Just before the end of the shopping parade, I notice the young woman with her two children who were on the bus. She’s looking in the window of a shoe shop.
As I approach, her back is turned away from me and she’s speaking to her five year old. “I’m sorry, Emily. I know you need new shoes, but Mummy can’t afford them at the moment. I promise I’ll get some for you soon.”
By this time, I’m behind her pretending to look in the shop window. She’s busy with her two children and hasn’t noticed me yet. I place my right hand into my trouser pocket where I know I have two fifty-pound notes. I feel the notes and pull one of them from my pocket. I make sure the young woman is not looking, and drop the note to the ground.
Turning to the girl, I say in a clear voice, “Excuse me, miss, but I think you just dropped something,” and point towards the note.
The girl turns, first looking at me and then to where I’m pointing. “It’s not mine.”
“It certainly isn’t mine, and it is right where you’ve been standing. I don’t see anyone else around so I’m sure it belongs to you.”
The girl looks directly at my face and with the instinct of a mother looking out for her children, seems to read the message in my eyes.
“Perhaps you forgot you were saving up,” I continue.
The girl understands. “God bless you,” she says with genuine gratitude.
“And you,” I reply, and it’s gratifying to see the girl walking into the shoe shop saying, “Today’s our lucky day. Which pair would you like, Emily?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
DAVE
“Good morning, Curtis, Jackson & Dean.”
“Let me speak with Mark Jackson,” growls the voice on the other end of the phone.
“I’m sorry, but Mr Jackson won’t be in the office until nine fifteen.”
“Then get him to phone Dave Rex the instant he gets in,” the voice demands.
“Certainly, sir,” replies Janet, the receptionist, who is well versed in dealing with angry and stroppy clients. “Does he have your phone number?”
“Yes, and make sure he calls me without delay.” With that the phone line goes dead.
Ten minutes later, Mark Jackson walks into reception and they exchange their usual good morning pleasantries. Janet hands him a neatly written memo note with the message to call Dave Rex urgently.
Once seated behind his desk, Mark consults his office diary. His first appointment is at ten so he has time to make the call. As he sits back to review the day ahead, his phone rings.
“Hello, Mr Jackson,” says Janet. “I have Dave Rex on the phone again for you.”
“Okay, Janet. Put him through.”
“Mark!” bellows the voice. “I’ve been cheated and I need you to take care of it for me. The bastard has robbed me of millions and I want justice. I want him thrown in jail.”
“Perhaps you could start at the beginning so I can understand the situation and advise you accordingly,” replies Mark.
He listens to the story of how Dave believes the Lotto tickets became mixed up and how this homeless ‘bum’ is now living the ‘life of Riley’ with Dave’s money.
Mark listens and advises his client that the best way to deal with this is through the courts. He’s well aware of his client’s reputation and knows that if Dave decides to take matters into his own hands, the other person could end up in hospital with his client facing serious criminal charges or even a murder charge. But in the back of his mind, Mark’s not really sure whether his client is listening to a word he’s saying.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ASBURY PARK
I arrive at twenty-seven Foundry Road for my appointment with Daniel from the estate agents at 2.25pm. It’s the road that leads into Asbury Park and it comprises thirty-two houses built in the thirties for the Asbury Foundry Company to house their key workers. Each one is a semi-detached property with three bedrooms. There are currently seven up for sale at prices between £52,000 and £56,000. None of them have been sold within the past six months.
In the south of England, such properties are selling for upwards of £300,000 and usually sell within a matter of days.
Foundry Road leads into Asbury Park, which is owned by the council and consists of 880 houses. It’s been a thorn in the council’s side for years and they are now in the process of trying to sell it off. They tried years ago but no developer wanted to spend a small fortune building the bridge and road structure needed to connect it with the town centre and make it a viable proposition.
A council official had revealed that a local consortium led by Dave Rex had put in an offer to the council. It’s a sealed bid so other than the bidder no one else knows the amount. The council have set a deadline and asked other bidders to come forward before their next Planning Committee meeting.
Opposite the house I’ve come to view are several which appear to be vacant. They look fine from the outside, but the gardens are full of rubbish and have become a dumping ground for fly tippers. Old mattresses and items of furniture are strewn around together with black bags of rubbish which have split open and their contents left to rot.
Right on time, the estate agent pulls up in his silver Peugeot 208. He parks on the other side of the road, gets out, locks the car and walks over to greet me with his hand outstretched.
I reach forward to shake his hand and thank him for being punctual.
“No problem,” comes the reply. “Shall
