Bacchus and Sanderson (Deceased) (22 page)

              Ben glared at Annabel unsure how he should respond. He was hurt and disappointed his father hadn’t felt he could cope with the responsibility, not trusted him or his abilities. But, was his anger at his father’s behaviour William’s fault? William needed his help. He was happy to override their father’s wishes and recruit Ben into god only knows what. They trusted him. William broke into his reverie asking,

“Ben; are you the man we think you are, or the man you think your father considered you to be?”

The look on William’s face as he asked this question was quizzical and expectant.

Ben’s smiled and relaxed as he asked,

“What do you need me to do?”

              William looked across the room at Annabel. She looked up toward the ceiling and he saw her mouth a silent thank you.

“That’s going to take quite a long time to explain. I’ll meet you tomorrow at the shop, eight o’clock too early?”

***

              “I need this lot organised, computerised and put into a form that is searchable and can be used to cross reference everything. We have to ensure we’re not missing some obvious connection. Ernest has given us the task of proving his brother, our uncle Jonas, was killed. We have to show, or not, that whatever Jonas had seen or heard was important enough that it warranted killing him. We may discover Ernest was looking for a reason that didn’t exist. Uncle Jonas could have just been unlucky and have had a heart attack that evening. We need to know the truth. For the record, I believe he was killed and I also believe Ernest was killed for getting too close to discovering something about CHC Industries. Something they were prepared to kill to protect. How quickly can you get this data into a useful form?”

              Ben looked at the pile of papers covering the chair, the numerous computer files and shook his head from side to side.

“If Debbie covers the shop for me and I get no interruptions, a week maybe.”

William passed a receipt to Ben and asked,

“Can you spare a couple of hours before you get started to pick these up for me?” Without looking he nodded,

“Sure. Now?”

“They will help you and Annabel do what you need to do. Might be worth going.”

Getting up he called over his shoulder as he walked out of the room.

“See you later.”

***

              It had Jemima decided, been a very interesting evening. It had also been a very confusing evening. Interesting because of their conversation. This time she had talked, barely letting him interject anything other than encouraging noises. She had recounted stories from her childhood, described places she had visited, told him of the life she had with her sister Felicity. Their games, the secret societies they had formed and disbanded and their closeness. She had then described how this had all changed when in her early teens she had become aware that she was more interested in girls than boys. Struggling to control her emotions, she told him how her sister had changed towards her. Felicity became cold and indifferent, mocking her at every opportunity. Her life, she said, had become hell. Victimised for feelings she had no control over, by the person she had idolised, she had thought her life was coming to an end.

              The family business, petrochemicals and other associated engineering activities, was ‘men’s work’ as her grandfather put it. Not a place for young ladies. That changed when Felicity showed that vicious old bastard that she was a Cortez. Felicity wanted the power she saw her grandfather wield and was prepared to do whatever it took to convince him that she was as good, if not better, than any man. To gain his attention she knew she needed something dramatic to show him that she, Felicity, was ruthless and fearless.

“So she sacrificed me. She told him I liked girls or as he put it when he used it to belittle me; I preferred ‘clit to cock.’ He then told me to get out of his sight and stay out of it; as I disgusted him. Felicity stood behind him smiling. She had found her way in.

              Debbie startled Jemima out of her reverie,

“Are you ok? You’ve been sitting staring into space with tears streaming down your cheeks. Can I help?”

Wiping her face with the back of her hand Jemima smiled and asked,

“Is Ben in?”

“He’s in the office in ‘do not disturb’ mode.”

“Can you tell him, Jemima was in and I’ll call him later. Tell him I have something I need to let him know and I need to see him. Thanks.”

              Jemima stood up and left the shop walking around the corner to the Abbey. She sat in a pew halfway down the church and gazed up at the fan vaulted ceiling admiring the skill of the mason who had constructed the intricate patterned ceiling. Once, she would not have noticed and if she had, it would have been dismissed as irrelevant. Perhaps, she thought, Ben’s outlook was beginning to rub off on her, or maybe she was becoming herself again.

              Ben was a very attractive and stimulating companion. On other day’s, that thought would have generated a wry smile and have been followed by an attempt to pull the waitress. Validation of her preferences. Now, this morning, sitting on a pew in a medieval Abbey, she was finding herself excited; butterflies in the stomach, how many hours until I see him again, excited. She was interested in a man. Interested in ways that a died in the wool girls girl, shouldn’t be. He had been so concerned when she had described everything Felicity had done, her grandfather’s reaction and her father and mother’s indifference to her pain.

“Why?” Ben had asked, “Do you work with, or for your sister?”

Her one word reply “money” had shocked him. She tried to explain that her grandfather had disinherited her, leaving her without an independent income and very few saleable skills. Her father had shrugged and told her to get a job; you could tell who the family favourite had been. When her sister had offered a good salary, a very good salary, for doing very little she had agreed. Jemima knew that there would be a catch. Felicity was a lot of things, but philanthropic wasn’t one of them. If she wanted to sup from the family cup, and take the family shilling then she would have to involve herself in the family business. Perhaps, she thought, when I know him a lot better I can tell him a bit more about the Cortez clan.

              Her feelings for Ben were unexpected, but not unwanted. She wasn’t a virgin; she had been with a man twice. Once had been the rape when she was sixteen. Her grandfather thought that if he could show her what she was missing she’d see the light. Fuck some sense into her. The second time had been of her own choosing. An attempt to erase the disgust she felt since her grandfather had raped her. It was disastrous. The boy she had chosen for this encounter was a village boy that she had no particular connection with, but who she had thought looked nice. He had little experience either and the whole affair was over in a matter of minute’s leaving her frustrated and confused and her partner embarrassed. Girls were far easier.

