctantly agreed.

They ordered sandwiches and coffee. Middleton now seemed seriously ruffled. "When you say Sylvester was very well liked, that's quite a generalisation. I was one who did not take to him initially, but I gradually warmed to him because he was so good at organising and preparing the office schedules. However, some people still don't like him, the younger clerical staff are in awe of him and at the same time afraid that he may not rate them as useful. Of course Cyril and I have tried to reassure them. Despite this, a few promising youngsters have already left. Then there is Melanie. She never did accept him, and surreptitiously campaigned against him. I'm afraid this also included poisoning the minds of most of those young people while Cyril and I were trying to settle them down. Since Cyril's stroke, she has decided to leave the company. No one is supposed to know, but she's decided to make it an open secret. She went further than that, offering to sell me her shares. I accepted her offer but never intended to go through with it. She would be required to relinquish them anyway if she went to work for a competitor as there would be a conflict of interest. Since she was the only person with Cyril when he collapsed, I rashly accused her of telling him that I was going to take the shares off her hands. Her reaction was quite incredible, saying the deal with me was off, and she was considering staying here and finally flushing every single aspect of Sylvester out of the company's history. She was so intense about this I began to think she was either paranoid or there was something she was duly concerned about. I mean, for god's sake, the man is sorely missed in our operational effectiveness. So, coincidentally, Cyril's wife, Isabel, offered to sell me her shares if her husband doesn't pull through, or she has to take power of attorney if he suffers severe brain damage. Melanie doesn't know about this yet. I'm telling you this because you mentioned possible financial gain as a motive. I wanted you to know that I did not ask either Melanie or Isabel to sell up, they came to me."

"Very interesting," drawled D.C. Hunt, "so how does that help me if neither offer goes through? Are you worried about forensic financial investigation revealing something which has happened and that you already know about?"

"No, not at all, however, you also said you haven't ruled out that Sylvester arranged his own disappearance. If that was the case, he was certainly capable of hiding stuff which could get past our auditors. His returns were never questioned by them. I just wanted you to realise whether or not I accept the offers from Melanie or Isabel they were made after the disappearance of our colleague."

They shook hands and left separately.

*

When she got back to the station D.C. Hunt asked if the phone company had released the information requested. The nervous junior nodded and passed her a sheet of paper with the name and address for the mystery caller. The young man had also scribbled at the bottom of the page – 'D.I. Richardson wants you to see him immediately'.

She mentally brushed aside her boss's instruction and immediately looked at a map of the city to get an idea of the location associated with the address. Manor Cross. It wasn't familiar, so she asked a few of the staff if they knew. One of the traffic boys who was busy typing up details of an accident said he knew it quite well and offered to take her there. The name of the occupant on the register was Jackson. As she was leaving with the traffic officer she heard the gravelly voice of D.I. Richardson.

"Do not slip out of the station again, Detective Constable. I've waited patiently for a word. With me, now!"

# Chapter 8

Helen Hunt braced herself, Richardson seemed to be on the verge of bursting a blood vessel. Beetroot complexion aside, the corner of his mouth was twitching repeatedly.

"I have a crib sheet here which forensics were trying to give to you. What the hell were you thinking?"

She blinked and shrugged her shoulders, which precipitated another barb. "Well, you bloody authorised this pantomime, so talk me through your justification."

"Sir, I asked them to switch focus from Sylvester's apartment to the lock up garage area where the red paint was found. That's all."

"Why?"

"Because either he or his assailants put the paint back there and it could yield trace evidence of who it was."

Richardson sat back, maintaining his predatory attitude. "So, what about breaking into the standing tool cabinet?"

"I just asked for evidence, not specific places to look. You know how awkward forensics can be if you tread on their patch. Anyway, what's the big deal?"

"One of them was trying to prise the cabinet from the wall when he heard a squeaking noise. Thinking it was a mouse or even a rat, she shone a torch into the small gap they'd opened. A couple of mice were gnawing away at something and when they tried to retreat through a hole from which they presumably came to be there, it was obstructed by the cabinet being shifted. They scuttled away, and left behind their free lunch, which turns out to be human excretion. They tried to contact you because above this mound of shit there was a safe, embedded in the wall. If you'd been reachable you would have apprised me of this, and I wouldn't have received a right royal dressing down from above. Somebody, either in our team or forensics has used this vacuum of command to sell the story to the press. Now it's out there and must have already alerted anyone connected to this incident, which I must say still seems to me like a staged disappearance. I've been told to get my arse down to the apartment again, and take back leadership of the case. You only have yourself to blame."

Helen Hunt was crestfallen, admitting to herself that she should have called in rather than listening to Geoffrey Middleton's sob story.

"Don't start feeling sorry for yourself. I gave you this chance to make an impression. You've cut corners, you've attracted the spotlight from upstairs and embarrassed the entire force. Now look, I'm trying to help you here, only because part of my own anatomy is in the wringer just for being naïve enough to trust you. Let's go back to the apartment and try to salvage some semblance of respect."

"You're right, and I shouldn't have put a junior in such a position of covering for me. I should've delayed my grilling of Geoffrey Middleton. So, you said there was a crib sheet, what was in the hidden safe?"

"Lots of photos and financial stuff apparently. The crib sheet appears to be a kind of flow chart of the guy's life, beginning with his mother's death and all the way through to the present. Curiously, it goes a little bit further, into what might happen in the future, and it doesn't look like it's going to be at Jacobs, Watson & Middleton."

When they arrived at the apartment the tension was palpable. Everyone knew that everyone else was under suspicion for the leak to the press. Words were chosen carefully. Richardson and D.C. Hunt began thumbing through the photos. One thing immediately stood out to the latter. "Boss, I did get the address of the number Sylvester rang from the company switchboard. The foster family name is Jackson and apart from Sylvester himself there were two boys and two daughters. Both daughters had the same initials according to Cyril Jacob's wife – Lucille and Louise Jackson. Now look at these photos, dated on the reverse side with names alongside those captured by the camera. This one is Lucille, and the taller one is Louise. Putting this together with Tom Williamson's statement, where he said he remembered Sylvester mentioning the name Lewis, and also later thought the voice could have been female surely has significance. Then he told us Sylvester wasn't speaking in his normal voice – he was jabbering in a Caribbean slang, so that could have been truncated pronunciation of Louise to sound like Lewis."

"Speculation, Helen, for Christ's sake...."

"Unless you look at this picture. Sylvester and Louise as secondary school-age sweethearts. Look at the message. 'Escaping together forever'. This was taken long after we were told he ran away from home."

"Well spotted, so she could have been his caller that night. Just a second, let's look at that crib sheet. Right... oh, here we are... two years ago. S.P. and L.J. (Sylvester and Louise) were going to tie the knot, but it obviously didn't happen."

D.C. Hunt felt for the first time she was beginning to get her boss onside. "I should switch all focus to this Jackson family in Manor Cross."

"Yes, I agree, but let's not expose this to anyone else yet. It looks promising but at the end of the day it's just a few photos from years ago and a piece of paper with someone's life plan as a flow chart. Mementos and desires. If we could tie this Louise to that phone call for certain it could be the first crack in the case. It would likely mean she was the last person to speak to Sylvester before he did a flit or was abducted. Now Helen, we really need to restore our credibility with the brass, otherwise I can see them handing the whole shebang over to a new team. You must keep me in the loop at every turn. Understood?"

"Loud and clear, sir."

*

As she decided to head for Manor Cross and was contemplating her approach, she suddenly remembered she hadn't checked her incoming mail. She'd already dumped it back in her in-tray because D.I. Richardson had hauled her into his office for a severe reprimand, marginally short of a written warning. She quickly glanced at the pile and saw nothing of immediate interest other than a personal handwritten letter to 'Helen' at the police station address. She opened it and saw it was from Isabel Jacobs. There was a phone number and a plea to call her urgently.

She dialled the number and heard the receptionist say the name of a solicitor's office, but it wasn't Jacobs, Watson & Middleton. She asked to speak to someone who might be acting on behalf of Isabel. After being passed up the food chain she finally spoke to someone who acknowledged he was representing Mrs Jacobs.

"Hello," said D.C. Hunt, Isabel asked me to contact this number, what is it about?"

The person, who did not offer his name upfront spoke very deliberately. "Yes, I have been expecting your call despite advising Mrs Jacobs it wasn't the time to speak with you as it could prejudice any future transaction. However, she insisted that I inform you that Mr Geoffrey Middleton had verbally accepted her offer to sell her husband's shares in JW&M solicitors. This is a very unusual situation and has been further complicated by Mr Middleton reducing his offer by over twenty percent. Mrs Jacobs informed me that the reason given to her was based upon a recent valuation having shown a downward turn in clients, following the loss of one of their key employees. Added to this, there is now the prospect of a second senior employee leaving the organisation in the near future. I can't give you more information other than she seemed to think this manoeuvre by Middleton would be of direct interest to you with respect to any motive regarding financial impropriety. That's all I can say on the matter and make you aware that there could be a litigation case brought by Middleton if his reputation is tarnished by any unproven accusation. I told Mrs Jacobs that I would not engage any further with you, as any criminal irregularity would be contested separately from a civil case of defending one's standing in the legal community."

"Right, thanks for that, as unhelpful as it may prove to be. However, we as the police reserve the right to question Mr Middleton on any aspect relating to the unsolved case of a missing person's whereabouts. Namely Sylvester Purbeck."

"Fine." The disconnection click terminated the dialogue, and she reflected on the possibility of having to keep a split focus on Sylvester's entanglement in legal stuff and his history with the Jackson foster family, both past and present.

*

The scene was quite foreboding as Helen Hunt turned into the street given as the address of the Jackson family. The entire area was in disrepair, almost blocked with refuse and waste. It didn't get any better as she approached the front door, which had no knocker or bell. Using only her knuckles she struck the door three separate times, before resorting to a clenched fist. The heavier banging finally produced a result. A woman who was of elderly appearance cracked the door open little more than a few inches and asked D.C Hunt a question.

"What you want?"

Flashing her warrant card, she merely said she'd like to speak with Louise.

"She went out."

"Where to?"

"Don't know, not my business."

The door was still being preciously guarded, so Helen took a gamble. "I'm here about the disappearance of someone, a missing person case. What is your name please?"

"No good talking to me, I get my husband."

"Thank you."

It took a considerable length of time for a dishevelled man to appear. "What's you want here?"

"This is a warrant card and I need to speak with Louise. If you won't help me here I can call for uniform to bring you to the station."

"Ok, do that, call them, take me in, I have zero to say to cops. Be my guest, waste your time." He slammed the door shut. Helen couldn't observe both the front and back doors from any suitable vantage point. She sat on the wall before noticing a phone box at the other end of the street. The call was made to D.I. Richardson so that he could put more urgency behind sending three uniformed officers.

*

D.C. Hunt paced back and forth so that she could at least see the sides of the house as well as the front. It took over thirty minutes for the squad car to arrive, thankfully without using its klaxon. One of the officers climbed over a side fence and the other two stayed with D.C. Hunt as she banged on the door again. She was dismayed when the woman opened the door, only to say neither Louise nor her husband were at home, and predictably, had no idea where they were. Without a written warrant they were refused permission to search the house, despite D.C. Hunt threatening to drag the woman to the police station as a person of interest. One of the officers caught a glimpse of movement behind a curtain upstairs. When asked who it was the woman blurted out multiple profanities, culminating in, "It be my daughter Lucille. Leave her alone, she really not well."

"Sorry to hear that," muttered D.C. Hunt, "get her down here, we'll get a doctor to examine her at the station."

Mother and daughter were eventually bundled into the police car while continuing to protest all the way back to the precinct car park. The mother was detained in reception while Lucille was shown to a medical examination room. It didn't take long for the doctor to arrive and conduct basic tests. A severe renal malfunction was diagnosed and she was quickly transferred to the nearest hospital. The mother was distraught when told of this diagnosis but when the interrogation began she simply said, "No comment, I got to see my daughter, so same answer to every question."

D.C. Hunt saw an opportunity of leverage over Lucille's mother and asked her boss to attend the ongoing interrogation. He duly arrived and began by asking what she'd primed him to do.

"So, Helen, before we resume, how is the daughter? I hear she's been admitted to hospital. What's wrong with her?"

"The latest update is that it proved crucial that we intervened, because admitting her when we were advised of the urgency has thrown up a serious problem – we're told she may have to live with one kidney if they can't sort the problem with medication. If she'd stayed at home much longer she might not have survived."

Mrs Jackson began hyperventilating while hoarsely mouthing again that she must see her daughter.

"All in good time, Mrs Jackson," said D.I. Richardson, "We'll get you there as soon as you answer a few simple questions. You aren't being accused of anything, we just want to know a little more about your family. Now, you really should help us because you could be charged in the future with obstructing a police investigation."

Her breathing began to normalise and there was a resigned nod of the head.

# Chapter 9

Mrs Jackson opened up when she was shown a police car waiting to take her to see her daughter.

D.I. Richardson was uncharacteristically sympathetic; a clever emotional plea for a mother to get through the questions as soon as she could. "Our driver is ready and she will take you home when you're satisfied your daughter is in good hands. We can then decide if there are further questions you can help us with at a later date."

The tears began to flow, the woman was blatantly conflicted. She eventually conceded to drop her guard.

"Your full name, please," drawled Richardson.

"Barbara Jackson."

"And your husband's full name?"

"James Wesley Jackson."

"Now, do you have daughters?"

"Why you asking? You seem to know already."

"Just answer the question, Barbara."

"Yes, Lucille and Louise."

"Any more family? We were told all of your children were adopted."

"Yeah, we adopt three boys and all, but lost one of them. He still out there, maybe never be coming back."

"What are the names of the two boys who didn't go missing?"

"Marvin and Reuben, both them the same age."

"And the other one?"

"Tobias...Tobias Marley."

"Why not Jackson?"

"My husband always feel something odd 'bout him and never accept him as part of our family."

"Is that how you felt about him?"

"No, man, he were a very clever boy, and I'm thinkin' James felt stupid in his presence. I could never fathom this but said nothing. Now, I wish I insisted my husband treat him like the rest of our family. He ran away when he were only eleven years old. Just a little boy, I reckon. I was heartbroken."

"So if we were to look for him, we'd be searching for Tobias Marley?"

"Yes, that's it, his mother died just young. If it help you her name were Leona Marley. There got to be more information with the births and deaths register."

"Well, thank you, Barbara. Now let's get you to see Lucille. Other questions can wait."

D.C. Hunt was utterly confused. She'd never seen such a theatrical performance from her boss. But why did he stop the questions when Barbara was getting comfortable with getting stuff off her chest?

"Boss, exactly what's going on? It was a convincing act, you had her on the ropes, so why pull the plug? She seems to be afraid of her husband. We could have started digging in that direction."

"Oh really, so how does the name Tobias Marley stack up with Isabel Jacobs' tale that the third son was Sylvester Purbeck? This guy is not only smart, he's as slippery as an eel. I didn't want Barbara Jackson to mention to any of her family that we are looking for a Sylvester rather than a Tobias. We need to get the whole picture for the Jacksons before we bring them in, to interview them separately. Am I the only one who thinks it's still a possibility that Mr Invisible organised all of this fog to descend in order to cover his tracks? Something flicked a switch with him when he got that call from the Jackson's address. Get Isabel Jacobs in here after you check out the adoption paperwork for all of their children. Are we good with that?"

"Yeah, yeah, makes sense now. I'm on it."

*

Helen Hunt was trying to unravel what she'd heard from the registrar, that Tobias had become known as Jermaine West, endorsed by James Jackson before he ran away from home. She was wrestling with how to avoid mentioning this when approaching Isabel Jacobs. The traffic was gridlocked due to temporary road closures for resurfacing. Under the name Tobias Marley was a clear and significant note in the margin referencing a deed poll request. As the boy was only eleven years old at that time, he had to have appropriate adult authorisation. It was no surprise to her that the signature read as J. Wesley Jackson, not James Jackson. So, as Barbara Jackson apparently knew nothing of this, her husband had his own agenda. And that could indeed, according to Barbara, be why he was never comfortable having initially conferred their family name to Tobias. But why?

As she turned into the leafy drive of the splendid period home of Cyril and Barbara Jacobs, she noticed several bottles of milk on the doorstep. There was no response to the rather loud doorbell chime. D.C. Hunt leapt to the possibility that she might be staying overnight at the hospital if her husband's condition had worsened.

Sure enough Isabel was by Cyril's bed, however, the news offered a glimmer of hope insofar as the patient was improving, having had spells of being awake, and crucially wanting to write down questions because he still couldn't talk. The counterbalancing news was that his left arm wasn't responding, and being left-handed he was having to learn to scribble one word messages with his right hand.

Isabel came out of the intensive care cubicle and welcomed Helen. "Let's go to the cafeteria again if you don't mind. I have some news for you."

They found a table which was free from potential eavesdropping visitors. D.C. Hunt recalled her boss's advice to keep Jacobs, Watson and Middleton separate from the Jackson family. He'd stressed there would be a better time to bring them together. She heeded his advice and asked Isabel about her news.

"Well, it's not definite yet but the consultant believes there is no permanent brain damage evident, and it's now probable rather than possible that he will recover his speech. Anyway, that's not what I meant to speak to you about. You must recall that Geoffrey Middleton was happy to acquire the Jacobs' shares in the company, whether they were still in Cyril's name or they had been transferred to me."

"Yes, but since then didn't your new solicitor mention that Middleton baulked at paying the full market value and proposed a significant reduction?"

"That's right. He felt he was doing me a big favour. But listen to this. After he told me that he did not now need to purchase Melanie Watson's stock, he has done exactly that. Melanie told me it was going to mean a conflict of interest if she still held shares in our company which is a competitor of her new employer. So, she accepted Geoffrey's offer of a twenty percent discount. And now, he says he doesn't need more transfer of shares. He is now able to veto any proposals from either Cyril or myself. I told you what he says and does are usually polar opposites. I should have seen this coming."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs Jacobs, but how does that help me in trying to locate Sylvester?"

"I'm not sure, dear. However, while Cyril has managed a few one word obtuse communiques, one stood out as strange. The scrap of paper displayed in capitals – 'Zurich'. Now, I knew he'd set up a bank account abroad for our retirement, so when I retrieved the documentation from our family safe I discovered that any withdrawals or wholesale disbursements needed two signatories. The primary was of course my husband, and you can guess the second, I'm sure."

"Geoffrey Middleton?"

"Well done. Now I'm not getting nervous about this because as long as Cyril doesn't authorise any change the funds are safe. Also there is a clause in the account notes that in the event of Cyril dying, his last will and testament only has me as a beneficiary, as well as overriding the need for two signatories for the Swiss account."

"That must be a relief, I'm sure. Is that it then?"

"No, there is a second account with the Swiss bank with rather less capital involved. It also requires two signatories, and the account names are Cyril Jacobs and Sylvester Purbeck. I checked with them yesterday and there has not been any activity or attempt to access the second account. I remember you saying that these type of arrangements could well be a motive in Sylvester's disappearance. Isn't this what you meant?"

"Wow, it certainly is. I'm going to have to ask you to come to the station and repeat this to my immediate superior. We'll need a statement from you to verify all of what you just told me."

*

On reflection Helen Hunt realised that D.I. Richardson had gone out on a limb to give her a chance to lead what he considered to be a minor investigation which might turn out to be much more serious than a person having gone AWOL. He was right to step in the way he did, and deep down she knew he was sheltering her from criticism so early in her career. Having delivered Isabel Jacobs to the care of her boss, she suggested it might be a good idea to visit Lucille Jackson in hospital.

"Sir, Lucille Jackson isn't in an immediate life threatening situation now but we should speak with her before her father gets to exert his control over what she says."

A wry smile spread over Richardson's face. "See, Helen, experience isn't a dirty word. You act, you learn, and hopefully benefit from small mistakes you made in good faith. I agree, go and see Lucille while I get to know Mrs Jacobs. We have to remember that even if Isabel isn't directly involved in the situation, she stands to benefit from a life in the sun with her husband or have a considerable inheritance to see her through her twilight years. On the other hand she may unknowingly hold the key to the strange relationship between her hubby and Tobias Marley, whom she knew only as Sylvester Purbeck. Balanced views are best until evidence justifies departure from that position. Another old chestnut I like is to limit passing information to persons of interest that we should keep to ourselves, until we decide otherwise. Let me know what you get from Lucille, but stay away from the somewhat 'fictitious' Mr Purbeck. Hopefully she might actually know about him, just get her to talk for now."

"Ok. You're making me nervous again. I don't want to screw up a second time. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea."

"Nonsense, it's a brilliant idea. There are those who know, those who don't know, and the most dangerous remainder who don't know that they don't know. You're too perceptive to fall into the latter category, so just trust your judgement again – you've done ok. Now, get your carcass out of here."

*

As she entered the hospital reception area she was conscious of the probability of Barbara still being by her daughter's bedside. If that was the case she'd have to find out whether her husband had been told about Lucille, or still out getting inebriated. Helen's gut instinct was still alert and she suspected that Barbara's fear of James was receding. Ironically, it could be that the intervention of the police in the life of the Jackson family made her bolder and at the same time James potentially apprehensive.

She was quite pleased when the reception desk said Lucille had only been visited by her mother since she was admitted. When she entered the cubicle, fear seemed to spread over Barbara's face. It receded when D.C. Hunt assured her she was merely there to see how Lucille was and give a grieving mother a ride home. At least it got her to base one, and Barbara beckoned her to grab a seat.

"So, how is the patient, Barbara?"

"She able to tell you herself, can't you precious?"

"I suppose," said Lucille, looking distinctly nervous, "but will dad find out I spoke to the police?"

Barbara reached for her daughter's hand and spoke softly. "It's ok if that what you prefer, honey, so I can tell the officer what the doctors say."

Helen held her hands up and backed up towards the exit door. "No, don't take a risk if that's how you see it. At least I can see she looks a lot better than when she was admitted. Now you get well, Lucille."

The girl began to sob and her slender frame shuddered erratically. "Mum, you got to tell 'bout yourself. I gonna to be fine soon. Just tell her, spit it out, and stop bein' a slave for him. Do it now, Mum – please."

A flicker of defiance swept over Barbara's face. She took a deep breath and suggested they should give Lucille a break.

"Ok," said D.C. Hunt, "I think I need a coffee, Barbara. Let's go down to the cafeteria."

.

# Chapter 10

Lucille asked the nurse if she could have access to a telephone. "There's a public phone at reception, I can't authorise patients to use our internal lines. But I can take you down to reception in a chair if you need to make an urgent call."

"Thank you, that be great, it really important."

There was a short queue for the phone booth and Lucille was getting agitated. The nurse asked those ahead of her whether Lucille could jump the queue as she had to let a relative know she was in a hospital intensive care ward. When the caller who was already in the booth put down the receiver, Lucille hurriedly left her wheelchair and closed the booth door behind her. She dialled the number from memory.

"Louise, it be me, don't talk. Just listen. I got put in intensive care. Get here, like right now, please. Mum been gabbing to a woman police officer. So, you get what happen next, Dad gonna react, unless we both swear it be total bullshit. We gotta keep Reuben outta the loop, he can't know where I be, and we gotta make Mum take on in her head that this be absolute the wrong time for Dad to kick off again."

"What in hell, Lucille, ok which hospital you in?"

"I don't know shit about that, I went unconscious in the car comin' here. Felt crap when I come around. I ask Mum where we are and all she say was, 'Not our local one, no need to know. You need treatment and father likely make a scene in a place like this. The cops be sniffing 'bout'.

"So, how in hell do I get to where you be, sis? I ain't that dude Sherlock Holmes."

"Come on, sis, ring all the nearest ones and ask which ward I be in. They sure can either tell you, or say I never been admitted there."

"Ok, Lu, on my way."

*

Meanwhile, in the cafeteria, Barbara was ultra-quiet until the waitress cleared the table of dirty cups and plates, wiped it down and returned to the kitchen. Helen Hunt's radar switched on again.

"I heard from the consultant man that Lucille don't need to lose a kidney if they be able to slow the disease. She have to undergo regular dialysis for long time and he spoke 'bout special food that she have to stick to in future. I fear how to tell my husband."

"Why? It's his daughter as well. Surely he'll understand how serious this is?"

"I wish. I always wanted kids but James were never bothered. At first he refused talking 'bout adoption. Then his drinking clowns say we could get money to help kids who been overlooked many times by other foster families. It done become his obsession. Every time I say this one or that one he shake his head. For him, it be like choosing the runt in a dog litter. He want boys, but only of Caribbean blood. I were heartbroken every time he said no. My plea be to help these poor kids, shouting that the social people had many to find homes for. He say we can take our time, and after we take the first one they surely find more of the same. He concentrate on boys who been troublesome bullies and when I say how horrible that sound, he just smile and say, 'Ok, you choose girl and leave boys for me'. I should refuse, but the love I feel for little Lucille were so strong. That be how we got started."

D.C. Hunt chose her words with extreme care as this appeared to be a pivotal moment in unravelling how Sylvester fitted into such a dysfunctional family.

"Would you have done things differently if you could rewind your life back to that time?"

