The Dead Lie Down (Adam Lennox Thrillers: Book One) (24 page)

Frank checked the kitchen to make sure that he had remembered to pick up the
package, and then noticed it sitting on his cardboard suitcase sitting in the
small hallway that led in turn out onto the stairwell. With a decisive gesture
of finality he handed the last set of keys to the landlord and tucked the
package under his arm. Picking up his suitcase he turned and took the stairs
slowly, one at a time, down to the street door. He stepped outside, his jacket
and long trousers looking out of place in the heat, but then he wasn't dressed
for this place but for somewhere altogether cooler. He blinked in the brilliant
sunshine, scorching his eyes after the darkness indoors.

The taxi stood waiting, its bald tyres parked in what passed for a gutter. He
stopped one last time and turned, his grey eyes under grey bushy eyebrows gazing
up at the building, the shutters standing out quite clearly against the cement
rendering. By sunset there would be someone else behind them, and life would go
on, as it had done before and would do again. He had known for a while that this
time was coming but the arrival didn't come any easier for it. Tears pricked his
eyes that had nothing to do with the sun. He said a mental goodbye to those he
had loved, and places he had loathed, before fingering in his jacket pocket to
check that the flight tickets were still there. Satisfied, he subsided into the
back of the taxi and slammed the door.

The dust cloud followed them down the road as they headed down towards the city,
the airport and the world beyond.

Gerard Kemp's semi stood lifeless so Adam and Bel sat in the car and waited.
They had already tried the doorbell without success and scouted round the back
for signs of life. Washing on the line implied a return was planned before long
and they decided to wait it out. The car was beginning to smell strongly of a
McDonald's Drive Thro, Adam's suggestion, against Bel's better judgement. Adam
felt all the better for pushing through caveman dominance, although the burger
was threatening to repeat on him, and he was starting to have doubts about the
age of the brown-edged lettuce he had discovered lurking between bap and
burger.

Gerry had met them at the office on their return from the park the previous
afternoon. They had brought him up to date with events, which brought a grin to
his face whilst he tried to imagine Special Branch trying to make sense of
'elephants, tigers and cameras'.

He had tossed a sheaf of papers at Adam. "Our Mr Kemp leads an interesting and
varied life, far more than you might imagine."

"Try me," replied Adam.

"He appears to have almost daily phone calls to Thailand, never for very long,
not to a strict regime or timetable but always to the same number."

"So he's keeping in very close touch with someone out there. Daily phonecalls
would imply things happening or changing on a daily basis?"

"It might. The frequency seems to have increased as time has gone on."

"Like something coming to a climax," chipped in Bel.

"Talking of climaxes," said Gerry. "It gets better. Not only has he run up a
humongous phone bill, but he has visited Thailand on an almost annual basis for
the better part of fifteen years."

"So he's got relatives out there," suggested Bel.

"Or he's a Buddhist," offered Adam.

"Or he has a preference for young girls perhaps," concluded Gerry.

It took Kemp no more than forty-five minutes to return, shuffling his way along
the road, fishing for his keys in his pocket. He seemed more bowed than Adam
remembered him, as if someone had knocked some of the stuffing out of him.

They followed him briskly up to the front door as he pushed his key into the
lock, dulled from years of neglect. He turned at the sound and Adam was prepared
for him to bolt, needlessly as it happened.

Kemp's eyes turned to them with a dull lack of lustre but some vague
recognition. He continued to unlock the door.

Adam interrupted his fumbling. "Mr Kemp we really need to talk. We know about
Thailand."

Kemp frowned but offered no comment. He entered the hall and left the door ajar,
which they took to be acquiescence, or resignation if nothing else. They
followed Kemp as he dropped his shopping bags on the kitchen table and then to
the lounge where he sat in an armchair as if waiting for the inevitable.

Adam dropped the envelope they had found in John Bartlett's office onto the
heavily stained coffee table. Kemp didn't react but looked at Bel.

