I’m offered a drink.
“Just a glass of water, thank you.”
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” says Miss Heffer, pointing towards one of the chairs as she disappears in the direction of the kitchen, before returning and handing me a tall thin glass. “The starter will be about ten minutes.”
We chat about things in general and touch on the subject of the Lotto win. I’m starting to feel a lot more comfortable in her company.
Finally, she asks, “So tell me what you have in mind?”
“I’ve brought some plans to show you. I want to buy the council properties on Asbury Park, restore them to a good condition and then rent them out at reasonable cost to families currently in expensive private housing. I did some research and found that when it was originally built, the idea was to build a bridge over the river into Trentbridge town centre. If this were included with the plans it would make the area very convenient for people. I need someone who’s a logical thinker to help me put everything in place and you’re the best person I’ve ever met who could help me do this. I have to say the ideal scenario would be if you were interested in coming in on this full-time, but I realise you’re dedicated to your career.”
Miss Heffer, listening intensely, smiles. “Perhaps there’s something I should mention. The council has decided to close the library. They say government cutbacks mean they can’t afford to keep it open and they’re selling off the land to developers. If it goes ahead I’ll be made redundant in about two months, so perhaps your offer has come at a fortuitous time for both of us. When we spoke at the library, I told you there was a little more to me than you knew. For a start, you’re probably wondering how I can afford to live in a large house like this. My father was a successful property developer and when he died I inherited this house plus his property portfolio. My first love has always been books and I had the good fortune to be educated at a private school and then Oxford University. For the past twelve years, in my spare time, I’ve helped out at a couple of local voluntary organisations for people with housing problems, so you see I might be able to help you in more ways than you initially thought.”
“That’s incredible. You’ve got the job. When can you start?” I ask with a wry smile.
We both laugh.
“I think our food is ready. Let’s go through to the dining room. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Mmm, Spaghetti Bolognese, my favourite. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that,” I reply.
“By the way,” says Miss Heffer, “please call me Susan.”
I show her my plans concerning Asbury Park, including the idea for the bridge and road connection which was abandoned in the eighties owing to a lack of funding. She studies the details and then says, “It’s a very bold idea, but if you can pull it off many families will be able to enjoy living there.” She looks up and smiles. “Houses with gardens where they can start out and bring up their families. It’s just what people need.”
Susan tells me she knows a lawyer who specialises in setting up charity foundations and making sure that everything is done in the correct way. All we have to do now is come up with a highly detailed plan, put a bid into the council and make sure ours is the highest.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
DAVE
Dave has spoken with the Lotto Company and, although courteous in spite of his shouting and swearing, without proof they are not prepared to get involved. His solicitor, Mark Jackson, has taken advice from two high-ranking barristers who have advised he might have a case. But with their fees of between £775 and £1,000 per hour, and a case which could drag on for months, the final legal bill could be in excess of a million pounds. However, they state that in their opinion he does have a good chance of winning.
Throughout his chequered past, Dave has had many dealings with solicitors and barristers. He knows they often say you have a strong case until they have been instructed to go ahead and then gradually they don’t seem to offer as much reassurance. He’s not daft. He understands it’s in their interest to get the case started because they won’t lose whichever way the court decides. For them it is a win-win situation. He’s also thinking of alternative ways to recoup his money; this homeless bum needs to be taught the lesson of his life.
Dave’s first thought is to hire a hit man and have the bum killed. However, as pleasing as this might be, it won’t lead to him getting his hands on the £168 million, or whatever is left of it. Dave figures there should be plenty left, even if ‘the bastard’ has already gone on a spending spree.
If the only outcome is to torture and murder the bum then Dave might actually enjoy it. In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea. Or perhaps Dave will have him bumped off after he gets his hands on the money. Yes, that would be perfect. That is what he will do. The bum will meet with a fatal accident.
But first Dave has to find out all he can about the person who is living off his winnings.
Chapter Thirty
PHIL JONES
Phil Jones, Private Investigator, checks for voicemail messages on his iPhone.
Today there is only one, a call from someone called Dave Rex. The only person he can recall with that name was someone he had seen in the police files during his time as a serving police detective, although he didn’t ever have any direct dealings with the man. If it were him, why would he be calling?
“Hello, this is Phil Jones, Private Investigations. I believe you left