"Yeah, yeah, in a heartbeat. I feel all the time I gonna lose the two kids if I left James, single black woman with no way to take care of them. I never able to leave Lucille and Marvin, I just... they my babies, and still James have no real attachment to them. Looking back now I should have report stuff to the police and got legal people to help if we got to settle in court. Regret be a hard thing I live with."

"Why would you have gone to the police, Barbara?"

She lifted her sweater and Helen was horrified at the serious bruising to both sides of her torso.

"Jesus, that looks recent, when did he hit you?"

"He kick me when he throw me on the floor. It be maybe one week ago. Time have no meaning when you worry 'bout every word coming out your mouth."

"Barbara, I can understand why you wanted to protect the kids back then, but in my experience abusive husbands never change. You've put up with this nightmare for over two decades."

The tears began to cascade down Barbara's cheeks. "Do I know that? It haunt me every day. James always find a way to make me sure he would change, and that why we adopt another girl. Louise were not afraid of James like Lucille, and this bring with it other problem. I think then he gonna start hitting Louise, but he say if I not keep her in line it would be me who get the punishment for her bad attitude. More of his blackmail."

Helen sighed and put her arms around Barbara. She felt conflicted – a need to be professional but an overwhelming urge to help this woman. "Why don't you come with me to the station and I'll arrange for a social worker to be present. We can at least explore what options there are to sort things out, because you really are trapped in an abusive hamster wheel. It can't go on. Do you trust me?"

"I think so, but I scared. He capable of anything when he get a dark mood. That why Marvin went back to Jamaica soon as he be old enough. James freak out when he realise by then Marvin was so big, and could get the better of James every time. Marvin plead with me to grass up my husband, but I always be too weak, and not long after this Marvin say he go back to his birthplace soon as he be twenty-one. James just ask for another boy to adopt. Reuben be different, and he like copying my husband's bully actions. He was same age as Marvin but all coward bullies know they come off worst if they fight. Marvin protect my girls until he leave to the Caribbean, and then I have both James and Reuben to fight with. I got one more confession, Lucille's kidney problem be because she were kicked by James. He don't need me to take blame for her because he see she were already scared of him. He only kick her once, and it were her low back. I never tell the doctor 'bout this cos Lucille become mental when I say I would."

"So, what about your other son? I can't believe the adoption people didn't do more comprehensive monitoring of kids they'd placed in your care."

"Oh yeah, James bring on the charm in their visits. He have the way of telling people what they like to hear, but he take no notice of their recommendations. Anyway, you mention Tobias, and he the only one who see my husband have some split personality. I can see he always gonna run away when he get the chance."

"Right well, let's go to the station and speak with a social worker who can tactfully intervene in the abuse until we can pin him down with concrete evidence."

Helen once again noted that Barbara made no reference to the name Sylvester, portraying total innocence of his change of name.

*

Louise wasted no time. She hailed a taxi and offered the driver a healthy tip if he could get her to the hospital in under ten minutes. It was a convoluted route but his knowledge of the short cuts and traffic lights enabled the ride to take fractionally over seven minutes. Louise thanked him and rushed to the hospital elevator, bypassing reception as Lucille had already told her which ward she was in. Luckily for Louise, her mother and D.C. Hunt had left for the police station, having told Lucille that her mother would return as soon as she could. Louise found the intensive care ward and despite the visiting hours having expired she pleaded with the nurse to let her have a few minutes with her sister.

"I only know this morning she been took to hospital and I ask for the day off work. I only like to give comfort to her, then I gonna leave – I promise. Please?"

The nurse turned to look at a tearful Lucille and gave way. "Five minutes then, no more. The doctor will be doing his rounds shortly and you can't be with Lucille then, but he may give you an update on what happens next with your sister."

Louise hugged Lucille as the nurse left the ward.

"We gotta get to the toilet, Lucille. I got change of clothes for you. We need to get out, like right now."

"Where we going? What if we caught?"

"It be a risk, sis, but a bigger one if Dad get to know you in here. We going, you ain't well, just trust me. Move it."

Louise was appalled by Lucille's inability to stand up straight. The pain almost overcame Lucille's will to comply. "Come on, honey," whispered Louise, "just get in the chair, we gonna make it, no worry."

The struggle they had in the cubicle of the ladies' toilet almost made them burst into uncontrollable laughter. The clothes were about two sizes too big, and the blonde wig seemed a trifle obvious, even after it was ruffled and combed into a semblance of mixed styles.

"Now, Lucille, just pretend you asleep. Don't say a word even if we stopped. Leave it to me. I got a cab waiting and when it pull out of the hospital grounds we be safe."

"Ok, but where we going, Louise?"

"All in good time, sis. This be the first day of the rest of your life. You know I had to get away from Dad, but he not really Dad, you know that be true. He only a stepdad, and a monster one. He never been able to find me these last two years and it gonna stay that way for both us. Relax, you be free in a half hour, honey."

"What 'bout my medical care? It be serious and I been told I gotta have treatment."

"It all taken care of, Lucille. I got it covered. Now pretend you be asleep like I say to you.

# Chapter 11

The social worker astonished D.C. Hunt when Barbara finished giving her account of abuse by James Jackson. Her recommendation was that she would visit their house and discuss the matter with both husband and wife.

"Excuse me? She's absolutely in fear of her life with that man. He's bound to deny everything and when you leave what do you think is going to happen? Listen, I advised Barbara to see you so that she could have support, someone on her side. What you're really asking for is space to put right a screw up by your service. This should have been picked up during regular visits to see how the children were faring. When was the last visit?"

"Err, let me see now, I'll have to check that when I get back to the office."

"Wait," shouted D.C. Hunt, "do you know when the last visit was, Barbara?"

With a quivering lip, Barbara's reply was almost inaudible. "Before last Xmas."

"So, over four months then." Turning her question back to the social worker.

"Maybe, I can't be sure, but as I said I shall...."

"No," retorted D.C. Hunt, "I have a better idea. I'm going to take an official statement from Barbara and we, the police, will begin to question Mr Jackson. Did you know he has also abused his daughter?"

"How could I? Mrs Jackson hasn't reported any such incident."

"Forgive me, but you're supposed to look for signs of unacceptable behaviour. Did you ever ask, several years ago why there were only four of the original adopted children living with the Jackson family when there should have been of five?"

"How could I? I've only been with this branch for fifteen months."

D.C. Hunt finally lost patience. "I'm not referring to you in particular, I mean the service you represent. Look, I've heard enough, and you can report back to your management that there has been a spectacular failure with this family. I'll take on Mrs Jackson's protection until your lot get off their arses and show some semblance of professionalism. Goodbye, I'm sure you can find your way out. Maybe I'm wrong, I'll get one of my people to show you to the main exit."

Having calmed down somewhat, she took Barbara Jackson to her office to take a full statement, now that the poor woman trusted her as a person even if she had concerns about helping the police. Just as Barbara began to describe the frequent ordeals she'd suffered from way back, the office phone rang. D.C. Hunt listened carefully and suddenly said, "Thank you we're on our way."

Turning to Barbara she shook her head in disbelief. "We have to leave immediately, Lucille has gone missing from the intensive care ward. They've started searching the entire hospital but haven't been able to locate her. One of the nurses has apparently said Lucille had another female visitor after you and I left to come here. Come on, Barbara, we need to find her. Could she have gone home?"

There was no response other than another flow of tears.

"Barbara, we need to go. Do you want to check your home first? You can make a phone call from here."

"No, no, no, never. Lucille wouldn't go home without me being there. And I don't want to be anywhere near James when he finds out I allowed her to go to the hospital and then left her alone there. Can we just go to the hospital, please?"

"Right, we can progress things from there, but I'm going to ask my boss to bring your husband in for questioning while we're at the hospital."

Predictably, D.I. Norman Richardson was sceptical of approving allocation of even more resource behind this totally dysfunctional family. "First we have this Liberace character disappearing, then poor fragile Lucille, and to top it all off it's then the assassin of an American president, John Wesley Jackson, or whoever that was. Helen, unless some game changing nugget comes from questioning this guy, we have to re-assess this farce, putting it into some kind of perspective with the rest of our workload. Get yourself to the hospital and leave the husband to me, I'll pull him in but I want you back to interview him."

"The hospital search might take..."

"Then let them get on with it. Do you seriously think we can be the go-to back up for every bloody patient who wanders off and gets lost in hospital laundry rooms or outside garden areas? Send Mrs Jackson to the hospital with the uniform guys, and you stay here and prepare your questioning of her man. I'll go to their house with a couple of armed officers to invite him for a chat with you."

She had to admit he was talking sense, but she also knew Barbara would feel let down. So, she explained the change of plan and surprisingly Barbara felt relieved. "Thank you for all you done helping my daughter. If James coming here, I want out before that happen. I keep on top of searching better there anyway. She not able to walk far, so I gotta hope no harm come of her."

*

James Jackson had to be handcuffed and threatened with sedation unless he came peacefully. He conceded, but his mouth more than compensated by engaging overdrive as soon as they got to the station. "You got nothing on me, you gonna regret this. I got friends you gonna to piss off and that where this be heading. You fucking with the wrong man, be sure of that. I found my woman and daughter missing and you gotta help find them, you hear? I got no idea where they be. Jesus, you even listening? No point you asking me questions, my Reuben will get me out this dump, you jiving out your depth. Dumb asses, I want a phone call."

"All in good time," said D.C. Hunt, aware of her boss observing from another room. "We've had a complaint from your wife about you physically abusing her and Lucille. So, we know where your wife is but not your daughter. You need to lose the attitude or we won't tell you anything more. We've seen the bruises on Barbara's torso, and she will have a medical examination of her older wounds. So, you can either stay silent or start by giving your account of how your wife came by these injuries."

He lapsed into silence followed by fake humility. She could almost see his brain running through plausible excuses. However, she was shocked by what he did eventually say. "Like I say, you got it wrong, Reuben did her damage. Yeah, my son hit his mom. You surprised? Me too, but he too strong for me to stop it. I ask her lots of time to go to the cops, but she never would grass up her son. Glad she came at last."

"So, where is Reuben now? We can bring him in to confirm your version of events."

"Good luck with that. Reuben be a law to himself. He mixed up with some real heavy dudes. He only come home when he want money or food."

Richardson entered the room and spoke to the recorder. "Detective Inspector Richardson joining the interview at 13.10 GMT. Mr Jackson, I don't think you realise exactly how much trouble you could be in. I'm going to give you a chance to revise your story otherwise we will have to add obstruction of a police investigation and perverting the course of justice to any other charges we bring against you. Now, just think for a moment, starting with Tobias Marley. He went missing recently and..."

"Whoa, man. What the hell this got to do with him? He went missing long, long time ago. We never seen him since. That bastard cause all the problems in my family. If I get my hands on him again, you be arresting me, for sure."

"You expect me to take this seriously. When did he go missing?"

"Don't recall exact time but I sure report it to the cops back when. The kid be only about eleven or twelve year old, man. He probably dead anyway."

"Dead, why would you say that?"

"Cos he were mixed up in gangs. Thought he were clever, even at that age. I got connections, and I heard he just drop off the radar a few years back. He were real trouble, that kid."

"Interview suspended at 13.20 GMT."

"Wait," protested James Jackson, "I got to find Lucille. You ain't keepin' me locked in this shithole. I want my phone call."

"We'll resume the chat in half an hour. Until then we can get you some refreshment. Tea, or maybe a sandwich?"

"No, I want my phone call."

"Very well, D.C. Hunt will arrange that for you. I'll be back soon."

They left him to stew while they debated what to do next. "What's going on, boss? In your head I mean?"

"Neither he nor his wife have ever shown any sign of confirming Sylvester changed his name even though we know he's done that at least twice. To them he's still Tobias Marley. Well, to Barbara anyway, James knows about the first change – he authorised it for his underage son. Isabel Jacobs only knew him as Sylvester, saying she'd never heard of Tobias Marley. Now, somebody must know something about this, otherwise why was he targeted, if indeed he was abducted? In my experience, a person with a need to become anonymous usually keeps stuff like that to themselves. They might want to protect the fact there was another name between Tobias and Sylvester. You found there was some notation in the margin of the registrar's adoption certificate didn't you?"

"Yes, sir. I'll chase it up."

"No. My hunch is that the name Jermaine West is important to Sylvester. You get Jackson his call and let him go, but put a tail on him."

Richardson shot off to see the registrar again. On examination of the adoption papers he put the question to the man at the desk after showing his warrant card. "Why is there a note about this deed poll stuff?"

The expression on the clerk's face was somewhere between scathing and derogatory. "Purely for cross referencing. If there's no means of connecting birth certificates, adoption forms and all manner of subsequent events, it becomes very difficult to link them after they are filed individually. You see, if that wasn't noted I wouldn't be able to help you any further. I suppose you want to know whether or not this person actually did proceed to change his name?"

"You can do that for me?"

"I can try."

A couple of calls to unknown locations met with interesting response. The first redirected the clerk to someone in 'archives' who took best part of twenty minutes to track down the relevant information.

The clerk finally addressed D.I. Richardson.

"He definitely changed his name to Jermaine West, and that was when he was still a minor."

"And after that?"

"Nothing, I'm afraid."

"So there's no record of him becoming Sylvester Purbeck?"

"Not on our records."

"I see, but how did a minor get to change his name at a very young age?"

"His adoptive father signed off on it. It's very uncommon but not without precedent."

"Thanks, you've been a great help."

# Chapter 12

Helen Hunt's growing frustration was beginning to show, even to colleagues from other sections, especially when she'd been sent to 'borrow' some poor sod to begin surveillance of James Jackson.

Nigel Ferguson wasn't the brightest bulb in the Christmas light show, but was thought to have a reliable tenacity gene, and the muscle to go with it. When D.C. Hunt briefed him on the task, his eyes lit up.

"You go to his house, wait until he leaves and you stay with him, from a reasonable distance, wherever he goes. Do not attempt to speak to him, just make notes. Under no circumstances do you react if he sniffs you are tailing him. Just evaporate and report back .Got it?"

"Of course."

"Any questions?"

"Just one, why aren't you tracking him?"

"Give me strength, he's already been interviewed by me, that might just give the game away if he clocks me, do you think?"

"Right, how long do I follow him?"

"That's two questions. Just call it a day if and when he returns home, then report back to me. There's a phone box at the end of the street where he lives. What's your name again?"

"Ferguson."

"Ok, off you go then, chop-chop."

*

Meanwhile, D.I. Richardson tracked down Isabel Jacobs at her home, introduced himself and asked if she or her husband recognised the name – Jermaine West.

"Do come in, Inspector. Would you like some tea?"

"Thank you, but no tea. It's a simple question, does Jermaine West ring any bells?"

"Well, let me see now, err...no, not really. I can't speak on behalf of Cyril though, anyway I don't believe he ever mentioned that name to me. Of course he knew hundreds of people in the law fraternity, I can ask him this afternoon when I go to the hospital."

"Would it be intrusive if I came with you?"

"Oh, I don't know about that. Maybe it would be better if you tell me exactly what you want to ask him and I'll put the questions to him on your behalf."

"Fine, I can take you there if you like."

"That's very kind. I'm just finishing my lunch. Have some tea while I gulp it down."

He reluctantly agreed and waited with diminishing patience while she changed her wardrobe and added a second layer of makeup.

*

James Jackson didn't stay at home very long. He'd put on a baseball cap, a helpful high visibility jacket and expensive looking trainers. Nigel Ferguson patiently tagged along at a range of about fifty yards until the foot traffic thickened in what seemed to be the local high street. He had to close this gap down somewhat or risk losing the target. Weaving past people was not ideal so he crossed the road to obtain a more reliable view. Suddenly, Jackson stopped to talk with a man he obviously knew well because they embraced there and then. The man was considerably younger and extremely well built. The conversation seemed to be convivial for a couple of minutes and then turned sour. The younger man turned away, and when Jackson tried to restrain him it all kicked off. As Jackson pulled the younger man around to face him again, he was assaulted by him. Firstly with a crunching left hook to the solar plexus. Jackson immediately dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. He was then taken out by a right uppercut to the jaw which laid him flat on the pavement. Nigel Ferguson had to think quickly. Bystanders were either trying to help the stricken man or shouting at the retreating assailant. As the helpers were dragging Jackson into an adjacent coffee bar, Ferguson decided to go after the young man. His logic was that the helpers would either call the police or see Jackson back home, and he should therefore go after the friend who turned foe. About half a mile further on the young man dived into a pub, giving Nigel Ferguson yet another conundrum. Enter the pub himself or wait for the next move. He favoured the option of going in, as there could be another exit which was hidden from his current view. Having ordered a lager, he spotted the target with a group of dodgy looking individuals. He also noticed a public phone and decided to call D.C. Hunt.

"The Jackson guy was attacked by someone he met. It seemed friendly at first but turned nasty. The old man was helped by folks walking past and taken into a coffee bar to recover. It might be that this will be reported through an emergency call, but anyway the location is on Greenwell Road. I opted to follow the attacker and I'm in a pub waiting for him to make a move, and... oh shit I can't see him now. I'll check the men's room and stick with him if I can."

"Good call, Ferguson. We'll go after James Jackson. Don't take any risks, like confronting this character. It's surveillance, not a one man unarmed response team. No heroics."

"Right, got to go."

*

D.I. Richardson sat outside the ward while Isabel checked on her husband. She found Cyril sitting up and looking better than at any time since he was admitted. After the usual pleasantries she produced Richardson's list and gave her husband a sheet of paper together with a pencil. Top of the list was the name Jermaine West.

"The inspector on Sylvester's case wants to know if you recognise this name."

He stared at the list for a few seconds and became anxious, his face reddened drastically. She pressed the call button for a nurse, but before anyone arrived he began to convulse. The nurse took one look and paged the doctor over the PA system to attend the patient with maximum urgency.

Isabel Jacobs immediately became the victim of a panic attack and couldn't breathe. Another nurse was summoned to attend. Once she'd recovered respiratory function and her customary poise, she quietly informed D.I. Richardson to leave. "And please respect my wishes, do not come back to see my husband at any time in the future. I have to wait here for news of whether this is a serious setback, but whatever the outcome of those tests you are most definitely persona non grata while Cyril remains in hospital."

*

Nigel Ferguson was regretting making the call to the station as he realised the target had disappeared with a number of others while he'd been reporting the event to D.C. Hunt. He rushed outside but there was no sign of the assailant or any of the bunch he must have left with. He wearily made his way back to the station, expecting to attract sarcastic comments from his peers.

Meanwhile, D.C. Hunt welcomed James Jackson back to his abode. "No need to get changed for our benefit, Mr Jackson. Get in the car, we have some unfinished business with you."

"No way, I got better things to do. Take a hike."

"Look, we know you had an altercation with someone and came off worst, so I don't want to ask my colleagues here to bundle you into the car. Please save yourself another manhandling or we'll have to report that you continue to be uncooperative. That won't help you if we end up charging you with other misdemeanours."

He pulled another one of his injured pride expressions and got into the car. "I had no lunch yet, you better get me some food or I got no energy to jive with you again."

*

Lucille had a thousand questions for her sister, beginning with how she could afford such an upmarket apartment. "Sis, you not now a lady of the night, are you? Come on, what gives with this snotty neighbourhood?"

"It be rented, don't belong to me. I know some real estate guy who say he be friends with the owner. I gasped at the rent they ask, but he said it could be lower. He have a tenant ready to take on the lease in 'bout three weeks' time, so I got me a cheap rate. The owner looks at me like a house sitter, but I pay him a pittance and he don't have the place empty. I guess he sees it like insurance policy. So, we gotta to move out when he tell me."

"Right," drawled Lucille, "and how you going about my kidney problem? I need help, baby, and I need it now."

"I got it under control. There be a geezer sent tonight, some medicine man. My friend say the right meds be delivered after this doctor dude speaks with you."

"Ok, what we going to do for food?"

"Tonight we go for pizza. Then we pay visit to a little corner shop along the street for supplies. Go and rest up a while, I got calls to make."

*

The news was not good for Isabel Jacobs. Cyril had lapsed back into an unconscious state, but this time it was more serious – he was declared as comatose. She wept uncontrollably and at the same time she was angry with herself for allowing that 'awful policeman' to cause Cyril to react so badly.

In total contrast to Isabel's grief, D.I. Richardson was deep in thought as to why the mention of Jermaine West had catapulted a sick man into such a spasm. Surely, he could have just scribbled the word 'no' on to the sheet of paper. It could be the first link between those who only knew Sylvester and those who only knew Tobias. Or were some of these people just pretending they did or didn't know either. Nevertheless, he was now fairly confident Cyril Jacobs was the first on the list of those who knew all three aliases. Tobias Marley, Jermaine West and Sylvester Purbeck.

*

Back at the station, Richardson joined D.C. Hunt in grilling James Jackson. They weren't getting much out of him about the attack he'd suffered or the actual assailant, even though he was told several times he'd been seen to hug the man before the attack began. The two officers decided to let him stew as he continually complained about his debilitating hunger.

D.I. Richardson banged the table as they left the room. "Not until you start talking. It's going to be a long dark night without supper. Just push the button if you have a change of heart."

Events were about to overtake this charade. As soon as they got back to Richardson's office, the phone rang. "Just a second - Helen – it's for you."

She took the handset and recognised the voice. It was a close friend from another precinct. "Hi, Jonathon, can I call you back? We're a bit...."

"It's just a one liner, Helen. We've been alerted to a homicide on the embankment, ID says it's a Reuben Jackson."

"Jesus, when did this happen?"

"Earlier today, around two and a half hours ago. Well, without the post mortem it's a best guess as to time of death. There were no witnesses, but then I remembered - you told me you were looking into a family from Manor Cross with this name, you know, the last time we met. It looks like this body could be one of the sons."

"Many thanks, Jonathon, I sure owe you one."

"Ok, that's good to hear, I might just have something in mind. I'll keep it to myself for now. Speak soon."

# Chapter 13

As they arrived at the murder scene they were shown to the location of the body, amongst a clutch of bushes next to the embankment wall. They were immediately confronted by the senior investigating officer for the relevant precinct.

"What are you doing here? You do realise you're on my patch?"

"Yeah, yeah," replied D.I. Richardson, "just hear me out. The grapevine works pretty fast around here, and when we heard the victim had I.D. on him our interest perked up. If this isn't the man we're looking for, we're out of here. If it is who it was claimed to be we'd like to ask you a favour."

Des Thornton's cynical facial expression said it all. "How about the other way around? You tell me the name of your person of interest and I'll consider your request, no promises."

"Fine, we have peripheral interest in a character from Manor Cross, which isn't your patch. The name is Reuben Jackson."

"Tell me more," replied Thornton, "like what's your angle with this guy?"

"I'll take that as a yes then, and if it is him, the I.D. fits with our man. Look, we only wanted to know if the identity found on him is kosher, otherwise we don't need a favour."

Thornton chose his words with care. "That's something we need to verify, there were several items which said he was Reuben Jackson."

"Mm," mused Richardson, "so you have doubts?"

"Not over the authenticity of the individual items, more to do with why he was carrying some of them while strolling around the embankment. A passport, and an energy invoice from eight months ago – a bit unusual. But, on the other hand a driving licence and a receipt for a new radio dated yesterday are understandable. Do you agree?"

"Sure, that smells of someone wanting you to know who the victim was. Ok, I'd appreciate it if you can flag me if and when you are sure it's him."

"No problem, and your interest in him?"

"There's a father of five kids, and was possibly assaulted by one of them in Manor Cross yesterday. All we know so far is that his assailant was greeted by James Jackson as a friend, before being beaten to the ground following a heated exchange. If your man is indeed Reuben Jackson, our interest shifts back to the father."

"I see," said Thornton, "you'll know as soon as I do if this punter is who he appears to be. I'll call you in person."

The conversation was interrupted by the head forensics man, who pulled Thornton to one side. "The body was dumped here post mortem."

"What? Are you sure?"

"One hundred percent. You already knew his throat was slit and there was nothing like enough blood to account for that to have happened here. Maybe it could have been, if there was enough water to wash it away, but I checked with the Met Office and they confirmed that the high water mark was still well below the bushes where we found the body."

"Ok, thanks," muttered Thornton, "hey, D.I. Richardson, just a word before you go."

"Right, well..."

"The victim may have had his throat cut somewhere else and then brought here. We'll have to wait and see exactly on whose patch he met his fate. I'll keep you in the loop."

"Thanks. Ok, we're heading back."

As they returned to their car Richardson smiled and shot a question at D.C. Hunt. "What's wrong, Helen? Feeling unwell?"

"Sir?

"Well, you don't normally play the part of a shrinking violet. You kept shtum, completely silent."

"Ah, I just didn't want Thornton to suspect we got a tip off from one of his people."

"Right. So, why didn't you tell me that you weren't going to ask any questions before we got here?"

"Didn't think it mattered between us, but then I thought Thornton might have gone ape shit if he knew one of his own tipped us off. He didn't need to know, is it a big deal?"

"No, unless he finds out from someone else. In which case I might be the one who goes ape shit."

