Trouble Brewing (3 page)

Jack sat back and looked at Meredith reflectively. ‘You say Mr Hunt was keen to have someone in the family. Why? Is it just sentiment or is there another reason?'

Smith gave an impatient little wriggle. ‘You do ask some damn searching questions, Jack. I don't want to say too much, but I must say it had occurred to me, too.' He paused. ‘Although we're doing fine at the moment, it's not where I would put my money, if you see what I mean.'

Bill sat up sharply. ‘Why's that?'

Smith looked acutely uncomfortable. ‘I can't tell you. I don't mean I don't want to, I mean I don't know. However, I can't help feeling
something's
been going on that's not right. There's nothing I can put my finger on, but I do wonder if Mark was quite the shining light his family thought him.'

‘And if you find out, with you being part of the family . . .' said Jack.

‘I'll keep quiet. Yes. I have wondered if that's the size of it. If there is anything dodgy, though, I'm sure H.R.H. isn't in on it. He's unhappy about the firm. He's asked me a couple of times if everything's as it should be and given me a sort of between-the-lines warning to keep my eyes peeled. The trouble is, if I do find anything amiss, I can't keep quiet, family or no family. Even accountants have a rudimentary sense of ethics. I don't want anything to go wrong because it's such a nailing good job, but . . .'

‘But if there's dirty work at the crossroads you'll have to come clean.'

‘Unfortunately, yes.' He sighed. ‘I wish I'd known Mark. It's much easier to know if a man's pukka if you've actually met him. That's one of the reasons why I've taken up with Jaggard, his brother-in-law. Did you see him? I was talking to him earlier. I like the man for his own sake, but he knew Mark well. I haven't spoken about this to anyone, as they all take the line that Mark is totally innocent of anything shady. I'm not so sure. Leaving aside the idea he's wafting around in the fourth dimension somewhere, he's either croaked or, seeing trouble looming, got out while the going was good.'

Jack shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. ‘Perhaps. But you haven't managed to find anything, have you? If there is something dodgy it must be damn well hidden and if it's that well hidden, there'd be no reason for Helston to scoot.' He rested his chin on his hands, staring sightlessly into the fire.

‘Penny for them?' prompted Bill.

Jack shook himself. ‘Nothing,' he said with a grin. ‘I need to look at that blessed file of yours before I start leaping to conclusions. D'you fancy seeing if the billiard room's free? How about you, Merry? I'm sure we could rope in a fourth if you'd like a game.'

Meredith Smith crushed out his cigarette and, standing up, delicately stifled a yawn. ‘Not for me, thanks. We workers of the world have to get our eight hours. If you are going to act for H.R.H., Jack, you'll probably need to come down to the factory in Southwark. Ask for me. I'll show you around and introduce you to everyone.'

‘Thanks. I'll take you up on that.'

‘He might prove a useful way in to Hunt Coffee,' said Bill, watching Meredith Smith's retreating back. ‘How d'you know him?'

‘Merry? He was in my squadron for a time. He's a sound bloke with an absolute genius for figures. If he thinks there's something not quite as mother makes about the firm, then he's probably right. I wish I
knew
more. If I think about it much longer without getting my hands on some cold, hard facts I'll go cuckoo.'

‘Come and look at the file tomorrow,' said Bill. ‘You can't take it out of the building, of course, but I'm there all morning if you want to camp in my office.'

Never, thought Bill, had Inspector Wilfred Murray's compositions been subjected to such intense scrutiny. Twice he had asked Jack if he wanted a cup of tea; the third time had elicited a grunt of, ‘Oh, thanks.' The cup sat, completely disregarded, at Jack's elbow.

Jack sat up, ran a hand through his hair, then smiled as he saw Bill's eyes on him. ‘Sorry. I haven't been much in the way of company, have I?'

‘That's not what you're here for. Did you find anything?'

Jack tapped his notepad. ‘I've jotted down the main points. Helston had three hundred and twenty-seven pounds plus a few bob in his bank account. That's not been touched. The very last person to see him was Carlton, his valet, who said Helston mentioned he was dining at Oddenino's on Regent Street, but not who with, worse luck. He didn't get a taxi as it's only ten minutes' walk or so, but no one from Oddenino's remembered him being there that evening.'

