Murder of a Silent Man Page 10

  Chapter 13

  Michael Lawrence, now under the tutelage of Giles Helmsley, the eccentric leader of the Anarchist Revolutionaries of England, was, for once, not drunk or drugged. He was coherent and feeling as sick as a dog.

  He was in Helmsley’s flat, not the dosshouse which was more in keeping with the disreputable state of the grandson of the property mogul: his lank hair, the tattoos, the smell of alcohol, and the years of living rough.

  ‘Michael, it’s our chance to strike a blow for the cause,’ Helmsley said. If the young man had been awake and aware, he would have noticed the insincerity in the tone of his leader’s voice, the man almost choking as he spoke what he did not believe.

  ‘Go away, I’m ill. I need a fix,’ Michael said as he retched, his stomach incapable of emitting any more.

  ‘You need to stand up and be counted. It is time for us to strike at the system.’

  Michael Lawrence moved away from the chair where he had been sitting and leant over the kitchen sink. His head throbbed, his body shook, and he was shivering, even though the flat was warm. Helmsley knew he needed Michael functional, although he was not sure how he could use him, or how long it would take. He did not relish the man occupying the bed in the second bedroom, but for the cause, his cause, he would suffer.

  ‘I need a fix,’ the young man said yet again. Helmsley knew he had a poor specimen of manhood, but he had no option but to use him.

  Within his group of degenerates, one or two were committed to the cause, the others were only interested in banging whatever drum it was that gave them what they wanted, which in the case of Michael Lawrence was a ready supply of heroin and alcohol, coupled with the occasional woman. And now Helmsley could see the way to move his cause forward, while at the same time embellishing his bank account.

  Luckily for him, he knew, he had within their midst the grandson of a wealthy and dead man, a grandson who must surely be entitled to some money. Not that the complaining youth cared, but Helmsley was a man of strong personal convictions, a man who had dedicated his life to the less fortunate and found most of them lacking in the moral fibre and tenacity that he possessed.

  ‘I need you to stand up and claim your inheritance,’ Helmsley said. He thrust Lawrence under a hot shower and liberally applied the soap to him. It was not the first time that the leader of the Anarchist Revolutionaries of England had been excited by the sight of a naked man, but now was not the time and the place.

  Once Michael was out of the shower and dry, Helmsley removed his earrings and studs. Not much could be done with the tattoos, only a long-sleeved shirt to cover them the best he could. Once he looked more normal, Helmsley took him to a hairdresser to get his hair cut into a more conventional style.

  Two days later, a man entered the office of Leonard Dundas and his daughter. It was Jill, the daughter, who invited him into her office after he had said who he was.

  ‘I believe that my grandfather has died,’ Michael Lawrence said.

  ‘You were mentioned in his will, but how did you know?’ Jill said. She looked at the man in front of her. If this was the Michael Lawrence that they had been told about, then either the information had been wrong, or the man had changed.

  ‘I believe there are conditions placed on me.’ He was dressed in a red-striped shirt, a pair of blue trousers, and a navy jacket. He did not like the look, but Helmsley had explained it all to him carefully.

  ‘Play your part, help the cause,’ Helmsley’s repetitive chant over the last few days. He, Michael Lawrence, knew what was required of him, and if it was dressing in clothes that he did not like, pretending to be one of those he despised, then that was what he would do.

  ‘How do you know about the conditions?’

  ‘I was told. It doesn’t matter, does it?’ It did to Jill Dundas, but she chose not to comment.

  ‘Are you still on drugs?’

  ‘I’m clean, although I need help.’

  ‘One of the conditions is that you will check into a drug rehabilitation centre. Is that acceptable?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘I’ll need money for expenses.’

  ‘At the centre, you will need nothing, but I will authorise payment of five thousand pounds to your bank account.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It is not for drugs.’

  ‘I will adhere to the conditions,’ Michael said, his stomach cramping.