*

Cyril Jacobs surprised his doctor by a change in his condition. His eyelids were fluttering every so often. It was seen as an encouraging sign, perhaps he wasn't fully comatose. It was a tricky decision, a mild stimulant could help, but carried an attendant risk of deepening the state of unconsciousness. Isabel was acquainted with the dilemma and she asked if they could delay the stimulant for another couple of hours while she held his hand and talked to him quietly. The doctor agreed. She ran out of conversation and began to hum one of his favourite songs. Another twenty-five minutes saw the fluttering slow down and gravitate to an 'open eyes, closed eyes' alternation. There was no cognitive signs, but his eyes would stare emptily for a few seconds and then close for a similar period. She asked the nurse to call the doctor again.

"It's a positive sign, Mrs Jacobs, and if it prevails I would suggest a very dilute stimulant could help. The risk is still there, but it could also be a short window of opportunity which might disappear and not return. Keep humming that tune and I'll prepare the stimulant in case we need to deliver it quickly."

*

Lucille was pacing the floor, waiting for some doctor that Louise had promised would take over her medical problem. The clock was ticking with regard to her next dialysis requirement. Over two hours slipped by and then the buzzer finally rang.

"Yeah, who is it?"

"Come on sis, it be me," shouted Louise, "sorry I come late but I be back now."

"Ok, 'bout time, I gone out of energy, totally out."

She pressed the main entrance door release button and hurried to the apartment door. When she saw Louise and nobody else a switch flicked and she yelled out a venomous tirade.

"Where be the fucking medicine man? You promised Louise, you lied, you two-timin' bitch. We finished here, get out my way, I got no time to piss about like this. Just get me back to hospital, you hear?"

"I gotta take you to the medicine man, so get your coat and shut it. You act like a selfish five year-old, Lucille. Everything all about you, all the time. We gotta go now if you want treatment. We go to him, not the other way. You listening? Move your ass, now."

Louise helped Lucille down the stairs and into a waiting cab.

*

When they arrived back in the station car park, D.I. Richardson spoke for the first time on the journey back from the embankment. "You know, Helen, in my experience there always seems to be a point in an investigation which is pivotal. Either it suggests the whole thing is phoney or it connects other stuff which can lead to solving the puzzle."

"And are you going to share this wisdom with me?"

"Yeah. I've been sceptical all along as you know. But that was really all about this Sylvester sort. Looking past him, there is increasing probability that something else is going on. The Jackson family was manufactured, not natural, and it seems to have created enough internal animosity to splinter them. Now they seem to have a murder to deal with. If that body turns out to be Reuben Jackson, we may have that pivotal point. It even brings Sylvester himself back into the frame. We need to get James Jackson to say if the body is his adopted son. If he does we have to change our approach, or even if he says it isn't Reuben, but his grief gives the game away, we have to think about the same change of direction. Only if we truly think he can't identify the corpse do we maintain our current broad strategy."

"Well, boss, I was thinking that with the other brother Marvin having gone back to Jamaica, the two girls having absconded, Barbara completely demented, and Sylvester still under the radar, James Jackson is our only leverage point at present."

"Absolutely. Let's get stuck into him in turns, fatigue in the suspect can often throw up a lapse, a mistake, or even an unexpected curve ball."

*

Barbara Jackson was at her wit's end, constantly switching between locations to avoid bumping into her husband. She knew he'd be scouring the whole of Manor Cross neighbourhood for clues as to her whereabouts. At the same time she was on edge being at the hospital. No longer having Lucille as an in-patient, she had to frequent only the public areas as the search for her daughter had run out of steam. Her toughest problem was sleep deprivation. Various hostels turned her away and those which did not were pretty much exclusively filled with homeless vagabonds. Finally, she found compassion from a priest in a Methodist church not too far from the hospital. She was given sanctuary for a week as the building was undergoing roof repairs and there would be no congregation during that time. Still, the mental torture over where her daughter could be was driving her mad. She could be dead or clinging on to life by a thread unless she availed of urgent treatment. She knew Lucille would never go back home. Barbara had no way of letting her other daughter know of her predicament. Louise had made it clear that there would never be any more contact until James Jackson was brought to justice or died. Barbara rationalised that the only way to end this pretence of having a family was to get James convicted and serve time for the abhorrent actions he'd inflicted on four of the five children. From intimidation to physical abuse, emotional blackmail to mind control, leading to a constant feeling of being unwanted. The only exception was Reuben, who cleverly grew up in in his father's image, until he could begin to reverse the process. The distillate of this was Barbara's yearning to make things right before it was too late, and that crystallised around speaking to the police again, but this time she'd have to open up the hitherto buried secrets.

*

The cab glided to a halt on a quiet, leafy, softly lit avenue. Dusk was turning to darkness. Peering in all directions, Lucille could see no people, save one tall, slim individual next to a wide drive with imposing locked wrought iron gates. Louise helped her out of the cab and paid the driver. As the vehicle sped off into the growing gloom, the tall man beckoned them and opened a side gate. The building exuded opulence, Georgian architecture at its best. They followed the stranger to a side entrance, he ushered them inside but as yet left the lights off. Louise and the man, who introduced himself as Gregor, carried Lucille up the winding staircase and into a windowless room. Only after the door was closed did Gregor switch on the lights, to reveal a state of the art medical facility. He then addressed Louise first. "We have only one hour, so we will arrange the dialysis first. Then I can look at her kidney function in detail."

He asked Lucille to put on a green smock and lie on the adjacent trolley. He disappeared for a couple of minutes.

"What we doing here, Louise? This be a house, not a hospital."

"Shut up. This a private hospital for the rich. We got an inside track to help you. Just relax, say nothing. Do as you told, sis. Then you get better."

Gregor returned in white scrubs and pushed the trolley to a corner of the room where he hooked her up to a dialysis machine. "As soon as we can see you are temporarily stable, we may proceed to examination. Lie there with your sister until I come back."

He disappeared again. The two girls chatted for a few minutes before Lucille asked, "Who paying for this stuff, Louise? Not you, baby. Tell me."

"Don't matter right now, sometime you can meet him. You gotta quit that shithole in Manor Cross. Your sister Louise got it all figured out. Quiet now...here come Gregor, he be the best there is. We free now, honey."

# Chapter 14

James Jackson was more than capable of putting on an act when he had a captive audience. As he waited to see the body in the morgue, he was joined by D.I. Richardson, D.C. Hunt, and D.I. Thornton, all of whom had a vested interest in the confirmation or otherwise of the identity of the corpse under the white sheet.

Jackson whistled some wistful tune as he turned and smiled at each officer in turn. There was just a hint of bravado about him, being confident that this was a waste of time, a charade to keep him in for further questioning.

"Just say when you're ready, Mr Jackson." said Thornton.

"When I be ready? You gotta be kidding me, I not needed here, what in hell could I tell you 'bout some dude that got took down at the embankment? Jesus, man I never even been there. Let me get this done, I got my own stuff to do."

"Very well Mr...." Thornton was interrupted by D.I. Richardson prematurely pulling back the sheet. Jackson smirked, before taking in an enormously deep breath and collapsing on to his knees, while holding on to the side of a table. Richardson didn't need to see any more, but Jackson started to yell and scream. "It can never be, what the Lord done to my boy? You bastards knew it were my Reuben. Who did this? Tell me, tell me who done this and I'll kill the motherfuckers with my bare hands"

The outburst was curtailed by him sinking to a semi prone position on the floor, his knees now raised to his chest and floods of tears finding their way into his open mouth.

Thornton tried to help him up, but Jackson refused to move unless they told him what had happened. He flailed a fist at the officer and caught him off guard with a glancing blow to the side of the head. Richardson stepped in and began to lecture the stricken father.

"If you'd been more cooperative with us, this tragedy may not have happened. However, it is what it is, and we need your help to find his killer. Surely you can see that! Get a grip, man, your grieving has to wait if we're going to find where and why your son lost his life. Now, come on, start by walking us through the last time you saw your son and what you talked about."

"Don't need to ask why, just where," replied Jackson as the tears welled up again.

"What do you mean when you say you don't have to ask why?" interjected Thornton.

"It be the way it always was. These people never do forgiveness, bad publicity or specially loose ends. Reuben, he become a loose end. I never think it through, this all my fault. You blind or something?"

"Ah," whispered Richardson, "he was in one of the big gangs?"

"You finally got it, man. I can't say no more, or they sure come after me and the rest of my family. Take me in, please. I need time to figure who done this, no point wasting more time on why."

Thornton pushed him on why he blamed himself.

"Obvious, man. I ask him to cover me, to say it were him what beat my wife and daughter. A favour. That be all but it got him dead. I need a drink"

Thornton was convinced that Richardson and Hunt would be better placed to get Jackson to open up about the abuse aspect, while he began digging more into who Reuben used to hang out with. They went their separate ways but agreed to keep one another updated.

*

The stimulant effect initially confounded not just Cyril's appointed doctor, rather the entire group. He somehow became conscious and more aware then at any time since his admission. He could now utter single syllables, accompanied by mimes with his hands. One of the first he relentlessly pursued was for a pen. The grunting and simulation of writing gained him both a pen and paper.

To the astonishment of Isabel, doctors and nurses, he produced an implied request. 'Jermaine West'.

It took a little while before one of the nurses reminded Isabel that this was the name which the policeman had asked her to run past her husband just prior to his convulsion. "Yes, of course, my dear. You're right. Well, why would he remember that? He hasn't even asked what happened to himself when I mentioned that name."

His doctor suggested it must be some kind of trigger which pushed Cyril into an irreconcilable impasse. "Like a loop, his damaged brain tissue would not process its way out of repetition. It must mean he thinks it is extremely important that he gets help to break the loop. I strongly recommend we follow up on this, not least because he may suffer a second convulsion if we don't intervene. There must be a way for him to instruct us."

Cyril was nodding gently and pointing to the doctor. His next scribble simply read but did not quite sound like 'SAFE'.

Isabel then instinctively thought it could be the safe at their house. When putting this to the test by mouthing it to Cyril, he smiled, gripped her hand and affirmed her guesswork with another nod. He then became settled and fell asleep within thirty seconds. There was concern that it was a bad sign, but when Isabel nudged him he opened his eyes again and pointed to the paper, specifically to the word SAFE.

*

Gregor lived up to Louise's billing, he was very assured and mapped out what needed to happen next.

"Lucille, now that your dialysis is done, and I have the blood tests underway, I should be able to start the right treatment. So, this is going to take a long time to get under control. This laboratory is perfect for making a diagnosis, but I only have access at night, and as you probably worked out, nobody knows I'm doing this. I would be fired and struck off the medical register if I get caught. We have to get you to an NHS hospital for the correct treatment. I have many connections in the service and I know from Louise that it should be as far away from your family as possible. Hospitals have the same core care programmes but different levels of expertise to avoid duplication of equipment in every one of them. I have a colleague in the north who is a prominent consultant in the renal field, so I will contact him tonight and try to arrange an appointment for you. This might take a few days, so please rest in the meantime and stick to a regular early bedtime. Your previous diagnosis was, in my opinion optimistic in suggesting an operation was unnecessary."

Lucille's lip began to quiver. "It seem more serious then, let me have a full picture, please."

"I don't have the full picture, and won't until the blood checks are finished, but your urine tells me that at least one of your kidneys has a serious malfunction. If this is not corrected it will shorten your life considerably."

The sisters hugged each other and left Gregor to lock up. He promised to contact Louise within two days.

A different cab was waiting outside the gates and the journey back to the apartment was solemn in contrast to the upbeat feeling on the way to the lab. "Louise, who pays for Gregor? I never got enough money for that? He sure won't be cheap."

"Forget it, sis. I told you, it taken care of. I got a boyfriend who want to help. Just think about how you gonna feel when you better. Worrying is bad. We need to eat now, not fuss about money."

*

Isabel Jacobs dumped every item from the safe into a large carrier bag and rushed back to Cyril's bedside. She chose not to wake him and requested that the nurse gave her some time alone when he did open his eyes again. She began reading the pile of documents to while away the time, looking for anything remotely connected to Jermaine West. Even after an hour of poring through the legalese jargon there was nothing which stood out. She drifted off to a gentle snooze herself until suddenly waking up with a start. Cyril was delivering a tirade of monosyllables.

"Sorry, darling. I've looked through these papers but found nothing. He grabbed the pen again and scrawled the word investment in large letters. She fiddled with several documents while shaking her head, until he wrote a second word – overseas. His patience was being severely tested and Isabel wasn't helping by muttering under her breath.

Finally, she spread several documents at a time on the bed in front of him so that he could see them for himself. Whatever he was looking for just didn't seem to be there and he was obviously getting tired again. Out of the blue, one particular memo which was folded longitudinally rather than laterally dropped out of Isabel's grip. He pointed to it and continued wagging his finger dramatically. She opened it and held it for him to check it out. He smiled and nodded several times. "What is it about, Cyril?"

He wasn't listening to her now, he was busy with his pen once more. This was more than one word, but certainly a weirdly constructed sentence. 'Need to see policewoman. Get her paper from his apartment'.

Isabel didn't react at first, aware of D.I. Richardson's presence being a possible cause of Cyril's recent convulsion. However, there was no placating her husband and she gave way. She made the call to D.C. Helen Hunt.

*

James Jackson was trying very hard to avoid portraying just how desperate he was. The odd eye twitch was a sure sign to any experienced officer that he was about to crack under pressure.

"Here we are again, Mr Jackson." began D.I. Richardson. "We have new information which we want to share with you, because you said last time that you wouldn't mind being detained here for a little longer. So, why don't you begin to make your case for another sleepover?"

"I tell you already, man. What more you want?"

"No, I'm afraid that won't do."

A protracted silence ensued and the two detectives stared at him as if they could actually see his cerebral cogs intermeshing and rotating in several directions. Richardson patiently tapped his middle finger on the polished wooden desk top, creating its own metronome.

"You know they gotta kill me, right?"

"Perhaps," said D.C. Hunt, "but what can we do? We need a reason for detaining you, this isn't a hotel for felons like yourself. As D.I. Richardson said previously, we have to charge you with something that leads to prosecution."

Richardson added a little spice. "It has to be a criminal offence, James. Just being a thoroughly naughty boy doesn't cut it"

Jackson took another rehearsed very deep breath. "Look, my wife disappear to thin air, so I can report her missing."

"That won't work unless you're saying you abducted her," moaned Richardson, "you're wasting our time. If you admitted causing her grievous bodily harm by beating her for no good reason, that would be a start. I hope you realise you've already told us under caution that you wanted Reuben to take the fall for you in that respect. Put it in writing and we can think about detaining you overnight."

The suspect was now fidgeting constantly and raised his voice dramatically. "Overnight is shit! I need protection while these dudes cool off. They gotta believe I went underground, man. Two weeks, maybe ten days what I need."

"Sounds like you need a travel agent," laughed Helen Hunt, "they specialise in packages like that."

"It not only 'bout Barbara. I got to take care of Reuben's burial, and they watch for me at the funeral director office. The others can go to hell, Lucille and Louise, Marvin already gone to hell in Jamaica. Ok, what can I get if I sign your paper that I hit Barbara outta' spite?"

Richardson had waited a long time for this. "What about Sylvester?"

"Who? I got no idea about any Sylvester. You know people in them gangs? You telling me this Sylvester is the heavy who kill my Reuben?"

"That could be, James, but I couldn't possibly comment. I think we should prepare your confession about Barbara and I'll see what I can do about keeping you in custody for a few days. If the list of abuse is long enough, you never know, the CPS might recommend we apply to deny you bail. D.C. Hunt will take down your words in describing Barbara's injuries and we can take it from there."

# Chapter 15

"Sorry, boss," apologised D.C. Hunt, "Isabel Jacobs has left a message for me to take a memo we found in Sylvester's apartment to the hospital. Apparently Cyril is conscious again, he can communicate by mouthing single words and scribbling them down. Can James Jackson's confession wait? This memo is about potentially dodgy investments Sylvester made as part of a mega rich group."

"Mm, sounds juicy. Very well, I'll handle Jackson. It's probably better if we let him sweat a bit more anyway."

She collected a copy of the relevant memo and called the hospital to ask Isabel to meet her in reception.

When she arrived, she expected Mrs Jacobs to be parading her usual downbeat 'what am I going to do?' expression. So, she was surprised that the woman for once showed some urgency.

"Have you got the document? He's beginning to get agitated in case he lapses into deep sleep again. We'll have to be patient with him as he needs to have little rest periods while he's trying to recall details. He wouldn't tell me why this document is so important now, he just got tetchy and asked for you. At least he didn't want that dreadful superior of yours."

"You lead the way, Isabel. I've forgotten which ward Cyril is in."

"Oh yes, good that you mentioned it, they've put him in a new department where they can keep up with his altered condition. He's been seeing a speech therapist. It's very good news, but he's been told very firmly that progress will be slow. Now then, I think it's on the fourth floor or... no it is the third or the fourth, one of the two anyway."

'Give me strength' mused Helen Hunt.

*

Lucille just couldn't figure it out, so she gave Louise the third degree. "You need to be clean with me, honey. Something smells awful wrong."

"Like what? You never happy, girl." answered Louise, while biting into a large apple.

Lucille was undeterred. "And you never did go for men who got this much influence over stuff. Who be this boyfriend? I gotta know who help me without ever knowing who I am."

"I told you that already. Better off you don't know."

"Sounds like you got mixed up in some dangerous company, Louise. That Gregor talk about me going up North, and that got me damn curious. It all be too slick for folk like us. Maybe I gonna pull out."

"Jesus, Lucille, you one ungrateful bitch! It all cool, you able to meet my boyfriend soon as you get well. You sure ain't gonna meet him if you die with this kidney stuff. I promise you gonna like him. Can we give it some rest? Even a couple of weeks?"

"Ok, two weeks, no more. You kind of cute when riled, baby. I should do it more."

*

Cyril's smile returned on half of his face as the two women entered his room. The nurse left them alone, as arranged by Isabel. Then she was horrified that Cyril motioned for her to leave too.

"I most certainly will not. Cyril, someone must be here to alert the staff if you have another spasm."

He didn't get agitated, as his wife would normally have expected of him. He just put down his pen and paper, staring at the ceiling.

"I'm not leaving the room, Cyril, and that's final."

He closed his eyes and declined to respond. Helen Hunt turned to Isabel and suggested she should return to the police station. "I can come back another time."

Cyril opened his eyes and glared at his wife. Nothing else was said until Helen stood up to leave. She reassured Cyril she'd come back and squeezed his hand. He held on to her and managed to articulate the word 'GO' to his wife, accompanied by a few tears,

"Very well, Cyril. You are an intolerably stubborn so and so. We'll talk after I've been for a coffee."

She marched out of the room without looking back and closed the door.

D.C. Hunt sat down again and retrieved the document Cyril had requested from her coat pocket. He looked at it for a considerable time and then picked up his pen. He underlined the paragraph which outlined two sets of bank details. Against the first he scribbled, 'me' and against the second 'Sylvester'. Helen looked puzzled but motioned for him to carry on.

He needed a short dropout of consciousness, in part due to his wife's refusal to leave the room. Helen sat patiently until he was ready to resume. His pen scribed one more word, 'code'. Then he drew a two way arrow between the names. He looked at her, miming with his hand.

"You would each contact the other?"

He nodded and moved on to another word. His hand became unsteady as she could now anticipate what it was after three letters. He looked at her as she read 'danger' and put a cross against his own name.

"You mean danger for Sylvester?"

He nodded vigorously and slumped back into sleep.

It was only a few seconds before he stirred again and asked Helen to bring his wife back into the room.

"Isabel, he wants us both now. I feel he wants to say something important to both of us."

They hurried back to his bedside and found he had already been scribbling again. Next to the word code he had so far managed the Christian name. Jermaine. D.C. Hunt blurted out the second. "West, Jermaine West!"

He smiled briefly before pointing alternately to code and Jermaine. So, they'd established that Jermaine West was a code.

"Makes no sense to me, Cyril," said Isabel.

Helen Hunt's mind raced, but she was aware of her boss's advice to reveal only what was necessary in these situations. "So, it's a code, but also a person?"

Another nod from Cyril was encouraging.

"Did you know this person?"

This time a shake of the head.

"Did Sylvester know Jermaine West?"

A beaming smile gave her the signal to keep going.

"A friend?" No reply.

"A colleague?" No response.

"A relative?" A slow nod.

Cyril then pointed back to the memo. There was confusion but Helen Hunt was convinced they were close to revealing an important connection.

"The bank accounts were for you and Sylvester?"

It was affirmed, and so was the use of a code if either of them was in some kind of danger, the purpose being to alert the other.

"Was this to do with changing the required signatories from two to only one?"

Another nod followed by a period of reflection. Then it clicked. "You believe Sylvester has triggered the code?"

Another smile sufficed for her to proceed.

"Do you know how this Jermaine West was related to Sylvester?"

It was only a matter of time before they hit on the least likely one.

"His father? You mean his birth father, not James Jackson?"

Cyril gave the thumbs up and lurched back to the refuge of sleep. D.C. Hunt processed this and was eventually overcome with the realisation that this was a massive game changer.

She made her excuse to leave even though Isabel Jacobs had no idea what the hell was going on. On arriving back at the station she made her way straight to her boss's office.

"Well, Helen, was it a waste of time?"

"Judge for yourself, sir. There's a possible link between one of the Swiss bank accounts Cyril Jacobs set up and Sylvester's disappearance. The joint one for him and his wife is of no interest, but the other one in joint names of himself and Sylvester may be the key to how we unravel the whereabouts of our missing man, alive or dead. It turns out that the two of them had some kind of pact in the event of either one facing danger. The code word to trigger the alert is the name – Jermaine West."

"Bloody Norah, that's Sylvester's previous alias he took when he ran away as an eleven year-old."

"There's more, sir. Cyril Jacobs said that Sylvester confided in him when he chose this code – a name he would always remember, without writing it down. Presumably, he was told this by his mother before she passed away."

"You've lost me, told what?"

"That his real father was Jermaine West. He was never going to forget that."

"Right," drawled Richardson, "So, Jacobs did know this name, but denied that when challenged. He had to bury it. And how does this fit with the bank accounts?"

"When I first showed this memo to Cyril, he knew of the investors involved but said there was no way Sylvester could have the funds to have a private account with them. Cyril was amazed yet alluded to him possibly being part of a group who could have combined to reach the threshold needed. This disturbed him at the time he saw the numbers. We need to follow up on this investment organisation."

"Great work, Helen. Jackson can fester a little longer."

"Right, I'm on it."

"Wait, if it's his real father we might not find any trace of him in this country. We have to look at him being in Jamaica. If his name is Jermaine West and he still lives there, you should check him out first and then Leona and Tobias Marley."

She agreed. "Good call, they were probably not married. Do you have any contacts in the Commonwealth department?"

"Just one, but she's good. If she can't help she'll know someone who can. Here's the number."

The investigation was beginning to broaden again. As long as there was a criminal facet to more than one person in the Jackson family, that aspect could be kept in focus. However, the positioning of Cyril Jacobs and his holding back critical evidence from the police dragged his company back to centre stage. And in the middle of this soap opera was the enigmatic figure of Sylvester Purbeck. Without finding his body the police had to view him as the main suspect.

Isabel, out of sheer frustration, unleashed a venomous tirade on Geoffrey Middleton. She needed a culpable individual she thought was implicated in this whole deception. He was a viable target in her mind because neither he nor Melanie Watson had asked if they could visit Cyril in hospital. Melanie was simply a Judas who'd run out of manipulative ways of advancing her cause. But Geoffrey was more like family, until the charade of offering her twenty percent less than her or Cyril's shares were worth. She was sure he must have been involved in this murky business of risky investment portfolios which Cyril had kept from her. It was also unthinkable that someone of Cyril's standing in the legal community would be in cahoots with such an inexperienced young man like Sylvester. In fact she'd always felt that Geoffrey Middleton was a dull, inept, freeloading parasite who'd never missed an opportunity to 'suck the blood' of her unimpeachable Samaritan husband. She woke Cyril to let him know she'd be back the next morning. "Now, you must really get some restful slumber, my dear."

# Chapter 16

Louise picked up the bright red handset and cautiously said, "Hello?" It was Gregor, who said he had good news.

"My contact has pulled a few strings and manged to get a procedure booked for Lucille. It is tight in terms of time, the space is only available for the day after tomorrow. I suppose there are options for trains or a flight, but I think she should be driven there by car. That way we are not in the hands of fortune, like cancellations or delays. Can you drive her?"

"Not an option, Gregor. I never drive before and have no licence anyways. You asked you know who?"

"I could not reach him, he is involved in some other important work."

"So what we gonna do? I mean..." Lucille was listening to one side of the conversation and put her oar in.

"Ask where the hospital be. He said last time it be up north."

Louise pushed her away from the mouthpiece.

"Gregor, where are we talkin'? Midlands?"

His reply was emphatic. "I said it would be the north of England. It's in Newcastle."

"Jesus! Just hang on, Lucille be here." She put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Lucille. "The hospital is in Newcastle."

"Come on, sis. That be near Scotland. Ain't gonna do that journey."

"Gregor, she not happy 'bout this Newcastle. Says she want to pass."

