Troubled Waters (16 page)

At ten thirty on Wednesday, Jamie phones the office.

‘Good news! The cash from FrackUK came in this morning. I can’t thank you enough, so I’m putting on a spot of lunch, if you would like to join us. It’ll only be at the farm, but I’m not on my own anymore. My wife is back, thank God, now that the protesters have moved on. Oh! And I’ll be cracking open a bottle of bubbly to celebrate.’

‘It would be rude not to,’ I smile. ‘What time?’

‘One o’clock OK?’

‘I’ll be there,’ I finish. I’m relieved that I drove into Stockport this morning, as getting to the farm by public transport would be impractical.

When I reach the farm at one fifteen, there’s no sign of the protesters but there are several four-by-fours and a Mercedes sports car parked up.

Opening the door, Jamie introduces me to the owners of the four-by-fours, some neighbouring farmers, and to his wife Carole, owner of the Merc. She is not what I had imagined at all: muscular and athletic, and does not strike me as being the frightened type at all. I wonder why she agreed to visit her mother when the protesters turned up, but when she explains that she is pregnant, it makes good sense.

‘No protesters?’ I enquire.

‘They were here first thing this morning with two cub reporters, but left after an hour. There’s obviously nothing much to report anymore.’

Jamie candidly admits that the presence of a splendid smoked salmon buffet on the table, and other delicious-looking treats, is down to his wife. He pours me a generous glass of bubbly and thanks me for the cash, which he says pleased his bank manager as much as it did him.

‘I’ve arranged a transfer for you tomorrow,’ he advises, before I’ve even thought about raising the subject.
Another pleased bank manager,
I think.

‘My turn to thank you,’ I say.

I spend the next hour mingling with the other farmers, making small talk, and at the same time hoping to pick up some business. Nothing concrete comes out of it, but one farmer in particular would like to get in on the fracking scene if possible. Another wants to know about the merits of tax avoidance schemes for farmers, asking what I know about forestry and llamas. I hate to admit
nada
, but promise to get back to him.

***

Greater Manchester Police had received information from the Metropolitan Police that Hans Johansen had flown into Heathrow airport on Thursday 4
th
December, but had no idea of his whereabouts since. When he flew out, Johansen looked exactly like his passport photo, having discarded his disguise of glasses and gelled hair, and the wearing of baggy clothes designed to make him appear thinner. His hair was now cut military-style, he appeared to have gained bulk presumably after some hard gym sessions, and he was wearing normal, closer-fitting clothes. The transformation was completed by the removal of brown contact lenses, revealing his eyes to be ice-cold Nordic blue.

Since travelling up to Manchester after the
Harmony Earth
executive meeting, Johansen had been making plans for the next move against FrackUK. Their objective was the total sabotaging of the company’s UK operations – in short, the closure of the company. The theft of half a million pounds had been an excellent start, with the added bonus of also providing much-needed funds for
Harmony Earth
. Before disappearing he had taken the precaution of quitting his rented house in the suburb of Sale and taking a fortnight rental in an aparthotel block in the centre of the city.

As regards Barry Milton, the fact that he was in custody for fraud and facing a murder charge had saved Johansen a problem, for although ongoing, the protests were very much now in the background. Milton had outlived his usefulness as a rabble-rouser and the face of the protesters, leaving Johansen to stay well away from getting his hands dirty by actually being on the front line.

He stared out of the window of the aparthotel at the Manchester skyline and found that he could actually see the Piccadilly Tower. The irony caused him to smile. Enough for one day – he needed to sleep now, and there was more work to do tomorrow.

***

At GMP headquarters reports had reached the desk of Inspector Lambert about what staff from the Lowry Hotel knew of guests’ movements in and out of the corridors surrounding  the river bar between seven and nine o’clock on the evening of Friday 14
th
November.

Evans was presenting his findings.

‘I put Sammy Wang in charge, sir,’ Evans began. ‘So far he’s identified six staff members who whilst not serving in the bar between the times of seven to nine did have cause to be in the corridor at various times during the period for the purpose of stocking the bar, bringing snacks into the bar from the restaurant, laundry and toilet duties. There is access to the outside from two of the corridors, sometimes used by guests but also by staff as well for unofficial cigarette breaks.’

‘Right, so there are possibilities here, then. It was not just a stab in the dark as we may have first thought,’ Lambert observed.