  Michael Lawrence had prior to meeting with Jill Dundas, and with Helmsley’s prompting, contacted his aunt, Caroline, who had told him what was required. She had then phoned Ralph to update him. ‘It’s playing into our hands,’ Caroline had said, although she was not sure if it was or how.

  Ralph was suspicious of his son’s resurrection, not having had any contact with him for several years, and the last time they had met, he had deemed his son a hopeless case. But according to his sister, who had met him, her nephew looked presentable, although pale and definitely undernourished.

  Jill Dundas booked the young man into the Waverley Hills Centre, a stately home on the outskirts of London, in an area complete with rolling hills and fresh air. Michael, driven down by Caroline, looked at the place as they drove through the main gates and up the sweeping driveway. He did not look forward to it, having attempted to get off the drugs a few years earlier. But that had been a detox centre alongside a charitable institution in one of the rougher parts of London. That hadn’t worked; he wasn’t sure if this would, but he had Caroline in one ear, Helmsley in the other, both offering encouragement, although neither had met and were unlikely to.

  ‘Good to see you, Mr Lawrence,’ Ian Grantly, the medical director at the drug rehabilitation centre, said. The sign outside made no mention of its function, or that it catered to the rich and famous. Caroline saw one of her favourite singers as she walked through the building with Michael and Grantly. At another time and place, she would have felt inclined to stop and talk to him, but as Grantly had said, ‘We’re all equal here.’

  ‘Leave me, Caroline,’ Michael said. ‘I’ll play the game.’

  ‘It’s up to you,’ Caroline said. She had to admit that after so many years of not seeing her nephew, she had been surprised by his better than expected appearance. He was also polite, and he had inherited the charm that his father had in abundance.

  ‘Once an addict, always an addict,’ Grantly said as he escorted Caroline off the premises. ‘Visiting hours, Monday and Wednesday, 2 p.m.’

  ‘Can you get him off the drugs?’

  ‘We can control him in here, but outside, that’s when the problems start. He looks as though he’s had it rough.’

  ‘There’s not been a lot of guidance from his father, and as for his mother…’

  ‘Long gone?’

  ‘The mother, no idea where she is. His father is here, although he’s been absent for more years than I can remember.’

  ‘That’s the problem. Michael needs a support mechanism.’

  ‘I’ll try, but I’m not going to be a nursemaid.’

  ‘I’m informed that all costs will be borne by his grandfather’s estate.’

  ‘They will, although you’ll be submitting them to a Leonard Dundas. He’s as careful with money as my father was. I’d suggest that you don’t commit to any treatment out of the ordinary unless you’ve run it past Dundas.’

  ‘I read about your father,’ Grantly said.

  ‘No doubt you formed your own opinion.’

  ‘Your mother, that’s what I assume you’re referring to. Hardly the actions of a rational man, but I suppose you don’t need me to tell you that.’

  ‘I don’t. Ralph, my brother, Michael’s father, is also not always easy to understand.’

  ‘It doesn’t make it easier when there’s eccentricity in the family.’

  ‘But you’ll try. I need Michael on my side,’ Caroline said.

  ‘And his father?’

  ‘If you have a centre for stupidity, he could do with a
few weeks there.’

  ‘Bad decisions?’

  ‘In the past. I just hope he’s wiser now.’

  ‘Do you think he is?’

  ‘No.’

  ***

  For once, Ralph was welcomed into Caroline and Desmond Dickson’s house, but not because the two men liked each other. On the contrary, Ralph regarded Desmond as a pompous snob; Desmond considered his brother-in-law worthless.

  ‘The situation’s changed,’ Caroline said. She was holding a glass of red wine and leaning back on the dining room chair. She had to admit that she was slightly tipsy.

  ‘Not to me, it hasn’t,’ Ralph said. He had drunk as much as his sister, but he was a regular drinker, Caroline was not. ‘Dundas is still in control.’

  ‘But your son is attempting to reform.’

  ‘He’s a weak man, a major disappointment.’

