Читать книгу The Fifth Identity - Ray CW Scott - Страница 4

John Accrington entered the hotel room and dropped his brief case on the bed. He walked to the window, looked out and then he checked his watch. It had been arranged that the man, known to Accrington as Simon, would be calling upon Accrington at his hotel room. But there was one action that Accrington was determined to do first, he certainly wasn’t going to take anyone on trust and meekly surrender all his cards at one go. He had determined to work on the basis of starting with a very low figure and seeing how things went, he was prepared to negotiate. He had another look at his watch; he had about twenty minutes before the other was due to make contact. He wondered how much Simon knew about him, he had threatened to expose him but how much did he know?

Accrington turned away from the window, picked up his brief case from the bed and made his way to the door. He left his room and walked towards the lift, as he did so he realised that he was really feeling his age as the years caught up with him. His one hip persisted in giving discomfort, this had developed over the last few months or so, maybe he needed a hip replacement. He was also aware that his heart was giving him problems now. Perhaps the incessant fear of discovery over the last fifty years had finally caught up with him, the worry of whether he was being followed, or of being summarily apprehended. These fears had slowly receded with the passing of time, but nevertheless they were always there, and they always would be.

This man Simon undoubtedly had knowledge of Accrington’s history, though whether it was all or part Accrington had no way of knowing, not yet. With Accrington’s past life, danger could approach from two separate and totally unconnected directions; he didn’t know whether Simon was aware of both. That would probably be cleared up when they met. He only had one connection with his past lives and that was the tenuous one he had had with Helen. But Helen would never have betrayed him, he was sure her feelings for him had been too strong; in any case, she’d hardly have bitten the hand that fed her. Helen was now dead, could she have left anything in her papers that someone had retrieved?

Accrington emerged from the lift, walked up to reception and asked the young man behind the counter if he could see the manager. There was a slight delay before the day manager appeared. Accrington explained what he required; the manager accepted his brief case and issued a receipt.

“This will go into our safe, Mr Accrington,” he said. “Only I and my night colleague, Mr Latham, have access to the combination. When will you require it?”

“I can’t say for sure, probably sometime over the weekend, thank you.”

Accrington turned away from the counter, wincing as his hip gave him another jab.

“Must get this bloody hip fixed,” he murmured to himself. He looked at the receipt in his hand. “Well at least the money’s out of the way, best that friend Simon, whoever he is, doesn’t know where it is nor how much! Now we’ll see what transpires.”

****

“What exactly did they hear?”

The night manager, Peter Latham, bit his lip as the police sergeant asked the question. They were on the sixth floor of the hotel, before the open door of room 624, and were aware that heads were peering inquisitively out of various doors further along the corridor.

“The guests in 622 said that they heard raised voices coming from this room, and a sound as if someone or something had hit the party wall. They heard the door of 624 slam shut so they went to their door and looked down the corridor. They saw a man running away from them towards the stairwell.”

“What happened next?”

“They discussed what to do, and then rang Security.”

“What then?”

“Security came up and knocked at the door, announced who they were and called out to anyone inside to open the door,” Latham replied. “Finally, after consulting with me, they unlocked the door, and found the man inside lying on the floor.”

“Did they go in?”

“Yes, Mervyn Preece went in to see if he could render assistance,” said Latham. “But the man was dead, as soon as he realised it Mervyn got out and we called the police.”

“Nobody has been in the room since?”

“No, we waited for you to arrive. We’ve been outside the room since then and allowed nobody to go in.”

Sergeant Allison compressed his lips and then nodded.

“You’ve done well,” he said. “Which of you is Mervyn Preece?”

“I am,” said a dark haired man of swarthy complexion who was wearing a dark jacket with “Security” across the left breast pocket.

“What did you touch?”

“Just his neck, he didn’t seem to be breathing so I was checking for a pulse. He’d gone. He’d bled from a wound at the back of his head. Looked to me as if he’d hit his head against the sharp corner of the cabinet.”