"Well, good luck with that. I will contact the man who is paying for this and tell him I am out of this loop. I am not going to risk my position again for a stupid person like your sister. Do not call me back. Just get her on to any London hospital waiting list. Who the hell does she think she is - the Queen? Goodbye."

Louise turned to her sister and simply said, "Ok, that's it, procedure now off."

"Great," replied Lucille. "So where we go now?"

"Nowhere, honey. That were it, a take or leave choice. You on your own again."

"But Gregor say I gonna die with no treatment."

"Yeah, he did so, but you gotta find a hospital in London who take you in. Just somewhere father not gonna find."

"Oh. Ok, but you gonna help me, right?"

"Already did my best, sis. I'm outta ideas. Looks like you on your own. Just pick one hospital and I take you there. I got a life too. Let's go, I gonna get us another cab."

*

D.C. Hunt struck lucky after her boss's contact redirected her to a specific person in the Jamaican migration department named Julius. The young man who took her call, named Dylan, said the person she wanted to speak to was currently out of the office, but he would check the files and pass on her request to Julius. There was no record of a Jermaine West as a citizen of the country, however, when she asked about residency it sparked some doubt in the mind of Dylan. He said he'd call her back after he had a chance to speak with Julius.

Two hours later, he called back with some interesting news. "My boss do remember a man with that name, he took residency for only a period of three years and then cancel it."

"Does your superior know why?"

"He do, he clearly tell me that this man live with a woman at the address of 7 Eagle Drive, Coral Bay. That is a quiet resort on the east side of the island."

"Thank you, this is very helpful. I don't suppose he remembers the woman's name?"

"Oh yes, Julius has the memory of a hippopotamus...err... silly me, sorry I mean an elephant. Anyway, her name is... I have it written down somewhere... oh yes, Leona Marley, and Julius say she left shortly after this Jermaine West go back home, but she did not follow him to America. She want to leave Jamaica, but not for America and Julius say she sailed to your country with a small child. I even have the name of the..."

"Empire Windrush, the ship sailed here in 1948 if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes, that is correct. Is there anything else I can help with?"

"Not for now, Dylan, that's all I need to take things forward at this end. I may need to test Julius's memory again once I've looked further into this, oh no, wait a second. Does he know where in America this Jermaine West returned to?"

"I do not know, but I will ask him. He normally tell everything at the same time, things like how people were dressed. He seems to put his impression of people in little boxes in his head."

"Ok, call me back if he recalls more, and many thanks again. Bye."

*

Isabel ignored the receptionist as she painfully climbed the twisting staircase. She didn't want to share the elevator with anyone. She caused a bit of a stir as her high heels clattered on the polished wooden floor leading to the office suites. Barging into Geoffrey Middleton's office caused the intended level of consternation, interrupting a meeting he was holding with the barristers.

At first, Middleton was lost for words as she stood defiantly in the doorway. "Isabel, it's always good to see you, but we have a schedule to reorganise and precious little time to do so. Could you take a seat in one of the empty offices? Ten minutes would do?"

"I don't mind doing that, Geoffrey, but what I have to say should really be between us and nobody else. However, if you wish I can just update you right now, though that could cause you some embarrassment."

She took an empty seat and waited for his response, pretty sure he would give way, as he usually did in such situations. She was right and he temporarily dismissed the barristers. Isabel began with the words "Cyril sends his regards." Middleton caught her off guard by thanking her, but followed up with a firmness he'd recently acquired as the king in waiting.

"No, that's not how our business is run, Isabel. This was a very important session you've interrupted, and any issue you'd like to raise with me, on Cyril's behalf or your own, must also be done in private. Now please leave, you shall just have to wait your turn."

He instructed Victoria Pinsent, the protégé of Jeffrey Egan to take Mrs Jacobs for a coffee while simultaneously manhandling her out of the office. Isabel had achieved her first objective.

*

D.I. Richardson had a distinctly predatory look on his face as James Jackson was hauled into the interview room again. He sculptured the dialogue around the charges of abuse. "Mr Jackson, this is all getting a bit tedious for both of us. I've come to the conclusion, and I may be wrong about this, but I don't think you had any part in the disappearance of Tobias Marley. You may have known about it, perhaps through your now deceased son, Reuben, but an active role? I don't believe that."

"Good. I tell you all along, but you not listening, man."

"No, I always listen, I don't always take someone's word for granted first time around. You wouldn't believe how many people tell lies, some without knowing they are. But here's the thing, now that we have your admission on a long historical list of aggravated assaults on more than one member of your family, the CPS is happy to prosecute the case against you. So the good news for you is that you can ask your legal representative to apply for bail. In essence, what I'm saying is that your bed and breakfast custodial detainment here is over. You're free to go."

"No shit? You tell me that I had two weeks in here. You one of those liars you mention yourself. They comin' for me if I leave here now, you want that on your conscience?"

"I don't make the rules, James, I just follow them. So, unless you have other confessions to get off your chest, we're done here."

"You some dirty bastard."

"You aren't the first criminal to say that, but it sounds a bit rich coming from someone who punches and kicks their wife. I hope you don't get too upset if the court finds you guilty of being a coward as well as sending you down for GBH."

*

Isabel Jacobs elicited further bullying behaviour from Geoffrey Middleton once they were alone. He was now incandescent, fortified by his belief he was close to ascension to the throne.

"You know, I tried every year to get Cyril to buy you a bridle as a Christmas present. You always ran off at the mouth regardless of the fact that you knew absolutely nothing about the subject under discussion. What really amazed me was the breath-taking arrogance with which you would pontificate when amongst experts."

"Thank you, Geoffrey. Coming from a slithering reptile such as yourself, I'd like to pass your sentiments on to my husband. Oh, you probably think he's still a comatose, slavering vegetable. It takes one to know one and you're at the apex of that species. I came here to let you know that Cyril has been given a much more promising prognosis, and he's communicating with the police as we speak. So, just for the sake of avoiding any misunderstanding, Cyril doesn't want to sell his shares, at least not to you. He still hopes that by helping the police we may find Sylvester. After all, he's always thought of him as a son. That would suit me down to the ground. Can you imagine, Cyril and I could finally go to live in the sun, comfortable in the knowledge that Sylvester could run the business his way, and as chief executive with a shareholding majority? Anyway, I'll pass on your psychiatric diagnosis of myself, that in your expert opinion, Cyril's wife is nothing but a verbose airhead. Still, I don't think it will bother him too much as you've never dragged your fleshy posterior along to comfort him since he recovered consciousness. Just what one would expect from a professed close friend. I won't trouble you with my presence again, Geoffrey, you're the perennial monkey, desperately hoping that one day you'd get a shot at plying your Spartan skills as an organ grinder. It has really been a pleasure for Cyril and myself to have enjoyed the service of such a loyal lackey. Bye-bye then."

*

Meanwhile, D.C. Hunt had received a bit of a body blow. Border control in the United States confirmed the existence of fifty-seven people named as Jermaine West. Their records actually threw up more but several had already died in the last ten years. When she asked their advice on how to narrow down the field to persons of the same age ball park, and those who'd had residence for three years in Jamaica, she hit a wall of cynicism.

"Listen ma'am, you already told us that this person hadn't committed any crime, and we just don't have resources to chase ghosts or undesirables. I'd like to help but you'd need to filter out the impossible ones yourself. I'll send you the entire list we have with details of location, age, etcetera and you can take it from there. It's the best I can do."

"Fair enough. Can you send it expedited post please?"

"You got it, ma'am."

When she reported this to Richardson, a totally unexpected reaction was forthcoming.

"Helen, I can't say I'm happy with that response. Amongst all of this speculation about Sylvester, the cruelty of Jackson, and the possibility of a mega-financial fraud, the thing I detest most in the whole shitty business is this Yankee cretin who gets a girl pregnant and then deserts her without remorse or any means of bringing up his child. We're told this poor young woman had to travel halfway across the bloody world to give her new-born boy a slim chance of having some semblance of a decent life. We cannot give up on finding this swine. It's become personal for me, and that is something I can't explain. I'm going to see if the chief constable has any favours he can call in from Westminster. If we're to believe what they always tell us, the UK and the US are supposed to have each other's back. Let's test it out."

Helen Hunt felt a rush of pride that this normally starchy old-school relic was prepared to go out on a limb for some deceased lady who'd laid her own life on the line for her baby boy. She wanted to hug him, but realised he wouldn't appreciate such familiarity.

# Chapter 17

Louise dumped her sister at the third attempt, after two hospitals with outstanding reputations turned her away purely due to a lack of free beds. The conversation between the sisters had deteriorated even further, each blaming the other.

"Lucille, you just an idiot person, no brain, no care about other people who try to help you, and you so stubborn that I had it up to here. If you not gonna stay at this hospital you can walk 'bout all day yourself."

"You got some nerve, bitch. You put me in the hands of that Gregor, and he did illegal stuff, then he want me to get more treatment at the North Pole near Newcastle, with people I never met. Then we got the invisible man, your new boyfriend. Your head be full of shit, like always. Go back to your asylum where they lock you up again."

"Fine. Just write the name of this hospital on some paper, I then gonna leave it for Mum at the hospital I help you run away from. After that we done, you and me. Never call me again."

"Sure, good riddance."

Both of them were on the verge of tears, but resisted any physical au revoir, each marching off in opposite directions.

*

Barbara Jackson herself was juggling with a strange turn of events. She'd still been afraid to return home even though she'd heard from the police that her husband had been charged and admitted several counts of GBH. She spoke to D.C. Hunt again.

"Sorry I pester you again, but when I gonna hear 'bout James gettin' bail or not?"

"Very soon, Barbara. And he won't abuse you any more. Because he confessed to multiple counts of hitting you and Lucille, he's looking at around five years inside. He won't want to make the situation worse for himself. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I never wanna' be alone with him if I go back there. Marvin back in Jamaica, Louise somewhere I never know, Lucille missing too, and I lose my son Reuben. His murder all over the papers now. My other son Tobias also missing or dead even. James will blame me for this mess."

"Is there no one else who can stay with you? I ask because James actually wanted to stay in custody, he's afraid Reuben's killers will come after him now."

"I see. That why I was askin', cos my brother could be here with me. James hate him and Laverne hate James. My brother went to work at docks in Southampton eight years back, and that be when James really started hittin' me. Laverne don't know 'bout all the abuse, but if I tell him to stay here he take care of James."

"You mean he would protect you?"

"More than protect. Laverne, he one big man, used to box in the gym. James scared shitless if Laverne live with me. I just need to know when James become free."

"Ok, I'll try to find out for you, but Barbara, please don't let your brother do anything stupid, otherwise he'd risk being arrested himself. Putting the frighteners on James is enough."

"Yeah, I know. Laverne ain't stupid, but I can tell him he just have to keep James in line. I then fancy my husband gonna move out somewhere else. Thank you."

*

A brief lull surrounding the arrival of the document from the US Border Force allowed D.I. Richardson and D.C. Hunt to inquire about the progress of the investigation into Reuben Jackson's death. "Helen, how about contacting your man who works for D.I. Thornton? Surely there's been some developments, like where did Reuben Jackson actually die? I get the feeling Thornton isn't sharing much with us."

"I can make contact if you want, but I thought you said we should pull back from any kind of interference with the Reuben case."

"I did, I don't want to interfere, I'm just curious as to whether he was killed symbolically, you know, was it simply some kind of gang turf war, or made to look like it, or even to cover up something about the guy."

"Like what, sir?"

"I don't know, but I don't put much store in James Jackson's plea that the heavies would waste their time on him. Maybe Jackson senior threatened his son with something other than asking him to take the blame for abusing his mother."

"Ok, I'll contact Jonathon, but I don't want to pile up IOUs to him. I think he has ideas about asking me out. I'll get back to you."

Just as she picked up the handset, the daily internal post was being delivered, and an envelope landed on her desk. She replaced the handset and excitedly searched for her letter opener. To her dismay, there was still no analytical conclusion, just the full list of Americans known as Jermaine West. However, there was filter data against each one which, when studied closely would eliminate many of the candidates quickly.

After an hour's slog she felt much better. To have only three left from the initial fifty-seven was something of a relief. The short list indicated one in the Boston area, one in Phoenix, Arizona, and the third in Seattle. It was perplexing for her, not that there were three, but as to how she could find more information on each one or eliminate all of them because the Jermaine West she was looking for could be dead already. A shaft of inspiration or just a forlorn hope? She decided to test out Julius's knowledge once more. Maybe the Jamaican would know where Leona Marley's lover hailed from or returned to when he deserted her. She made the call, this time bypassing Dylan, going directly to the memory man himself.

"Hello, Julius, I spoke with your colleague, Dylan, about Leona Marley recently and I believe he referred my question to you?"

"Yes, I remember, but were you not really asking about her man of the moment, Jermaine West?"

"I was indeed, and I've tried to track him down since then. I was told by the American authorities that there were fifty-seven individuals with that name currently registered, all of them still living there. I didn't get any idea from this list if there was any death of such a person registered in the last ten years. They don't seem keen to help me, so I wondered if there was anything else you could tell me about this man which might assist me to find him. Of the fifty-seven, I have narrowed the possibilities down to three."

"I see. Well, apart from telling you he was easy to dislike, I do not have much to say. I tried to avoid the man whenever I could, but I could see he was wrong for Leona. However, love is blind, so they tell me. I did look at his accreditation for Jamaican residence and predicted it would be temporary."

"Oh, why did you think that he wouldn't stay?"

"Apart from knowing he would tire of Leona, he apparently had very onerous responsibilities in the United States. Jamaica seemed to be a refuge, for tax and stuff like that. If I recall correctly he also had a property in the Cayman Islands."

"So, did he travel back to America often?"

"Yes, every month. Always to the same airport, Logan in Boston. I remember him promising to take Leona there, and I knew it would never happen."

"Oh, Julius, that's the best news I've had all week. I meant that you remembered which state Jermaine West travelled to regularly, not that he never kept his promise to Leona. That must have broken her heart. Thank you so much."

"I have not asked why you want to find this man, but I hope it is for some serious wrongdoing, it's what he deserves. But they are all the same, these people. They have connections who keep their reputation clean, don't they?"

"These people, what do you mean by that if I may ask?"

"I believe they are called high rollers, individuals who invest obscene amounts of other people's money, yet take no risk themselves. Comparable to parasites."

"Now you've got me hungry for more about this. It wouldn't be possible for you to hazard an educated guess on whether Jermaine West had a bank account in Jamaica?"

"I am certain that he did. When I realised how he was treating Leona I actively collected evidence in case he did something worse than leave her stranded and penniless. I should not have done so. It was very risky and I could have been fired. I think I may still have a file at home. I never brought it to my workplace. I can check it and maybe call you back."

"Wonderful. I don't know how to thank you at the moment, but I promise to do my utmost to bring him to justice if he has broken any laws in a European country. Goodbye for now, Julius."

"Goodbye."

*

When Isabel returned to her husband's bedside he was sitting more upright and studying the document which suggested Sylvester was somehow part of the group investment portfolio found at his apartment. It wasn't just the incredulity of the gravitas of the other investors themselves, but who Sylvester might know that could broker him to ride their shirt tails. He wanted Isabel to go back to the company office to search his desk for a particular report which may point him in the right direction; to explain the seemingly impossible. He was thwarted as he ran head on into her need to act out how she'd taken Geoffrey Middleton down a peg or two. She laboured the explanation to the point where she could see Cyril was about to explode, and he held up a note saying 'later dear'.

She was crestfallen, thinking he'd at last be proud of her, however, she feared another spasm and said the final insults she hurled at Middleton could wait. The problem would now be getting past Geoffrey and his spies, without alerting them to her task which Cyril implored her to do urgently. Taking confidential documents from the office was frowned upon and had to be signed out.

"I'll get authorisation from the police woman, D.C. Hunt. In fact, she might even take me there to demand these papers. Geoffrey already has diarrhoea, this will fill his extra-large underpants. I won't be long, dear, you have to hear the part about Sylvester."

*

Even though it was irregular, D.I. Richardson told the CPS that he wouldn't be opposing bail for James Jackson. He explained that he was more interested in covert surveillance of the man. He therefore wanted to release him with the stipulation that he remained in London until his court appearance. The CPS considered this and accepted that it probably wouldn't affect the outcome of any trial and agreed.

When he was given the news by Richardson, James Jackson displayed his now anticipated sarcastic humour. "So, you gonna throw me to the wolves, even after I coughed up 'bout everything. Just what I expect, you no better than them villains out there. If you set me free like you say, I gotta get out from London. You guys have safe houses for people like me. You made me a grass, either I go where I want or I ain't goin' nowhere man."

"You're going out on to the street right now, James. You need to collect some clothes from home and I don't want to see your arse back here until a month from now, when you'll need to sign the report log. Don't make things any worse for yourself than they already are. We could drop the charges altogether and let you walk away without any further action or protection. See sense, man, just keep your head down and we'll soon have you banged up. Wife beaters don't get an easy ride inside, I hear they get the raw physical version of being banged up by inmates of a certain persuasion. I'd wager you can't wait to see what that's like. See you next month."

# Chapter 18

Barbara picked up the envelope left for her at the reception desk by Louise; she still forlornly visited the hospital despite knowing they called off the search for Lucille several days ago. She wasn't really thinking about what it might contain. She had other things on her mind, principally the potential time bomb ticking between her husband and brother. Laverne was at least six feet eight inches tall, ripped in the abdominal department and could probably lift James Jackson off the ground with one hand. She was nervous about them meeting at the house when she wasn't there, especially as Laverne knew nothing as yet of the sordid abuse history. Finally, she tore open the envelope.

Her eyes widened and provoked an incredible surge of joy. She did an immediate about turn and headed back to reception. "Excuse me, you able to tell me where this hospital is? I think my daughter is there."

"Oh, let me see," said the lady behind the desk, "I can tell you but it's quite a complicated journey on public transport. I can call you a taxi, would that be ok?"

"Don't think I got enough money for the fare, but what the hell, I can give the driver whatever I got left. Please call a cab for me."

The journey was extremely complicated but the driver knew several short cuts and dropped her right outside the main entrance. She explained being strapped for money and why, saying, "This all I got, should have said so before you took me here. I give you my address to pay any difference. Sorry, my daughter be serious ill."

"Forget it lady, it's almost the correct fare anyway, go and see your daughter. I hope she has a speedy recovery. Take care now."

"Oh thank you, I feeling embarrassed. God bless you."

She hurried to reception and garbled out the words 'Lucille Jackson'. The receptionist checked the register and pointed to the elevators. "Ward forty-two, madam. Left from the lift, go past two turn offs, it's next on your right."

*

James Jackson peered around every corner to scan the street ahead before turning. In his mind D.I. Richardson was far too glib about dismissing the threat posed by Reuben's contemporaries. He firmly believed you had to have lived that life to fully understand how it worked. Meticulous was the twin of ruthlessness. Being as furtive as this was in itself a risk, nevertheless it was the lesser of two evils. When he finally made it back home he shouted his wife's name from the bottom of the stairs. To no avail. Even though his brain had undergone significant reprogramming in custody, he still had the old animal instinct. The order of things would have to be the way he said they'd be. He blanked out thoughts of what may have happened to Lucille, and any further scrutiny by the embankment police about Reuben. He had to find Barbara. She needed to retract her testimony, and he knew precisely how to do that. But priority number one was to disappear into a mist by leaving a false trail. A trail which would lead any hit men along a plausible path to finding he was already dead. All of the usual stuff would be required – certification of death and subsequent cremation. This alone wasn't sufficient, there would have to be evidence of a rival gang looking for him – a different score to be settled. None of this would come cheap, however, he did have one last shred of bargaining power. His knowledge of Reuben's organisation, gleaned over many years, was of significant value to any hostile organisation. How it was presented was important, but very tricky, and for this he felt that a reliable intermediary was the safest policy. While cogitating about who would be perceived as the most trustworthy envoy, he heard a knock at the door. Barbara would still have a key. Maybe it was Lucille, having come to her senses. He opened the door and triggered his worst nightmare.

"Laverne! She ain't here, man. You spoke to her recent?"

"Yeah, she tell me to come, there were some wrongs to put right. Know what I mean?"

He pushed James aside and dumped his travel bag as he approached the kitchen. James said she'd been gabbing to the police.

"I know, 'bout time she did. You got a lot to answer for, you arsehole - Marvin, Louise, and Tobias, all left cos of you, and now Lucille gone too. Barbara tell me 'bout them. No need to tell me 'bout Reuben, it all over the papers, man. Best you start talkin' now. Get in here and shoot me the truth, all of it. It likely be the only way you ever gonna walk again."

The phone rang.

"No, James, no need to pick up. She say I could count on her callin' me here bout' now. I came early so I not gonna miss her. She said I have to be here before her. Guess why?"

James slumped into a chair and held up his hands.

"Laverne, I got no quarrel with you, I know I did wrong but they gonna put me away for a long time. No need for any more rough stuff. I done learned my lesson."

"You don't get to wriggle off the hook so easy, shithead. Barbara gonna show me everythin' you done. She say pictures paint more truth than words, lyin' words from your filthy mouth. Sit, and start confessin' what I got no idea 'bout."

"Ok, ok, calm your juice, Laverne. Can I take my meds first, they overdue?"

"Go ahead, I gonna lock the door."

James stealthily took a metal soup ladle which was hanging from the wall. He openly filled it with water and spread various types of pills on the central table. It was a tense situation, this man was a proverbial Goliath. However, James knew he only had one shot. Fortunately, Laverne was having difficulty turning the key in its rusty lock. It was now or never. James pretended he knew how to lock the door, walking casually up behind his prey. In a flash he swung around and battered the temple on the right hand side of Laverne's head. It felled the big man, giving the aggressor a critical advantage, just enough time to bolt through the rear door and leg it to wherever. Laverne eventually staggered to his feet, dazed but confident he could catch James. That was until dizziness brought him down again in the garden. It all became black.

*

Barbara had indeed made the call to the house, and thankfully nobody had picked up. She breathed a sigh of relief, thinking all it meant was Laverne had arrived. And anyway, if James had been released and gone home, he'd probably changed into his drinking clothes and shot off to one of his usual haunts. She turned into the ward. Even though her eyes were misting up with relief, she admonished her daughter.

"Lucille, just what got in your head to run from that nice hospital and come here? This a low level lookin' place."

"Sorry, Mum. I trust Louise and ask her to get me out. I worried that Dad gonna come here with you. I should be tellin' you before I go. But Louise tried hookin' me up with some shady doctor, and her boyfriend be payin' the bill. It had a stink I couldn't take no longer."

"You had Louise's telephone number? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Cos she made me promise. Wish I had now. She drop me here and said we're done as sisters and friends. Don't bother me though."

"This family fallin' apart now." Barbara began to weep.

"Come on, Mum, it been in pieces for years, fact is it were never a real family anyway. Just a collection of nobody want kids. Anyway, they look after me here good. It don't paint a nice picture but the people, they wonderful. Don't tell nobody this be where I am, I want peace till I feel good again."

They embraced and sobbed together while Barbara brought Lucille up to speed with the police prosecuting her husband. Lucille's face brightened and then soured again when Barbara said her own testimony might not be enough to incarcerate James for a long time, but the abuse of a daughter could be the tipping point.

"No worry, darling, just chill in here till you back to good health. The court case not beginning for many weeks."

Barbara promised to come every day that she could shake off her husband and make sure she wasn't followed.

*

Isabel pleaded with D.C. Hunt to help her barge her way to Cyril's office desk. When Helen told her boss, he nodded and said he'd take any call which might come from Julius in Jamaica.

Isabel had her husband's keys and they both managed to get into the office before being confronted by Middleton.

"You've got a bloody nerve, Isabel. I want you out of here right now. You have no possible purpose for rummaging through papers which could be highly confidential. Client privilege, have you heard the phrase?"

As he was about to call security to deal with Mrs Jacobs, D.C. Helen Hunt intervened. "Calm down, Mr Middleton. The ongoing case in searching for Sylvester Purbeck is in itself justification to retrieve specific documents. If you prefer, I can call my boss to raise a new warrant because fresh information has come to hand."

"And you're going to share that fresh information with me no doubt?"

"Client privilege, I'm afraid. You'll know in good time, you can rest assured about that. So, unless you waive your objection, I'll be forced to close down your business until we've located the documents Cyril Jacobs requested."

Isabel couldn't resist throwing in a scathing reminder of reality. "Geoffrey, aren't you forgetting that my husband is still chief executive and major shareholder of this company? We are merely his couriers. I took the liberty of getting him to draft this written permission to search his locked desk for very specific documents. The title of these items are known to us, but the content is known only to him. Not to you, the previous shareholder Melanie Watson, Jeffrey Egan, or indeed Sylvester himself."

D.C. Hunt looked into Middleton's eyes and recognised receding confidence. He stepped out of the office muttering that he didn't want the warrant to be sought but the search seemed so specific that it should be concluded within an hour. He was then told to ensure nobody else was to be informed of Cyril Jacobs' demand.

"It's that old chestnut again, Geoffrey," added Isabel, "client privilege. We can't just ride roughshod over tradition and moral commandments. And Cyril would agree. We'll let you know if we find the required papers early, then all the fuss will be forgotten."

