the take-over actually changed hands? they wanted to know and, if the license had been sold by Saxon, had the responsibility been transferred with it? Would International Plastics be liable to lose millions, not only in the loss of the product, but in law suits brought against them for compensation by the relatives of the victims?
Speculation along these lines had already done damage to International's share prices but the company remained silent, saying nothing in public, although it was not too hard to guess what they were saying in private. Fenton supposed that cohorts of their lawyers would be working round the clock in an attempt to shed blame.
Saxon Medical took a different approach. They simply shut up shop and went to ground. John Saxon, founder of the company and Nigel's father, walled himself up in his Georgian mansion in a Glasgow suburb and refused to see anyone. The workforce had been paid off and Nigel, of course, had fled to Greece.
No public mention had been made of any police interest in Nigel Saxon and, as yet, no enterprising journalist had sought to forge a link between Neil Munro's death and the Saxon plastic tragedy. This gave Fenton an idea for it occurred to him that a conviction against Nigel Saxon would be of monumental importance to International Plastics. If the company could establish that Saxon had known about the defect in the plastic before the license had changed hands surely the deal would be deemed to have been fraudulent? It was very much in International's interest that Nigel Saxon be brought to justice. The thing was, International knew nothing of any criminal involvement in the Saxon Plastic affair. What would happen if he were to tell them?
Fenton thought about it for the rest of the afternoon and began to like the idea. Surely in the circumstances International Plastics would mount their own investigation, employ the best agents in the country to track down Saxon, ferret him out, bring him back?
There was, of course, Interpol. Fenton had been brought up on films where Interpol were brought in but, on reflection, he could not recall a single real life incident where Interpol had played a major successful part. Once across the channel it seemed like it was home and dry for the villains. Even the occasional international arrest seemed to flounder in a welter of legal wrangles and territorial jealousies. The more he thought about it the more convinced he became that a private operation, based on sound mercenary principles stood the best chance of making Saxon pay for what he had done.
To Fenton International Plastics was a name from the newspapers. He had no idea where the company was located and no notion of how to go about approaching them. The trouble with large companies, he felt, was that so few people of importance seemed to be accessible within them. Such fish always surrounded themselves with smaller fish who, in turn, surrounded themselves with even smaller fry. Fenton could see himself splashing around in the water margins for some time, being shunted from one two metre square office to the next and having to explain to frayed collars and cuffs that what he had to say was not for their ears.
That in itself would be a problem, for suggesting, even obliquely, to a minion that what he had to say was not for his ears would be tantamount to an Israelite expressing agnostic tendencies while crossing the Red Sea. The resulting maelstrom of obstruction and red tape could be fatal to the spirit.
Fenton told Jenny what he had in mind. She exploded. Fenton had never seen her so angry. He reeled as her temper ignited like a stick of dynamite. 'How dare you?' she blazed. 'Is there no end to your arrogance?
Fenton sat, wide eyed and speechless on the couch. He could not believe what was happening. 'Arrogance?'
'Yes arrogance! You always know better. The police are stupid. Interpol are useless. Everyone is incompetent where you are concerned. Well, understand this! Nigel Saxon's arrest is a matter for the police, not you. Leave it alone! I have had enough. Do you understand? Just forget it or…or I'll leave you.' Jenny burst into tears and Fenton got up to gather her in his arms. 'All right,' he promised quietly. 'I didn't realise.'
Jenny banged her fist on his shoulder. 'I know damn it,' she said. 'I know.'
Jenny's outburst had shaken Fenton but it had been what he needed for he now recognised that the hunt for Nigel Saxon had become for him an obsession. It irked him so much that Saxon appeared to have gotten clean away with his crime that he had thought about little else for many days to the detriment of everything else in his life. He promised Jenny that there would be no approach to International Plastics, no more talk of Nigel Saxon. They would go back to being Tom and Jenny, the folks who lived on the hill.
Jenny drew the curtains and turned up the gas fire as the wind got up outside. She switched on a small table lamp and put an album on the stereo before lying along the couch with her head on Fenton's lap. For once, the wind contributed to the feeling of cosiness inside the room. Fenton's fingers played the opening bars of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata on the back of her neck.
'Tom, I'm sorry,' said Jenny softly.
'Don't be. You were right.'
'I do love you.'
Fenton kissed her hair in reply.
The music, the warmth, the soft lighting and the hiss of the fire lulled them into a comfortable drowsiness. It was shattered when the telephone rang. Jenny got up to answer it and padded out into the hall in her stockinged feet. She came quickly back and stopped in the doorway looking ashen. 'It's for you,' she said. 'I think it's Nigel Saxon!'
Fenton rose like an automaton. He felt cold all over as he sidled past Jenny into the hall and picked up the receiver. Slowly he said, 'Fenton.'
The dialling tone filled his ear and brought instant relief. He let out the breath he had been holding and put the phone down. 'No one there,' he said, knowing that Jenny was standing behind him.
'It was him, I know it was,' said Jenny evenly.
'Maybe a wrong number, someone who sounded like him.'
'He asked for you by name. Saxon has a distinctive voice and he phoned here several times to ask how you were when you were in hospital. It was him,' said Jenny in an unwavering monotone.
'But why? Why phone me? He knows Neil was a friend of mine. I would be the last person in the world to help him.' said Fenton.
'I don't know why. I only know it was him.'
Fenton rubbed the back of his neck.
'What are you going to do?' asked Jenny.
'Nothing I can do,' replied Fenton.
In spite of their efforts to re-create the earlier peace of the evening the phone call had ruined it. The warmth, the music, the cosiness were still there but the mute telephone rang in their ears until bedtime. They had gone to bed and were just on the point of falling asleep when it rang for real.
'I'll get it,' said Fenton getting out of bed and hoping against hope that it would be anyone in the world rather than Saxon.
It was Nigel Saxon.
'You've got a nerve,' hissed Fenton.
'Just hear me out, that's all I ask.
'Well?' snarled Fenton, continuing to listen against his better judgement.
'I know what you all think but I didn't kill Neil Munro. Believe me. I didn't do it.'
'Is that the best you can do Saxon?'
'All right, all right, I know it looks bad, that's why I made a run for it but I didn't do it!'
'Then give yourself up.'
'My feet wouldn't touch and you know it. All the police want is a nice quick conviction to regain some credibility and I fit the bill to a tee. No, there's only one way I can prove my innocence.'
'Go on.'
'I have to give the police the real killer.'
Fenton paused before saying, 'Assuming that it isn't you, and I don't say for one moment that I believe you, how do you propose doing that?'
'I think I know who the real killer is.'
'Who?'
'I don't want to say just yet, but when I'm sure I may need your help. What do you say?'
Fenton was in a quandary. What did he say? What would Jenny say? Was Saxon lying and, if so, what was his angle? What did he have to gain? Could he be telling the truth? 'How long before you're sure?' he asked.
'A day, maybe two.'