“Yes, I agree, it certainly looks that way,” commented Allison, and reached for his radio, at the same time turning to the uniformed constable by his side. “Close the door, Alec, I’ll call it in.”

The case was allocated for investigation by Detective Inspector Barry Freedman and Detective Sergeant Harrison. They had recently been teamed up, Freedman being transferred from the Fraud Squad and Harrison had recently been transferred from one of the county police forces. They were still feeling their way with each other, Freedman had initially been somewhat put out because he had assumed he was being saddled with a country bumpkin.

After consultations with the forensics department, they learned that John Accrington had apparently fallen backwards and hit his head on the sharp corner of the bench on which the television set stood. He had been killed instantly by the impact. The conclusion reached was that though it was possible, it seemed highly unlikely that he had fallen accidentally; it appeared more likely that he had been pushed. It was open to question whether the person who pushed him had any murderous intent or was just pushing him away. There were apparently no other marks on the body to indicate violence.

A man had been observed entering a lift in the foyer about twenty minutes before the argument had been heard emanating from Accrington’s room; he had not been observed leaving the lift afterwards on the ground floor. He was described as about 5′10″ in height, dark hair, aged about 40, of European extraction (IC 1) and dressed in a dark blazer and light coloured trousers. He had been picked up on CCTV by three cameras, from a cursory look they had some idea of what he looked like, but his picture didn’t seem to fit any known villains.

Freedman and Harrison had surmised that he must have left via the stair well, and somehow found his way out of the building without being observed, he had been picked up by a surveillance camera outside as he emerged from a passageway by the side of the building. It was not known whether he had a vehicle, but there was a Tube Station, Earls Court, in the direction where he had been heading so Freedman had put in a request to the London Underground for a view of the station tapes. There was a possibility that the man had entered the Underground station but there the trail had fizzled out.

It had been discovered that John Accrington had deposited a brief case containing £10,000 in the hotel safe, apart from the money there had been no indication of what or who it was for, nor even to whom it belonged, although the day manager, Mr Aarons, had confirmed that this was the case deposited by John Accrington. He had shown them a copy of the receipt that had been issued, the original of which had been found in Accrington’s room.

An examination of the room and the victim’s clothing indicated that robbery had not been the motive, Accrington’s wallet containing about £250 was still in the inside pocket of his jacket and had not been touched. An expensive watch was also still on his wrist. They had discovered who he was, he was one of the directors of Billacc, a successful and well known computer software company and that he was a very rich man.

Their first priority for Freedman and Harrison was to make a visit to Mr Richard Bilston, the managing director of Billacc Company plc.

“I can offer no explanation for this at all,” confessed Richard Bilston, running his hands through his hair. He was a man of about middle thirties, dark haired and fairly slim build. The company occupied a three storey building near Paddington Station and Bilston’s office window overlooked the railway tracks that finally ended up at the main line station. “I’ve no idea what he was doing there, or why he’d be carrying that amount of money with him.”

“Was he active in the business, I gather he must have been into his 80s?” asked Freedman.

“He has been, but his input was tending to tail off in recent years since my father, who was his original partner, died. My brother James and I are mainly involved in the day to day running of the company.”

“What sort of man was he?”

“Not easy to answer that one,” replied Bilston. “In all the years I’ve been here I could never claim to really know John, being of differing generations probably didn’t help. I know very little of who he was or where he came from. As for the money, since you’ve told us how much he had with him, we’ve thoroughly checked all the firm’s accounts and there’s nothing missing. It must have been his money.”

“Maybe he was after sex,” commented Sergeant Harrison.

“Must have been some classy tom if he needed £10,000, even by city of London standards,” grunted Freedman. “No, I don’t think so.”

Richard Bilston found time to smile at that one.

“Have you traced the man who was with him?” he asked.