              Now she needed to tell Ben more about her and also about what her family had done to his. She wasn’t sure she knew him well enough to explain to him what happened to people who hurt her and how she protected her own.

Her hangover, though not the worse she had experienced was quite substantial and when she reflected on it in the following weeks she would identify it as the likeliest cause of her oversight. As was normal for a weekday morning she had officiated at two school assemblies, visited a parishioner in Yeovil hospital where they were recovering from an operation and then found herself with a couple of hours of free time before her next appointment. She called William and arranged to meet him later in the day and then settled down to begin reading Jonas’s diary.

              Prioritising she chose to begin her reading as Jonas began his career at CHC Industries rather than his time at university; which would have proven far more informative. The patent’s he had registered and intuitive research he had performed at Cambridge lay the foundation of his insights at CHC into the looming petrochemical crisis and his solutions.

              His career at CHC had been meteoric. Joining straight from Cambridge University, he had started at the bottom of the ladder as a junior research scientist in the petrochemical division. Within a couple of years, he was doing independent research and leading a team of researchers.  As she continued to read Jonas’s almost daily entries she started to get a feel for the man. He seemed very driven by the need to succeed and be the best at whatever he was doing. He was desperate to be liked and insecure about his interpersonal skills. Time and again he would write in his diary; ‘had a drink with Henry after work, he seemed eager to go as soon as we arrived. I only wanted to praise the work he had been doing. Is this a boss issue or is it me???’ or further on he wrote, ‘people are an amalgamation of chemicals and I’m a brilliant chemist, so why do I struggle with people?’ His anxiety had continued until he had met Penny Morton.

              Their meeting, Jonas wrote, had been a clumsy attempt at matchmaking by his mentor and friend Professor Stephen Dunting. The Professor had ignited a spark in Jonas that no one, least of all Jonas himself, had realised was there. It had been love at first sight for Jonas, but Penny had taken a little more convincing. When she had succumbed to his fumbling attempts at romance he had been both delighted and awestruck. His insecurity in social situations lessened, improving his management skills and the results of his team. Penny’s influence on him was noted by everyone often with no more than a knowing smile and a casual ‘off to Cambridge at the weekend?’. They had become engaged within three months Jonas noting that, ‘he had never felt more certain about anything than he felt about Penny.’

              The night of his death he was ‘invited’ to a company function in London, at the Royal Geographical Society. He hadn’t wanted to go, but had been coerced by Charles Cortez’s secretary on his behalf. She had made it clear that though this was an invitation, attendance wasn’t optional. Ernest had inserted a press clipping for the same date into Jonas’s diary reporting on the launch of the political career of Alexander Cortez as the next Conservative candidate for Kensington and Chelsea. At the end of a sycophantic ramble the reporter concluded that this was a proud day for the candidate’s parents, all of the staff at the families business’s and for the fortunate voters of Kensington and Chelsea. A small aside at the bottom of this glowing endorsement of Alexander Cortez was a brief paragraph stating that Dr Jonas Sanderson had passed away while attending the launch of Alexander Cortez. Dr Sanderson had worked for the company for a number of years.

              Jonas had written in his diary that he was very nervous about attending this particular function; he would ignore these self-congratulatory corporate adoration fest’s in favour of working late in his lab. This time he had no choice. He had said that he needed to get out, escape the cloying sycophancy that was expected by the thug he worked for.

              He wrote the last section of his final entry with great care. It was as if he needed to express something, but was terrified that anyone should know
what he was expressing. Annabel reading the entry for the third time was struggling to decipher its meaning. Reading the paragraph for a fourth time she cursed the second bottle of wine and tried to focus. Jonas had discovered or identified something at CHC that caused him to realise that CHC was a more ‘complicated organisation’ than he had first imagined. He hadn’t elaborated. Whether his circumspection was out of an incomplete understanding of what he had discovered or fear she didn’t know.

              That was the final normal, clear text entry. Hours later Jonas was dead from a heart attack. Slumping back in her chair, Annabel rubbed her throbbing temples and considered if anything she had discovered helped at all. The sole glimmer of hope was Jonas’s cryptic assertion that CHC was a more complicated organisation than he had imagined. Quite an admission from a person who had worked for CHC for years. The remainder of the diary was an impenetrable code that she couldn’t fathom.

              The sound of the dawn chorus chirruping in her rucksack caused Annabel to start, grab the rucksack and pull the iPhone out of the side pocket. Answering she said

“Hi Ben. Please show me how to change this bloody ringtone. William’s friend Tiny might love all things bright and beautiful but it scared the shit out of me. It was like a sequence from ‘The Birds.’” Ben laughed and said,

              “I'll change it the next time I see you. I needed to do something other than look at a computer screen for five minutes. How’s it going?”

Annabel told him about her discovery of a cryptic message in Jonas’s diary, but that was as far as she had got as the rest was in code.

“So Jonas discovered something out of the ordinary. It was important enough, serious enough and scared him enough, that he had to get out of the company before they; whoever ‘they’ might be, discovered he knew things he shouldn’t. Was it important enough to die for? It was important enough or sensitive enough to make it difficult to read. I need to do some digging.”

“What we need to know isn’t going to be on the company website.” Annabel pointed out.

“No, I’m going to need access to a lot more than the company’s website. Leave it with me. I’ll see you at the shop later. Bye.”