Dark Eyes of London (5 page)

Chapter Nine

The early morning sun reflected off the sides of the highly polished black BMW as it swept up the entrance drive of the fifteen storey office block in London’s Docklands. The driver was wearing a black suit and a white shirt with a black tie. He pulled up outside the wide chrome and glass entrance doors.  Secured the handbrake, reached over to the front passenger seat, and picked up the black peaked cap.  As he stepped out of the car, he put on the cap, and quickly checked his appearance in the wing mirror. Stepped two paces to the rear door, and opened it.

A man stepped out of the car. Underneath his beige overcoat, he wore a dark grey pin-striped three-piece suit. Underneath the suit he wore a blue striped shirt, white collar, and a pink and dark blue striped tie. Matching handkerchief in his jacket pocket. He carried a brown attaché case.

He was of average height, shorter than the driver, and wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. The suit was maybe one size too small, as it was clearly a tight fit.  The driver was not sure exactly how old his passenger was: late fifties, he guessed.

‘Thank you, John,’ he barked at the driver. ‘I will be needing you at twelve-thirty.’

John saluted. ‘Yessir,’ he said, closing the passenger door. He returned to his own seat, released the handbrake, and drove the car slowly round to the underground parking garage.

The man walked up to the entrance doors, which slid open automatically. Two women were speaking to the man on reception; as soon as he saw the figure walk through the sliding doors, he broke off from his conversation with the women, and stood up.

‘Good morning, sir,’ he called out, only to be ignored as the other man walked quickly round to the bank of lifts.  He pressed the call button, and the door slid open immediately. He stepped in, and the doors slid shut. The indicator display above the lift doors flashed as it made its way up the shaft, stopping at fifteen.

On the fifteenth floor, he strode out, again ignoring two suited men chatting near the lift and made his way past a bank of desks to a corridor. He walked down the corridor, past the row of office doors.

As he made his way down the corridor, a young woman smartly dressed in a navy blue suit greeted him.

‘Good morning, Mr Fleming,’ she said. Fleming replied with a grunt.

At the end of the corridor a middle-aged woman was working on a computer keyboard. When she saw Fleming she stood up.

‘Good morning, sir,’ she said.

‘Good morning, Carol,’ Fleming replied. ‘Come in in three minutes.’

He opened the dark oak door behind Carol’s desk, and went, in closing the door behind. There was engraved in gold lettering:
Sebastian Fleming, Chief Executive Officer.

Three minutes later, Carol knocked softly on the door.

‘Come,’ Fleming’s nasal voice called out.

She stepped in, carrying a china cup and saucer. She was carrying a small notepad under her left arm. She walked over to the heavy wooden desk and put the cup and saucer on the desk, next to a pile of thick folders.

Fleming was not sitting at the desk; he was standing with his back to Carol, looking out of the huge windows which dominated his office.  His overcoat was on a coat stand in the corner of the office, and his suit jacket was draped over the padded leather chair behind the desk. With his jacket off, Carol could see his waistcoat had a bright blue back.

He turned round when he heard Carol put the cup and saucer on the desk. He glanced at Carol, and then his eyes went to the cup and saucer.

He gave Carol a smile; not a smile in the conventional sense, but a kind of twisted grimace.  Some of the muscles in his face seemed to be partially paralysed, which left him unable to show the same facial expressions as other men.

‘Thank you very much,’ he said, returning to the desk.  He turned his head round back to the window for a moment. ‘Lovely view today isn’t it?’ he said as he sat down in the leather chair.

‘Yes, sir,’ Carol replied. ‘Very nice today.’

Fleming looked back at the window. ‘You know,’ he said, looking back at Carol. ‘The view of the city I get from here is second to none. Forget Venice, Rio de Janeiro.  Forget Paris, forget - I can’t remember what the damned place is called - down in South America, Machu Pinchu or something?’

‘Not sure, sir.’

‘Well, anyway; not a patch on the vista out there.  In every season.  In winter, when the sky’s clear, the harsh sunlight on the office blocks.  In spring, one can tell the air is warming up.  In summer, the sight of the sunset on the buildings.  In the autumn - my favourite season - the colours of the leaves in the parks down there.’

‘Very picturesque, sir.’

Fleming made a strange throaty noise, the nearest he could get to a chuckle. ‘Carol, I do believe you’re teasing me.’

‘No, sir, it’s just -’

Fleming held up his hand. ‘It’s perfectly all right, Carol.  Just humour me.’

He picked up the china cup and saucer.  First blowing on the surface of the tea to cool it, he took a sip. He savoured it a moment, then put the cup and saucer down. ‘So, what do we have on today?’ he asked.

Carol consulted her notebook. ‘You have a meeting at eleven with the Heads of Department, to discuss last quarter’s drop in penetration. Lunch at your Club at one, then Jon Adams from Legal is booked in to see you at three-thirty.’

‘What does he want?’

‘He wasn’t very specific when he called, sir, but he said it’s about an urgent matter you need to be involved with.  He did say you would know what it’s about.’

Fleming sat back in the chair, rubbing his forehead. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said after thinking for a moment. ‘I think I do.’