“No,” Freedman shook his head. “No joy so far. We were hoping you could tell us that.”

“There’s nothing in his desk diary, except a notation of a time, 8 o’clock and the name of Simon alongside it, but nothing else to indicate who he was.”

“Could someone have been blackmailing him?”

“Well if that’s what it was, I can’t think what it could be,” Bilston looked perplexed. “He seemed to lead a quiet, sedate life, and nothing untoward has surfaced within the company, everything is in order, as I said, no money is missing from here.”

“Does he have any family? Who would stand to gain by his death? Who gets his money?”

“No idea,” Bilston shook his head. “He was a widower and lived alone.”

“Did he leave a will?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“I’d have thought you would have known that.”

Richard Bilston flushed; there had been an element of sarcasm in Freedman’s tone.

“Well I didn’t,” he said irritably. “I suggest you ask his lawyers.”

“Who are they?”

“Fell Pelham & Drysdale, they’re in the city.” said Bilston. “They’re our lawyers as well, of the company that is.”

“That would be Clifford Fell would it?” asked Freedman.

“No, Matthew Pelham. He’s dealt with us for about twenty years.”

The two policemen rose to their feet.

“Thank you, Mr Bilston,” Freedman said. “We’ll keep you informed if we find anything.”

Their next call was upon the offices of Fell, Pelham & Drysdale. Freedman had come across the firm before, he knew them to be of high repute and they dealt mainly with corporate litigation. Freedman had occasionally met both Fell and Pelham during his days with the Fraud Squad, when Pelham had been representing a company under investigation. They didn’t come into the category of friends, merely occasional acquaintances. Both partners were men in their fifties, and were the grandsons of the original founders of the firm which had been founded before the Great War.

“Seems like a large firm,” commented Harrison after they had been directed to seats in the waiting area by the receptionist.

“There’s plenty a damn sight bigger than this one,” responded Freedman crushingly and Harrison shrugged and subsided, with the thought ‘Up yours too!’ reverberating through his mind. He was becoming used to Freedman’s comments that were aimed at his country affiliations whether directly or obliquely, although Harrison had come from Bristol which could hardly be classified as a rural area. Harrison was aged in his early thirties, and was therefore much younger than Freedman. The inspector was aged about 45, about 5′ 8″ in height, had a florid complexion and smoked fairly heavily, in contrast to Harrison who was over six feet and had never smoked in his life. Harrison strongly disapproved of anyone who did, though he kept his views on this aspect to himself; Freedman was a trifle too quick to take offence for any liberties to be taken.

They sat in silence after that, until called by the receptionist.

“He’ll see you now.”

Pelham rose to meet them and ushered them to two chairs in front of his desk. Matthew Pelham was one of the senior partners of the firm, he was a man of average height, with a receding hair line with fairly lush hair growth around the top and sides and around the back of his head, which tended to stick up and fan out in a fashion similar in shape to a halo.

“I know you, don’t I?” he asked Freedman as they all sat down.

“Yes, we’ve met occasionally,” said Freedman, he didn’t elaborate.

“Yes, I believe we have,” Pelham responded. “Now how can I assist you? This is about John Accrington, is it?”

He listened intently as Freedman went over the case of John Accrington, and fingered his chin as the story progressed. As they reached the end of their tale, with, as yet, no leads, Pelham inclined his head gravely.

“What do you want from me?”

“Did he leave a will?” asked Freedman. “Is there anyone who would have benefited from Accrington’s death?”

“No!” Pelham shook his head. “John Accrington never made one, not so far as we are aware. I had been onto him for years about this. Quite apart from any family members who would be prejudiced; I am against a large estate like this merely passing to the government to do with as it pleases. Governments have no idea how to spend money.”

“I disagree,” interceded Harrison who had said nothing up to now. “If nothing else they know how to spend it and fritter it away.”

Pelham blinked and looked at Harrison; then he broke into laughter and nodded in agreement.