‘So the inference is he disappeared on the way to the restaurant?'

‘Yes. No one enquired for him at Oddenino's, so it sounds as if he met whoever it was he was going to have dinner with on the way there and they went off together. Who that is, I don't know.'

Jack frowned at his notepad. ‘I could do with getting to know the people involved. Frederick Hunt, for example, old Mr Hunt's son, is just a name and age in here, but he was one of the last to see Helston. What does he think happened? There's no indication of that.' Jack picked up the cup of orange-coloured fluid and, with an expressive face, took a cautious sip.

‘Poor old Murray wasn't writing a novel, you know. Look, there's no obligation to drink that. It must be stone cold. Let me get you a fresh cup.'

‘No thanks,' said Jack hastily. ‘Even scorching hot this must have been a bit above the odds.' He put the cup to one side. ‘At ten o' clock on the morning he disappeared, Helston had a meeting in Frederick Hunt's office in Southwark with Frederick Hunt and the manager of Hunt's Brazilian plantation, Ariel Valdez. Inspector Murray doesn't seem to have made any attempt to get in touch with this Brazilian bloke, Valdez. Don't you think he should have done?'

Bill put down his pen and came to stand behind Jack's shoulder. ‘Not really. Helston didn't disappear until half past seven that evening. Why are you interested in Valdez?'

Jack clicked his tongue. ‘He's a loose end. Everyone else is accounted for. Murray doesn't say what the meeting was about.'

Bill shrugged. ‘I don't suppose it matters, do you? Helston saw no end of people after the meeting broke up.' He leaned forward and ran his finger down the page. ‘Martin Crowther from United Stores for lunch at Simpson's and the waiter who served them, his sister, Patricia, that afternoon, all the office people in Southwark and finally the porter and valet at his flat in Albemarle Street that evening. Besides that, Valdez is accounted for. He's gone back to Brazil. Look, it says he sailed for Rio on the tenth of January.'

‘The day after Helston vanished.'

‘So what? No one knew at that stage that Helston had gone. It wasn't until the eleventh that anyone sounded the alarm.' He glanced at the clock on the wall above his desk. ‘I've got to see Sir Douglas at twelve o'clock. I should be finished in an hour or so. D'you fancy a spot of lunch afterwards?'

‘Absolutely,' said Jack, picking up the pencil once more.

When Bill came back into his office, Jack was perched on the corner of his desk, holding the telephone.

‘Are you sure?' he said into the phone, nodding a greeting to Bill. ‘Yes, of course it's important . . . Thanks, Merry. Yes, I will. Before very long, I should think. Goodbye.' He put the earpiece back on its rest and folded his arms across his chest. ‘That was Meredith Smith. I hope you don't mind me using your telephone.'

‘Not at all. Did you get anywhere?'

‘Perhaps. Hunts seem to be having an unlucky time with their managers in Brazil. They've appointed a new bloke, a De Oliveria. Their previous chap, an Australian, resigned without giving notice.'

‘Hold on. I thought that other character, Valdez, was the manager. Or is there more than one plantation?'

Jack shook his head. ‘No, there's only one. But Valdez arrived in London on the twenty-eighth of December, took a brief holiday, had his meeting on the ninth, and that, Bill, is the last that anyone from Hunt Coffee has seen or heard of him. He should have gone back to Brazil. I don't think he did.'

Bill looked at him in disbelief. ‘‘What? But why did no one from Hunt Coffee tell us, for heaven's sake?'

‘Inspector Murray had completed his investigations by the time the S.S.
Montevideo
, the ship Valdez
should
have been on, docked in Rio. I've been on to the shipping office and, although his passage was booked, he didn't sail. I then tried various other shipping offices and he isn't listed on any of the boats that were a possible. So, unless we find out anything to the contrary, it rather looks as if Valdez never sailed at all.'

Jack shrugged. ‘It takes fifteen days to sail to Rio. Murray had everything done and dusted by then. As for afterwards – well, Hunts didn't tell anyone about Valdez because no one asked. There's also the point that their anxiety about Helston took first place over anyone else's disappearance. I owe you an apology. I remember laughing last night at your idea that Mark Helston might have faded into the woodwork rather than face a murder charge. But now we know that both Helston and Valdez have gone missing . . .'