"You're Bel Trent aren't you? John's secretary." The voice was stronger than his
appearance would suggest.

Bel nodded. "He liked you," continued Kemp.

Adam butted in and pointed to the envelope. "You sent that to John Bartlett
didn't you?"

Kemp's eyes, still on Bel, swivelled to meet Adam's. There was a slight
hesitation. "God forgive me, yes I did."

"Where did you find out that the ships were being used for smuggling?" asked
Adam.

A
light came on briefly in Kemp's eyes, he looked passed them into the distance and
a smile played across his lips. "So when you say you know about Thailand, you
don't actually know, do you?"

Adam leaned forward towards him. "What don't I know?"

Kemp paused, an internal debate playing within his mind. Eventually he
shrugged.

"It doesn't matter, he's dead now anyway."

"John Bartlett, yes he's dead, murdered," confirmed Bel.

Kemp shook his head gently. "Not John, Granger."

Adam frowned, "But Granger died twenty six years ago. Murdered by the IRA and
faked to look like a car accident. He wanted to get out of Republican violence
so they killed him didn't they? It was all hushed up."

Kemp gave Adam a pitying smile. "How important is this to you?"

"Vitally," replied Adam. "It may give a clue as to who murdered my wife."

Kemp frowned. "Fran, murdered? That was an accident."

Adam explained. "We have enough evidence to confirm that Fran was murdered." He
didn't look at Bel who had registered mild surprise. "What we don't know is by
whom and why, but we believe it's tied into Granger's murder."

Kemp sat back and folded his hands on his lap. "It doesn't matter any more I
suppose." But he hesitated nonetheless. "Granger Bartlett got deeper into the
Republican movement than he intended. His motives were entirely honourable at
the start, but some said they were misguided. I don't judge. Granger made the
mistake of allowing some guns to be smuggled into Ireland aboard one of his
ships, ostensibly to defend innocents against the British Army.

But then they had him hooked, and blackmailed him into smuggling all sorts of
explosives and weapons from sympathisers on the Catholic continent. And then
something happened that convinced him that come hell or high water he had to get
out."

Adam interrupted. "The ambush of the army patrol. A civilian was killed."

Kemp nodded. "An American reporter. The IRA tricked Granger. They told him the
explosives were just going to close the road by blowing a crater in it. He was
the one who detonated the charge."

There was a moment of silence whilst the enormity of it sunk in.

Kemp continued, "He arranged to fake an accident in a way that would convince
everyone that he was dead. Whether they thought it was an accident, a suicide or
a murder was irrelevant to him as long as people were convinced of his
death."

Bel butted in. "So who did die in the crash?"

Kemp smiled. "No-one. Through a contact, Granger managed to acquire a body from
a mortuary abroad. What he didn't know at the time was that the body was that of
a gunshot victim. That provided the police with a headache when they found out,
so in order to prevent fuelling the Irish conflict they suppressed the evidence.
Ironically it would have been wrong anyway."

"And you identified the body," Adam said, various things beginning to click into
place.

"And Granger took off with his million pounds to some far flung corner of the
world, namely Thailand." suggested Bel.

"He did, but Granger was not one to leave anything to chance and he still had a
schoolboy son to protect even if his wife was already dead."

Adam smiled to himself. "So he gathered together evidence identifying the
perpetrators in the IRA, to be released on his death."

"Or the death of his son."

"There are a number of Irishmen currently doing unmentionable things to try and
get hold of that package, and they seem to think that I have it."

"That's unfortunate. They must presume that John had it and passed it to
you."

"And John didn't have it?" asked Bel.

"John didn't know of its existence." Kemp hesitated before continuing. "John
didn't even know that his father was still alive."

There was a momentary stunned silence from Bel and Adam before Kemp continued.
"A few months ago we discovered that they were starting to smuggle arms again
and we decided it was time that John knew what was going on. So I sent the
letter to warn him. We didn't expect him to go investigating himself."

"You said Granger was dead?" asked Adam.

