In surveys of the most trusted professions, year after year, lawyers have consistently failed to make it into the top ten.
Baroness Sanjrani had decided that one of her first ‘duties’ would be to oversee the awarding of a contract for the efficient running of the organisation and its forty-two members of staff. However, instead of the usual tendering procedure, she had decided to award the contract worth £23,000 per month to the company of a friend that two years earlier had nearly been struck off by Companies House for failing to file any accounts.
The company run by Ismail Musharraf, one of her closest friends and run from his home address didn’t appear to have any employees. Neither did it have a website or a landline phone number. Many people thought this was a strange set up for a company that purported to offer advice on efficiency. Furthermore, a separate contract was awarded to the same organisation to oversee the operations it was conducting. So, to outsiders, it looked like the company was being paid a second time to oversee it was doing a good job. Nice work if you can get it.
It wasn’t the first quango Baroness Sanjrani had been involved with. She knew the ropes. With her legal background, she had plenty of practice of how to operate within the law. Even if it was a bit murky to anyone looking in. But don’t worry. We are dealing in political circles, and they always look after their own.
As one commentator was quoted as saying, “Politics. The only thing that could give shit a good name.”
A whistle blower had raised questions about what was happening in the organisation. It seemed a lot of money was being used for purposes other than what it was intended for. A garden party had been organised, and £45,000 was spent, which seemed to offer no benefit to the organisation, the main attendees had been the family and friends of the Baroness.
Several people came forward with accusations of cronyism and venality, and called for a probe into her use of public funds.
Furthermore, she was close to a number of local councillors and plots of land had been sold to members of her family at well below their market value. And planning permission had then been granted and the plots sold to larger developers for a vast sum.
Then the police had been called in to try to find out what was happening. The Baroness had exerted her immense political influence to try to stop the investigation. The chief constable had been bombarded with phone calls from people in the corridors of power at Westminster. However, the matter had been reported in several newspapers that supported the government and with elections not that far off, it was deemed a good move to be seen to be doing ‘something’, rather than the usual promises of action followed up by sweeping the whole affair under the carpet. However, in such case, it wasn’t to say anything would happen and blame apportioned. What usually happened what that once it reached its conclusion after the elections had been held, the matter would be held up in endless red tape until it could be gently laid to rest with the conclusion that everything had been legally adhered to.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
BACK FROM THE CRUISE
As Roger Maynard stepped off the ship after seven days with time to reflect, he had made the decision that to go after Kevin O’Connor and his sons would only take him down to their level. He had worked all his life to become a role model for Julie and revenge would not be a fitting tribute to his daughter. It was time to put the past behind him and try to look to the future.
Three hours later on his way home, Roger had pulled into a service station just on the edge of Trentbridge to buy some milk. He hoped the danger was over, and he could go home.
The O’Connor’s would have realised that he hadn’t gone to the police. They had probably forgotten all about him and gone about their dirty business, no doubt.
Last year he had received a proposal from a rival engineering firm to buy his business. They had put forward an offer of £12 million. If it was still on the table maybe he would take their offer and move abroad. After all, with Julie gone and his ex-wife Francis living with another man, he had no one. His parents were both still alive, but he could visit them, and they could visit him.
He had always fancied Switzerland. Flights from Birmingham to Geneva only took an hour and forty minutes.
Arriving home, Roger could see he had just missed the housekeeper. He had phoned her as he left Southampton and she had left a note for him saying she had been to the supermarket and stocked up the fridge and freezer for him.
So I didn’t need to buy the milk, he thought.
Phil Jones had sent regular text messages to Roger with updates. He had called in favours and ensured that regular police patrols had kept an eye on Roger’s parents’ and his ex-wife’s addresses. So far there had been no sign of the O’Connor’s.
Having been away for a week, Roger decided it might be nice to phone his parents and invite them over the following day for Sunday lunch.
“I’m not really sure I could face coming to the house, Roger. All the photos and memories of Julie might set me off again. Couldn’t we go out to a restaurant?”
“Yes, of course, Mum. If that’s what you want. I’ll come and pick you both up at twelve thirty, and we can go to The Masons Arms. One of the girls in my office is always telling me they do a lovely Sunday lunch. I’ll book a
