The Reckless Engineer (17 page)

‘I didn’t believe them, Mama. Skull just needed to provoke me to get me to attack him so that they could use that as further leverage to get rid of us,’ Gavin comforted Nessie.

Gavin, Nessie, and Mutt took the night train out of Aberdeen, leaving behind the only home they had ever known, with two million pounds in the bank and aching hearts.

CHAPTER 22

Saturday, October 23 — Eight Days Later

Jeremy picked a quiet side street to park his car once again and walked to the Royal Atlantic, carrying his case and wheeling the overnight bag he had packed. He had Otter’s disguise on. It was a sure thing that Gavin Hunter would be closely following the developments of the Michelle Williams murders on the news.

The entrance to the hotel was raised above the street level by a flight of seven stairs. Inside the Victorian building The Royal Atlantic exuded old Victorian charm coupled with opulent decadence. On the Internet the hotel had been marketed with a definite slant as a lovers’ retreat, Jeremy remembered, with twenty en-suite bedrooms boasting king-sized beds, luxury Egyptian cotton linen, and plush, hand-crafted furniture, some rooms even featuring stand-alone or sunken baths within the room space. The master suite was a massive affair with a super king-size bed, an adjacent separate living room, and a bathroom sporting a hydro-massage spa bath and an AquaVision TV. Jeremy had a good idea which room Caitlin would reserve for Gavin and herself.

‘Hullo, I am Charlie Brown. I called on earlier this afternoon. I should like to take the master suite for two nights, please.’

The pretty blond at the reception smiled flirtatiously and browsed through the registry on the hotel computer.

‘Ah yes, you spoke to me about fifteen minutes ago. Welcome to the Royal Atlantic, Mr. Brown. I’m afraid the master suite is taken. But I do have one of the family rooms and three of our king-size en-suite rooms available. There are two executive en-suite rooms free also.’

‘That’s a bummer. My boss particularly recommended the master suite. He said it had a spectacular sea view featuring Isle of Wight in the horizon. I’m in Portsmouth for business, you see. I’m off to London on Monday and then I expect to be back here again for another week next Friday. Would I be able to at least reserve the master suite for next week? Is that the room taken by Mrs. Mac—? I could try speaking to them.’

Jeremy leaned over and pretended to be able to read the screen.

‘No, it’s the one taken by Mr. and Mrs. Hunt. Mr. Hunt has a long-standing reservation. He has just extended his stay for another month, I am afraid, Mr. Brown. If he wishes to stay on even longer our policy is to give him priority. I do have the room next to the master suite available, the Classical Executive, on the second floor. It is our next largest room. It has almost the same view, a separate living room, and a bathroom with TV though it has no spa-bath.’

‘Very well. I shall take it for two nights please. I shall make my reservation for next week later. Oh, and by the way I have a business partner, Mr. Jeremy Smith, who will be in and out, about my height, sandy blonde, very short hair, a bit slimmer. Let him come up if you see him, please.’

The girl nodded and handed him his room key.

‘By the way, how long has Mr. Hunt been here?’ Jeremy enquired casually, picking up his cases.

The girl frowned, suspiciously arcing one brow.

‘I’m afraid that information is confidential, Mr. Brown.’

She slapped shut the guest sign-on book decisively and gestured for the concierge.

The concierge took Jeremy’s overnight bag and led the way upstairs to the second floor. As they approached the door to Jeremy’s suite a tall figure sprang up the stairs two steps at a time and walked towards them with a friendly nod, taking the corridor in long strides. He had clearly been out running or working out in long shorts and a T-shirt and carried a lightweight sweater he had just taken off. At about 6’ 4” he looked like a cross between an American basketball player and a male catwalk model. His handsome if somewhat round face, strong cheekbones, aquiline nose, and big grey eyes, were framed by dark brown hair with a slight wave to it, tousled and parted sideways, giving him a youthful and somewhat naïve appearance. His physique was broad, built-up, and muscular; his muscles, lean and taut without a pinch of fat on them. The tail end of a dragon tattoo wound around his left bicep while its head disappeared under the sleeve of his T-shirt.

Jeremy remembered Gavin was 36, the same age as he was, but he looked no older than 30. Jesus, if one judged by looks alone there was little chance that Jack’s marriage to Caitlin was now going to survive with Gavin Hunter back on the scene.