‘And just before you arrived,’ Carol continued, ‘Ashley Merchant called.  She said she needs to speak with you, preferably in person, as a matter of great urgency.’

‘Really?’ Fleming looked up. ‘What time is she coming in?’

Carol looked at her watch. ‘In about ten minutes, sir.  If you like I can tell her you -’

‘No point. She wouldn’t believe you. At least I will get it over and done with.’

He paused a moment, as if to say something, then reconsidered. ‘Thank you, Carol, that will be all for now.’

‘Sir.’  Carol closed down her notebook, and left Fleming alone in his office. Fleming looked at his watch, tutted, and started to browse through the first folder on his desk.

He had not got very far when the door opened, and Ashley Merchant walked in.  Fleming had known Merchant for many years. They worked together when they were both much less senior; and, although they had both remained at the same firm, their career paths had taken different directions.   Fleming had risen to the heights of CEO, and Merchant had also progressed.  Despite their history, Fleming despised her. The feeling was mutual: Fleming had a theory that her ambition was greater than she pretended, and that she envied his position of authority. Her appearance was always the same: her short not quite cropped hairstyle had remained the same for many years, as had her preference for wearing tweed suits.

Today was no exception: Merchant walked in and sat down on the one of the two chairs the other side of Fleming’s desk. As she sat she adjusted her tweed jacket and smoothed down her tweed skirt. She was holding a plastic folder, which she placed on Fleming’s desk. He tried to suppress a shudder:
ghastly old lesbian
, he thought.

‘The Khan situation is resolved,’ she said.

‘Oh? How has it been resolved?’

Merchant took a sheet of paper out of the folder and passed it over the desk to Fleming. She said nothing.

Fleming put on his glasses and read the paper. Then he looked up at Merchant over the top of the paper. ‘I’ll say one thing for Vine: he’s thorough.’

Merchant said nothing.

Fleming passed the report back to Merchant. ‘Very thorough.’

She put the paper back in the folder. ‘As I said, the issue is resolved.’

‘Are we covered?’

‘Of course.  There will at some stage be a report in the newspapers, maybe on television, but things are taken care of.’

‘Good.  Good.’ He took of his glasses and laid them down on the desk.

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

Fleming wanted this woman to leave his office as soon as possible, so he hoped the answer to his next question was no.

‘Is there anything else?’

‘Just one matter,’ she said, taking another sheet of paper out and passing it to Fleming.

Fleming put his glasses back on and stared at the paper.  It was an Excel spreadsheet. He glanced up and down the columns.

It was apparent to Merchant that he did not understand what he was looking at. She said, ‘It’s a breakdown of which personnel have access to the Restricted Files.’

‘I see,’ he said, looking down the columns again. ‘And I assume they were all authorized to do so.  Had the right passwords?’

‘That’s the point,’ Merchant said. ‘Third column along, bottom line.’

Fleming looked down the column, and then looked up at Merchant. ‘But this means...’

‘Precisely.’

‘But how did it happen?’

‘That’s what one thing I’m investigating now.’

‘This personnel number: who does it relate to?’

‘Look at the next column.’

He looked over to the next column and made a peculiar hissing noise, which even Merchant found unsettling.

‘What do you want me to do about it?’ she asked.

Fleming studied the spreadsheet for a moment, and then looked up at her again.

‘What do you think?’ he said.

Chapter Ten

The inquest was over in ninety minutes. The coroner heard statements from Sergeant Green, who reported on the statements given to the police by the witnesses who were also on the platform at the time.  All of them said they had not even noticed Lisa until they heard a scream, a loud bang and a flash coming from the tracks. When they turned to look, the train had already passed.  The platform and carriages had been cleared before the train could be moved and the body viewed.

The police had viewed the CCTV images, which were replayed for the coroner.  Only one camera showed that part of the platform. The images showed a crowded platform, the headlights of a train as it left the tunnel and made its way along the platform. A figure in a dark coat appeared to move quickly from the crowd at a forty-five degree angle into the front of the train.  Tom and Jane were present at the inquest: Tom winced and squeezed Jane’s hand as the replay showed the flash from the tracks.

Four of these witnesses also gave evidence at the inquest, repeating the same information they had given to the police.

The police surgeon testified that the cause of death was electrocution, caused as Lisa touched the live rail as she fell.

The most detailed evidence came from the driver. A veteran driver with twenty-two years’ experience, he told the inquest he had been off sick with stress since the accident.       As he sat in the witness box, he was clearly distressed as he gave his evidence.  He told the coroner he was decelerating as the train pulled into Green Park station.  As he was almost two thirds of the way along the platform, he saw a figure fall from the platform, which was crowded, on to the tracks. He applied the emergency brakes, but was unable to stop the train until it has passed the spot.

Once all of the evidence had been heard, there was a brief adjournment.  When the coroner returned he gave the verdict: death by accident or misadventure. The coroner confirmed that Lisa’s body could now be released for the funeral and gave her next of kin his deepest condolences.

As they stood while the coroner left, Tom and Jane turned to each other and hugged.

