The Fifth Identity. Ray CW Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

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