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31
I found a deserted corner in the Waggoner’s Rest while DI Silver ordered a pint of Wellington Bomber for himself and a pint of Calvors 3.8 for me. He had already sipped his drink on the way over to the table and when he sat down he wiped away a white moustache of froth from his upper lip with the back of his hand.
Suddenly, a scuffle broke out at the bar, apparently over a woman. A glass fell to the floor, followed by a hush in the bar. Then everyone seemed to calm down a little. One man was led outside by his supporters in the argument. Another remained slumped against the bar, muttering to a woman beside him.
“Where’s Robert Trefoil?” I asked, referring to the landlord.
“Today is his day off,” DI Silver replied. &ld
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COUNTER MEASURES 32
DI Silver put money in the machine and got out two coffees. “White, no sugar.” I took the coffee with one hand. In the other I held a polythene laundry-bag, inside which was my shirt. “Do you want to tell me what happened then, John?” He sat down next to me. I sipped the coffee, it tasted awful. “Professor Stephen Baker lured Cairo Nickolls, Robert Trefoil and Bernard Catterall to his house, drugged them and then systematically cut them up.” “Jesus,” DI Silver exclaimed. “What did he drug them with?” “Chloroform.” I replied. “It’s vapour depresses the central nervous system of a patient, allowing the Professor to cut them up without them even knowing.” “But why?” “He wanted justice for the murder of Jenny Davies.” I replied. “As pathologist on the case he provided the evidence for the Crown Prosecution Service solicitor, a certain Gerard Forlin. It should have been an open and shut
COUNTER MEASURES 1
There was no mail for me that morning, but that was no surprise. There had been no mail for me in the three weeks I’d been renting that tiny second-floor suite of offices in the remote Suffolk coastal town of Oxmarket. I closed the door of the outer eight by ten office, skirted the table and chair that might one day house a receptionist if the time came that Handful Investigations could run to such glamorous extras, and pushed open the door marked “PRIVATE.”Behind the door lay the office of the head of Handful Investigations, John Handful. Me. And not only the head but the entire staff. It was a bigger room than the reception office, I knew that because I’d measured it, but only a trained surveyor could have told it with the naked eye.I’m no sybarite, but I had to admit that it was pretty bleak sort of place. The distempered walls were that delicate tint of off-grey pastel shading from off-white at
COUNTER MEASURES 2
The farmhouse was large and square and built of stone. It was surrounded by an assortment of barns and outbuildings, also mainly built of rough, dark stone. The farmyard was awash with mud, except for one corner that looked like it had recently been concreted and was still cordoned off by a makeshift barrier of broken white pallets. Parked beside the pallets was a mud spattered Electra Blue 4x4. Somewhere nearby a horse snorted and was answered by the sudden frantic barking of a dog.I removed my mobile from my pocket, checked to see if I had a strong enough signal and called DI Silver once more.“Where are you?” He shouted. “It’s a terrible line!”“I’m at Heather Hill Farm,” I shouted. “I think I might need your assistance in the next quarter of an hour.”“What are you up too, John?”“Just be here in fifteen minutes.&
COUNTER MEASURES 3
I had walked for nearly an hour past the green, after I had left the pub, down to the darkened boatyard with the stilted walkways over the river mud, then out on the raised path towards the marsh. I was at the place where the tidal river merged with the inland water mass and the slow-swaying reedbeds. It had been one of Zoë’s favourite spots. The silence was broken only when I disturbed a swan that clattered, screaming away. “Evening, John.” I spun, coiled, tense. I gazed at the shadow. “Only me – seen a ghost? Sorry that was a tactless thing to say. Didn’t mean to startle you. It’s Jason.” “That’s okay.” “Just taking the dog out. I hear Loraine has lumbered you with the leaflets for the Wildlife Field Day. It’s very good of you. I was doing the group’s accounts this evening – your donation of two hundred and fifty pounds was really generous, thanks. Prefer to say it myself than just send
COUNTER MEASURES 4
It was quite late when DI Paul Silver dropped me off at my flat. An old Victorian house that had been converted into flats and I had the one on the top floor. I stood at the communal door and waved him off and instead of going upstairs to the warming comforts that awaited me – I had left the central heating on – I walked up to the churchyard. Zoë’s grave was conveniently near a bench close to a hedge. Therefore, I sat there and chatted with her about things and went over the break-in at the Bio-Preparations Cobra Mist complex with her. Obviously, I knew that I was talking to myself, but there was something comforting about this weekly ritual that helped me cope with the grief. I knew that Zoë would not want me to be sad, all the time, but I couldn’t help it. I just dealt with it better some days than others. That is just how I am. I spent some time reflecting on some of Zoë’s little foibles – how she coul
COUNTER MEASURES 5
Within twenty minutes of receiving my fee of seven hundred pounds from Bio-Preparations in the post, my mobile started singing with an unknown number lighting up the screen.“Hello?”“Is the fee satisfactory, Mr Handful?”“More than satisfactory, Miss Gere,” I replied. It was in fact more than double my standard fee, but I wasn’t complaining.“Call me, Kimberley,” she said and paused for a few seconds before continuing. “I was wondering whether I could treat you to dinner as a thank you.”“You don’t have to do that, Kimberley,” I said, politely.“I insist,” she said. “Don’t worry, Bio-preparations are paying.”“Very well,” I agreed. “Where and when?”She chose the only Italian restaurant in Oxmarket, Figaro’s in the main street, not far from my
COUNTER MEASURES 6
When I got back into my car and checked my mobile which I had left in the glove compartment. I had two missed calls from a number I didn’t immediately recognise. I removed Sir Gerard’s business card and compared the two numbers. They were the same. I dialled it immediately.“I’ve had another blackmail letter,” he said as soon as he answered.“I’ll be right over.”*Sir Gerard Seymour Hornby lived in Oxmarket Castle on the northern outskirts of the town. In fact it was the only castle for miles and during the summer it was open to the public. Zoë and I had spent a lovely sunny day here a couple of years ago. We had brought a hamper and devoured its contents in the picnic area before spending the whole afternoon exploring the breathtaking surroundings.Despite its crenallated battlements, round towers and embrasures
COUNTER MEASURES 7
WPC Softly decanted me outside my flat. After showering, and changing into some fresh clothes, I made myself some coffee and toast.The flat had three bedrooms but I had turned one end of the smallest into an office when I had set up Handful Investigations. I sat at my desk and switched on my computer. It slowly came to life and I checked my e-mails. Most were the usual trash trying to sell me stuff I didn’t want or need. It never ceased to amaze me why anyone could think that this type of direct marketing sells anything. I deleted all of them without reading them. In amongst the masses of junk and spam, however, was one message actually meant for me. It was from the local Oxmarket solicitors, Hogbin, Marshall and Moruzzi, and they were willing to use me as and when I was required.Quite pleased with myself, I went into the main search engine and typed in Sir Gerard Seymour Hornby and entered in
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