‘Not at all, sir,’ Evans confirmed. ‘Three of the six staff say they saw nobody, which given the logistics and the numbers of people milling about at that time on a Friday evening, the busiest night of the week, is stretching it a bit. Sammy reckons he may need to have another go at them. He thinks they are saying nothing because they popped outside for a fag, and are living in fear of getting a warning if they own up.’

‘Makes sense,’ Lambert agreed. ‘So do we have anything at all as yet?’

Evans continued. ‘Two of the other staff report seeing three different men exit the hotel by the rear door, and one woman. All bar one man returned in the period. The staff were either frequenting the corridor going about their normal duties, or were themselves availing themselves of the sweet night air.’

‘So in summary, Milton is still a murder suspect unless Sammy gets more information. When can we expect it?’

‘He’s going round again this afternoon, sir,’ Evans finished. He waited for a reaction, but Lambert was staring out of the window up into the sky for inspiration.

‘If that’s all, then, sir.’

‘Yes, sorry, Evans. Oh, no, before you go, what is happening with those fracking protesters? Have we charged them all?’

‘Yes, sir, they are out on bail and are due to appear in court in a few weeks’ time.’

‘And anything on this Hans Johansen?’ Lambert added.

‘Nothing, other than that he landed at Heathrow and just melted away.’

‘I somehow don’t think we’ve heard the last of him. See you later, anyway.’

‘Right you are, sir,’ Evans said. He glanced back as he exited the Inspector’s office to see him staring out of the window once again.

It is another bitterly cold morning, and the commuters on the platform at Crewe station are so cold and miserable that it could be Moscow. My train, the Virgin Pendolino from London Euston to Manchester, is delayed at Milton Keynes owing to a signals failure caused by ice on the line (this of course wouldn’t actually happen in Moscow). I catch the stopping train along with a number of other groaning passengers.

As the train pulls into Amelia’s station, I see her stood frozen and immobile, shoulders hunched up against the cold. I wave frantically out of the window, but she’s oblivious and gets into the next carriage. At Stockport I catch up with her halfway down the station approach and we walk briskly across the A6 road and down St Petersgate Street to the Enodo offices.

Few words are spoken, and with overcoats remaining on while the office warms up we perform the normal routine of making life-saving steaming hot coffee. Once settled in, we discuss our trip to the Lowry art gallery the prior evening and what might be concluded from it.

‘I definitely think it’s a married man,’ Amelia begins.

‘Or someone dodgy who she wouldn’t want her father to know about,’ I pose.

‘You mean a footballer who plays for the other team?’ she quips.

‘Don’t be silly,’ I say. ‘It could be someone who is single or famous who would be frowned upon, or there could there be social, ethnic, or religious connotations.’

Amelia frowns and shakes her head. ‘Doesn’t ring true, no. In this day and age she would have told us girls straight out and merely asked us to keep it a secret.’

‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right on that one,’ I concede.

Coffee finished and now sufficiently warm, we remove our coats and ponder. I feel that we’re missing something, and probably more than one thing. The phone rings, and Amelia picks up.

‘It’s Carl Benson, FrackUK,’ she says, handing me the phone.

‘Morning,’ I greet him, thinking our business was over and done with.

‘Hi,’ he responds. ‘My American visitor has now gone back to the States.’

‘I’m sure you are well pleased about that,’ I say.

‘An understatement,’ he replies. ‘I thought I ought to tell you that he said he was mightily impressed by you. He even suggested I ask you to come back in and have a look over our systems to see if there is anything obvious we can do to improve security so as to avoid further issues in the future.’

‘Praise indeed,’ I acknowledge. ‘Although nothing is ever perfect, but yes, I would be honoured to be involved. How soon would you like me to pop over and take a look?’

‘As soon as you can, I guess.’

‘OK, what about today? I can make it early this afternoon,’ I offer, hoping I don’t sound too desperate.

‘That’s excellent, thanks. I’ll see you then,’ he ends.

‘Another job, eh!’ I say to Amelia.

She gives me the thumbs-up sign. ‘We’ll be on the bank’s Christmas card list at this rate,’ she says.

‘That would be good,’ I smile.