*

Laverne was crouching on his knees, not being able to recall why he had been lying prone on the kitchen floor. It came back to him slowly as he tottered to the living room window. He couldn't find James, and began to be angry with himself for failing to anticipate James's wily behaviour. He then caught sight of his sister walking up the street towards the front door. He beckoned her to hurry. Once inside and having heard what happened, Barbara sat Laverne down, promising to cook him one of his favourite meals and spill every detail of what had transpired with the family in the last month or so. It was painful for her brother to hear grisly details of James Jackson's paranoid need for control of his supposed loved ones. Barbara had excluded a lot of her own torturous existence when she'd asked her brother to accept the offer of a roof over his head until he got back on his feet. Being made redundant was a tough blow to overcome.

The cold realisation that every member of the family, other than Reuben, had been subjected to such physical and mental threat on a daily basis, lit a volcanic fury in the big man. "Shit, this bastard is gonna wish I only cut off his balls. I gotta kill him, sis. That gonna be my favour to the human race, and don't try talkin' me to let him go, like always before. Stupid I didn't do it years ago. You gotta tell me where I can find him. Leave out the rest, Barbara, he got it comin' for years. He drinks, you gotta know some places he goes, start tellin' me, then I can eat, not before.

# Chapter 19

James Jackson was confident he could sweet talk one of his pals into giving him a bed for the night. Beyond that he wanted to concentrate on survival, nothing else. Revenge for Reuben's death would be complicated and need meticulous planning, as well as having an escape parachute way out of the reach of Manor Cross hitmen.

He hadn't counted on the word being out already as to a reward for offering his precise whereabouts. This meant the local mafia were already prepared to release the hounds. Giving him refuge for even one night could be equated to suicide. Nobody wanted to talk with him and the pub began to empty; in fact some of the crowded bar faces could have been soldiers of fortune. He had to get out of there, but where to? He wasn't thinking clearly now and took the knee-jerk decision to go back to the police station until he could re-programme his head.

On the way he convinced himself that D.I. Richardson wasn't going to play ball any more. So he walked up to the desk sergeant and spat a mouthful of profanities at him, kicked a hole in the counter, and put his fist through the nearest painting. As the desk sergeant called for assistance, Jackson administered a 'Glasgow kiss' to the first security officer who arrived without having been warned there could be violence. Blood poured down his face as an uppercut dropped him to the floor. Jackson was now laughing hysterically as two further officers entered the reception area. They were considerably more wary than the poor security fellow, and having heard the ruckus from down the corridor they were prepared for a physical challenge. One of them took out a rubber truncheon while the other imperceptibly circled to a side position relative to the target. As Jackson mimicked an invitation for the truncheon man to come forward, the second officer adeptly delivered a karate kick to Jackson's nether region and the scuffle was over. They hauled a moaning James Jackson to an empty cell. It took over an hour for news of the incident to reach Richardson, who without any name being associated with the intruder, had to disguise a wry smile. Only when he was leaving for home was he acquainted with the bad news. He literally went white as he demanded that the duty officer took him to see Jackson.

*

Cyril appeared to be sleeping when they got back to see him, but he somehow sensed their presence. He'd had a tiring session with the speech therapist, and was now beginning to gather momentum in mumbling close approximations to how he would have spoken before the stroke.

"Hello, dear." Apologised Isabel. "Sorry we took so long because of Geoffrey's bombastic showboating in front of the entire staff. Good job Helen came with me, and he finally conceded to common sense. Anyway, I hope this is the document you wanted, but we brought a few others as we didn't really know what we were looking for."

Helen smiled and Cyril responded. "Pleeth shit, oh thorry." All three of them giggled heartily and had to wipe their eyes before getting back to the serious stuff.

"Yeth, thith ith it."

He studied the report for what seemed like an eternity before taking a deep breath and delivering a celebratory, 'Eureka'.

The next few minutes took on a distinctly surreal mantle. Although there was no unmistakable statement on the document regarding Jermaine West himself, the various investment groups were given designated abbreviated references. Cyril had looked beyond the significance of what each appended code could mean and instead focussed on the composition of the members of each group. Out of the twelve categories in the overall portfolio, only two members were part of every one of them. Others had stakes varying from a single category to three at most, when studying the initials of each investor. It could be a bizarre coincidence, but that was a stretch in Cyril's experience. J.W. and S.P. had the overwhelming amount invested in every category and therefore the entire group. This was why he had always doubted the possibility of Sylvester being able to raise his own capital to be part of this. The other clue was that the management of the scheme had been unilaterally the province of the same Swiss bank as Cyril had set up the one account for Isabel and himself, and the other for Sylvester and himself. As he struggled to illustrate this to his wife and D.C. Hunt, he became frustrated and tired again. It was left to the two women to play a guessing game with him, until they hit on what he considered as obvious. Cyril had an inside track with the Swiss management team. He could, when his recovery was more advanced, ask how he could participate in the J.W. and S.P. scheme. It would surely elicit someone to unknowingly do a bit of name dropping. Unless he was completely off target, this would throw a whole different perspective over Sylvester's disappearance.

*

"Calm down, Louise. You did the best for Lucille. You can't make people do things they don't want to, even though you are trying to help them. You have to move on."

"I suppose. But I so angry she such a spoilt brat."

"It's hard to take, but if we're going to achieve what we both want, we need to focus on it exclusively. And you have to start by losing the accent. Any hint of Pidgin English or other deviations are looked down upon in the place I promised to take you. It will be a serious hurdle for us unless you work hard to re-learn the language, as close as you can to Etonians."

"Why you insisting on this crap?"

"Not me, the establishment over there. The mandarins decide who does what and more to the point who does not do anything. You have to understand that the days of the British Empire are well and truly numbered, but the process is only in the early stages. India and Australia are examples of independence and symbiotic relationships. India is going solo and Australia is currently happy with being in the Commonwealth of Nations. Then we have various protectorates. Great Britain is stuck in a metamorphosis which includes alternative end points. The United Kingdom is but one of the name tags illustrating the current stage. Just think about a caterpillar transforming to a pupa and then the miraculous appearance of the imago which is manifest as a beautiful butterfly. The United Kingdom is moving closer to becoming a European nation, not just in name but in trade and laws. However, the very makeup of the United Kingdom is under internal threat, at odds with itself. The island of Ireland is undergoing cleavage, only Northern Ireland wanting to be allied to Westminster. The Scottish people will never be happy being subservient to the old enemy, and will ask for some form of devolved government in the future. Our own situation is such that we have to negotiate these macro events by being prepared for every twist and turn. For now, we have to position ourselves to reap the benefits of the establishment, but be flexible enough to jump tracks invisibly when confronted by the junctions as they arrive; which they inevitably will"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Wrong attitude, Louise. You have to embrace it or our relationship will not survive."

"Fine. So, get it started. Send me to some teacher."

*

D.I. Richardson could have done without yet another interaction with a man for whom he harboured intense loathing.

"So, James Jackson, this is your way of getting free bed and breakfast again. Well, you're going to regret what you may have believed was a cunning plan. We have video footage of your antics in reception which show an unprovoked attack by you on several officers. The lock up here is primarily for holding purposes and relatively minor infringements of the law. When added to the charges you already face for GBH, you are going to be moved to a high security prison. So, yes you will be safe from those hunting you from the outside, but not from some of the gorillas inside. I'm sure that, if you're right about the local mafia hunting you down, they'll have the means to make things very uncomfortable where you're going. The armed response vehicle will be here within the hour."

"Make no difference to me, pig. I also got contacts who feed me information inside. I got no fear."

"Really," shouted Richardson, "but how will your contacts know where you are? You won't be getting a regular phone call. You used that ploy last time, and all it takes for you to have unwelcome visitors is a leak from someone who does know where you're going. Sleep on it, James. Tomorrow is another day."

*

Laverne was pretty much shunned everywhere he went. As soon as he mentioned the name James Jackson people evaporated in front of his eyes.

He turned his attention back to his sister. "Barb, I gettin' nowhere runnin' your maggot husband to ground. You gotta help me. You said the cops had him but all his buddies said they let him out. That the only thing they said. But then what?"

"Well, I not heard from D.C. Hunt but I can ask her."

"Ok do it, sis. We gotta sort this. I ain't staying here forever, I need work, and that mean he can come for you."

When Barbara eventually reached D.C. Hunt by phone she couldn't quite believe what the police officer said.

"You mean James in some hell hole with serious badass criminals? Can't say I care what happen to him, just it's cool that he gonna get some of what he dish out. How long he gonna be there?"

"I don't know. Probably until the court case. The way he trashed our reception and injured one officer will mean any bail he might apply for will likely be turned down."

"Hallelujah! That mean I can bring my Lucille home when she get well. Thank you darlin' from the bottom of my heart."

Laverne was frustrated but happy that his sister could feel safe for now. There would be another opportunity to even the score. "Right, I can stay for now. Gettin' me some work is top of the list. You gonna be ok with me leavin' you alone some of the time?"

"Sure. Listen, honey, he ain't getting' free, he go direct from prison to trial. No worries."

*

With the patience of his wife, Cyril dictated as best he could, a letter to an employee of the Swiss bank where his own investment accounts resided. The gist of the request was to home in on the possibility that the Sylvester Purbeck who was a joint holder of the account with himself, was also the S.P. who was involved in the group investments with codes. He included the original document which displayed the codes and the initials of the relevant investors plus the sums of money for each one. The second request was contingent upon S.P. and Sylvester Purbeck being one and the same person. It was pointed out, that if that was the case, there was potential for mistakes to occur when processing any further deposits or withdrawals from the group investments. Milking the impeccable reputation Cyril enjoyed, he asked the employee to be prepared for removing Sylvester's name from the joint account with himself. The last line read as, 'Please note that when this account was set up the entire funding was from my own UK bank account. No money was forthcoming from Sylvester. Since then, Sylvester has gone missing, and until such time as he is located safe and well, I would advise caution on your part to process any transaction between his joint account with me and the group investments with J.W. whom I believe is Jermaine West. It would be embarrassing in the extreme if you were unknowingly part of such a scam. Cyril Jacobs'.

Isabel sent the letter via registered post. A stamped and addressed envelope was included for the Swiss bank's convenience. "It'th a long thot," said Cyril, "but theeth mathive amounth in the group invethments could juthd make them nervuth enough to ectherthithe due prudenth on the matter. All they need to do ith affirm my thtatement, not mention naymth or what they intend to do about the irregularity."

# Chapter 20

A week had passed without any noteworthy incidents other than D.C. Hunt receiving a call from Jonathon, her 'friend' in the precinct investigating Reuben Jackson's death. In reality it was an excuse to ask her out for a drink again.

"Hi, Helen. Just to let you know we're struggling to find the location of his murder or make any sense of why his body was dumped on the embankment."

She drew breath and waited for some morsel of insight to justify the call. Realising that wasn't forthcoming, she politely said, "Ok, as a matter of fact it doesn't seem to have much bearing on our missing person investigation. A family squabble followed by a possible contract killing would seem to suggest our man may even have disappeared for a completely different reason. New information has come to light. Anyway, thanks for the call."

She was about to close the conversation when he asked, "So, you don't want to meet up and tell me more? You know, it could be the other way around. Your case may have a bearing on ours. Reuben was killed quite a while after your man vanished. I get the feeling you're holding back something."

"That's a bit rich, Jonathon. You made a point of calling to tell me Reuben Jackson had been found dead. Look, if anything we find does link the two events, you'll be the first to know. Until then we should avoid any more clandestine chat, let's do it by the book."

He slammed down the phone. Helen wanted to brush such a childish action to one side, but she couldn't help re-running all of their conversations through her head again. Well before Sylvester went missing Jonathon had been very keen to maintain contact with her. She'd simply put that down to him being physically attracted to her. Now she wasn't so sure.

*

The apparently fallow week actually masked at least one unforeseen event. Isabel brought a letter to her husband. It was emblazoned with the word – 'Private'. It had a Swiss postmark and what looked like a tamper evident seal.

Cyril's expression betrayed his change in expectation. He'd pretty much anticipated a polite rebuttal to reply. Some trite reminder that confidentiality was their foundation of trust with all clients. He wanted Isabel to tease the envelope seal rather than just tear open the letter. He scribbled words to that effect. This took several minutes for him to compose even though the writing was comparable to that of a five year-old. It read, 'My contact employee has probably taken a considerable risk in sending this, or upwardly delegated that task to his boss. And the police may want to check it for fingerprints. Are you the only person to have touched it, other than postal staff in both countries'?

"Yes, of course, Cyril. I'm not an imbecile."

As the seal was carefully broken, it became clear that there was a smaller envelope inside. Presumably, one which had only been handled by personnel who'd written it or authorised it to be written.

"Very ath-tute," said Cyril, "get me thumb glovth, Ithabel. We don't want our pawth all over the inner letter."

Her brow furrowed. The unspoken response conveyed a facial distortion of impatience. "I'll open it with the gloves, Cyril. Your speech is improving but you only have the use of one hand. Just calm down."

With the delicacy and precision of a surgeon she picked at the outer envelope with tweezers until she was sure the smaller one would slide out without meeting any resistance. Cyril then motioned for her to stop, as he simultaneously wrote, 'enough, call the police'.

*

Barbara couldn't wait to give Lucille the good news. "The police say your father locked away in some high security jail till his trial for hitting us both. So, honey, you come home soon as the doctor say you can leave hospital."

They hugged but Lucille was tearful. "It ain't gonna be so easy, Mum. The dialysis goin' good, but they need to take out some cysts or somethin'. I got to stay here for more tests, then I get home but have to come back for this operation thing."

Barbara steadied her voice from happy to stern. "Well, that better than losin' a kidney, girl. You gotta to settle down, you my little girl and we gonna get through this together. I be comin' here every day. You hear?"

"Yes. But Mum, I miss my friends, why they never come?"

"Lucille. That is some no brain question. Cos you run away without tellin' nobody. Even me, your mother. Look, I gonna bring a couple with me tomorrow, ok?"

"Really? You ain't angry with me no more?"

"Shut up, silly girl. Now get some rest after this dialysis get finished. I gonna bring some books to pass the time more quick than just sittin' 'bout. See you tomorrow, honey."

*

Isabel's call to D.C. Hunt was passed to her boss. Richardson answered gruffly. "Yes, D.C. Hunt is out at present. What is it you want?"

"Not what I want, inspector, my husband has received a letter from his Swiss bank and he invites you to be there when he opens it. He could have done so already, as I would have done, but he thought you might want to check it for fingerprints and anything else you people get up to. Personally, I wouldn't have waited. I'd have read it and maybe allowed you to know what was in it. It's up to you, but I'm not going to sit here all day hoping you would grace us with your presence. Please yourself, goodbye."

"Just a min...shit, what a vulture of a woman she is." he muttered to himself. He sent for Helen Hunt, intending to go with her to the hospital.

"Do you think that's a good idea, guv? Neither Cyril nor Isabel are your greatest fans."

"That's not the point, Helen. I place no virtue in vanity but don't you think this husband and wife would like to see me apparently taking Sylvester's flit more seriously? I can show more humility, as long as we try to sniff out why Cyril Jacobs bequeathed a very substantial sum of money to a mere employee. Come on, don't turn your nose up like that. His wife didn't exactly give her endorsement to his decision to do this. We are paid to be suspicious of anything which leads to breaking the law. Is it unthinkable that Sylvester had something on old Cyril? Some legal loophole the old bugger was exploiting? The one thing everybody seems to agree with is that Sylvester was the expert in that respect."

"I suppose we should keep an open mind. Ok, let's go."

Richardson held up his hand. "Wait, what do you think we're looking for?"

"Not looking, listening, sir, two pairs of ears might hear different things. Something we're missing caused this guy to suffer a stroke which could have killed him stone dead. Yet instead of utilising all of his energy to recuperate, he's still playing detective and trying very hard to convince us it's all about his affection for his former office manager. Any thoughts on whether I passed one of your tests before we leave?"

"Mm, you mean he could actually be involved in Sylvester going AWOL? I guess I missed that one. He does work hard at coming across as a plausible caring man."

"Indeed," retorted Helen, "and he might be just that. All I'm saying is that we need evidence to rule people both in and out of suspicion, not merely opinions and feelings. Your advice not mine. Yes, right, let's go."

*

Unknown to D.C. Hunt, Richardson had also potentially rocked the boat with D.I. Thornton. She'd confided her last conversation with Jonathon to her boss. He hadn't reacted other than shaking his head. He painted in the details for Thornton, who at first was pretty circumspect. Then he engaged with the innuendo.

"I see, so why are you telling me? To give him a written warning? Suspend him?"

"None of those, it's nothing to do with me or my D.C. However, if the roles were reversed I'm sure I'd wonder if I had a bent cop as a subordinate. It wouldn't be the first time some disaffected officer decided to sell their soul to the devil. I'm absolutely not making an accusation, no way, but I'm about to advise D.C. Hunt to discontinue her cosy relationship with your man. After all, they have no reason to keep each other up to speed with the respective cases. I thought I might be doing you a favour."

A considerable silence prevailed but Richardson exercised patience. Thornton conceded. "Thank you, I'll keep an eye on this. If I see the slightest hint of corrupt behaviour you'll be the first to know."

"Fine," said Richardson, "I really hope I'm wide of the mark."

*

The gathering around Cyril Jacob's bed had a frosty cloud hanging over each individual. When Cyril had asked his wife to call the police he meant D.C. Hunt, not whom he thought of as Detective Inspector Werewolf. Helen Hunt could sense this and was uncharacteristically timid with her greeting of Isabel in particular. Richardson did nothing to show either contrition for his previous apathy or ebullience with regard to the efforts of Cyril. Isabel herself refrained from masking her dislike of D.I. Richardson by inviting Helen to sit in the only other vacant chair, then telling her boss there might be another one in the corridor.

Cyril pricked the cloud by conveying verbally that his wife would now speak for him. "Ithabel will bwief you on what I have been told by my colleague at the Swith bank."

The two police officers nodded, and Isabel took centre stage.

"Cyril was concerned about how Sylvester managed to engineer himself into a group investment portfolio involving colossal funds. This was handled by the same Swiss bank as Cyril had deposited funds for our retirement, and a second account for Sylvester and himself as joint signatories. I only became aware of this after Sylvester disappeared. When my husband checked a letter recovered from Sylvester's apartment by the police, he noted that the group investors were only referred to by their initials. He spotted something which didn't sit right and began to wonder if this was a coincidence. Not believing in such improbable combinations he queried the initials J.W. and S.P. They were the major investors by quite some margin. Because Cyril knew Sylvester had changed his name to Jermaine West a long time ago he began to suspect there was a link which the bank may not have known about. Cyril discreetly contacted a friend from the bank and wondered if they knew of any connection. This letter arrived today and its content confirmed Cyril's concerns. Sylvester never mentioned this when he became a beneficiary of the funds in my husband's second account. Putting this together with Cyril being certain that Jermaine West was not only an alias of Sylvester, but is actually his biological father, my husband is rightly concerned. We've been informed that the bank will be looking into this if only to contact this Jermaine West in person. They appear to have found in their archive his address at the time of setting up the group fund. However, the copy of the letter which Cyril had from Sylvester's apartment was dated at a time well after Sylvester was being fostered by some family in London, but prior to him working for Cyril. What has changed in the meantime is the transactions since the initial investments were made. The minor, less obscenely wealthy participants sold their respective stakes to, you guessed it, Jermaine West. There's more. The bank came up with two Jermaine Wests from the data they already had but neither was at the address on file. Both were from the Boston area, but one was a tram driver with meagre savings. The other apparently passed away some four and a half years ago. As there was a trust clause in the most recent investment position of Jermaine West as being the main shareholder, it deems Sylvester could only access these funds at a particular age. The bank has really pulled a lot of strings to get this information because they were never informed of Jermaine West's death. What we don't know therefore is whether Sylvester knew about any of this. You have the original of the letter which prompted Cyril's concern so you may wish to look into issues of massive tax avoidance fraud or money laundering or any other motive. We are leaning toward taking our retirement fund from the Swiss bank and we'll explore how we can recover the money in the second account from which a living Sylvester is still legally a beneficiary. We thought we'd better inform you of this. Now, can you give us some privacy so that we can come to terms with this chain of events?"

# Chapter 21

A pregnant silence prevailed around Cyril's bed. The two police officers contemplated precisely how these revelations might guide them toward wrapping up their investigation. On the one hand, this could be helping to expose a gigantic financial fraud, and on the other prosecuting a little known person for GBH in his own family.

However, Cyril Jacobs was also deep in thought, trying to make sense of why his mind was relentlessly going backwards and forwards regarding one particular revelation. He couldn't stop replaying Isabel's pride in talking up the part they both played in extracting crucial information from the Swiss bank. Meandering through every potential explanation was tiring, but at last Cyril grasped the significance of why he needed a follow up favour from his contact in Zurich. It was obvious in hindsight, especially as he had wrestled with it for at least a couple of days. Maybe Isabel's harping on about how she and Cyril had outshone the police had flicked a switch.

He banged on the headboard to get everyone's attention, and then signalled Isabel to retrieve his pen and paper. What he wrote humbled D.I. Richardson sufficiently for him to gesture thumbs up with both hands and shouted, "Write that down, Helen. Cyril has shown that he is able to see a detail the rest of us missed because of our tunnel vision. It doesn't end here, it's not the beginning of the end, rather the end of the beginning, as Winston Churchill once said."

D.C. Hunt duly wrote – 'Sylvester triggered the code on the group account. We didn't ask ourselves when, and more importantly, why?"

The answers to these questions would surely unlock much more salient information about why Sylvester was so upset during the phone call he received on the night of his disappearance, as was witnessed by Tom Williamson. It could be the key brick in the dam wall which could loosen tongues and access to sensitive documents. Cyril held out his only functioning hand to shake with both police officers, then turned over and embraced the onset of sleep.

*

"Either I am stupid or the teacher guy is useless, Ben. I will never get any better."

"Nonsense. You've just said 'I am' and 'I will never' instead of 'I be' and 'I never'. It's hard, I know that, trying to master grammar at the same time as changing your vocabulary, but it will get easier. You have to think of it like learning French or German, a completely new language. The best way is to begin thinking in that language rather than translating every word in your head before opening your mouth. Trust me, Louise, it will be worth the effort. And by the way, it's Benjamin in public, Ben is for those private moments."

"Ok, I will keep trying but how long will it take?"

"See, you're improving even though you don't think you are. It could take months of concerted effort and there will always be room for improvement, however, people will make allowances for the odd mistake here and there. The main thing to keep in your head is to embrace the opportunities it will create for us. Athletes can't just desire to be among the best, it takes dedication as well as raw talent. Now, let's go and meet the estate agent, we need to move to a more suburban environment if we're going to distance those 'hill billies' you call family."

"I will not know anybody, Benjamin."

"Very funny. There's nothing wrong with what you just said, but it's acceptable to say 'I won't' as well as 'I will not'. Or emphasise 'not' in saying 'I will not know anybody, or preferably anyone."

"Can we just give it a rest for now? Cos I be a bit pissed off talkin' this shit."

"That's the spirit, Louise. I knew you'd eventually get the picture."

*

James Jackson's first impression of his prison quarters was not as bad as he'd expected. He was sharing with three others. Unknown to him at the time of introduction, two of them were serving sentences for armed robbery, and the third for the relatively minor offence of serial burglary.

He was about to find out how the pecking order would affect him. Ignoring the guards, the accepted inmate hierarchy would be explained to him over his first meal.

His hard-wired bravado and bluster began to surface as he asked the burglar how he could get an audience with the head man. "Who the dude I gotta jive with to get a favour? I need some message runner to keep my people on the outside in line."

The man he addressed turned away without uttering a word. One of the others laughed and put his face uncomfortably close to that of James. "Sit down, arsehole. There's rules in this cell. You can call me boss, cos if you don't I'll make you shit in the toilets and then put your head in it before I flush your attitude into the sewer."

"Hey, easy man, I just meant..."

"Did you say man?" The 'boss' grabbed his testicles with one hand and his hair with the other. James's head was banged against the metal frame of a top bunk bed until he pleaded for mercy.

"Only when you realise you're nothin' in here and act like you're told will you get an audience with the top table. Start by makin' my bed up properly. Soon we'll be goin' to the laundry and you can show me how grateful you are that I'm such a nice cellmate. I hear you're in here for hittin' a woman. That ain't gonna get you any favours, maybe some 'brownie' points, if you get my drift. I'll inspect the bed in five minutes from now. You confused or should I ask Bruno to explain the fine print for you?"

"No, err...no, no, I got it. Sure, Bruno ain't needed."

"Pity, he will be disappointed."

*

Cyril emerged from his thirty-minute time out rather surprised to see both D.C. Hunt and her boss still sitting by his bed. Isabel was apparently at the ladies room. He yawned, glanced at the monitoring equipment he was hooked up to and saw no flashing warnings, which was a welcome sight. Without his wife, he resorted to the written means of interacting with the officers. 'Have I missed something during my nap'?

Richardson responded amicably. "No, we just wanted to check with you as to how we can best conduct further enquiries into the when and why Sylvester triggered this all important code?"

