***
Jacob Griffiths pondered what to do. He had enough funds outside of the country to maintain his lifestyle, but he had a business that he enjoyed and a wife he loved. He was seen throughout the country as a solid businessman who through sheer hard work, a suitable amount of derring-do, and a lot of charisma had achieved great success. He had always given to worthy causes, received honorary doctorates from two universities, and was often recognised in the street, and now he was contemplating throwing it all away.
He did not want to, but what were the alternatives? Fortescue had some protection, he was sure of that. The man was a politician, and they would not want one of their own lambasted in the press and then languishing in one of Her Majesty’s prisons. Fortescue was confident that if they convicted him, it would be of the lesser charge of funding an illegal activity: two years at most, and he may even keep his generous politician’s pension.
Griffiths knew that Fortescue was secure, whereas he was not. Some competitors would revel in his ignominy; even refer to it in subtle advertising. It was what he would do if the situation were reversed. He knew his options were limited. He would give Fortescue his time with the police. If the man left there unscarred, then maybe he would stay, but Jacob Griffiths was a pragmatist; he knew that Fortescue was his own man, always had been, even at Eton. When the others were bending the rules, the man would be standing back, ready to distance himself, and now when they faced their greatest challenge, Griffiths had little faith in a man who had taken part in that pact all those years ago.
He cursed Timothy Allerton for his lack of backbone, Keith Codrington for running out on them, and Miles Fortescue for what he would do, but mostly he cursed himself for what he had brought on himself.
***
News travelled fast. No sooner had Fortescue left his house than the social media started to speculate about what he was doing with a police car outside his door. DCI Isaac Cook suspected a nosey neighbour had released the information.
By the time the reluctant politician arrived at Challis Street Police Station, the government Whip was on the phone asking him questions.
Fortescue, after putting off the Whip, went into the police station. Isaac met him on his arrival; offered him his hand only to have it rebuffed. ‘What’s this all about?’ Fortescue asked.
‘We’ll discuss it in the interview room,’ Isaac replied. He needed to go hard on this man, and he did not want to be seen as ingratiating.
In the interview room, Fortescue was joined by Archie Cameron, his QC. ‘My client has come here at your request. He is willing to help you, but if this is a waste of time…’
Isaac looked at the QC. He saw a little man with a beak of a nose, his spectacles balancing precariously on the end.
Isaac conducted the formalities. Len Donaldson sat to his side.
‘Mr Fortescue, you are a personal friend of Lord Allerton, Jacob Griffiths and Keith Codrington,’ Isaac said.
‘You know that.’
‘We have in custody Lord Allerton’s murderer.’
‘So what’s that got to do with me?’ Fortescue replied.
‘On the day of his death, Lord Allerton was present at a meeting in your house.’
‘Was he?’
‘We have proof that Keith Codrington was there, as well as Jacob Griffiths.’
‘What proof?’ Cameron asked. ‘Hearsay has no validity here.’
Len Donaldson sat quietly, biding his time.
‘We have a witness for Codrington. Allerton’s and Griffiths’ vehicles were parked nearby. Do you deny that Keith Codrington visited your house on the day in question?’
‘Are you trying to imply that my client is implicated in the death of Lord Allerton?’ Cameron asked.
‘We are not implying anything,’ Donaldson said. ‘What we do know is that the bank accounts of Miles Fortescue, Jacob Griffiths, and Lord Allerton have received substantial funds in the last year.’
‘And?’ Cameron asked. Fortescue sat quietly, unsure what to say.
Go easy, Donaldson. We’ve not proven that yet, Isaac said to himself.
‘Is it true that you, Miles Fortescue, along with others were involved in the importation of illegal drugs into this country?’ Len Donaldson was tired of procrastination.
‘My client vigorously denies any such accusations. He is well-respected in this country. Unless you have something more concrete, I would suggest that you conclude this interview.’
‘Mr Fortescue, were you personally involved in the death of Alex Hughenden?’
‘I’ve never heard of the man. This is preposterous nonsense. You may have reason to talk to Keith Codrington, but I’ve committed no crime.’
‘Yet he still visited your house on the day in question,’ Donaldson asked.
‘Okay, he did visit my house, but that can hardly be construed as an admission of guilt on my part,’ Fortescue said.
‘Coming back to your previous statement,’ Isaac said. He had seen an inconsistency. ‘Why did you say that we may have a reason to talk to him? I don’t believe we’ve indicated that he is our primary suspect.’
‘Miles, say no more,’ Cameron said quietly to his client.
‘I request an adjournment for thirty minutes to confer with my client,’ the lawyer said, addressing Isaac.
***
‘Miles, what’s the truth?’ Cameron asked. ‘What’s Codrington been up to?’
‘You’ve known the man as long as I have. He was always pushing the envelope.’
‘Are you involved?’
‘I might have lent him some money.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘He was in debt. He was trying to set up another business, and he wanted me as a silent partner. That’s all.’
‘What type of business?’
‘Import. The same as he had been doing in the Middle East.’
‘Importing what?’ Cameron asked. It was true that he had known Keith Codrington almost as long as Fortescue; they had all been in the same year at Eton