“Yes, yes! You’re right,” he said, nodding vigorously. “You are absolutely right, of course. That’s what I meant. You put it better than I did.”

“What about the Billacc business?” asked Freedman, slightly irritated at Harrison’s intervention. “What will happen to his shares?”

“That’s been done, he sold them to the Bilston brothers two years ago. John had become virtually a sleeping partner, or director. The business is secure and the Bilston brothers had nothing to gain by John’s death. What he ever possessed relating to the business, they already have. Financially they’ve gained nothing by his death, but they have lost his expertise, which I think was considerable.”

“Do you know anything about his family?” asked Freedman.

“Nothing,” Pelham shook his head. “About twelve years ago he married a member of the staff of his company, Evelyn Pritchard, a nice woman, I think she used to be his secretary. She was about his age, and she died two years back. I don’t think she had any family either.”

“So you can think of nobody who might benefit financially by his death?”

“At this stage, no!” replied Pelham. “This morning we had a communication from the Probate Division of the High Court of Justice, they’ve asked us to act as administrators for his estate. If there is anybody, it’s up to us to find them.”

“How long have you been managing his affairs?” asked Freedman.

“About twenty five years, on and off,” responded Pelham.

“You don’t seem to know much about him, do you?”

“We knew all we needed to know to manage his business affairs,” responded Pelham sharply. “We never found it necessary to conduct a thorough investigation into his family background. As to his intestacy, I’ve already told you that for some years I have been on to him to apportion his estate in the event of his death, but he never did anything about it. It was not for want of trying on our part.”

He shuffled some papers on his desk and then rose to his feet.

“If there is nothing else, I have another appointment in about five minutes,” he said icily. “You know my telephone number if you need me.”

Freedman grunted and made a note in his pad. He couldn’t think of anything else at this stage, in any case he was desperate for a cigarette and could hardly light up in Pelham’s sanctum. He rose slowly to his feet, and Harrison followed suit. Pelham was already on his way to the door to usher them both out.

“Thank you Mr Pelham,” Freedman said heavily. “We’ll be in touch.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Pelham responded, not without a trace of sarcasm.

As they made their way down into the street, Freedman ruminated that so far this case had produced no leads at all. He looked at Harrison, but the sergeant’s face was impassive and expressionless. Freedman knew he had been abrupt with Pelham, but he had had high hopes of Matthew Pelham and Richard Bilston, hoping for information that would resolve the case but both had come to nothing. His irritability at the lack of information and the craving for a cigarette had caused him to make a sarcastic comment where it would have been best to say nothing. He looked sharply at Harrison again, half expecting some expression of disapproval, but Harrison’s features remained bland.

Norman Ruddock entered his office and sheathed his umbrella into the stand by the door. It was late April and the month was living up to its reputation by liberally sprinkling the city of London with heavy rain showers.

He glanced out of the window and grimaced as the rain continued to fall and spattered against the window, he watched people scurrying along the pavements with umbrellas over their heads or briefly waiting in shop doorways for the heaviest rain to pass over. As he turned to sit down he realised that Ian Shaw, another junior partner in the firm, was standing in the doorway.

“You got wet!” observed Shaw.

“You’re very observant,” responded Ruddock with an element of sarcasm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Matthew wants to see you, he has a difficult case that needs looking at.”

“What’s it about?”

“Regrettably I’m not a member of Matthew’s inner circles,” Shaw shook his head. “But I suggest you don’t keep him waiting.”

Ruddock presented himself outside Matthew Pelham’s office and entered in response to a bellowed “Come in!” Pelham was on the telephone as Ruddock walked in. He waved Ruddock to a chair opposite him and carried on with his conversation.