‘It’s all right,’ Tom whispered. ‘It’s all over now.’

‘This part is,’ Jane replied, pulling away and dabbing her eye with a tissue. ‘Now we have the funeral to organize.’

‘Do you want me to help with anything?’ Tom asked, as they walked out to the street.

‘No, it’s all right, thanks -’

Jane was interrupted as Sergeant Green joined them.

‘I’d just like to say,’ Green said quietly, ‘how sorry I and my colleagues are for your loss. Both of you.’

Tom and Jane nodded their thanks.

‘The verdict was as I expected, given the evidence and the witnesses.’

Tom and Jane nodded again.

‘At least now you can move on and lay her to rest,’ Green continued. ‘Good-bye, and all the best for the future.’

She shook hands with them both and returned to another police officer who was waiting at the top of the court steps.

‘Yeah, move on,’ Tom muttered. ‘Easy for her to say.’

‘She’s right, though,’ Jane said. ‘We have to move on.’

They looked at each other silently for a moment.

‘I’ll let you know when the funeral is,’ Jane said. ‘And where.’

‘Will it be down here? Not up in Newcastle?’

‘No.  It will be here.  This was her home after all.’

‘Right.’ Tom stuffed his hands in his coat pocket for protection against the cold.

‘I’ll see you then,’ Jane said, and left Tom outside the coroner’s court.

****

The inquest took place on a Friday; the funeral was arranged for the second Friday afterwards. Lisa was not especially religious, so Jane and Sully organized a brief ceremony at the crematorium in Camberwell, South London, near where Lisa once lived.

As expected, their mother was unable to attend. Tom’s parents lived overseas: they were unable to travel either, but sent flowers. That left Tom himself, Jane and Sully, and a small group of people Lisa worked with.

After the ceremony, they all congregated outside the crematorium, Tom, Jane and Sully in the doorway, and Lisa’s workmates the other side of the car park.

‘Excuse me a moment,’ Jane said and walked over to her sister’s colleagues. Tom and Sully watched her walk over.

‘Thanks for helping to organize everything,’ Tom said to Sully.

‘No problem,’ Sully replied. ‘She is - was - family, after all. We couldn’t expect you to. You and Lisa were divorced; you had no obligations to her.’

‘No - but thanks anyway,’ said Tom, biting his tongue.

They saw Jane waving to them, as if to say come over here, so Tom and Sully walked over. Lisa’s workmates introduced themselves to both of them.  Just a brief handshake.  Except one.

‘Hello, I’m Amy,’ a young woman, early twenties Tom guessed, said. She looked pale and her eyes were very red, the result of a lot of crying. Tom had heard her sobbing during the ceremony.

‘Lisa and I were very close,’ she said, then stepped over and put her arms around Tom. ‘I am so very sorry,’ she cried.  ‘God bless you.’

‘Thank you.  I am sorry too,’ he said when she finally pulled away.

One of the work party, a grey haired man, clearly the senior person present, started to make his way back to their cars. The others began to follow. Amy was the last to go.  She turned round and looked at Tom before she left, and did the same before she climbed into one of the cars.

‘Wow, she was upset,’ said Sully. ‘Who was she?’

Jane looked at the cars as they pulled into the street. ‘Don’t know. Just a friend of Lisa’s from work.  Did
seem more upset than the rest, I agree.’

Tom ran his hands through his hair. ‘I’ll be off now, then,’ he said, starting to walk away.

‘You want to have a bite to eat - a drink with us, maybe?’ Jane asked.

‘No.  No thanks, all the same.
Rather be on my own for a while.  Sorry, hope you understand.’

Jane smiled. ‘Of course I do.  We’ll keep in touch though, won’t we?’

‘Oh, absolutely.’

Tom shook hands with Sully and hugged Jane goodbye.

‘Can we give you a lift somewhere?’ Jane asked.

‘I need the walk.  Got my Oyster anyway,’ Tom said, then turned and walked into the street.

*****

Tom found his way to the nearest tube station. Changed onto the Circle Line at Victoria and decide to take the whole circle.  Needed something to do; this was always on his must-do list. It took an hour and twenty-minutes.

He finally made it indoors as it was getting dark. Even though it was to an empty flat, he was glad to be home: it was cold, wet, and it had been a very emotional day. He locked his front door and leaned back against it. That was it: the inquest and the funeral over.

Time to move on, as Sergeant Green had said.

He took off his overcoat and threw it over the back of an armchair. A quick bathroom stop and he made himself a coffee. Coffee mug in both hands, he flopped onto the sofa, then leaned over and switched on a lamp.

In the light from the lamp he noticed something white on the floor by the sofa, by where he had thrown his coat. Reaching down, he picked it up.  It was paper, small and square.  Like a
sheet of A5 folded up.

Tom put the mug on the coffee table and opened the paper. He was puzzled: where had it come from?  It must have fallen out of his coat pocket. But how did it get there?

More puzzling though, was what was on the paper. Handwritten at the bottom of the sheet was a mobile phone number. Above the number was written:
don’t believe them - she didn’t jump
.