Jeremy seized the moment and turned to Gavin as he felt around his pockets for the key-card to his door, trying his best to revive the American accent Jeremy had acquired while he was at university in California, but had lost since leaving the US.

‘Hi there, so you are the lucky guy monopolizing the master suite.’ Jeremy offered his hand with a smile. ‘Charles Brown, on business here from California. Nice cold day for a run.’

‘Gavin Hunter. I am here visiting my girlfriend and my daughter. My girlfriend is tied up for the weekend, so I’m trying to kill some time. It is a lovely run along the beach; a wee bit nippy but it’s not too bad once you warm up.’

Gavin wiped the sweat off his hands with his sweater and shook Jeremy’s hand with a warm smile.

‘I’m here for the weekend. Off to London for business Monday and back again next weekend. Actually the reason I’m in Portsmouth is also to see about a woman. Terrible creatures, aren’t they? Cannot live with them, cannot live without them, but mostly cannot live without them. Hey, do you wanna grab a drink and a bite to eat later on, if you want some company? I could do with someone who knows the local pubs, bars, and restaurants.’

‘That would be nice actually.’ Gavin’s handsome face lit up.

‘It is nearly four o’clock now. I have to unpack and make some calls first. Why don’t we meet at the bar downstairs, say, about six o’clock?’

‘That sounds great. See you downstairs at six then, mate.’

As promised Jeremy’s room had a sea view in which Isle of Wight featured on the far horizon; and it lived up to every luxury promised by the brochures. He took a warm bath. Otter had dyed his eyebrows and the hair on his arms with temporary hair colorant, but the colour lived up to its promise to last twelve shampoos. Afterwards he tried to go through the technical specifications of the projects that Alan had compiled for him, but his attention failed him and wandered instead to the events of the afternoon and to the evening ahead. He put the TV on and allowed himself to fall asleep, having set the alarm for 5:40 p.m. to give himself adequate time to put on Otter’s wig and moustache and strap on the extra “body weight” before dinner with Gavin Hunter.

The bar next to the reception was occupied by two couples seated at two of the small round tables on chairs comfortably upholstered in antique print fabric. A young businessman sat on a high stool at the counter, typing on his laptop. It was four minutes past six p.m. Was Gavin going to give their rendezvous a miss? Jeremy walked up to the counter and ordered half a pint of Fullers bitter in a pint glass and looked around. Jeremy himself was not a fan of bitter, but he had heard that it was Gavin’s preference. He was going to make sure Gavin drank a pint for each half pint he drank that night.

Opposite the hallway from the bar was the entrance to the lounge. Jeremy walked up to the pair of wide teak doors made with embedded panels of square glass windows—three in a row, six rows down—that led to the lounge from the hallway, pushed one open from its big knob, and glanced in. The room was roughly the size of an Olympic-length swimming pool, arranged into a confluence of intimate areas separated by furniture placement and two arches. The furniture was antique, or was made to have that effect, upholstered in vine coloured leather and velvet fabric, or matching antique print fabric. Gavin was seated at a card table set for four at the far right corner of the room watching the six o’clock news on the flat screen TV mounted on the wall, the news story featuring a segment on the McAllen family and their business conglomerate.

Jeremy walked over, put his beer on the table, and, taking the remote, raised the volume.

‘Fascinating story. Can I get you something to drink?’

Gavin glanced at Jeremy’s beer and smiled. Little things Gavin liked seemed to make him happy.

‘Is that Fuller’s bitter? The same please, and thank you.’

Jeremy watched the news story from the door as the barman poured a pint, and the rest of it, sipping beer with Gavin. Gavin watched the story intently with a brief apology for keeping Jeremy waiting, and at the end turned the TV off.

‘Sorry, I’m from Scotland. I know these people. Now dinner, yes. I have couple of places in mind, a French bistro, Italian, Spanish or Thai. What do you feel like? We have a twenty-minute walk along the beach into the city centre. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Not at all. That would be quite nice actually. The path along the beach seems inviting and I’d love to see more of Portsmouth. I’m partial to either French or Spanish. Shall we look at the menus and decide when we get there?’

The walk along the beach with the sun setting upon them an hour before high tide was exhilarating. The coastline to their left as they set off was a long stretch of sand, about a thirty to forty feet stretch from the path down to the water line; the more pebbly sands closer to the path were patched sparingly with saltwart, sandwart, sea beet, and other short bushy beach plants.