“Yes, we were advised of this a few days ago, we’re looking into that aspect now. Yes, we were aware he hadn’t made a will, not through us anyway, but we just assumed that it was possible that he could have made alternative arrangements, maybe through someone else. He tended to be somewhat reticent, no, bugger it, I’d put it more strongly than that and say secretive, about his personal matters. We assumed he didn’t want one firm to know too much about his affairs. Strange way of looking at things, but who are we to criticise? Chacun á son goût . . and all that!”

Ruddock inclined his head to one side, and wondered whether the person at the other end of the line understood the phrase. Ruddock had heard Pelham use it before, amongst others. Pelham loved using foreign phrases to emphasise points, which did cause confusion at times when the party at the other end wasn’t conversant with it. Ruddock was familiar with it, having had it used on him before this. Although he had looked it up once he’d momentarily forgotten what it meant.

“Yes, we tried many times, but we never got anywhere, “Pelham continued. ” He tended to keep himself to himself when he was away from his company, almost a recluse. But clearly something has to be done now, he’s left a huge estate and it would be a pity if the government got it all. Alright, we’ll keep in touch.”

Pelham put down the telephone and looked at Ruddock.

“You know what this is about, Norman?”

“I’m guessing John Accrington?”

Pelham nodded and pushed over a file of papers.

“You didn’t have to be a mind reader or Rhodes Scholar to guess that,” he commented. “Nevertheless, you’re right, and we have a problem to resolve. That was Joseph Breeden, from Accrington’s accounts department. He’s confirmed that the money Accrington was carrying when he was killed, or murdered, didn’t come from the company.”

“Have the police discovered anything?” asked Ruddock, “I gather they were in here last week.”

“They don’t seem to have any ideas either,” snorted Pelham. “All I got from them was snide comments, bad manners, bloody sarcasm and …well never mind! We’ve been made administrators of the estate so it’s up to us now, and to you personally, to find beneficiaries - it there are any. There is some urgency with this one. Have a look through the file and see me tomorrow. Alright?”

Ruddock met up again with Ian Shaw as he walked into his own office and turned to Shaw.

“What does chacun á son goût mean?”

“You’ve been listening to the old man.”

“Yes, you told me once what it meant and I also looked it up, but I’ve forgotten it.”

“I looked it up in a French - English dictionary when he used it in front of me,” Shaw replied. “He was talking to somebody on the telephone. It means ‘each to his own’!

“Ah!” Ruddock nodded sagely and made a note on his pad. “Yes, I remember now. I’ll note it down for the next time he uses it.”

Ruddock studied the Accrington file at length for the rest of the afternoon. It made very interesting reading and he found himself becoming fascinated by it.

Ruddock had not had much to do with John Accrington’s affairs previously, which were mainly handled by Matthew Pelham. The file related to John Accrington, who with Kenneth Bilston had started an office equipment company in the late 1950’s in Leicester, which had then moved to Staines in Middlesex when it became larger and they wanted to be nearer to the commercial hub. They initially made spare parts for office machinery, adding machines, typewriters and the like, and as that industry grew in the post war period so did their business. In the 1970’s they diversified, they realised as computers began to dominate the scene more and more that office machinery was likely to undergo a complete upgrade and change. Similar conclusions had also been reached by the typewriter giant IBM who at that time had decided to sell their still profitable typewriter arm and move into computers. Accrington and Bilston had also anticipated the change and created a department for making and repairing computer equipment. However, as time progressed they also off-loaded their typewriter and adding machine business and specialised in the computer market.

As the demand for computer equipment grew, so did the company of Bilston and Accrington, which traded under the trademark ‘Billacc’ and the company became well known in the industry and overseas. They also expanded into the software industry and designed many programmes that were in great demand in the accountancy, building and engineering fields. Some of their software programmes had also attracted the attention of the military; one programme in particular had been applied to assisting the internal design of a new class of air warfare destroyers for the Royal Navy.

Kenneth Bilston died in the late 1990’s, his shareholding was inherited by his sons Richard and James and the business continued to prosper.

