Fault Line - Retail by Robert Goddard Page A

me. ‘I’d do this myself if I weren’t so damnably busy. The board approved the takeover by Cornish China Clays this morning just before your message reached me. There are all manner of legal arrangements to be set in train and discussions I have to have with CCC management. Quite frankly, this couldn’t have come at a worse time. The knapsack, Jonathan. Do you think you could go out to Relurgis and see if you can find it? Not today. You’re done in. I can see that. But tomorrow. Don’t bother about work. I’ll tell Maurice Rowe not to expect you back before Monday. Our best hope of learning why Oliver did whatever exactly he did do is laying hands on that bag and its contents. Can you give it a go?’
    ‘It’s just what I was thinking of doing anyway, sir. I mean, the knapsack has to be there somewhere.’
    ‘The police are happy to assume it sank.’
    ‘I don’t believe Oliver would go to the bother of posing for those photographs if he didn’t think they’d ever be developed.’
    ‘Neither do I. So, be as thorough as you can. It’s pretty much a jungle round that pit, but there’s a good chance that not far from where you found him …’
    ‘I’ll find the knapsack – with the camera inside.’
    ‘And maybe more besides.’ Lashley polished off his whisky and stood up. ‘I appreciate this, Jonathan, I really do. Sorry I have to dash off. There are a lot of calls on my time today, as I’m sure you can imagine. Thank your mother for the tea. Let me know how the search goes, won’t you? Phone me at the office. Joan will see I get the message.’
    I got up out of the deckchair and he shook me by the hand. ‘I’ll miss Oliver,’ I said.
    ‘So will I. He could be as infuriating as all hell, but … you had to love him.’
    ‘Perhaps tomorrow I could … call round and talk to Vivien.’
    Lashley grimaced. ‘Best leave it a little longer. These sedatives have really knocked her out. And Muriel … Well, I wouldn’t want her saying things to you in the heat of the moment, if you know what I mean. In situations like this, people tend to look for someone to blame.’
    Yes, I supposed, they did. And in the eyes of the Wren family I was the obvious candidate.
    ‘One step at a time, Jonathan. That’s how we should play this.’ At least it sounded as if he wasn’t about to blame me. ‘And the first step is: find that knapsack.’
    It’s a measure of how shaken I was by the day’s events that I didn’t insist on going to the police station on my own. There was little my father could contribute to the proceedings, after all, but I knew he wanted to do his best for me and I was grateful for his support, though, naturally, I didn’t tell him so.
    The completion of my statement was a long-winded and at times tedious process. I mentioned the knapsack and extracted grudging confirmation that it hadn’t been found. I also mentioned Gordon Strake and, when I pushed the subject, was told he’d be questioned in due course. There was no sense of urgency and it was generally implied that as a mere witness – and a young lad to boot – I should be supplying information, not seeking it.
    Dad took much the same view, predictably enough as a defender of the establishment in all matters. ‘Let the police get on with their job, Jonathan,’ he advised me on our way home. ‘They’ll do what needs to be done.’
    ‘Mr Lashley doesn’t seem confident they will.’
    ‘Then it’s for him to challenge them, not you.’
    ‘I can’t just … do nothing.’
    ‘Yes, you can. What’s happened is a tragedy for the boy’s family, of course, but you’ll be off to university in a month. New friends. New horizons. You’ll soon put all of this behind you.’
    Poor old Dad. I think he really believed that.
    I headed out early next morning, shortly after Dad had left for the bank. I told Mum I was going to kill some time at the beach and play tennis with a schoolfriend at the Lido, a diet of harmless fresh-air fun