The light in Kemp's eyes died a little. "Granger Bartlett died in Bangkok two
days ago in a squalid flat virtually penniless as a result of ultimately trying
to do the right thing."

"But still as a result of his own foolish actions which resulted in the loss of
innocent lives," charged Adam.

Kemp made no reply.

Adam continued. "Do you know where the package is now?"

"It was in a bank vault in Bangkok."

"So why hasn't it come to light?"

"When Granger came close to death we retrieved the package, and when we learned
of John's death it didn't seem so important any more."

"So they were nothing to do with the papers Fran had?" asked Adam.

Kemp blinked. "What has Fran got to do with any of this?"

Adam ignored him. "So where is the package now?"

Kemp shook his head. "I don't know."

Something in his manner caused Adam to doubt whether he was telling the whole
truth but he was more interested in getting to his final question.

"So who was behind the IRA unit at the time?"

Kemp told him and the name came as no surprise.

Before he left Adam went into the hallway and taking his mobile out of his
pocket, rang a number in memory. After two failed attempts at getting through he
texted two numbers, "Kemp knows everything. He needs protection."

Chapter 33

As he watched Adam and Bel leave, Gerard thought briefly and made a decision
quickly. The situation in Thailand changed everything and things were fast
becoming unstable. He moved quickly through to his bedroom and pulled out the
bag from under the bed where it had been left from his last visit to the
apartment in Thailand. It was still half packed and it took no more than three
minutes to fill it with the remaining essentials. He checked is watch. If he was
quick he could be out of there and reach the safe house in Brighton before dark.
He just knew that he needed to get out and lie low until the package arrived
safely. He grabbed the bag and hurried down the stairs. As he went, something
struck him as wrong, and as he reached the bottom he realised what it was. A
cold draught was percolating through from the kitchen door, a door he had firmly
shut not five minutes ago. A cold dread filled him. A sudden change in the light
made him turn just as the fist caught him in the kidneys and he fell pole-axed
to the floor with little more than a grunt.

Hands picked him up as if he was a feather and carried him into the lounge where
he was dumped face down on the wood block floor like a rag doll, his attacker
with a knee on his back. His spine felt like it was going to snap like a
twig.

Reilly had moved in quietly behind them and faced Kemp. He said nothing for a
moment, letting Kemp realise his situation whilst Reilly established his next
move.

"Good afternoon Gerard, it's been a very long time."

There was a blank response for a moment before a measure of recognition crossed
Kemp's features. He struggled to speak as someone was now kneeling on his head
but the words were just distinguishable.

"Reilly. You've grown up."

Reilly smiled again. "Gerard, just one question and then I'll go. Where's the
package?"

"What package? Don't know what you're talking about."

Reilly sat in one of the easy chairs and took up a relaxed posture.

"You've been less than honest over the years Gerard. I don't like that in a man.
You led us to believe that Granger had died in that accident."

Kemp laughed and got a vicious kick in the ribs, causing a coughing fit, he felt
something snap inside his chest. Eventually, when his breathing had returned to
near normal, Reilly continued.

"Where is Granger, Gerard?"

"He's dead." The boot swung at his ribs again. Now it was painful to
breathe.

"I repeat, where is Granger?" insisted Reilly.

Kemp's breaths were coming in rasping gulps but eventually he managed to get the
words out.

"He died, two days ago, in Thailand, from TB."

Reilly considered for a moment before issuing his verdict.

"You know Gerard, I believe you. Good riddance. So where is the package now?" he
repeated.

"What package? Don't know what you're talking about."

So Reilly went and fetched the hammer. He generally brought one with him but
using the victim's own was somehow all the more poetic in his mind.

Kemp's arms were thrust out in front of him and his hands pinned to the
floor.

"The package. Just to remind you." whispered Reilly.

The hammer came down on a middle finger, smashing bone, joints and tendons.

The scream was stifled by a large hand clamping over Kemp's mouth.

Reilly sighed. "One more time Gerard."

"What bloody package?" hissed Kemp through gritted teeth.