As they walked along, the sand stretch narrowed and was replaced by rocks against which deeper waves beat harder, sending an occasional sprinkle of salt water at them. In the distance, the Isle of Wight beaconed to the ships taking off from the port and to those already out at sea, as a hovercraft made a racket carrying tourists to the island. A dog was paddling out to sea to fetch a ball thrown by its young master, both not allowing the “No dogs on the beach” sign to ruin their enjoyment of the water, rocks, and sands God had put on this earth for them.

‘So, did you say you knew those people in the news? What high drama! I thought things like that happened only in our American daytime soaps.’ Jeremy opened the conversation in the direction he wanted.

‘Actually, that’s my girlfriend’s family, the McAllens. The family is not aware of our relationship now, Caitlin’s and my relationship, that is. They broke us up and drove me out of Aberdeen a long time ago. I came to Dundee with my mom, changed my name, went back to university, and afterwards built my business.’

‘What’s your line of work?’

‘I read mechanical engineering at University of Dundee after leaving Aberdeen. We take on installation, repair, and maintenance contracts in oil & gas from companies like Shell for rig scaffolding, drilling, downhole measurements, anything the rig wants done. I’ve got sixteen mechanics, mechanical engineers, and civil engineers on my staff and I take on contractors as and when extra demand for our services arises. What do you do?’

‘I’m an aerospace engineer, here to do some work with British Aerospace based in Farnborough. I work for Boeing in the US and I come here for our work with the BAE about once or twice every year. It is about an hour’s drive from Portsmouth to Farnborough, but I always like to book this hotel by the sea. There is this woman I have seen a couple of times who lives in Portsmouth. Annie. I’m hoping to spend some time with her this time also. In fact, I’m meeting her tomorrow.’ Jeremy improvised, thinking of the time he had worked for British Aerospace.

Annie was his new engineer. No, that was Ani, like “honey”. Annie Wren was the name-tag on the right breast pocket of the cute blonde at the reception who had flirted with him. Now where did that come from?

‘I know Farnborough. It is very close to Guildford where Caitlin lives with our daughter.’

‘So how did they separate you from Catherine?’

‘Caitlin. Her father is very powerful, sent this big man Skull, her old man’s “trouble-shooter,” to twist my arm. He is a big bald Scott with a scorpion tattoo wound around the back of his neck, a skull on his right hand. I had seen him hanging out at the pub I liked taking Caitlin to. He must have had a stake in it or something. Maybe that’s how the word got around to Caitlin’s family. He got my mother and me fired from our jobs and threatened our lives. There was no way we could get another job out there again. I still have nightmares about it.’

The tattoos rang a bell. This was the same guy McAllen had described to Edwards as the one he had put on Michelle Williams and who had taken his money and vanished. So he existed! He wasn’t fictitious after all!

‘You’re kidding. Tell me, how did they take your daughter from you?’

Gavin told Jeremy his story the rest of the way to the French bistro, Café Rouge, through dinner, and on the taxi ride back, though he took great care to avoid all questions on Caitlin’s marriage, Jack, or the murders.

‘Thankfully Annie is single. So where do you stand with Catherine, sorry, Caitlin, if she is married now? It might be her husband that she loves now, if she is standing by him.’

Jeremy tried to provoke a sudden emotional reaction. How would Gavin respond if he suspected it was Jack that Caitlin loved now?

‘Caitlin does
not
love him. The bastard cheated on her and fathered a child with this other slut. That woman was all ready to take half of Caitlin’s house and estate, break away Caitlin’s company here in Portsmouth, and divorce her, and he was about to do it! Caitlin says she cannot leave him right now because this guy is already having a breakdown and it might push him over the edge if she tells him to leave the house, which is what she eventually has to do. More importantly we think it will look bad on her and that it is best that I steer clear of that mess and not be associated with it. But she is going to divorce him as cleanly as possible when this bloody mess he has brought on sorts itself out one way or the other.’

Gavin fell silent, staring out to sea, his big eyes strained from the troubled thoughts triggered by the exchange.

‘Caitlin is not with Jack now. She and my daughter are with
me
.’ Gavin eventually asserted into the silence between them, quietly, possessively.

Jeremy could easily picture the jealous lover and possessive father killing Michelle to protect Caitlin’s fortune and the wealth, then stealing into the grounds using Caitlin’s keys to frame Jack.