Cyril gesticulated by simply pointing to himself. Richardson's facial expression became discernibly contorted. "It would be fine by me, but I'm not sure as to whether the chief constable would then transfer the entire case to the fraud department."

Cyril was aware that Richardson had been annoyed with him when he had gone over the inspector's head very early in the search for Sylvester. He shrugged his shoulders. Richardson looked at D.C. Hunt and then back to Cyril. "I could say to him that we were working closely with you as an expert in such legal shenanigans. I will stress that it is critical for us to proceed this way because you have an inside track with this particular foreign bank. Citing that the British police have little jurisdiction to extract confidential information from them."

A wry smile rippled over Cyril's face and he simply nodded his approval. He then picked up his pen and wrote a very succinct message. 'You can rely on me to pass on anything I am able to skewer out of my contact in Zurich. I'm pretty certain he has helped me so far because he realises just how serious this might become. Sums of this magnitude could generate crippling adverse publicity for the bank and its senior executives. He could be the one who uncovered the proverbial minefield of these funds being of potential dodgy origin'.

"Of course," said Richardson, "so we're happy to leave this in your hands, Cyril. In the meantime we'll chase up other leads we have which may link Sylvester to accomplices in this country. And D.C. Hunt is actively pursuing the Jamaican and American authorities to get the full story behind his real father, Jermaine West. He may well be dead, but depending on what you uncover, the whole tapestry could suddenly appear to make sense."

Another nod signalled that they were on the same wavelength. Not a second too soon as Isabel returned, asking, "So, what have you lot got to say for yourselves?"

The officers beat a hasty retreat and took the first elevator to the ground floor.

*

On a secluded beach in Jamaica, he was hoovering up the dregs of the evening sun. A gentle breeze played over his back as the asymmetric waves lapped against the white sand. One of the boys from the refreshment cabin tapped him on his shoulder, and he woke with a start. He'd never shed this habit of checking everything and everyone around him when waking, whatever the time of day or night.

"Postman left this. When you gonna get a letterbox in that pad, man? It be against the law, or so Ash say."

Marvin Jackson rubbed his eyes and took the envelope. There was nothing written on it but there was a telegram inside. He became apprehensive as he dismissed the young boy. Taking off his sunshades his eyes went directly to the signature at the bottom of the message. It wasn't what he wanted to see. The instruction was clear, not least of all because of its brevity.

'Get next flight to London...stop...collect funds for fare at post office...stop...call me with flight number...stop.

Drake.

This not only clashed with his private plans, it always made him nervous about customs checks. The sender had used part two of their code, the first being Francis. He preferred Francis as that meant it would merely be a social visit for a word of mouth catch up, no letters or phone calls. Drake meant there was some element of concern and worse still, the possibility of some action he'd have to undertake when he returned to Jamaica.

Marvin trudged off the beach and jumped into his open top Ford Mustang, which was the envy of most of the village inhabitants. He filled up with fuel and blasted off to collect the money transfer from the post office, before going to his quirky cottage to change into travel clothes. He always travelled light and bought anything he might have overlooked in London. He checked the flight schedules and decided against asking about any potential delays by phone. The Mustang kicked up its usual dust storm as he sped to the airport. There was no problem with booking the next flight, but it wasn't due to leave for another two hours and it wasn't direct, being via Bermuda. He called the sender of the telegram to confirm landing time in London, and decided to grab a hot meal. He did wonder why there was so much urgency. The previous two trips he'd been given reasonable notice of a few days, and they were both of the 'Francis' kind.

# Chapter 22

Barbara was becoming increasingly concerned about Lucille's recovery. She had been told they would step up the dialysis monitoring, because until that was fully under control the doctor ruled out procedural intervention to remove nodules or any other benign growths. This edict applied to any future biopsy which may be warranted. What Barbara couldn't understand was the stagnation. In her mind if Lucille wasn't improving she would actually get worse. That was what she'd been told at the original hospital from which her daughter had absconded. She began to think that the current doctor was not as proactive as his equivalent at the more highly rated renal department Lucille had first been treated. Now that her husband had been transferred to a high security prison she requested a transfer for her daughter. It wasn't well received by either the staff or Lucille. This rebuff together with acute mental conflict led her instinct to jump on a bus and ask to see the original doctor who'd treated Lucille. However, she ran into red tape issues when the receptionist at that hospital was told by the secretary for consultations that the waiting list to see that particular doctor was beyond six weeks. And in any case there weren't any free beds to have Lucille back in intensive care. In utter frustration Barbara began to shout at the receptionist and was summarily frogmarched to the exit, where she sat on the steps and wept. After some twenty minutes or so she wondered about everything from back street quacks to licensed private practice. Where was the money going to come from? Whom could she persuade to help out? She finally trudged home and conceded there were no options of a practical nature at this time. Lucille would remain where she was, at least she was being cared for. When she opened the front door, Laverne had a strange look about him. He rarely sat still, never mind remaining silent for more than thirty seconds.

"What's up? The cat got your cream?"

He pointed at the chair opposite, closed the curtains as it was almost dark. "Don't know how you gonna take this, Barbara. The police come around 'bout an hour ago. James found hanged in his cell."

"Whhhat? No, he not never want to kill himself. You sure 'bout this?"

"Me? No, but they gonna investigate everything. Could be somebody got to him from outside. You right though, he never even think 'bout suicide, James love himself too much for takin' that way out. Anyway, sis, they want you at the station, we gotta go."

"They want me, why?"

"Didn't say straight out, but it gotta be connected to Reuben somehow."

Barbara slumped on to the dilapidated sofa while she told her brother about Lucille's predicament. He sympathised but pressed her to leave because he couldn't be sure that any assassination of this nature, if that's what it was, wouldn't run deeper into the Jackson family.

"Barbara, this place spells danger, till we told otherwise. If this be a homicide by professionals, you as family gotta get protection. If the cops wash their hands of you, I know a guy who can help. Now please let's scram from this shithole, it just ain't safe."

She wearily agreed and they sneaked out the back door into the welcoming darkness.

*

A further week into Cyril's next step in his pursuit of triangulating probable coordinates was purely to assist in pinpointing Sylvester's whereabouts, whether he was alive or dead. The latest piece of information endorsed that this methodology would likely reveal significant inroads to further enquiries. The Zurich contact was able to confirm two things. One – definite proof that the Jermaine West who had been the principal shareholder in the entire group investment scheme had died four and a half years ago, an event which triggered the code. Two – That Sylvester could only inherit this obscene amount of wealth at the age specified by the same clause in Jermaine West's will, and the Swiss bank trust. It turned out that Sylvester had to wait for another thirteen months to finally see these assets transferred to his name. It took a further seven months for them to be restructured by him and someone at the Swiss bank, with a considerable chunk being transferred to another investment bank in the Cayman Islands. This meant the gap between Jermaine West's demise and Sylvester actually getting his hands on the money was over six years.

This was a strong indicator that Sylvester had become one of the richest people on the planet. It also provoked further questions, among them being what kind of activities did he get into during the latter period he worked for Jacobs, Watson & Middleton and his disappearance? A clue as to what they may include had already been identified by the man in Zurich. The seven month period following the transference of the funds from Jermaine West to Sylvester Purbeck was so drawn out because the will was contested. Although Jermaine West was considered by the Jamaican authorities to be a cynical womaniser, he proved to be the exact opposite. He had no wife or other dependents in America, but he did have two brothers. They contended that Leona Marley had hoodwinked Jermaine by emotional blackmail. She had received tranches of money to move to London, after declining his offer to live with him in Boston. The brothers claimed there was no actual proof that Jermaine was the father of her baby, and the trail of transition from Tobias Marley to Jermaine West was simply part of that deception. They also claimed that the final switching from Jermaine West to Sylvester Purbeck reinforced the objective of milking the impact of Leona Marley's death and her orphaned son. They eventually lost the case on the grounds that the last will and testament would prevail whether or not Sylvester was his love child. Both the police and Cyril knew this brought another motive to the table. With amounts of money like this, there were always scavengers and vultures waiting for the right moment. Scavengers tearing at the carcase, then vultures cleaning up the bones. The brothers were seen as the former.

*

Barbara and her brother were becoming restless sitting in the interview room waiting for someone to appear. D.C. Hunt finally peered around the door. "Won't be long now, Barbara, D.I. Richardson is on the phone to our forensics people at the prison. Apparently there is some disagreement between them and the prison's equivalent who are both examining your husband's cell and his body."

"Why they need two teams doin' the same thing?"

Helen stalled, shrugging her shoulders. "Jurisdiction, I suppose. I can't say more until my boss arr...oh here he is, maybe he will explain."

Richardson sat, shuffled some notepaper and produced a fountain pen from his inside jacket pocket. "Right, I think we should begin with James' body. As we were bringing the prosecution to court and the prison were merely acting as a temporary custodial location for him, we've had to agree lines of turf whereby we don't tread too much on each other's toes. Our people are certain James did not hang himself. The ligature and the marks it made on his neck are inconsistent with him being able to position the noose and step off any platform which would support him clear of the floor. Also his limp body, when taken down and was no longer stretched by his own weight immediately returned to a shape more consistent with mortality being prior to being strung up. The prison team have eventually accepted this, so the attention then turned to more stringent scrutiny of the cell itself. The prison team are looking at what precautions existed for preventing someone attempting suicide, as they have strict protocols for this. Having conceded to him not having taken his own life, they are cross-examining his cell mates and their individual accounts don't match. I have agreed that they have until tomorrow morning to figure out the sequence of events, going back from the discovery of his body. The first question is of course, what was he doing in the cell alone at a time when the others were out in the exercise yard playing football or watching? I wanted to tell you this in person because I know you were still uncomfortable residing in your home."

Barbara remained expressionless. "Not no more since Laverne come to stay. He my brother and know what James be like. Now we both worried 'bout whether he murdered by somebody paid from outside. So we gonna have to move out."

"Do you have somewhere to go?" asked D.C. Hunt.

Laverne answered firmly. "Yeah, I got contacts."

"Ok, but we need to keep in touch with you. Your court case against James is now pointless, but we still need to find your son Tobias."

"After all this time? There somethin' you ain't tellin' me?"

"Perhaps, but we are making significant progress. We must be sure about certain leads before we disclose information which the newspapers distort in their usual way. Please let me know where you are when you find suitable accommodation."

Barbara and Laverne simultaneously said, "Will do."

# Chapter 23

Lucille's condition was no longer improving, in fact there were worrying signs. The doctor had brought forward surgical intervention. Not only that, a previous statement recommending the removal of diseased tissue such as cysts and nodules was now being considered futile. She hadn't told her mother, but she was being prepared for kidney removal.

When Barbara arrived her daughter was already under pre-op anaesthetic. She paced the corridor, sat for a few minutes, approaching every passing nurse or anyone in hospital uniform in the hope of finding out when the procedure would be over. All she could glean was that it was going to be a long and delicate operation. She finally conceded that it was pointless asking any more questions and trailed reluctantly to the cafeteria, more to pass the time than to eat or drink a coffee. Looking around she saw all manner of patients with their families, some appeared to be in recovery and others were obviously seriously unwell. Barbara couldn't remember the last time she resorted to prayer, and became conflicted again as to whether the surgeon or a higher power had the final influence over Lucille's life. She left a half-eaten sandwich and gulped down the dregs of her coffee cup, before taking the elevator back to the ward. There was still no word on how things were progressing. Her thoughts darted about, trying to take in what had been compressed into such a short space of time. Apart from Lucille, there was Reuben. James had a part to play in both. She began blaming herself for not leaving him years ago. In that time frame, she'd also seen Marvin abandon the family, and Louise had left because, like Marvin, she'd foreseen dire consequences for all of them. Then there was the recent attempt by Louise to help her sister, a missed opportunity to reconnect with her. This downward spiral of emotion brought heavy breathing and cascades of tears, followed by a sudden rise in anger. James wasn't an issue any more, but if she'd taken more on board from her final adopted son, Tobias, everything would have changed. She convulsed with the need to vomit, ashamed of her intransigence regarding the fate of the people she loved the most, her children. Somehow she had to find a strand of absolute determination and confer that to Lucille.

*

Marvin Jackson arrived in London and was met by his contact who'd summoned him following the death of his brother, Reuben. He was however, unaware of his father's passing or the predicament of his sister, Lucille. Despite this, the first question on his lips was why Reuben's murder had created an urgent need for him to drop everything and catch the next flight back to the UK.

"Thanks for getting here so soon, Marvin. Things have moved quickly since we last spoke. I've got no idea yet on why Reuben was targeted. There's a lot of rumours flying around that his public physical attack on your father focussed spotlight on something which was going down in the underworld. I'm sceptical about that, it's too vague, whereas the police were in the process of taking James to court for GBH inflicted on your mother and Lucille. That would inevitably have resulted in you being served with a subpoena to appear for the trial. I thought long and hard about how that might play out for you if the gangs got to know in advance of you being here. I thought you'd prefer to arrive anonymously and give your statement to the police, then be free to return to the safety of Jamaica."

"Right, and...?

"Well, now that your father is dead, that case has collapsed. However, the exact opposite applies to Reuben's murder. The word on the street is that James killed himself to take the heat off the rest of his family. If that's true then I've wasted your time coming here, but if it isn't you may still be at risk."

Marvin played this through his head again before responding. "You say he killed himself?"

"No, whether or not he did is still uncertain. The prison management are throwing doubt on this to deflect their culpability in missing him getting access to a ligature. The police are strenuously stating he couldn't have killed himself from evidence of the way he was strung up. Either way, suicide is fading as the cause of death. So, that leaves inmates who had their own reasons for doing this, or inmates paid by the underworld to eliminate him. They could have found other ways, but for this to happen in his cell makes me think it was a killing with a message."

"Ok, so what we gonna do?"

"Now that you're here, you should lay low until I can find out for sure why this happened. You haven't forgotten how many enemies you made while you tried to force Reuben to stay away from these gangs, have you?"

"Sure, cos I got sucked into that shit myself."

"And, you were lucky because you stupidly told the hierarchy you were finished with them, only to realise you were then a loose end. Remember what happened next?"

"Yeah, yeah, I had to fade away, pronto."

"Then you needed help to disappear. It was fortunate that you had friends with the nous to get you under the radar in Jamaica. You hadn't a penny to your name by then."

"You think my father spilled somethin' 'bout me being in Jamaica?"

"You know what he was like, bragging without thinking about the consequences. Even if he didn't speak of Jamaica he wouldn't be able to resist exaggerating the truth about Reuben and his other son, Marvin. Both of them being 'in the know' but being smart enough to reside in the shadows. That means you need to tell me of anything you knew back then which you didn't pass on. There could be something which could make both of us next in line as disposable. Think hard, Marvin, because they will know exactly who helped you to become invisible. Let's go to my place and sift through precisely what was happening back then."

*

Eugene Frederick West and Philip Michael West's failed attempt to muscle in on their brother's estate had not deterred them to the point of giving up. It had been an expensive process, and this in itself fuelled a need to recover some of that outlay, as they were now in serious debt. Working on the premise that they may find other evidence than they were able to dredge up to discredit Sylvester in the United States, they switched attention to London. This time they took extra precautions by avoiding the direct route of hiring solicitors, knowing that their quarry – Sylvester, was one of this fraternity. He would have a head start on anything these extortionate snake oil salesmen recommended and see them as fish in a barrel. Their experience in the United States was one of a lesson learned, and they distilled the options down to only two realistic directions. The preferred route was to engage with the most influential clan of the London mafia and negotiate with one of their esteemed bent lawyers. The alternative was to sponsor arrangements to hunt down Sylvester, and take care of the rest themselves. The spoils from either were mouth-watering enough to be of interest.

*

Cyril's medical progress was gathering pace in several ways. His periodical snooze demands were now minimal, and he was experiencing twitches in his afflicted arm. Most welcome was his speech therapy. He was conversing in short but meaningful phrases, with the emphasis on short. He was therefore able to broker conditional discharge to his home because of his self-funding private health package, including home visits by former clients of his who were qualified practitioners in the requisite fields of expertise. Calling in favours, albeit pre-paid ones.

One of the fallout benefits of such an arrangement was to be next to his private phone line at all times. And the very first call was to his friend in Zurich. Dieter Muller hadn't known about his stroke because the prior contact was primarily written correspondence sent by Isabel.

"I am much better now. Are you able to help again?"

"Ja, Cyril, but I must think about what it means every time. There can be restriction on what I can access."

"I know, Dieter. That is why I ask this first. Can you come to see me? As a friend?"

It took some time for a response. "I must check. I have some vacation time accrued, but I have to give... what is it in English...a request?"

"You mean notice to be away from work?"

"Precise. I will ask for some time off. How long would be best?"

"I think even one day could be enough."

"Oh, then I can combine a business trip to a client in Manchester with visiting a sick friend. Did I say it right?"

"Perfect. When can you come?"

"I will call back later today."

Thank you, Dieter. I think you will benefit from what I can tell you."

*

The urgency of additional police C.I.D. involvement was deflating rapidly. D.I. Richardson beckoned Helen Hunt to step into his office. "I can't say it's unexpected but it still pisses me off that I got a ticking off for not taking the Sylvester hunt seriously when Cyril went behind my back to him upstairs. Now it looks like we'll be handing over the whole investigation to the fraud bods. Such is a real copper's lot these days."

Helen's reflex action was to put her head in her hands, but then said, "And we haven't even found out yet a single thing about that scribble Sylvester made in his notebook."

"Remind me again, which one?"

"'Funeral, graveyard, P.M. - L.J. - DNR - L.J, you know, the one Tom Williamson remembered."

Richardson's contorted expression seemed to convey his judgement of it no longer being relevant. "Why are you bringing this up now, Helen?"

She glanced at the grubby linoleum floor and frantically tried to think whether she'd done so out of sheer desperation. "I...err, don't know, sir. It just seemed if..."

"Hang on," muttered Richardson, "we did glean from this that both sets of initials – L.J. were the two sisters, Louise and Lucille Jackson."

"Yeah, sorry, I suppose I'm just clutching at straws now."

"No, no, Helen, that's not what I was driving at. We speculated that P.M. was post mortem and DNR meant – do not reply. But, unless I am becoming senile, P.M. was punctuated with full stops, and DNR was not."

"So?" queried D.C. Hunt.

"Sylvester was not liked by everyone but it was unanimously claimed that he was pedantic about stuff like this. P.M. could be initials and DNR just shorthand. Think about when this was written, and what springs to mind is that neither of the deaths we know of hadn't occurred at that time – Reuben and James. It couldn't refer to Sylvester because the person making the call was bloody well talking to him."

"Yes, and what does that mean?"

Richardson was getting frustrated. "Are you deliberately trying to be devil's advocate? That's normally my prerogative. No, listen, it implies there had been or was going to be a funeral. It involves a graveyard or cemetery, which probably means a burial rather than a cremation. There's a body out there somewhere and if L.J. does refer to Louise Jackson, then P.M. could be this dead person. I'd wager a small sum that Sylvester would have written pm or post mortem if it meant an autopsy was planned or had occurred. My gut says there is a body out there which can be exhumed, and the initials of that unfortunate are P.M."

"Yes, I see that, but how do you think this will prevent the case being totally reassigned to fraud?"

"Maybe it won't, but I think we've been looking for the wrong person. Louise Jackson holds the key to the whole shebang. I'm going to ask for a delay in closing down the search for a missing persons – plural. Louise must be able to guide us to Sylvester, whether he's alive or not. Come on, Helen, the fraud boys can look at financial irregularities, but sooner or later they'll need to know whether their case is against a living person or a corpse."

# Chapter 24

Lucille's operation was over, but the story wasn't complete by any means. When the surgeon had scrubbed up and assessed the outcome of the procedure, he found Barbara sitting alone in the corridor. Her eyes betrayed fear of what she might hear.

"Mrs Jackson. The news is both welcome and somewhat concerning. The removal of Lucille's diseased kidney has gone smoothly and she will be sleepy for some time. Her recovery will have to take into account considerable adaptation to only having the one doing the work of two."

"Oh, I got so worried cos of how long it be takin', but it truly be a relief hearin' she out of danger."

The surgeon urged her to sit down again. "She is out of immediate danger, but there could well be a long term problem with her remaining kidney. You see, until now the diagnosis was purely based upon external tests and urine analysis. Today we were able to examine the kidney we removed more closely and it seems that there may be evidence of malignant tissue as well as polyps and other benign growths. Also her remaining kidney shows signs of historical trauma which could malfunction when operating under maximum load. Can you tell me of any accidents or events which could be responsible for what appear to be wounds?"

"Yes, sir. Her father done kick her many times. And he kick me for tryin' to stop him. I full ashamed 'bout this, and I never told anybody. It be me to blame."

"Very well, that helps me in assessing whether Lucille's chances of pulling through the next stage are going to be affected by this scarring."

"Oh she have to do another stage?"

"Maybe. If the scarring tissue is now vulnerable to becoming malignant it would be very serious. The only way to be sure is for her to have a biopsy."

"That sound bad, what be a 'buy op see'?"

"A test for cancer. However, she can't undergo a second invasive procedure for quite some time. Now, you should wait to see your daughter wake up gradually, but do not stay too long as you will tire her, and she needs a lot of sleep for her recovery."

*

Marvin Jackson felt he was trapped in a hamster wheel. He owed a lot to his London contact for getting him to Jamaica and setting him up as his man on the island. A reclusive pair of eyes on comings and goings of high profile business executives. He'd been given photo albums of those to look out for in particular. The tourist flights were of no interest, as were cruise vessels. It kept Marvin pretty busy but also offered a lot of free time and a handsome quarterly cash handover in person by his friend, to avoid paper trails.

On the downside Marvin had no specific knowledge of precisely why his benefactor wanted this information and was prepared to pay such an amount to get it. However, he had figured out that his friend was prepared to visit Jamaica within two days of being informed that certain individuals had passed through immigration checks. He was never asked to meet the man from London at that time. In Marvin's mind this could only be for one of two reasons. Either the friend had something to fear from these people or something to gain from them. The fact that he'd now been called to London on the basis of Reuben's demise, and the threat of both of them becoming targets for his brother's killers didn't wash. Was this just a coincidence? He couldn't come up with any other angle than he himself was being offered as some weird gesture to the hierarchy of the big hitters in the underworld.

Marvin had never been subject to making knee-jerk decisions, but this one he viewed as insurance. Getting on board the next flight to New York seemed to be sensible. One of the world's busiest airports and a good place from which to fade away to some rural retreat from which he could orchestrate step two. It would obviously mean he was taking voluntary redundancy and cutting off his regular income. Marvin had however been very prudent since being his friend's bagman, and he'd planned for this happening at some time by having a bank account in Florida. One of his first chores to be initiated on landing was to transfer all the money in his Jamaican account to the one in Florida and then close the empty one. Once this was achieved he would take the pay-as-you-go Greyhound bus to Florida and the money could be drawn out as cash. Then the world would open for him to begin a new life. That was the plan.

*

D.I. Richardson and D.C. Hunt set off to speak to Barbara Jackson, but when they arrived at the house in Manor Cross there were two police cars already there.

As they approached the front door, they were met by a uniformed officer who told them they couldn't access the property at present. As soon as Richardson displayed his warrant card the officer told them to wait on the doorstep. A plain clothes man arrived and spoke very deliberately.

"I'm Detective Sergeant David Murray, Manor Cross C.I.D. You've just missed my boss. Can I ask why you're here?"

Before Richardson could reply, Laverne appeared behind D.S. Murray. "Guess you ain't heard what happen to Barbara?"

"No," said a confused Richardson, "is she..."

He was cut off by D.S. Murray. "I'm afraid you have no jurisdiction in this borough, sir. As I was trying to say, my boss first thought there may have been suspicious circumstances to look into, but now that we have a statement from Laverne here, we're going by the book as we do for any suicide."

"Suicide?" gasped D.C. Hunt, "you mean Barbara?"

Laverne pushed past D.S. Murray saying, "Look, these people help my sister, I gonna speak with them, you got it?"

The sergeant from Manor Cross furrowed his brow and shrugged his shoulders, basically appealing to Richardson, who essentially took charge. "Ok, Detective Sergeant, how about you get on with what you have to do in the house and we speak with Laverne. We aren't here to meddle in your suicide case, we just want some help in tracing one of his nieces. We would like to speak with her about the disappearance of one of Laverne's nephews. Are you good with that? Because if it's impossible to agree we are going to need him to come to the station with us."

Thinking more off the cuff than with his head, D.S. Murray nodded his acceptance, went back inside and closed the door behind him.

"Ok, Laverne, what the hell has happened?" asked Richardson.

"I just got back here, I been out lookin' for work. I shoutin, for my sister, but nobody here. I went to shower upstairs and then I done shit myself. There she were, lyin' in the bath with some electric thing for makin' toast. She all dressed up, not takin' a bath. I call 999 and ask for police, they come here fast. While they look around, me thinkin' to myself – what she do before I leave this mornin'. Then it hit me. She never come home last night. She sleep at hospital 'cos she got some doctor sayin' she should stay until Lucille wake up from her operation. So, she call me last night to give the number if I need to call her back. I call the hospital while police on their way here. Man, did I run into some more shit? Lucille never wake up, she died in front of her mother early this morning. I had no idea 'bout this and Barbara maybe call here but I was out. I been stupid, I should be in hospital with her. Worse than that, I were still out when she come home. This place ain't no home, she need me to be here. All her kids leave her in some way, they the ones she love most in her life."