In 2003 Accrington himself began to suffer ill-health and made arrangements to transfer his shares to Richard and James Bilston in the event of his death. By that time Accrington was a widower, his wife had died some years before, and there were no children. Although Accrington had made arrangements for the transfer of his shares, it was a cash transaction. He offered the shares to the brothers at a discounted price and the agreement was very amicable. Despite having considerable assets, Accrington had never made a will. He was reckoned to be worth about £18 million or more, having a large house in Hertfordshire, several small commercial properties around the Home Counties and a large share portfolio.

Accrington had died recently in mysterious circumstances which were still subject to police investigation. In recent years Matthew Pelham had made strenuous efforts to persuade him to make a will, but he never did. Pelham had repeatedly pointed out the danger of his estate being appropriated by the government in due course if no next of kin were to be found, but Accrington, though he did hint once or twice in conversation that there could be next of kin, never divulged who they were. In fact when the subject came up he usually shut up like a clam. In the latter stages, when Accrington discerned that his days could be numbered, Pelham felt that he was making progress and considered that Accrington was coming around to his way of thinking. But Accrington’s sudden and unexpected end ensured that when he died he still had not made a will and consequently he died intestate.

The worry, of course, for Matthew Pelham was whether or not Accrington had made a will that nobody knew about. So far nothing had turned up, and it was to be Ruddock’s task to virtually take apart the house where Accrington had lived alone, to see what papers he could recover. But first of all he had to make an appointment with the Bilston brothers to see if they had any suggestions. Courtesy indicated they should be given the opportunity to accompany him around the house, since they were virtually Accrington’s next of kin in a business sense and there could be sensitive business papers stored there.

There had been a housekeeper, of sorts, when Accrington was living there. A local woman had been coming in twice a week to clean the place out, but she wasn’t a permanent employee and she didn’t live in. Ruddock had been advised that she had possessed a key, but Pelham’s first action had been to send a messenger down to relieve her of it, he didn’t want anyone holding keys to the premises while they stood empty. There was always the risk of petty pilfering taking place before they’d had a chance to vet the house and contents.

There were various correspondence items in the bulky files, Accrington had purchased various properties, mainly commercial, and had some business tenants, and Fell Pelham & Drysdale had done the conveyancing. He had been living in the same house for many years in a village in Hertfordshire, on perusing the file Ruddock found he had been living there since the early 1970’s. The residence stood in a very substantial acreage of land and Accrington had added extensions from time to time.

“As you know,” commented Pelham when he and Ruddock were closeted once more in Pelham’s office. “When a man dies intestate the court will appoint an administrator, which is either a spouse, next of kin, the Crown, a creditor or, in the last resort, a stranger.”

“Yes, I was aware of that,” Ruddock said a little coldly.

“Sorry, I wasn’t meaning to talk down to you, I’m really just marshalling the facts in my mind,” said Pelham. “So we are virtually in a position of administration pendente lite, in effect, there is a dispute as to the person who is entitled to probate. The Court, in its wisdom, has appointed us, Accrington’s lawyers, as administrators until this question is resolved.”

“So we have to search for his next of kin, if we can find them.”

“That just about sums it up,” said Pelham. “As for Accrington, he was a strange man. I could never claim I really knew John Accrington. He rarely talked about himself and I knew very little of his likes and dislikes. Of his origins I knew next to nothing, but I presume he was from England somewhere south of The Wash, he certainly didn’t have a north of England accent, he could have emanated near to London, maybe Kent or Surrey, or possibly north of London, I’m no real expert in accents.”

“So we don’t know where he came from?”

“No, no idea. As I said, I assume from his accent it was Home Counties which could cover a lot of ground, but I guess it could cover anywhere from Kent up to Oxfordshire or even beyond. But there may be something in his house that could give us a clue. If we can find his origins, then we can probably find out if there are any members of his family still living - siblings, nieces, nephews, cousins and the like, and if we can trace them they could all have a share in the estate.”

