This was the first time since our run-in with the drug warlords that Id asked Richard to do anything connected with work. Id argued with Trevor Kerr that there must be a less complicated way for us to meet, but Clever Trevor was convinced that he was right to take precautions. I nearly asked him why he was hiring a dog and still barking himself, but I bit my tongue. Business hasnt been so great lately that I can afford to antagonize new clients before theyre actually signed up.
With a sigh, I walked into my own bedroom and considered the options. Richard says I dont have a wardrobe, just a collection of disguises. Looking at the array of clothes in front of me, I was tempted to agree with him. I pulled out a simple tailored dress in rough russet silk with a matching bolero jacket. Id bought it while Id been bodyguarding a Hollywood actress who was over here for a week to record an episode in a Granada drama series. Shed taken one look at the little black number Id turned up in on the first evening and silently written me a check for £500 to go and buy something a little more chic, hon. Im not proud; I took the money and shopped. Alexis and I hadnt had so much fun in years.
I stepped into the dress and reached round to zip it up. Richard got there before me. He leaned forward and kissed me behind the ear. I turned to gooseflesh and shivered. Sorry, he said. Bad day. Lets go and see how the other half lives.
The address Trevor Kerr had given me was in Whitefield, a suburb of mostly semis just beyond the perennial roadwork on the M62. Its an area thats largely a colony of the upwardly mobile but not strictly Orthodox Jews who make up a significant proportion of Manchester s population. Beyond the streets of identical between-the-wars semis lay our destination, one of a handful of architect-designed developments where the serious money has gravitated. My plumber got the contract for one of them, and he told me about a conversation with one of his customers. My plumber thought the architect had made a mistake, because the plans showed plumbing for four dishwashers-two in the kitchen and two in the utility room. When he queried it, the customer looked at him as if he was thick as a yard of four-by-two and said, We keep kosher and we entertain a lot. Theres nothing you can say to that.
The house Id been directed to looked more Frankenstein than Frank Lloyd Wright. It had more turrets and crenellations than Windsor Castle, all in bright red Accrington brick. Sometimes its nice to be potless, Richard remarked as we parked as near to it as we could get. It had a triple garage and a blacktop driveway for half a dozen cars, but tonight was clearly party night. Richards hot-pink Volkswagen Beetle convertible looked as out of place as Cinderella at a minute past midnight. When the hostess opened the door, I smiled. Good evening, I said. Were with Trevor Kerr, I added.
The frosting on her immaculate coiffure spilled over onto the hostesss smile. Do come in, she said.
The man whod been hovering in the hall behind her stepped forward and said, Im Trevor Kerr. He signaled with his eyebrows towards the stairs and we followed him up into a den that looked like it had been bought clock, stock and panel from a country house. The only incongruity was the computer and fax machine smack in the middle of the desk. We wont be disturbed here, he said. Itll be at least half an hour before the host distributes the clues and we move off. Perhaps your friend would like to go downstairs and help himself to the buffet?
I could hear Richards hackles rising. Mr. Barclay is a valued associate of Mortensen and Brannigan. Anything you say is safe with him, I said stiffly. I dreaded to think how many people Richard could upset at a Round Table potluck buffet.
Thats right, he drawled. Im not just scenery.
Kerr looked uncomfortable, but he wasnt really in a position to argue. As he settled himself in an armchair, we studied each other. Not even a hand-stitched suit could hide a body gone ruinously to seed. I was tempted to offer some fashion advice, but I didnt think hed welcome the news that this year, bellies are being worn inside the trousers. He couldnt have been much more than forty, but his eyes would have been the envy of any self-respecting bloodhound and his jowls would have set a bulldog aquiver. The only attractive feature the man possessed was a head of thick, wavy brown hair with a faint silvering at the temples.
Well, Mr. Kerr? I said.
He cleared his throat and said, I run Kerrchem. You probably havent heard of us, but were quite a large concern. Weve got a big plant out at Farnworth. We manufacture industrial cleaning materials, and we do one or two domestic products for supermarket own-brands. We pride ourselves on being a family business. Anyway, about a month ago, I got a letter in the post at home. As far as I can remember, it said I could avoid Kerrchem ending up with the same reputation as Tylenol for a very modest sum of money.
Product tampering, Richard said sagely.
Kerr nodded. Thats what I took it to mean.
You said, as far as I can remember, I remarked.Does that mean you havent got the note?