After a lunch of trendy home-made oxtail soup from the deli, I catch a non-stopping train into Piccadilly. The ice has melted and the streets are all slush. The rain is still pouring down and it is still bitterly cold, so I take the free metro shuttle bus into Piccadilly Gardens. I’m expected, and the girl on reception ushers me straight through to Carl Benson’s office, where there is a fan heater manfully assisting the central heating system to achieve an ambient temperature.

‘Thanks for agreeing at such short notice,’ he says by way of greeting.

‘Only too happy,’ I reply. ‘Did your visiting American accountant have any particular concerns?’

‘No, but his advice was very clear. This time was unavoidable but unavoidable only happens once.’

‘I get the picture,’ I wince. ‘Perhaps if I voice a few questions first, as they come to me, would be a good start.’

‘Go ahead,’ Carl agrees.

‘You got the report from Jos Andrew? From memory he recommended that there should always be two signatures for amounts over £1000.’

‘That’s correct,’ he nods. ‘And that’s now in place.’

‘And that bank statements are addressed to you, and you pass them over to the account’s clerk.’

‘In place,’ he nods.

‘Online banking: you should be the administrator, and control users and their particular level of operation.’

Carl is hesitant at this point. ‘I’m not totally
au fait
yet with the online stuff. Jos has given me two lessons, and he is coming back next week to give me another one, along with a nerdy from the bank as well, because of the situation.’

‘Quite right,’ I agree. ‘OK, on security matters, is it all right if I just have a walk around the offices to acquaint myself with the logistics?’

‘Go right ahead,’ he confirms. ‘We don’t have a huge staff, as this office is for the North West only, and as you are aware your client is our first venture in the area.’

‘No problem. I’ll try to be discreet and just have a wander around, starting at street level and moving up through the stairs floor by floor before checking out the lifts.’

I take the stairs back down to ground level. Like many buildings of the era, male and female facilities are on alternate floors. On ground level there are facilities for both. They are round the side of the lift shaft out of direct sight of the desk, but I am sure they are visible on CCTV. The same security man is still manning the desk. He recognises me and I avoid raising his suspicion by deliberately not stating that I am wandering around checking on security. I advise him that I have to nip out for something, and he tells me I’ll have to sign in again – box ticked. I walk through to the Chinatown side of the building and perform the same exercise of walking round to the other entrance that I had done on the first visit with Jamie Cropper. No issues are apparent, and I return and sign in again as the bored security man tries to look busy. Waiting for the lift, I glance at the tenants list. It is a multi-occupancy building; I can see commercial organisations mixed in with professionals, lawyers, accountants, an eye surgery clinic and others. There’s nothing to distinguish it from many other buildings in the city.

Back on the eighth floor, it appears that as well as FrackUK there is a solicitor’s office, a gents’, and a door to the stairs. I nod to the girl on reception, who has been made aware of my movements, and she smiles me in. I walk along a corridor past a number of FrackUK offices on one side, with windows fronting an atrium on the other. Across from the atrium is the solicitor’s office. Looking down gives a scary view to ground level. FrackUK has a large open-plan general office, with four pod stations dotted about – exactly what you would expect to find in an insurance company. There are a few empty pods, so I sit in one and pretend to use the wifi. There is a general buzz, but whilst the partitions are the correct height, the acoustics are poor in absence of any soundproofing. I can hear quite clearly what others close by are discussing. I’m not sure if this is an issue but it must have a detrimental effect on productivity, for if I were on the phone it would be difficult to concentrate.

The whole exercise has taken an hour, and when I return to Carl’s office he orders coffee.

‘Anything important?’ he asks.

‘Nothing that most offices don’t have to cope with,’ I answer. ‘It would be possible for someone to pretend to be visiting one occupier and in fact make their way to another occupier. Is the security desk advised of the names of expected visitors?’

‘Yes, a list is given each morning, and if there are any changes during the day that is phoned down.’

‘That would at least mean that a person of unlawful intent would have to make an appointment with an occupier to gain entry through normal channels.’

‘That’s correct,’ Carl confirms.

‘The only other problem I can see immediately is the ineffective acoustics in your general office.’

‘Yes, that point was also raised by my American visitor, and we are having a consultant come in and advise us.’

‘I’m not sure how much further assistance I can be, but I’ll write it up for you and add anything else that comes to mind.’

We stand and shake hands and agree to keep in touch. Exiting the foyer, I stay in the shelter of the mall area to check in with Amelia. There is no urgent business so I brave the cold and head for the station and an early train to Crewe and home.