He broke off to sample the cup of tea from the tray that had previously been brought in by one of the young girl clerks, Ruddock took that as a signal to take a sip from his.

“If we can’t find anybody then the Westminster government is going to make a killing, but it would be a pity to see Accrington’s assets and efforts over the years go into the Inland Revenue melting pot. They will no doubt fritter it away subsidising the bludgers and loafers we seem to patronise these days!’

“Do the Bilston brothers have any ideas?”

“Not when I last spoke to them about it, but although I know them and have had some meetings, I haven’t had that much contact with them. My main contacts were Kenneth Bilston and Accrington himself. Richard and James Bilston will be your next port of call, see what you can dredge up.”

“Did he have any sporting preferences, football, cricket or anything else, that could indicate local or parochial origins?”

“A good thought,” Pelham nodded approvingly. “No…I don’t know. Maybe Richard or James may know the answer to that one. Have a try at that, but if it’s Manchester United, Chelsea or Arsenal it won’t help us that much, people from all over the country seem to support them, tending to chase success. But if we uncover an unfashionable lower division club of hackers out in the sticks…then yes, a relevant question.”

Richard Bilston was away in France and was due back the following Monday, so Ruddock booked an appointment through his secretary. James Bilston was also away in the United States and wasn’t due back for two weeks. Ruddock still had a couple of files that he was working on so he attended to some loose ends, before knocking off for the weekend.

He presented himself at the Bilston & Accrington offices on the Monday morning and after a brief wait was conducted to Richard’s impressive office. They knew each other fairly well, Ruddock had dealt with some matters relating to the company when Pelham was away, and Richard Bilston had been in the lawyers’ offices about four months previously.

Richard Bilston rose to his feet and came around the desk to greet Ruddock and waved him to a vacant chair.

“Good morning, Norman,” he said, and shook Ruddock’s hand warmly. “So they’ve foisted this problem onto you, have they?”

“Yes, I anticipate it can be solved fairly quickly,” said Ruddock. After small talk ascertaining each others well being and Richard’s family, they wandered very briefly into the weekend’s football results before Ruddock produced his brief case and a writing pad.

“How can I assist?” Richard asked. “I had two policemen in here a few weeks back, they didn’t seem to have any answers at all.”

“Yes, I know. They came in to see Matthew Pelham as well.” responded Ruddock, giving his ball point pen a few test runs on the paper to check that it was working. “Richard, you already know that John Accrington died intestate, which means that his private estate will have to be apportioned to any next of kin that we can find, but though he’s been a client for many years we know little about him. We don’t know whether he had any family, where he came from, whether he has any peripheral relatives such as cousins, nieces or nephews. We’ve done some work on it, we’ve checked the local telephone directories for anyone bearing the Accrington name but we haven’t found one.”

“Have you tried Manchester or Lancashire directories?” asked Richard. “I imagine the name must have originated from there and may be more common.”

“Not yet, but that doesn’t necessarily follow,” commented Ruddock. “Two or three hundred years ago I would have bet we’d have found a few in the Lancashire area, I agree some surnames are derived from place names. In the 1600’s and 1700’s they wouldn’t move around much, but with modern transport people have tended to move around all over the country so a surname that’s also a place name is no guide.”

“So you’re likely to find people with surnames like London or Rochester being born up in Yorkshire or in Cornwall,” Richard nodded. “Yes, I can see the problem.”

“Did John Accrington ever talk about anywhere in England or Wales which may give a clue as to his origins?”

Richard thought about it, then compressed his lips and shook his head.

“He and I didn’t have too many conversations, at least, not of an intimate nature,” he said. “Our contacts mainly applied to business matters, company sales, staffing, new products, sorting out computer glitches and the like. He used to be married, you knew that?”

“Yes, but she died a few years ago, and I gather they were married for about ten years,” said Ruddock. “She was an employee here wasn’t she?”