Kerr scowled. Thats right. I thought it was some crank. It looked ridiculous, all those letters cut out of a newspaper and sellotaped down. I binned it. You cant blame me for that, he whined.
No ones blaming you, Mr. Kerr. Its just a pity you didnt keep the note. Has something happened since then to make you think they were serious?
Kerr looked away and pulled a fat cigar from his inside pocket. As he went through the performance of lighting it, Richard leaned forward in his seat. A man has died since then, hasnt he, Mr. Kerr? I was impressed. I didnt know what the hell he was talking about, but I was impressed.
A plume of acrid blue smoke obscured Kerrs eyes as he said, Technically, yes. But theres no evidence that theres any connection.
A man dies after opening a sealed container of your products, youve had a blackmail note and you dont believe theres a connection? Richard asked, with only mild incredulity.
I could see mischief dancing behind his glasses, so I thought Id better head this off at the pass. Any minute now, Richard would decide to start enjoying himself, completely oblivious to the fact that not everyone has the blithe disregard for human life that characterizes journalists. Suppose you give me your version of events, Mr. Kerr.
He puffed on the cigar and I tried not to cough. Like I said,
I thought this note was some crank. Then, last week, we had a phone call from the police. They said a publican had dropped down dead at work. It seemed hed just opened a fresh container of KerrSter. Thats a universal cleanser that we produce. One of our biggest sellers to the trade. Anyway, according to the postmortem, this man had died from breathing in cyanide, which is ridiculous, because cyanide doesnt go anywhere near the KerrSter process. Nobody at our place could work out how him dying could have had anything to do with the KerrSter, he said defensively. We werent looking forward to the inquest, Ill be honest, but we didnt see how we could be held to blame.
And? I prompted him.
Kerr shifted in his seat, moving his weight from one buttock to the other in a movement I hadnt seen since Dumbo. I swear I never connected it with the note Id had. Itd completely slipped my mind. And then this morning, this came. His pudgy hand slid into his inside pocket again and emerged with a folded sheet of paper. He held it out towards me.
Has anyone apart from you touched this? I asked, not reaching for it.
He shook his head. No. It came to the house, just like the other one.
Put it down on the desk, I said, raking in my bag for a pen and my Swiss Army knife. I took the eyebrow tweezers out of their compartment on the knife and gingerly unfolded the note. It was a sheet from a glue-top A4 pad, hole-punched, narrow rules and margin. Across it, in straggling newsprint letters sellotaped down, I read, Bet you wish youd done what you were told. Well be in touch. No cops. Were watching you. The letters were a mixture of upper- and lowercase, and I recognized the familiar fonts of the Manchester Evening Chronicle. Well, that narrowed it down to a few million bodies.
I looked up and sighed. On the face of it, it looks like your correspondent carried out his threat. Why havent you taken this to the police, Mr. Kerr? Murder and blackmail, thats what theyre there for.
Kerr looked uncomfortable. I didnt think theyd believe me, he said awkwardly. Look at it from their point of view. My companys products have been implicated in a major tampering scandal. A mans dead. Can you imagine how much its going to cost me to get out from under the lawsuits that are going to be flying around? Theres nothing to show I didnt cobble this together myself to try and get off the hook. I bet mine are the only fingerprints on that note, and you can bet your bottom dollar that the police arent going to waste their time hunting for industrial saboteurs they wont even believe exist. Anyway, the note says, No cops.
So you want me to find your saboteurs for you? I asked resignedly.
Can you? Kerr asked eagerly.
I shrugged. I can try.
Before we could discuss it further, there was a knock at the door and our hostesss head appeared. Sorry to interrupt, Trevor, but were about to distribute the treasure-hunt clues, and I know youd hate to start at a disadvantage. She didnt invite us to join in, I noticed. Clearly, my suit didnt come up to scratch.
Be right with you, Charmian, Trevor said, hauling himself out of his chair. My office, half past eight tomorrow morning? he asked.
I had a lot more questions for Trevor Kerr, but they could wait. I thought you were worried about me coming to the office? I reminded him.
He barely paused on his way out the door. Ill tell my secretary youre from the Health and Safety Executive, he said. Those nosy bastards are always poking round where theyre not wanted.
I shook my head in despair as he departed. Some clients are like that. Before youve agreed to work for them, theyre practically on their knees. Soon as you come on board, they treat you like something nasty on their Gucci loafers. And I thought heavy-metal bands were arseholes, Richard mused.