again. The road surface had almost dried out, leaving only the occasional puddle to be thrown up into the waving grass caught in the headlight.
By the time he reached the outskirts of the city Fenton was both physically and mentally drained. He slowed for the final roundabout and sat upright to proceed sedately along the well lit tarmac until he reached the flat.
The gas fire burst into life and Fenton switched on the kettle to make tea before sitting down to think. Jamieson was right. It would take time to put the case together against the Cavaliers if he were to break the organisation as a whole and that was certainly the way to do it. An isolated prosecution would only put the Cavaliers on their toes and give them time to re-group. But he was off to a flying start with the names and figures he had obtained from Vanney's report. He knew exactly where to look for evidence of corruption and that was half the battle.
Fenton still had difficulty in accepting how widespread and powerful the Cavalier organisation was. It was frightening but his resolve to see Neil Munro's killer brought to justice was undiminished. The kettle started to whistle and he returned to the kitchen to make tea.
There had been no mention of Nigel Saxon at Helmwood and this was both disappointing and puzzling. It meant that he could still not be sure where Saxon had fitted in to the scheme of things. If Saxon had been the originator of the plan to defraud International Plastics why hadn't he rated a mention at Helmwood? And if millions of pounds were involved in the fraud why was only the relatively paltry sum of twenty thousand pounds mentioned. Even if Saxon in the end had turned traitor under pressure surely something would have been said or was the elimination of a fellow member by murder too insignificant a matter to merit comment? Fenton found it a chilling thought.
A fitful night's sleep did not help improve matters. Fenton was still in bed when Jenny came home. She opened the curtains.
Fenton said, 'Isn't it strange, you can't get to sleep all night yet the minute it gets light…' The words tailed off and Jenny said that she knew the feeling. She sat down on the edge of the bed and asked how things had gone.
Fenton told her everything and watched her face register shock as he told her about Helmwood and disgust when he told her about the slave.
'What's Jamieson going to do?' she asked.
'He's going to get to work on breaking them but it will take some time to gather all the evidence.'
'And then what?'
'I don't know.'
'What about Vanney junior?'
'That's up to Jamieson.'
Jamieson phoned Fenton at around ten thirty to tell him that things were well under way with the investigation into the corrupt contracts and the police computer when fed with the registration numbers that Jamieson had collected at Helmwood had obliged with some very interesting names.
'What about Vanney?' asked Fenton.
'With Murray's help and a bit of luck over the car we think we will be able to nail him for Sandra Murray's death. With that facing him and being the little shit he is he might be spill the beans about the rest. Mind you, I still think that it was Saxon who killed your friend Munro. He was the only one with a motive.'
'But if it really was Saxon how could he have hoped to blame it on someone else? Just coming up with a name would have been no good. The killer had to be someone in the lab at the time Neil discovered the truth about the plastic.
'Saxon was probably in a blue funk when he phoned you and prepared to blame it on anyone whether it made sense or not.'
'Maybe,' Fenton conceded.
'People do strange things when they're desperate.' said Jamieson. 'Believe me. I've seen it all.'
Charles Tyson came into Fenton's lab just before noon and said, 'I've got a staffing problem. Ian Ferguson has just phoned to say that he has injured himself working on his car. The point is he was due to be on call tonight and I have to go out this evening. Mary Tyler has a meeting at the school and…'
'No problem,' said Fenton. 'I'll do it. I wasn't doing anything.'
'Thanks,' said Tyson.
At eleven thirty that evening Fenton had cause to regret his generosity in agreeing to take over Ferguson's duty. He had been working almost non stop since seven in the evening and now the acetylene gas cylinder had run out. He would have to bring up a new one from the basement on his own and change over the reduction valve, a task best carried out by two people.
Cursing his luck, Fenton ran down the stairs and switched on the basement light. He wheeled the cylinder transporter over to a row of gas cylinders and rolled an acetylene one out on its heel. He manoeuvred it with some difficulty on to the transporter and secured it with the catch chains before pressing the button for the service lift and waiting while the painfully slow motor brought it down.
As he came up in the creaking lift he heard a car draw up outside the lab and this was followed by a key rattling in the lock. Fenton assumed that it would be Tyson coming in to check on things after his evening out and was surprised to see Ian Ferguson appear at the head of the stairs while he was manhandling the transporter out of the lift.
'I thought I would drop in and apologise for this,' said Ferguson, holding up his bandaged hand.
'You picked the right night to be off,' said Fenton. 'I've been running around like a cat with its arse on fire since seven o'clock and now this!' He nodded to the cylinder.
'I'll get the spanners,' said Ferguson.
'What happened anyway?' asked Fenton.
“ I changed my car on the strength of my promotion. I was checking the oil in it and the bonnet fell on my hand.'
'Nasty,' said Fenton. 'Anything broken?'
'No, just bruised.'
Fenton brought over the empty cylinder to change over the head gear and looked to see if Ferguson had come up with a spanner.
'Will this one do?' asked Ferguson, holding up a spanner with his back still to Fenton as he continued to look in the drawer.
Fenton's blood ran cold. He was transfixed by the sight for, in his head, the spanner was transformed into a silver baton. The back view of Ferguson was the back view of the Roman with the baton!
Ferguson turned to see why Fenton had not answered. His smile faded when he saw the look on Fenton's face.
'You!' Fenton accused in a hoarse whisper. 'The knowledge, the motive and the opportunity! Neil told you about the plastic! It was you at Helmwood! There was no accident with the car. The slave bit you!' The look on Ferguson's face told Fenton that he was right.
Surprise gave way to arrogant resignation. 'Well, well, well,' said Ferguson quietly.
'You bastard, it was you who killed Neil!'
The spanner hit Fenton just above the left eye. He had been totally unprepared for it when Ferguson suddenly threw it at him and now the room burst into a galaxy of stars as he slid to the floor.
When he came round Fenton found himself bound hand and foot with the chains from the transporter. Ferguson was looking down at him with a sneer on his face. 'So you finally worked it out Fenton,' he said.
'Bastard!'
'Tut tut. You always were a bit rough Fenton, bright but rough.'
'Why? For Christ's sake why?' asked Fenton, struggling impotently with the chains.
Ferguson looked as if he was enjoying Fenton's discomfort. He looked down at him like a parent patronising a five year old. 'Money. What else?' he said.
'But how? What did you have to gain?'
'Saxon was in love with me,' said Ferguson. 'I played him along and made out that I loved him. It was too good a chance to miss. Everyone wants to fall in love with a millionaire' Ferguson laughed at the thought. I