"Hey, come on, Laverne, how could you have known this would happen if even the hospital doctor didn't expect it. Barbara has surely had it rough, she probably couldn't face going on and maybe thought you would try to talk her out of it. You were in a no win situation. Look, we'll leave you in peace so that Sergeant Murray can finish up here. We would still appreciate your help when you feel ready. We just want to find Barbara's daughter Louise. We think she might assist us in finding her youngest son Tobias. Here is my card if you feel up to it, I think Barbara would like us not to give up on Tobias."

"I want to help, man. Just gimme' a day or so, you can count on it."

*

The long wait by the phone was rewarded. Dieter Muller said he would be able to visit Cyril in three days' time if that was acceptable. Cyril confirmed that it was.

"It would be good for me to well prepare for our meeting if you can tell me more detail about what it is you believe I alone can assist you with."

"We must only speak about legitimate subjects, Dieter. I have some parts of a jigsaw puzzle. Your archive may hold the final clue."

"I cannot understand this way of working if I do not know which puzzle?"

"You're fishing now. You know the puzzle well. You have authority from your director to limit damage."

"Please explain what damage."

"Damage to the reputation of your Bank. A blemish which could spread like a virus. Let us both be frank about this. I need names. You will not want to give them to me. I have some already. I am trying to help you. Unless I can get these names first, others will. They won't be interested in saving face for you."

Cyril thought the line had disconnected, but then realised there would be someone else listening to the call. Dieter's voice returned. "Very well, I can check to see what the bank can do without, how do I say it...breaching client pledges. I will look forward to seeing you."

Brinkmanship was something Cyril learned from his father, and it was one of the few lessons of life that he appreciated from pater. The vast majority were rather distasteful or even downright immoral. He was looking forward to round two of the jousting with his Swiss friend.

# Chapter 25

Marvin's London contact was furious with himself for not anticipating the guy doing a flit. Perhaps he shouldn't have played the contract hit scaremongering card so early in the game. The next question in his mind was where he was running to. He was pretty sure it wouldn't be back to the Caribbean. He could try to find out if Marvin had stayed in the country or travelled abroad again, but this would take time even if he could call in favours.

It would be risky, but an alternative strategy might find him more time. Putting the word out that Marvin had actually arrived in London would set off a manhunt by those with the resources to short cut anything he could do. He would have to use this diversion to disappear himself. But where to? It had to be somewhere which was devoid of London tentacles.

He had a number of business friends from long ago in Uruguay. This was a better bet than most other locations because it ticked the two most important boxes. Knowledge of how things worked there and contacts who could get things done without serious scrutiny.

*

Dieter Muller was very punctual and was welcomed by Cyril and Isabel. He apologised immediately. "Sorry for the charade on the telephone, Cyril. I had to get clearance to make the trip, and at the highest level, that is why I had to ask the right questions and be careful with my answers to your requests. The president of the bank himself was sitting next to me for the duration of the call. I knew precisely what you would want but it had to come out of your mouth so he could feel the seriousness of what could leak from your side. After the call ended he grasped the nettle that either way the bank was going to lose some credibility. He took some time to think over the options without further input from myself. Then he made it clear that he knew this situation could cost a number of people their position and chose to cooperate with you because you had only your own agenda to fulfil, and this would give him what you know already. With that picture in advance, he could ensure enough heads went to the guillotine to satisfy the auditors and the inevitable fraud investigation. Therefore he will be able to be the good guy who made the confession before the accusation was made."

Cyril smiled in a knowing manner. "So, that means you can tell me anything, Dieter."

"Absolutely, I was going to do that anyway, even if the president tried to stop me. There are a lot of good employees at the bank who did nothing wrong and do not deserve to lose their livelihood because a small ring of scoundrels cheated the bank which paid their fat salaries."

"Very good, my friend. Isabel would like to offer you a nice lunch before we delve into the cesspit of embezzlement."

*

Laverne kept his word and arrived to see D.I. Richardson as promised. The conversation was, as expected, quite awkward. He didn't relish collaborating with the police even though he knew they had been instrumental in helping his sister to bring James Jackson to account for his relentless abuse toward his family.

"Laverne, I know it won't bring Barbara, Lucille, or Reuben back, but we still can't account for the whereabouts of Louise or Tobias. Your sister would want that and I came to the house to let her know that Tobias, apart from being forced to relinquish the family name of Jackson by his so-called father, did it a second time a few years later. We think Louise might know about this, because they were close. Does any of this surprise you?"

Laverne looked stunned, apparently unable to speak. Richardson told him to take his time and then continued with his plea. "You see, Tobias may well hold the key to us pinning down those who were responsible for Reuben's death. I know Reuben was James Jackson's favoured son and was consequently given a wide berth by the other children, but he was murdered. Someone should be brought to justice for that."

At last Laverne spoke. "Tobias change his name?"

"Yes," replied Richardson, "authorised and signed off by James. The strange thing is that James allowed him to choose his new name by deed poll. This was, according to Barbara, James's way of punishing the boy and effectively kicking him out of the family. So, I guess you may not have heard the new name was Jermaine West?"

"No clue, man. Barbara had a lot of stuff she scared to tell me."

"Right, well that was his name when he ran away. But later, much later, he repeated the act and became Sylvester Purbeck. Ring any bells with you?"

"I heard nothin' 'bout no Purbeck, but Sylvester? That be a weird name. Yeah...I maybe hear Marvin say something 'bout some dude by that handle. Marvin say he too big for his breeches. Come to think 'bout it, Louise argued with him, sayin' the opposite."

Richardson was hopeful that Laverne could help him decide where to start looking for Louise. "We are also told that Louise and Tobias, as he was before he ran away, were very close. In fact there is evidence that, as they were not blood relatives they later had some kind of intention to elope. Did you know anything about this?"

"I could see they be close friends, and Tobias visit me sometimes in Southampton. Barbara tell me that she afraid James was gonna hurt him. Tobias, he strike me as a kid knowing what he want from life, not taking order from some other prick like James. Yeah, I can see Louise and Tobias runnin' off at the same time if she was a few years older. For Tobias, no problem."

"Very interesting, Laverne. Can you think of any way to track down Louise?"

"Nothin' off the top of the head, but maybe I go check with old buddies from the time I live here in London. If I get to hear anything I can work for you on this if that help both us. I gonna need to work solo, 'cos these boys in the know ain't interested in helpin' cops."

"Mm... a trifle irregular for a D.I. like myself, but an intriguing suggestion. We could use a go-between who we can trust completely. You can just meet up with him to brief me on anything significant. You would get cash on results from him. How about that?"

"Sounds solid. I can shelve looking for regular work till we know if I making progress."

"Excellent, I'll send my man to see you at the house in Manor Cross."

*

His flight touched down on time in Uruguay. Philip West now accepted that he had to put the past well and truly behind him. Having failed to sucker Marvin into being used as a trading chip with the top Manor Cross gang, the fallout was haunting him. It would have sealed off the risk of Marvin deciding to bargain with the killers of Reuben. Philip had recruited Marvin immediately the court case in America went against him and his brother Eugene. They had quickly jumped tracks to London to arrange an 'out of court' type settlement with reliable underworld people who could get to Sylvester in other ways. One such option was his death, thus reverting inheritance back to the two of them as the new next of kin to Jermaine West. Part of the contract was to include Sylvester conveniently having not made a will. It would cost extra but was considered to be worth it. The unseen weakness was that Reuben was part of the squad which was fixing the termination itself and the solicitor holding Sylvester's last will and testament being 'persuaded' to cooperate. Reuben saw a fast track to becoming wealthy beyond his wildest dreams and made an elementary mistake of telling his father. James immediately wanted in on the action and frequently, when inebriated, suffered from a loose tongue. From then on both his and Reuben's cards were marked.

The first thing Philip West did after checking through customs was to let his brother Eugene know that the London route to securing their fortune was defunct. The botched sacrifice of Marvin Jackson, who had been their gateway to the Manor Cross hierarchy, was unfortunately still an uncomfortable link which could lead back to them. A sabbatical was required to wipe out any trail back to them. The yearning for their dead brother's fortune was now nothing but an 'if only' scenario.

*

Dieter Muller left the Jacobs' house with crucial information which would expose at least three senior employees who had turned a blind eye to critical checks not being done to scrutinise the backgrounds of a couple of investors in the portfolio set up by Jermaine West. It meant that Dieter himself would now hold sway with the president of the bank by allowing him to take the credit for uncovering this and saving his own skin at the same time. Dieter knew that this would ensure him a well-deserved promotion and the president's trust.

The exchange of sensitive information also had a beneficial element for Cyril. He was able to summon D.I. Richardson and D.C. Hunt to his home. Richardson was being repaid for allowing Cyril to progress digging into impropriety with the Swiss bank. He was proven to be on the money with his educated hunch that Sylvester's notes were initially interpreted incorrectly. The letters P.M. did tie up with Dieter's revelation that Philip Michael West was one of the investors who sold back their stock after a period to his brother, Jermaine West. So was E.F. – Eugene Frederick West. Dieter was also able to pass on, with utmost need for confidentiality that this was done to allow Jermaine West to basically own most of the total invested capital right from the start. His brothers were virtually penniless, and their investment capital was actually transferred to their personal bank accounts by Jermaine.

"Why?" asked Richardson.

"So Jermaine would avoid reaching the threshold dividend for tax purposes. Because his brothers held shares for the specified period. To avoid paying capital gains tax. And then they could return that money to Jermaine. He could compensate them handsomely for helping out. This of course meant something else. That the two brothers now knew exactly how much money Jermaine had at his disposal."

Richardson pondered this for a while and brought up the words funeral and graveyard. Cyril smiled again.

"I was wondering when you would ask. Dieter has been very thorough. Jermaine West died. His body is supposed to be in a Boston graveyard. But is it really? Dieter's copy of the death certificate denotes unknown cause of death. However he said there was apparently no autopsy. Smacks of someone not wanting an autopsy and having influence over official personnel."

"I think I know where you're going with this, Cyril. There's a whiff of bribery in the air. His brothers would have motive."

"Indeed, and we understand they immediately lodged objections against Sylvester being Jermaine West's sole beneficiary."

"This now makes a lot of sense. You know, how Tom Williamson said Sylvester was extremely agitated when he made those notes. He probably thought they were coming after him right here in the UK. This is great work, Cyril. We are now urgently searching for Louise Jackson. She must have been the person whom he was speaking to that night. But, how did she know about this before she called him? We'll get back to you as soon as we find her."

"Thank you, Inspector. I hope this means Sylvester is still alive. Hiding somewhere from these two brothers. How will you find them? Without jurisdiction your hands will be tied."

"I can try to convince the American police to exhume Jermaine West's body. Maybe he isn't in the coffin."

# Chapter 26

D.I. Richardson was trying to rationalise why he felt a compelling urge to speak with the chief constable about Cyril's revelations regarding Jermaine West's two brothers. He thought at first it was a policeman's lot to solve a problem just because it was there, it existed. Giving in to this was not his way, and he began to view the whole picture again. Dredging up his previous utter disgust at Jermaine for using Leona Marley as a recreational toy, even when she was pregnant, was still raw. But, he'd been wrong, he'd actually used his dodgy blood relatives to help ensure she'd be taken care of for life. It suddenly hit him, it was transference of anger, firstly at himself for leaping to judgement. Then Philip and Eugene for planning to pull the rug out from under Jermaine's rightful intent to have his son be the sole beneficiary of his inheritance. These guys were apparently on the breadline themselves, yet were prepared to go to any lengths to hijack their brother's will. It meant nothing to them that Leona had passed away, let alone Sylvester inheriting a sizable nest egg she'd been given by Jermaine to bring up their son. He couldn't figure out why she declined his alleged offer to live with him in America. He began to wonder if Leona had convinced Jermaine that Sylvester was someone else's son, but failed to reconcile such a scenario because of what happened after her premature death. Specifically, that Sylvester had been gifted Jermaine's entire legacy after he his father died. Jermaine had never married, neither had his brothers. His death, according to the enquiries of Dieter Muller, had not been widely known, either to the business world or to Sylvester.

"You asked to see me," said the Chief Constable, "hopefully to agree handing over the missing person case to Fraud?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Why the hell not? Norman, you haven't long to wait for retirement to waft you out of this force. Don't mess everything up by stubbornly clinging on to some desire to go out with a fanfare."

"No, sir. It's not that. We have enough circumstantial justification to alert the Boston police that they could ask Jermaine West's brothers, who are his only living relatives, to agree to exhumation of the body. After all, they contested his will and lost the case. Then, despite having received a significant payoff for lending their names to this gigantic investment fund, they did nothing other than agree to sell shares back to Jermaine. Shares they officially purchased when they didn't have a pot to piss in. I'm trying to help our fraud guys here. If they barrel in too soon on chasing the two brothers, there's every chance they will go to ground. I've already made enquiries to border control regarding these guys. It transpires that immigration have proof that Philip West disembarked in London a few days ago. Why?"

The Chief Constable didn't react at first, obviously weighing up the odds against each option. Finally, he spoke. "I can see merit in letting the American authorities know this Philip West has appeared on our shores, then wait to see what action or interest that prompts them to take. If they want our help in tracing him here or letting them know we are being vigilant at ports and airports, we'd be happy to do so. I wouldn't want to see us interfering or advising them on policy to dig into the fraud aspect. Well, not yet anyway. Right, tell them about Philip West and say we are keeping an open mind on how this relates to our missing Purbeck chap. Keep me up to date daily on this."

"Thank you, sir," replied Richardson, "I'll get on to it now." He accepted this was a small step for the force but a giant step for a Chief Constable. All about manoeuvring relative to his own image.

He updated D.C. Hunt and asked if anything else had surfaced regarding their man from Havana, Laverne.

"He called to say that one of Reuben's buddies had seen Louise a couple of times while he was collecting protection money from restaurants. He was gobsmacked because it was an eating place way out of her league. Laverne didn't press him too much as these people get nervy when they are interrogated rather than socialising. Anyway, Laverne said he just wanted to let all the family know about Barbara's suicide, telling him to pass it on if he saw her again. This charade seemed to work because the guy told him the name of the restaurant and said he thought he recognised the man she was with. You're going to love this, boss."

"Well? Don't keep me in suspense until I shit my trousers."

"Laverne couldn't believe this story either. He apparently shook his head and said it couldn't be right. Not only was the restaurant beyond Louise's pay grade, it was thousands of miles from her companion's home."

"For Christ's sake, Helen, my underpants are almost full."

"Marvin Jackson."

"Her brother? But he scarpered to Jamaica, didn't he?"

"That's what we were told by Barbara."

"So what the hell would he be back here for, fraternising with his sister?"

"It gets better, sir, there was a third person with them. Someone who had the readies to eat in this place, The Dying Swan. Laverne said his contact seemed to know Mr Rich Man quite well. He's a big wheel in a rival gang, so he legged it and reported back to his own Godfather."

"Do we have a name?"

"Ben Foley or Foden. Laverne said it was one or the other. It shouldn't be hard to find out which. What really interested me was that Laverne's informant was sitting opposite this character, while Marvin or his lookalike seemed to be putting the moves on Louise. However, under the table, this Ben sort was playing footsie with her. Make of that what you will but Laverne asked him to sit tight until he checks out this restaurant."

"Fascinating. When do you expect Laverne to report back in again?"

"Tomorrow, he said, depending on how he could get the restaurant owner to open up. He seemed confident about that."

"And the bloody show goes on. Ok, I'm about to test the water with our friends across the pond. Come and listen in."

Helen Hunt suffered a Eureka moment. "Right...oh, hang on, boss. There's the link. It's staring us in the face."

"Another stab in the dark?"

"Well, maybe, so do you want to hear it?"

"You have two minutes."

"We still believe Reuben's death was at the hands of the organised crime. His altercation with his father in public was clocked by some minion following Reuben. It's a moment of opportunity, witnessed by many bystanders. This is the chance to take him out and dump his body not too far away from his father's house. Now, this Ben whatever he's called, that's the first clue as to why he's been spotted with Louise. He's a power broker in the most feared gang in London, so he has sway over a lot of people, it has to be Foley. He's playing Louise with information which puts the shits up Sylvester. Information from America that Jermaine West has died. Where did that come from? Almost certainly it was Philip West. Why? Because the West brothers want to plug into London muscle to take out the real target – Sylvester. With him gone they must have wanted another shot at legally laying claim to Jermaine's fortune. Now, where does Marvin come in? Well, he has been or still is in this country. He's on the immigration checks list from Jamaica. He's seen with Ben and Louise, and approximately around the same time as Philip West came here. It fits just about every incident we've looked at. Including the puzzle of Sylvester's notebook. Louise made that call, Sylvester wrote down – 'Funeral, graveyard, P.M. - L.J. - DNR - L.J. It's what these words imply, not what letters and nouns they refer to. Look at them again, sir, they also explain who Louise got the information from, indirectly from America. The only thing that I can't put in the picture is why Marvin was with Louise and Ben, but there must be one."

"You know, Helen, even for someone like me that concoction isn't too much of a stretch to be credible. Let's call the Boston boys and start the ball rolling on following your hunch."

*

Cyril and Isabel were now going through a bit of soul searching. He finally realised how many times he'd made promises to his wife about retirement and the life they could both enjoy. Even more important was his recent brush with the grim reaper. He'd asked Dieter Muller to arrange for his account balance in the Swiss bank to be reduced to a few thousand pounds and the rest transferred to his English current account. This would provide all the liquidity they needed to sculpture the remaining ambitions and lifestyle they'd dreamed of for over a decade. The joint account with Sylvester was to be untouched as yet despite Isabel's annoyance.

"Darling, I know how wrong it was for me to have kept you in the dark about creating this account at that time. I do regret waiting until relatively recently to admit my error of judgement, risking your trust in me. All I'm asking now is to wait a little while longer to find out if Sylvester is still alive or not. If he isn't then I will immediately withdraw the funds. If he has survived then I should go by the book and get him to release his share back to me. You're right when you say he is theoretically one of the richest men on the planet. Now that Inspector Richardson has all the ammunition to answer the question of dead or alive, he should be able to wrap the case up in a few weeks. Can we agree on this proposal?"

A frown was all he met with.

"Let's make a time limit of one month?"

"Very well, Cyril. But, if you fail to keep your word again you will see a side of me you've never witnessed before, and you will not like it. Trust me."

*

The call to Boston was surprisingly well received considering how diffident they'd been in previous requests for help. Probably because this was dumping information on their desk as opposed to asking them to go through time consuming searches for no clear purpose. Richardson himself thought it was largely because this information, if ignored could come back to bite them on their 'ass'.

"This tip-off is much appreciated, Inspector, especially the implications it might have for our fraud people. With respect to the other stuff, it would seem prudent to at least ask Philip and Eugene West if they would cooperate with a request to exhume their brother's body. Even if they refuse we would be interested in their reasons for objection. Since we last spoke with you we put a tail on Eugene and he does regularly mix with people on our list of persons of interest. Thanks for the call."

One of the juniors in the station knocked on Richardson's door and was waved to enter. "Sorry, sir, the immigration office are asking to speak with D.C. Hunt."

Helen went to take the call and then returned to her boss's office. "Well, what about that? In addition to what they told me about Marvin Jackson leaving on a flight to New York, they now claim this Ben Foley has also done a flit to of all places, Uruguay. There's the final link. They're working together for some reason. Louise was and is just a conduit. Marvin is her brother and Foley is feeding her some crap about having the hots for her. She was simply his way of getting introduced to Marvin. Poor girl. I should get back to Laverne and ask him to step up in finding her so we can use her to get to them and maybe Sylvester."

# Chapter 27

The entire investigation was poised on a knife edge and at the same time just needed one of several strands to deliver a dam-wrecking punch. There weren't many tasks to follow up, it was more like a vigil.

D.C. Hunt had hitherto accepted that she mustn't have any further contact with her 'friend' in the Embankment force. She risked the wrath of her boss once more.

"Sir, are you sure there isn't justification in sharing what we now know about Ben Foley and Marvin Jackson's collaboration. I've been thinking more about this unlikely alliance, especially as Marvin's grubstake in Jamaica was seemingly by courtesy of Sylvester. And Foley's game seems to be helping out the West brothers in taking Sylvester out altogether. There's a mismatch in all that. Do you think either Marvin or Rueben could have daubed Sylvester's apartment wall with the red paint – Traitor? I mean what harm is there in you giving D.I. Thornton the heads up about some of this, especially as Ben Foley has the muscle to have staged Reuben's death at the embankment site although we now know it wasn't? Well?"

"What you're really asking is something I already felt was happening when you were getting this information free from Thornton's lackey – Jonathon. I haven't changed my mind about this but it seems you might have, am I right?"

"Err...well..."

"I'll take that as a yes. I'll call Thornton now, he won't be able to resist chasing after someone with the reputation of Ben Foley. Pity he's in Uruguay."

*

The Americans had gone silent after appearing to be motivated toward raising questions about a potential connection of all three West brothers in defrauding the exchequer out of millions of dollars of tax revenue, and whether this threw suspicion on the sudden death of Jermaine West. However, there were probes going on with regard to how any cover up had to start. They believed that taking a head-on butting contest with the establishment would only serve to solidify their resistance. Interestingly enough they began with the coroner who dealt with Jermaine West's review. This man wasn't the regular coroner for the district of Jermaine West's suburban residence. They interviewed the man who would normally have carried out the procedure.

Art Gruber could not hide his nervousness. "I was down with influenza at the time. I was on medication from my doctor, whose advice was to stay at home. He said it was being responsible to myself and others who I might infect."

"Ok," said the detective, getting the vibe that this guy was not used to spewing out bullshit, "what meds were these?"

"I... err... my memory for pills is... quite frankly... I can't bring... I just took the pills."

When the detective asked to see Gruber's work diary the guy was bricking it. "I'll have to get it back from err... my deputy."

"Fine, I'll come with you."

"He's not in today."

"Right, when will he be in? Did he take your diary home with him?"

"Maybe, no that isn't allowed. He must have locked it in his desk."

"I can get a warrant to search these premises Mr Gruber. I have all day to wait here while my buddy goes back to the precinct to collect it. You can stay here to keep an eye on me."

Gruber began to fold, sweating profusely. "I think my influenza has affected me more than I realised. I have a key for his desk. I forgot. Maybe I came back to work too soon."

"Just get the diary, sir."

At the time of the entry for Jermaine West, Gruber attended autopsies on that day and the day before plus the day after.

"So, that's strange, isn't it," chuckled the detective, "you'd be helping yourself if you simply tell us the truth. Why did you step aside for this Richard Fox to deal with Jermaine West?"

"Ok, ok, look, they threatened my family. What would you have done?"

"You need to stop digging a deeper hole for yourself. Forget the excuses, just cough up why you turned a blind eye."

"Do I get protection for my family?"

"We can talk about that once we know the full story. It's possible if you help us out here."

"My report was already written when they stormed in here. I found several stab wounds below the rib cage, all with upward trajectory, piercing the heart. He was a victim of a brutal attack. Ligature marks on the neck, suggesting there may have been more than one assailant. I was told to take sick leave while they brought in their own man."

"That's better now, your replacement's name is on the coroner's report. Richard Fox, is he a kosher coroner?"

"I believe so, from Florida."

"Nice," said the detective, "further away the better to avoid awkward questions, like did merely seeing the knife really cause him to choke on a splintered bone from a rib steak? Ok, Mr Gruber, we'll need a statement and move on to protection for your family. That kind of deal will involve you testifying in court."

"I can't go to court, they will come after me in some way or another as soon as they know there's a case against Richard Fox."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We're doing the statement right here and now. I'll see what we can do about the court. Maybe written testimony is enough to get us an exhumation order."

*

D.I. Thornton hadn't forgotten Richardson's hunch that Jonathon was a bent copper, but had no hard evidence to back it up. He was now much more receptive to outside help.

"You are sure that Ben Foley and Marvin Jackson met up?"

Richardson chose his words carefully. "One hundred percent. Louise Jackson was also present, most likely as a conduit between them. Guys like Foley don't relish public face to face meetings. You do know Louise is Marvin's sister?"

"No, I didn't, but that means she's also Reuben Jackson's sister doesn't it?"

Richardson had Thornton on the hook. "Correct. But, bear in mind they were all adopted children. There's no bloodline connection."

"Is that important?"

"Could be, because the family history shows there has been incidents of feuding, culminating in Tobias, Marvin, and Louise all absconding. Reuben was the only one who enjoyed the affection of the father."

"Ok, that's good enough for me. I'll take a closer look at Jonathon."

"One more thing which could help. I can give you the dates of Marvin's arrival in London from Jamaica and his departure to Florida. Also, when Foley flew to Uruguay. Jonathon's movements during those dates could reveal whether we're on the wrong track. I'd hate to presume guilt without some corroborating evidence. Anyway, your main focus must be on finding Reuben's killer I guess."