‘I don't like it,' said Bill slowly. ‘I don't like to jump to conclusions, but the fact that no one's seen this Valdez chap since the ninth of January has an ugly suggestiveness about it.'

‘It does, doesn't it? Mark Helston could've murdered Valdez or Valdez could've murdered Helston. But if either of them
did
commit murder, what the dickens did they do with the body?'

‘M
r Hunt's in his office,' said Meredith Smith. ‘He's put off a meeting to see you.'

Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘Has he? I hope his temper's okay.'

‘So-so,' said Smith, making a face. He knocked on the door and entered. ‘Major Haldean is here, Mr Hunt.'

Frederick Hunt, a short, bespectacled man in his fifties with a thinning aureole of fluffy blond hair, rose to his feet and came out from behind his desk. ‘Ah, Major. My father said he had consulted you. That will be all, Captain Smith, thank you. It's about time for afternoon tea. Can I offer you a cup, Major? Please, do take a seat.'

‘Thank you,' said Jack, drawing a chair up to the desk. He glanced out of the window where the factory chimney loomed like an emaciated and gloomy Titan over a huddle of buildings. A rich, concentrated and oddly unpleasant smell of roasted coffee funnelled in through the open window. He smiled. ‘I wouldn't have expected you to drink tea, sir.'

Frederick Hunt looked mildly surprised, then smiled in return. ‘What? Ah yes. The factory. Much as I esteem our product, Major, my enthusiasm does not stretch to consuming it at three in the afternoon.'

He smiled at his own pleasantry, then fussily adjusted his glasses, hesitating before he spoke. ‘Major Haldean, I have agreed to see you chiefly to fall in with my father's wishes. He is an old man and I feel obliged to humour him where possible. However, it is only fair to tell you that I do not see eye to eye with him about the wisdom of consulting an amateur in the matter of my nephew's disappearance. I feel it could have been safely left in the hands of the police. Inspector Murray struck me as a very able officer.'

‘I agree with you, Mr Hunt,' said Jack mendaciously. His reading of Murray's file had led him to characterize that worthy as a conscientious plodder. ‘However, I do have the full support of Sir Douglas Lynton.'

‘That makes a difference, of course,' said Mr Hunt without much enthusiasm. ‘What precisely do you wish to ascertain?'

Jack stretched out his long legs. ‘I'd like to know the sort of person your nephew was, Mr Hunt. Was he, for instance, careful with money?'

Frederick Hunt was obviously surprised at the question. ‘He certainly wasn't in debt, if that's what you mean.'

‘Did he enjoy his work?'

‘Certainly, Major. He always had the interests of the firm very much at heart.' He picked up a pencil from the desk and twirled it in his fingers. ‘Mark took a very great interest in the business, Major, to the point of actually going to Brazil last year to inspect our plantation in person. There he made a number of suggestions which, if we could afford to finance them, would, I am sure, prove valuable. He was, for instance, concerned about our coffee processing methods. We currently use the tried and tested Dry method. Mark wanted to instigate the newer Wet method. The capital outlay is not, in my considered opinion, justified. I applaud the youthful enthusiasm that informed his preference, but I was able to bring to bear my many years of experience to the proposal and argue against it.'

‘I'm sorry, Mr Hunt, you're going to have to give me a couple of footnotes,' said Jack. ‘I haven't a clue what you're talking about.'

Frederick Hunt gave a superior and benign smile at this expression of ignorance. ‘It is rather technical for the layman to grasp, but, in a nutshell, whereas the Dry method calls for the coffee fruits, or cherries, as they are called, to be laid on a stone floor and exposed to the sun, the Wet method requires galvanized spouting and a water supply to convey the cherries from the field to a tank where a pulping machine liberates the seeds and reduces the fleshy parts of the cherries to a pulp. After several more stages, what we refer to as parchment coffee is produced, as the beans are enclosed in a silver skin of parchment. The parchment coffee requires further treatment before the item you would recognize as a coffee bean is arrived at.'

‘Gosh,' said Jack, with a disarming smile. ‘I didn't realize there was all this science involved – you know, galvanized spouting and pulping parchment and so on. I'd always assumed coffee was just coffee.'

Frederick Hunt's air of self-satisfaction increased at this laughable admission of naivety. ‘A common mistake, Major. Most understandable.'