“She used to work in our cashier’s department and later as John’s secretary,” Richard nodded. “She was very much a loner too, which is probably what attracted them to each other. They had been stepping out for a few years before they married, the wedding was a quiet affair. John apparently took about ten days off and then returned to work. His wife worked on here for a few months and then resigned and ran his household. You’re right, they were married for about ten years.”

“Did she have any family?”

“Not that I know of, they were fairly mature when they married each other, both were in their fifties,” said Richard. “She wasn’t from these parts, I think she was Welsh and as far as I know she had no family. She had no other dependents or kin, which came up when we put in the superannuation fund. That was before John married her, I wasn’t too much involved with the firm then, not with the management of it, I had to start as a junior clerk!” He gave a rueful smile. “I was told later that we had asked her about next of kin but both her parents were dead, she was unmarried at the time and she also said she was an only child.”

“Where did they honeymoon?”

“Not sure about that, somebody who was working with her might know, there are a few older hands still with us. But they didn’t go overseas, apparently John never had a passport, I did know that, because my father mentioned it once. There was a possible contract for the company in the USA and John should have been the obvious one to go to California to negotiate it, but his lack of a passport came up then and he refused to do anything about it. Said at the time he didn’t like flying, but…” here Richard shook his head “…it didn’t stop him flying to places like Jersey, Scotland and Northern Ireland.”

“For which he wouldn’t need a passport,” Ruddock scratched his head. “I have instructions from Matthew Pelham to go through Accrington’s house with a fine toothcomb to try and find any papers that may relate to family, it occurred to Matt that either you or James may wish to come around as well, there could be company papers there.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Richard.

“Let me see, the house is at …!” Ruddock riffled through his papers.

“Pennington, it’s a village in Hertfordshire,“ Richard said. ” Will Monday morning suit you?”

“That’ll be fine,” Ruddock nodded, and rose to his feet. “I’ll see you Monday. Shall we say 10 o’clock?”

“That suits me. Will you come here initially?”

“Yes, no point travelling separately. Incidentally, Matt Pelham ordered all the keys to be brought into our offices a few weeks back.”

“Why was that?”

“He’d been to the house a few times, after Accrington was widowed he paid a few visits, mainly to nag him about a will. I think he formed reservations about the housekeeper, he mentioned it to me and Ian Shaw once, said there was something about her, he didn’t think she was trustworthy.”

“Ah!” Richard Bilston ran his hands through his hair and grinned. “I’ve met the lady in question, albeit briefly. I can fully understand Matt’s reticence. I think she’s a domineering and aggressive bitch! But he’s a lawyer and he may put it more nicely than I would. But isolating the keys is always a wise precaution.”

Before meeting Richard Bilston the following Monday, Ruddock referred to the file, and found that the name of the cleaner was Mrs Salmon, she lived in Pennington village and she had been attending the property for some years. By chance Ruddock waylaid Pelham in the corridor on the Friday afternoon and asked him the question.

“Mrs Salmon,” mused Pelham, giving a sidelong glance at his watch which denoted that he was late for his usual Friday afternoon appointment - a golf date with a solicitor from a rival firm. “What about Mrs Salmon?”

“You mentioned once that you had reservations about her,” said Ruddock uneasily. “Was there anything specific?”

Pelham gave a wry smile.

“Yes and no. I met her a few times, I just had a feeling. She seemed … well… possessive…no …that’s not the right word…proprietary, as if she owned the place.”

“You mean, there could have been something going on?”

“Good God no! Nothing like that!” The idea seemed to amuse Pelham. “I felt she was …well…! Overbearing and …hmmm! Maybe untrustworthy. Put it this way, I wouldn’t leave my wallet lying around when she was in the vicinity…don’t quote me on that!”

“Oh!” Ruddock grimaced. “I think I get the picture.”

“When are you going to the house?”

“Next Monday. I’m going with Richard.”

“Good. Keep me informed.”