check that he hadn't been followed - from force of habit rather than genuine concern. He got out of the car, turned up the collar of his coat and kept his head down as he walked to the garage door. He unlocked it and pushed it upwards, slipped inside, flicked the light switch and pulled the door down.
The laptop was on the back seat of the car in a black nylon ' 1 case. Hargrove picked it up and was heading to the garage door when he saw the door that led through to the house.
He stopped and looked at it, then tried the handle. It opened.
Hargrove smiled to himself. He had no authority to search Sewell's house, but the man had given him the keys. He went through into the kitchen and put the laptop on the table.
All the equipment and appliances were stainless steel and didn't appear to have been used. The refrigerator contained bottles of Bollinger and imported lager. There was a stainless steel bread bin, but it was empty, and Hargrove couldn't find any food in the cupboards. Menus from various local restaurants hung on a hook by the oven and a carrier-bag containing the remnants of a Chinese takeaway was in the steel bin by the door.
There was a big-screen plasma television on the sitting room wall and a state-of-the-art sound system with DVD M recorder and satellite receiver.The furniture was black leather,
the coffee-tables mainly glass, and there was a black-wood sideboard loaded with bottles of spirits. Hargrove could see why Sewell wasn't enjoying his stay in the hotel.
I He went back into the kitchen and switched on the laptop.
It was a new model Sony with wi-fi to connect it to the Internet via wireless. There was also a modem. Hargrove found a connecting cable in the nylon case and slipped it into his pocket.
He couldn't afford to have Sewell prowling around the Internet.
There was nothing he could do about the wi-fi other than to check there was no signal in the hotel. He doubted there would be - it didn't have satellite TV or a business centre.
Hargrove's fingers played across the keyboard. He ran Sewell's Outlook Express program, then went through his Inbox and Sent Items folders. His mail seemed to consist of two sections: office correspondence and contacts from an adult matchmaking service. Hargrove read through more than fifty replies from women who thought that Sewell was a handsome twenty-five-year-old with blond hair, a six-pack abdomen and a sexual organ that would put an elephant's to shame. He had clearly posted someone else's photograph on the website and was reaping the benefits. Many of the emails in his Inbox had photographs attached, and in most of the pictures the women were naked. Hargrove didn't know if Sewell ever met any of them or if he just got a kick from reading their replies, but he'd have some explaining to do if they met him. The real Sewell was neither handsome nor twenty-five; he didn't have a six-pack or blond hair.
The office correspondence was far less racy but even more interesting. There were emails going back nine months from Larry Hendrickson, pressing Sewell to agree to sell his company to a London firm. The offer had been raised from an initial 750,000 pounds to just under two million. There were no copies of the replies Sewell had sent, but it was obvious that Hendrickson had been getting increasingly desperate. His emails initially detailed the financial reasons for a sale, then practically begged Sewell to accept the deal. The last few were terse. Not threatening, nothing that could be used in 85 court, but it was clear that the two men were no longer friends.
The bigger chunk of the shares was owned by Sewell, who had founded the company, but Hendrickson would still be in line for almost half a million pounds. That alone was worth killing for, but with Sewell out of the way Hendrickson stood to gain control of the whole company.
Hargrove switched off the laptop, closed it and put it back into the case. He drove to Altrincham and dropped off the laptop at the
The laptop was on the back seat of the car in a black nylon ' 1 case. Hargrove picked it up and was heading to the garage door when he saw the door that led through to the house.
He stopped and looked at it, then tried the handle. It opened.
Hargrove smiled to himself. He had no authority to search Sewell's house, but the man had given him the keys. He went through into the kitchen and put the laptop on the table.
All the equipment and appliances were stainless steel and didn't appear to have been used. The refrigerator contained bottles of Bollinger and imported lager. There was a stainless steel bread bin, but it was empty, and Hargrove couldn't find any food in the cupboards. Menus from various local restaurants hung on a hook by the oven and a carrier-bag containing the remnants of a Chinese takeaway was in the steel bin by the door.
There was a big-screen plasma television on the sitting room wall and a state-of-the-art sound system with DVD M recorder and satellite receiver.The furniture was black leather,
the coffee-tables mainly glass, and there was a black-wood sideboard loaded with bottles of spirits. Hargrove could see why Sewell wasn't enjoying his stay in the hotel.
I He went back into the kitchen and switched on the laptop.
It was a new model Sony with wi-fi to connect it to the Internet via wireless. There was also a modem. Hargrove found a connecting cable in the nylon case and slipped it into his pocket.
He couldn't afford to have Sewell prowling around the Internet.
There was nothing he could do about the wi-fi other than to check there was no signal in the hotel. He doubted there would be - it didn't have satellite TV or a business centre.
Hargrove's fingers played across the keyboard. He ran Sewell's Outlook Express program, then went through his Inbox and Sent Items folders. His mail seemed to consist of two sections: office correspondence and contacts from an adult matchmaking service. Hargrove read through more than fifty replies from women who thought that Sewell was a handsome twenty-five-year-old with blond hair, a six-pack abdomen and a sexual organ that would put an elephant's to shame. He had clearly posted someone else's photograph on the website and was reaping the benefits. Many of the emails in his Inbox had photographs attached, and in most of the pictures the women were naked. Hargrove didn't know if Sewell ever met any of them or if he just got a kick from reading their replies, but he'd have some explaining to do if they met him. The real Sewell was neither handsome nor twenty-five; he didn't have a six-pack or blond hair.
The office correspondence was far less racy but even more interesting. There were emails going back nine months from Larry Hendrickson, pressing Sewell to agree to sell his company to a London firm. The offer had been raised from an initial 750,000 pounds to just under two million. There were no copies of the replies Sewell had sent, but it was obvious that Hendrickson had been getting increasingly desperate. His emails initially detailed the financial reasons for a sale, then practically begged Sewell to accept the deal. The last few were terse. Not threatening, nothing that could be used in 85 court, but it was clear that the two men were no longer friends.
The bigger chunk of the shares was owned by Sewell, who had founded the company, but Hendrickson would still be in line for almost half a million pounds. That alone was worth killing for, but with Sewell out of the way Hendrickson stood to gain control of the whole company.
Hargrove switched off the laptop, closed it and put it back into the case. He drove to Altrincham and dropped off the laptop at the
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