  ‘The pot calling the kettle black,’ Desmond said in a moment of derision. For the last few hours he had been civil to Ralph, but now, when all three were winding down after a meal prepared by Caroline and three bottles of the best wine from the house’s cellar, the reluctance to speak their minds had dissipated.

  ‘Desmond, you may be married to my sister, but it doesn’t stop you being a pain in the rear end.’

  ‘Please,’ Caroline interceded, not very successfully as the effects of the alcohol were impairing her usually coherent speech. ‘We need to work together. The enemy is Leonard and Jill Dundas, not each other.’

  ‘Caroline is right,’ Desmond conceded. ‘I spoke in error. Ralph, please accept my apologies.’

  ‘There is no more to say. My son will assist or he won’t. It doesn’t stop the issue with Dundas and his scheming daughter, and what they have control of. Caroline, you’ve attended their meetings. Are you able to update us with any more than what you have already told us?’

  ‘Not really. We can assume there are more properties than we know of, more bank accounts, but unless Dundas tells us, we’re blind.’

  The three of them moved to another room. Caroline prepared coffee, black for everyone, and she made it strong.

  ‘I have a contact. I don’t trust him,’ Ralph said.

  ‘A criminal?’ Desmond said. He didn’t like where the conversation was heading. He did not need to walk on the dark side. He had a successful business, upstanding members of society as his customers. He had met the occasional villain, realised to what lengths they would go to maintain their importance or to achieve their aim.

  ‘We need to hack Dundas’s computers, check out the files in his office.’

  ‘We need someone on the inside, not a crook,’ Caroline said.

  ‘Anyone in mind?’ Ralph said. He was about to suggest bringing in Gary Frost, but he knew the man could not be trusted.

  ‘Someone in Dundas’s office must be willing to help if we pay enough.’

  ‘That’s the easiest way to get yourself evicted from the meetings.’

  ‘Your contact?’ Caroline said. She wanted the money from the sale of the shopping centre, but that was months away, even more time for the Dundases to put additional blockers in place.

  ‘What do we know?’ Desmond said.

  ‘We know of three bank accounts in the UK, two overseas.’

  ‘Passwords?’

  ‘Not to any of them.’

  ‘And how much in total?’

  ‘Seven million pounds approximately.’

  ‘So where is the rest? There must be more cash,’ Ralph said. He couldn’t see how they could progress further by talking about it. There was a time to bring in help, and that time was now.

  The three studied the figures that had been presented to Caroline by Leonard Dundas. According to what they had in front of them, there were twenty-five million pounds deposited in various bank accounts, the locations not specified, as well as a total of one hundred and eighty-three properties, the majority in the UK, others around the world. Nobody believed that what they were being shown was the true situation, purely what had been prepared for them to see, and an independent audit of Gilbert Lawrence’s assets would not reveal much more, cleverly concealed as they would be.

  ‘I don’t trust my person,’ Ralph said.

  ‘Then we need someone in Dundas’s office,’ Desmond said. For once he found his brother-in-law making sense. ‘Your son, Michael?’ he said.

  ‘I’ve not seen him yet. Caroline, what did you reckon?’

  ‘It may be time for you to reacquaint yourself with him. His return may be suspicious.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He was, according to what I’ve gleaned from the police, involved with anarchists.’

  ‘Do we have them in this country?’

  ‘Apparently we do. They call themselves the Anarchist Revolutionaries of England. It’s run by Giles Helmsley, a disgraced academic.’

  ‘Him?’ Ralph said.

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘We were at school together. Back then he wasn’t an anarchist, just odd.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He always saw himself as superior. Academically brilliant, always on about the ruling classes.’

  ‘But you went to an elitist school, even members of the aristocracy in your year.’

  ‘But Helmsley was different. He was working class, won himself a scholarship. Supposedly an attempt by the school to make itself out to be egalitarian.’

  ‘Was it?’

  ‘Not at all, but I suppose there were brownie points to be gained for those in charge. Anyway, Helmsley was there and he was keen, keener than any of us. He always sat up the front of the class, looking for an opportunity to show us how smart he was.’