"Absolutely. Foley comes under stuff I can offer to the fraud squad in exchange for favours on other cases. Your information makes compelling reading when considering the scores to settle in the Jackson family. Reuben seems to have been a mirror image of the other kids' real sadist, their father."

"Yeah, that's precisely how we see it. Good luck, and if we can offer any further assistance we're just a phone call away. Jonathon won't know any of the people we have for close surveillance if you'd like that."

"Great, many thanks. I'll let you know whatever we find."

*

Marvin had headed out of Florida by rental car. He drove leisurely for the best part of two days and decided to hole up for a week in a pretty broken down motel which was well off the beaten track. To him, although Foley had tried to set him up, revenge could wait. He had another fish to fry. He'd also taken Ben Foley's yarn about Sylvester on board far too naively. On reflection, why would the man, his brother who'd helped him escape the spectre of James Jackson target him now. He'd fallen for the story that Sylvester had inherited an obscene amount of money and not even given him a 'pay rise'. The only reason Foley had befriended him was to be the perfect fall guy for Reuben's death. The promise of a substantial sweetener for providing false testimony about Reuben had suckered him into walking around in London with a giant target on his back. At the end of his week's isolation he would meet up with someone who might be able to advise him of the safest way of preventing a slide back into the claws of Philip and Eugene West. Foley's disclosure to him regarding the ruthlessness of these men was probably the only truth in a very complex sting.

*

Meanwhile, Foley himself was enjoying the fruits of being a house guest in suburban Montevideo. It provided him with protection by a local mafia ringmaster while still pulling the strings in London. The only real inconvenience was the time difference. In a long list of strategic and tactical hits, was the overriding objective of purging leaks from the extreme ends of the organisation's tentacles. Without such draconian action, he could never contemplate returning to his old stamping ground. Working out the order and feasible timetable of lone wolf hits had to be left to the local infantry, but guided by his less well known deputy.

He was about to get more news about how this was being planned, but that was circumvented by an urgent person to person call.

*

As D.I. Richardson walked towards the desk of Helen Hunt, she braced herself because of that familiar scowl she'd come to fear.

"Those bloody Americans! You get into a habit of knowing exactly what to expect from people, but this is way beyond the worst case scenario."

"Shit," exclaimed Helen, "just when we were on the cusp of..."

"The yanks have the go ahead for exhumation."

"You bastard, sir. You sadistic bastard."

"Fair comment, Helen, but worth it to see that beaming smile on your face. I've missed it in recent days. So, we'll know if we got it wrong pretty soon. Fingers crossed."

"Yippee, and I have some news for you. Laverne is in one of the interview rooms downstairs. He has more information, so let's see if our luck holds."

Laverne wasted no time in discharging his latest tip off. "I got my guy pissed last night. He sure amazed me when he open up 'bout where Louise stayin'. I ask him, how you know this? He laughed like crazy and say she been house sittin' cos she got no money. Turns out this big cheese have an apartment he don't need for couple of months till the new owner moves in. I ain't been to check myself, cos I might scare her away. But my guy coughed up the name of the dude who own the apartment, and give me the address."

"Jesus, Laverne, great work."

"I got it wrote down for you here, but I want to ask a favour. If you gonna bring her in, I wanna' speak with the kid on a family level. She is my niece and I owe that to Barbara."

"Fine, we'll let you ask her questions in our presence if that's ok, and you can leave the room when the hard questions kick in. How's that?"

"You got a deal, man. Maybe you got full time work for me. Just kiddin'."

The two officers wasted no time in visiting the address. It was verging on opulence and so they decided to check if there was a concierge in place. Their luck still held and they flashed their warrant cards.

"You have a Louise Jackson staying here." said D.C. Hunt.

"Err..."

"Don't bother landing yourself in trouble. Yes or no will do," barked Richardson, "you can come to the station with her if you like."

"Let me just check if she's in, sir."

"That's better. Well?"

"She is indeed. Apartment 37. I'll ask her to let you in."

"Not necessary, I'll do that myself. Helen, stay with our friend here so that he doesn't alert her."

# Chapter 28

The call came through, Richardson only heard reception say the words, 'America for you, sir'. He braced himself as his tongue suddenly felt very dry.

"Hello, hello?"

"Hi, Inspector Richardson, we seem to have a bad connection, so I'll make this brief. The coffin wasn't empty after all. The full pathologist's report is not through yet but first indications are that the remains point to a male, 5ft 9ins tall and several teeth missing."

Richardson's mood became sombre.

"However, from our records and some of Jermaine West's neighbours at the last known address, he was over six feet tall and had a number of gold fillings, some of which were in his front teeth. As I say, we have to wait until the full pathology report confirms West's dental records and other stuff, but we're pretty sure the guy in the box isn't him. You made a good call, Inspector, and we'll be in touch again soon. Take care."

"Well, that's one hell of a relief and without getting too gung-ho, we can now press on with how this dovetails with inquiries this side of the ocean. I really appreciate the work you've done on this. Speak to you soon."

When he informed D.C. Hunt, Richardson suggested she gathered the whole of the upper office staff. "You put the bigger picture in my head, Helen. It's your turn to give them the good news."

Helen, felt a rush of pride and satisfaction having heard that Jermaine West was probably not buried in the graveyard where the ceremonial funeral was supposed to have been held. However, her instinct kicked in and posed the next question. Was he still alive or was his body disposed of somewhere else?

"Thank you for what you just said, sir. But can we delay blowing our trumpets for an hour or so? We have Louise Jackson downstairs and Laverne is in reception. Premature celebration can wait while we see if what we can extract from Louise changes anything."

"You're making a habit of exercising caution young lady but you are right once more. Louise could cast a shadow over what we think we know. Let's go."

*

Louise was visibly perspiring, fussing with her hair, and simply could not keep her feet still. When three people entered the interview room, she descended further into facial discomfort. She couldn't believe she was seeing Laverne. Richardson opened proceedings.

"Louise, this interview will deviate somewhat from the normal way we ask questions. Laverne will begin with certain queries of a family nature and when he's finished, D.C. Hunt and I will move on to areas related to the disappearance of one Sylvester Purbeck. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Her fingers were now contributing to her anxiety and began brushing off invisible specks of dust from her jacket. "Yeah, I get it, but what Laverne got to do with all this?"

"Well, let's see, Laverne, you have the floor."

Laverne was obviously near to some emotional threshold as he stared at Louise and fired the first salvo. "Why you never come to see your mother? You must hear of her passin' on the wireless or somethin'. You know already 'bout Reuben and you still never contact Barbara. If you had, you could help her deal with Lucille dying."

Louise rocked back and forth. "Shit. I never heard Lucille died. I be so sorry, Laverne, believe me please. I tried to help Lucille but she always was an awkward cuss. Demanding me to fix things for her kidney problem then refusin' to go through with arrangements I did for her. If I kick her ass more and not pander to her attitude maybe she still be here. I could never go back to the house, you know all about him, that monster father we got. But now I see I should have done it."

"Not so fast, Louise, you know 'bout James dyin' in prison. It were in every newspaper in the country. Barbara needed you bad."

Louise couldn't hold herself together any longer.

"I had other places to be when the bastard die. I expect I would see Mum a few days later."

"You could sure have phoned, then you know I be there. When I live there James did a runner. He knew I would give him some of his own medicine. Why you never phone, girl?"

"I don't know. Some people talk me out of it."

"You call Lucille a selfish bitch many times in your life, maybe you take a look at yourself. Thanks, Inspector, I all done with her."

Laverne left the room as Louise's head flopped on to the table. Both Richardson and Helen Hunt were moved to pause the interview and resume when Louise had calmed down.

Back upstairs, D.C. Hunt was first to respond. "Do you buy into her excuses for not contacting her mother, sir?"

"Well, Laverne seemed to have a lot of trouble believing her. It does point us to who these other people were that convinced her to skip a home visit. We have an idea, but we need to hear her say it."

"Yeah. I was watching her closely when you surprised me by giving her warning that we wanted to speak with her about Sylvester. You actually wanted her to hear the name Purbeck. She was already shitting herself before we started so it was difficult to tell how she reacted."

"I needed to disarm her by letting Laverne grill her on family stuff to make her feel vulnerable before we had our shot at her. There's no doubt in my mind that she regrets what happened to Lucille and her mother. Also there was zero effect when Laverne mentioned Reuben. I may be guilty of seeing something I wanted to, but when she said some other people detained her, she missed the chance to stay on the family track by saying it was Marvin. He also suffered at the hands of their father and Laverne may have sympathised with her. We should hit her really hard now because if we can get the name we're after, we move to the phone call she made to the person she knew as Sylvester."

*

With their lines rehearsed the two detectives re-entered the interview room. Louise spoke before they rolled out the first question.

"Can we just talk 'bout Sylvester first?"

Richardson looked at Helen Hunt. They both put down their pens. "Go ahead, but make sure you leave nothing out." replied Helen, "time wasting won't help either of us."

Louise's eyes were red-rimmed and salty.

"Sylvester be my brother from way back. Tobias were his real name, but he change to Jermaine West when he ran away. He keep in touch with me, nobody else in the family. We made a plan to get me out and away from James Jackson, and I ain't callin' him my father. Sylvester help me find work and with rentin' a flat. We always said we would end up getting' hitched but things turn out different. I had to warn him to get away from that solicitor place. They was closin' in on him. I know what you gonna ask me?"

Richardson whispered into Helen Hunt's ear and then shot his first question at Louise. "We know all this. So, I'm guessing you think we were going to ask about what you said to him during that call, and why his apartment was trashed, but don't forget we want to talk about the red paint on the wall."

"Yeah all I got for you is what I was told I had to say. I read it to him on the phone, cos I had no clue what it mean. Somethin' 'bout a man dyin' and where the funeral goin' to be. Then some stuff with just letters not proper words. And very important not to call me back. That was it. I fear for his life but I could do nothin'.

"Interesting, Louise, but again we knew most of that already. What about the paint?"

"Oh yeah, the paint. I only hear 'bout that later. Sylvester weren't no traitor. Reuben put that up on the wall. See, these people trashed his apartment in the afternoon, when he were at work. They never found what they look for and Reuben got real mad, they said. If anybody were a traitor it were Reuben."

"Just back up a little, Louise. Who are they? These people?"

"Gangs. Murdering ruthless maniac people."

"Yeah," said Helen, "we're getting a bit confused here. More than one gang, obviously, but who wrote the script you had to read over the phone to Sylvester?"

"I fear too much to speak about that, but a different gang from Reuben, cos they killed him a while after Sylvester escape."

"How do you know this, Louise?" asked Richardson.

"The guy who make me read the story to Sylvester had some visitors when he let me stay in his apartment. I see a few of them when they come. I overhear instruction to kill Reuben. What can I do?"

Helen went off script but had to ask. "Why did you accept to stay in this person's apartment when Sylvester had found one for you?"

"You the detectives here. Jesus, cos Sylvester ask me to apply for the swanky apartment through somebody he knew. He want me to come on to this guy he knew when he was in the gangs himself. He were some greasy bastard but Sylvester say it were our ticket to be free, Somethin' big were goin' down."

Richardson felt they had no better time to launch the clincher. "So, this guy, Ben Foley, yes we know about him, ordered the killing of Reuben and wanted Sylvester to know about a funeral in America. That's good so far, Louise. I can't accept that you don't know why this was so important. It has to do with the something big you mentioned, hasn't it? Like Sylvester coming into really big money from his real father?"

"Shit, you know 'bout that? So why you never arrest this Foley?"

"It's not that easy without witnesses being willing to testify in court. Where is Sylvester now, Louise?"

"Ain't heard from him since he left for America. I can testify ''bout this contract Foley put out on Reuben, that's all, nothin' on Foley himself."

"Let's have it then."

"Do I get protection somewhere out of London?"

"It's possible if your information is good enough," said Richardson, "but we need a name, not a description."

"Fine, he is a copper at the Embankment. Can't quite recall the name, but somethin' like Johnnie, Jackie....Jonathon, that was it, Jonathon. Sure you can find him from that, a bent copper on the take. So, what now?"

"Just one more thing," said Richardson, "do you think Sylvester is alive?"

"Course, he somewhere in America. I never know where cos it too dangerous. I ask Marvin when he were here to see Foley. But he say he got no idea."

Helen shot a glance at her boss and went for it. "How would Marvin know where Sylvester was?"

"Cos he work for Sylvester. He always work for Sylvester, even spyin' on other people who tryin' to find Sylvester. When Foley ask Marvin to come to London, Sylvester think it were a gift from God. Inside track he said. We done now?"

"Yes," admitted a tired Richardson, "stay at the apartment until we contact you again. Don't worry, Foley is in Uruguay. He won't bother you. You are a critical witness, Louise so we'll get on with sorting out protection for you."

When she'd left, Helen had one concern. "How can we be sure that Sylvester will go along with her testifying if he contacts her? I think we should move her now, sir."

"Right again, Detective Constable. I'll get on to it."

# Chapter 29

The mood should have been more upbeat since Louise Jackson's interview and an official fax had arrived from America which gave final confirmation that the body exhumed at the Boston graveyard was not that of Jermaine West.

However, Richardson and Helen Hunt were unable to agree on the likely outcome of an apparently simple missing person case. One which had morphed into an international spider's web of financial fraud, organised crime war, and the odd murder in the cocktail.

Richardson was adamant that the time had come to understand the pressure the Chief Constable was under. There was precious little time to wrap up what they were primarily employed to solve.

"Helen, we've gone about as far as we can with the financial irregularities in this brew. Fraud has the resource to follow the leads we provided. Organised crime involvement has been part of the machinery brought in to facilitate the financial fraud opportunity dangled in front of them. It isn't our bailiwick, like it or lump it. We still need to nail down Jonathon, but jurisdiction issues must be followed and that means conceding the final proof to D.I. Thornton. The prison authority are not yet done with trying to whitewash their negligence over James Jackson's death, so I'm afraid we are left with egg on our face by putting so much time into a missing person investigation. And to top it all off, my very first instinct was that Sylvester Purbeck orchestrated his own disappearance, and a hell of a lot more into the bargain. He was the man with the baton, not the desperate man on the run."

She shook her head. "Not if Louise told us what we wanted to hear in a very well-rehearsed fashion. If she knows for sure Sylvester is alive and well, Marvin works for him, and they are both in America, why does she need a safe house. We need to make sure we're not being blindsided remotely by Sylvester."

"And your recipe for this is?"

"Make certain she does what we told her to do, stay in Foley's apartment."

"Bollocks, you're right, Helen. Let's go."

When they arrived at the address and spoke to the concierge he blandly said, "Unfortunately you missed her. She left a few hours ago and gave me the keys to pass on to the owner."

"Have you any idea where she was headed?" pressed Helen.

"Well, she had a lot of luggage, looked like a vacation to me."

The resigned expression on Richardson's face didn't deter Helen Hunt. "Come on boss, the airport, pronto."

It was crowded as usual, so they had to use their warrant cards to push to the front of the help desk. The attendant delivered the final blow. Louise Jackson had been in the air for over two hours, destination Indianapolis. They both ran back to the car and sped back to the station, where Richardson called the Boston police again. He informed them of Louise's impending arrival and how that linked with both Marvin Jackson and Sylvester Purbeck. This was surprisingly welcomed by the American detective, because they had their own tip-off from further inquiries into Jermaine West. Logan airport in Boston had confirmed such a person boarded a flight two weeks ago, to Indianapolis. The police had coordinated overload surveillance in place and were ready to swoop for all four individuals. A similar operation was geared up to seize Philip and Eugene West.

The exhausted duo retired to a local pub to drink to a not so rewarding but not so bad a conclusion to their efforts. Richardson insisted that Helen took a seat in the quietest corner while he bought the round.

"Welcome to C.I.D. life, full of surprise, often dangerous, seldom satisfying, but thoroughly addictive. They can't pension me off soon enough."

*

D.I. Thornton called by in person to thank them for their part in nailing Reuben's killer. The fraud squad masqueraded as Ben Foley's welcome home party and collared him on arrival. Jonathon had never had backbone and cracked under pressure, claiming he was under threat of being eliminated by Foley's hitmen if he didn't terminate Reuben.

Just as well it was the weekend, neither Richardson nor Helen Hunt were relishing the grind of Monday morning aggravated breaking and entering or drug raids.

They finished their drinks and felt it was fitting to call on Cyril Jacobs in a few days' time. This couldn't be done until all was achieved in Indianapolis. Giving him a summary of the American operations would herald the start of his retirement, even though it would sadden him to hear his long-held affection for Sylvester was misplaced.

"Just a minute, boss," said Helen while trying to sip her large glass of white wine, "If only we could have heard the whole message Louise read out to Sylvester. The notes don't tell the whole story."

"I'm too tired to think about it."

"No, listen for a minute. We are assuming that she said to Sylvester that his father had died, but he hadn't. According to our American colleagues he was on his way at about that time to Indianapolis. The timeline is all wrong and we all fell for it. The records show that Jermaine West dies four and a half years ago. So why the hell would Sylvester react to being told he had died again?"

"Oh my god, we couldn't see the wood for giant trees. The recent fake autopsy was more believable than a previous forged death certificate triggering dodgy activity to move billions of dollars around. This whole business across the pond stinks of bribery of and collaboration with bent authorities. Didn't our American contact say it was someone who fitted the description of Jermaine West who boarded the flight to Indianapolis?"

"Yes. I know where you're going with this. It hasn't been verified."

"Exactly, but what difference does it make to us? The financial fraud, and everything connected to it is in the United States. The show is over."

Helen disagreed. "Maybe, but even if the show is over, the curtain hasn't come down. We don't have any documentation, neither the death certificate from four and a half years ago nor the fake autopsy of the unknown stiff in the box in Boston. However, I must say, I'm much more inclined to side with the officer who discovered the autopsy was faked than a sheet of paper sent to a Swiss bank which triggered Sylvester getting his hands on the money. Sorry, sir, I can't let this go"

"I sympathise, Helen, but what can you do about it?"

"Keep in touch with our American police contact for starters. Ask to be kept up to date. They will be looking into stuff like the death certificate. If Sylvester was pulling all four people together in Indianapolis, but we can only be sure of the one we checked ourselves, Louise. The other three are speculative but feasible, if we believe Louise, Marvin and Sylvester. The fourth, possibly Jermaine West, why him? There's something else going on."

Richardson was already yawning. "Unless you stop rabbiting on about this, I won't let you get the next round."

"It's so bloody frustrating. Can I speak one more time with Cyril Jacobs?"

"I can't stop you from doing so on your own time."

*

Helen was shown in by Isabel. She wasted no time on pleasantries. "Cyril, could you take another look at this document you were sent from the Swiss bank, please."

"Of course, what am I looking for?"

"I don't want to guide you, just check everything and see if anything bothers you."

He obliged, reading through the largely technical text a second time. He finally spotted something. "This is a copy, not an original, and whoever photocopied it should have noticed that part of another document has found its way on to the bottom right hand corner."

"Any idea what that means?"

"Well, it's very indistinct but it would appear to be digits to convey a date."

"What kind of date?"

"I have no idea what you're refer... oh I see, it's the American way of expressing the date. The month first, then the day of the month."

"Yes, and which part of the date is missing compared to the date expressed at the top right hand corner?"

"Good heavens, there's quite a discrepancy. The day of the month is almost totally obscured at the bottom. I think it could be 30, however, the actual year on the top right is 1964, and the very obscure year at the bottom right looks like 1967 at first glance."

"Thank you, Cyril. So, the main document is 9.30.1964, and the bottom corner could be interpreted as either the same date or 9.30.1967. There is another discrepancy."

"Let me take another look."

"You can't see it?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"The main document is typewritten whereas the bit at the bottom is from a fax according to our forensics people. Thermal paper legend degrades with time. It could also have been thumbed quite a lot. Anyway, to me it looks like an oversight by the sender, because why would a bona fide death certificate dated 1964 have the corner of another document bearing the date 1967 on it, even though as you say at first glance the 7 looks like a four? Either way it's a pretty sloppy mistake for an important document which was in the possession of a Swiss bank."

"You're very observant, D.C. Hunt. This is completely unacceptable. I'll contact Dieter first thing in the morning."

"Thank you, Cyril."

*

When she heard from Cyril, D.C. Hunt was ready to acquaint her boss with the irregularity.

"For Pete's sake, Helen. When are you going to quit this obsessive behaviour? We're done with the case for all the reasons we discussed on Friday. This is Monday, hallelujah. A new week of cases we do understand."

"Sir, it isn't just the fact that the Swiss bank were careless. Cyril was told by Dieter Muller that they knew about the error."

"What?"

"He'd already told Cyril that three senior managers were going to be fired because they'd turned a blind eye to the scrutiny of some of the proposed investors. Philip and Eugene West in particular. Retrospective checks after the dismissal of the gang of three revealed the two brothers of Jermaine West had a long history of criminal offences, including prison sentences. Dieter explained why he hadn't mentioned this to Cyril when he visited recently."

"Go on then, did they help Lee Harvey Oswald on the grassy knoll?"

"Sarcasm won't work this time, sir. The Swiss bank president told Dieter that because the American police were now pursuing the fraud case it would not be prudent to interfere with those proceedings, and that the bank had already taken action by firing the culprits who helped the West brothers to get in through the back door. However, Cyril maintains that this could all spill back to Europe if the American investigation find the same irregularity with the death certificate that I did."

"Bloody Norah, I must say, Helen, you have the tenacity of a giant limpet. Ok, if that does happen we'll talk about it then."

"One final point, sir. If the West brothers are arrested as well as Sylvester, Marvin, Louise and whoever meets them in Indianapolis, it could spill over into Jermaine West having faked his own death."

"Here we go again, and..."

"Considering the string of convictions the brothers have, that could be useful to Jermaine. Amongst those convictions were two reported incidents of fraternal violence. They beat up Jermaine, once in a bar, and once unbelievably when he came to the precinct to bail the idiots out. It's possible that this continual threat was why Jermaine offered them the gift of joining the investment group only to get a payoff by selling up. Dieter said the financial newspapers were regularly publishing the astronomic growth of Jermaine's wealth, and his diversification to Europe and all Caribbean islands. This must have wound up Philip and Eugene big time. This trial is going to take place behind closed doors at Federal insistence. Wish I could be there."

"Fine, can we get back to work now?"

# Chapter 30

Very little information was leaked from the ongoing trial which took place in Washington. There were daily attempts by journalists to crack the tight security surrounding the entire circus.

Finally the day of judgement came. The complexity of the verdicts was staggering in its implications.

Sixteen weeks of the Feds versus Sylvester Purbeck, who represented the defendants, threw up a compromise to a perceived judicial impasse.

Louise Jackson and Marvin Jackson were found not guilty of breaking any law. Because the only evidence brought against them was of telling lies in the UK, which in themselves neither perverted the course of justice in America nor was considered material in defrauding the IRS authorities. Jermaine West was convicted of falsifying a death certificate and illegally procuring a corpse, bribing a pathologist and faking his own demise. Sylvester Purbeck was not convicted of any criminal offence due to lack of concrete evidence.

Because Jermaine pleaded guilty to all charges, and the crucial fact that the four people had not in fact been arrested but handed themselves in was taken into account.

Even more influential was the voluntary confession by Jermaine when questioned by Sylvester, that every single dollar of his previously accrued capital had undergone a confidential instruction by Sylvester's solicitors to be distributed from Switzerland and the Cayman Islands to a legion of Caribbean government organisations and bona fide charitable companies. The trust which had been set up was subsequently verified and an additional amount set aside to surrender the precise sum owed and to be paid to the Federal IRS. This evidence was all produced in court by Sylvester's American solicitors and the date of registration confirmed as fifty-six days ago. Despite the tight security, it was inevitable that leaks would emerge at some time. This began when newsreel pictures reached other parts of the world showing Louise, Marvin and Sylvester disembarking in Jamaica. The terms of Sub-Judice compliance were breached by several anonymous sources. The Federal prosecutor had been facing implied extreme public backlash if Sylvester faced incarceration. The pivotal acceptance of his father having told the court that he was persuaded by his son to right the wrongs he'd caused was paramount. And that was the underpinning reason for transferring the funds into Sylvester's name when he did exactly what he'd promised. Forensic analysis confirmed this was true. The counter condition was for Sylvester, Marvin and Louise to be deported to their place of birth.

One detail had escaped publication until everything else was tidied up. Jermaine West was transferred from court to a remote hospice as he was suffering from terminal bone marrow cancer. He was expected to pass away in a few months.

Sylvester had always been careful to provide for a rainy day. The sums of money he'd squirrelled away from his days in assisting the less well off in defending their rights in London was more than enough to start a legal company to mirror this in Jamaica. It was no surprise that he received modest grants from the government.

When all of this fed back to UK newspapers, D.I. Richardson and Helen Hunt sat in his office reviewing their individual versions of serendipity.

"So," began Helen, "I'm happy that we were a small part of all this, even if it won't appear that way on my C.V."

An anecdotal response was all Richardson could muster.

"It just confirms what I said at the beginning. There's an old saying – 'you can fool some of the people all of the time and fool all of the people some of the time, but you can't fool all of the people all of the time'. I think we just found somebody who has."

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