  ‘Was he?’

  ‘He was. We were at the back of the class, only interested in playing up, getting a few drinks in, making plans to meet up with the local girls.’

  ‘Helmsley?’

  ‘Not him. We always thought he was gay, not that there was any proof, but it was unnatural. Teenage males are hot for anything in a skirt, but Helmsley, he’d be there, his face in a book.’

  ‘You’ve not changed,’ Desmond said.

  ‘Thankfully, I haven’t,’ Ralph said. ‘Anyway, Michael. What’s he up to?’

  ‘Are you suspicious?’

  ‘Of Michael? Like father, like son. If he’s willing to sort himself out, it can only be with someone at his back. I was always weak if temptation was there, but Michael, he was worse. If there was alcohol, he’d down the lot, and then he was into drugs, running with the crowd. Quite frankly, I assumed he’d OD at some stage.’

  ‘It didn’t concern you?’ Caroline said.

  ‘It did, but he’s an adult, and even if I was more responsible, I couldn’t take him on. I have enough trouble looking after myself.’

  ‘And his mother?’

  ‘The last I heard, she was swanning around the Caribbean. A beautiful woman in her day, probably still is, but she was never the maternal type.’

  ‘Not much of an upbringing for your son,’ Caroline said.

  ‘No worse than ours. The first thing that our parents did was to ship us off to boarding school, come home at long weekends, holidays, and even then, we were soon sent off on an activity somewhere.’

  ‘That was our mother and father, devoted to each other.’

  ‘Not normal, though.’

  ‘We survived.’

  ‘Who knows if what they did was right or wrong. And besides, it’s Michael that we’re talking about. The man is sorting himself out, a weak and feeble person susceptible to drugs. The condition of our father’s will was that he had to stay clean for a year, get himself a job. I can’t see him doing that.’

  ‘What if he’s cleaned up? What are the chances of getting him into Dundas’s office? Could we trust him? Would Dundas let him in, give him a job?’

  ‘If I agree to Dundas’s conditions, he might,’ Caroline said.

  ‘What conditions?’

  ‘If I agree to rubber sta
mp everything that charlatan and his daughter do, then maybe they’ll agree.’

  ‘Try it on,’ Desmond said, ‘and Ralph, go and see your son, make your peace.’

  ‘And Helmsley?’ Ralph said.

  ‘Let’s see what he does. If he becomes a nuisance, we’ll need to neutralise him.’

  Chapter 14

  ‘No, we never met Mr Lawrence,’ Kingsley Wilde, the senior psychoanalyst, said. He was broad-shouldered, with grey hair and a beard trimmed short.

  Isaac and Larry were in the offices of Wyvern Psychiatrists, one of the organisations that had declared Gilbert Lawrence sane and able to sign his will.

  ‘If you never met the man, how can you declare him to be of sound mind?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘It was an unusual request,’ Wilde said, as he sat upright, looking at the two police officers with a keen eye.

  ‘We’re not here for evaluation,’ Larry said. He found the man unnerving.

  ‘Apologies. I’m not conducting an analysis of you. No doubt you’re both subjected to vigorous checks of your physical and mental status by the police doctor.’

  ‘We are,’ Isaac said. ‘We’re concerned that for the last twelve years you have given Gilbert Lawrence a clean bill of health, when the man lived an unusual life and, as we now know, his dead wife was upstairs in the house.’

  ‘How a person lives does not decree whether he or she is mentally impaired. We had realised that he was eccentric, but our tests are not there to deal with what we would believe to be unusual. Our requirement was to ascertain whether the man was capable of signing his last will and testament, that is all.’

  ‘Are you saying that living in that house as a recluse does not indicate a person with severe mental issues?’ Isaac said, not sure if Wilde was on the defensive and trying to justify his position or whether he genuinely believed what he was saying.

  ‘We conducted standard tests in writing and via phone.’

  ‘No video?’ Larry said.

  ‘At the request of his solicitor, it was only audio.’

  ‘And how did the man sound?’