Jack was surprised when Smith suddenly pushed back her chair.
‘There is someone here who might know more than me, and you’re in luck because although he’s semi-retired he happens to be here today. Can you wait for one minute?’
Jack nodded enthusiastically. After nearly fifteen minutes Debra Smith returned, opening the double doors wide to allow a wheelchair to enter. The occupier was an elderly gentleman who appeared to have some kind of throat problem as there was a microphone taped to his neck above his immaculate shirt and tie. A cashmere rug was folded over his knees and his shock of white hair and neat moustache made him look as if he had walked off a film set.
Smith introduced them. ‘Mr Quentin Henderson, this is Detective Mathews.’
She pushed his wheelchair towards the table as Jack eased back one of the leather chairs. She explained that Quentin Henderson was one of the original CEOs of the company, and had been there for as long as she had.
‘Thank you so much for your time, Mr Henderson,’ Jack began. ‘I’m investigating a woman who called herself Sandra Raynor, but may have been employed by this company under the name Lorna Elliot.’
Henderson remained expressionless as Smith pushed the photograph across the table.
‘It was many years ago,’ she said, ‘but with extensive plastic surgery, this could be the girl I remembered.’
Jack wished she would stop talking so Henderson could focus on the photograph. Suddenly he heard a distorted guttural voice.
‘Nothing-like-her.’ Each word had a gasp between it.
‘Do you remember a girl called Lorna Elliot?’ Jack asked.
‘One-that-got-away,’ the distorted voice gasped.
It was clearly a huge effort for him to talk, so Jack waited patiently for him to explain what he meant.
‘She-was-head-hunted-by-a-com-petitor,’ Quentin gasped. He adjusted the contraption around his neck. ‘But-did-not-remain-went-on-to-another-company-then-with-Anton-Lord.’ He was now really struggling to breathe.
‘Do you know who that is, Ms Smith?’ Jack asked.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t. Quentin, who is Anton Lord?’
‘Partner...’ he stuttered.
‘Ah, I see, so this Anton Lord was her partner; you mean business or personal?’
‘Both-they-opened-their-own-company-sale-of-leases. Lot-of-money. Russia.’
Jack had been making notes in one of the company logo notebooks. He was concerned that Quentin was quickly becoming exhausted.
Smith shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know anyone called Anton Lord, detective.’
With a trembling hand Quentin tried to pull a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the spittle from his lips. Smith quickly assisted, gently wiping his mouth.
‘No-good-crook!’ He spat out the words and waved his handkerchief to indicate that he wanted to leave.
As much as Jack would have liked to try and glean more information, he recognised that the old man was completely drained by the effort of talking. But at least he now had two names to work with. Smith turned the wheelchair round as Jack opened the double doors to help them leave. He was taken aback when the hoarse distorted voice box suddenly cackled: ‘Never-trust-an-ugly-woman!’
As the boardroom doors closed, Jack gathered up his papers. He had just closed his briefcase when Ms Smith returned.
‘Quentin is an amazing man with an incredibly retentive memory. I hope you found it useful talking to him.’
‘I did, Ms Smith, and I’ll forward the information onto the Essex team right away. Thank you so much for your time. And please pass my thanks on to Mr Henderson, especially as he’s clearly not in good health.’
‘He’s ninety-three but still likes to come in once in a while. He’s actually the reason I’m still here and not retired.’
Jack nodded. ‘Just one more thing, Ms Smith, what do you think he meant by that last comment — “never trust an ugly woman”?’
She considered for a moment. ‘I would imagine that’s connected to his first comment about “the one that got away”. He would have been grooming her for a senior role in the company, but she left to join a competitor. As I said, she was a rather unattractive woman, with buck teeth. That she could have transformed herself into the very glamorous woman in the photograph is amazing, but these days who knows what the surgeons can do. I hope we have been helpful to you, detective.’
Jack shook her hand and thanked her again as Smith ushered him into the corridor. She waited with him for the elevator doors to open and Jack descended to the ground floor.
He got back home at 1 p.m., running up the stairs two at a time to get into his home office. He opened his old laptop and began transcribing the conversations with Ms Smith and her old boss, Quentin Henderson. He then accessed the Holmes database and put in the names Anton Lord and Lorna Elliot. Although it was illegal for him to have this database at home, he knew that many officers did the same. As with so many things, Jack mused, you just had to be careful not to get caught.
Chapter Eighteen
Jack was concentrating so hard that he didn’t hear Penny returning home with Hannah, and he started when there was a knock on his door. Penny popped her head in and asked if he would like a toasted cheese sandwich as she was making one for herself. She told him that Hannah was having an afternoon nap, then said with a smile, ‘I bought a toaster. I burnt my toast this morning as it was always getting stuck... this new one does four slices at the same time!’
‘That’s terrific,’ Jack said. He paused. ‘Listen, Mum, you left the back door wide open, so I locked it when I came down. You need to be a bit more careful.’
Penny put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, my goodness me, yes... I opened it to let the smoke out when the alarm went off. I’m so sorry, Jack, please don’t tell Maggie, she’s very nervous about things at the moment... it’s down to stress, I think. Anyway, toasted sandwich coming up with a fresh mug of coffee.’
Penny shut the door, then opened it again straightaway.
‘What?’ Jack snapped.
He hadn’t meant to sound so cross but using the Holmes database at home was making him tense.
‘Sorry,’ Penny said quietly. ‘Just asking whether you’re working today?’
‘No, Mum, I’m going in for night duty later. We’re all switching to half weekdays, half nights as we have so much work on.’
Penny closed the door and Jack turned back to the screen. He had managed to pull up the details for Lorna Elliot, including a twenty-year-old black and white photograph. Debra Smith had been very uncomplimentary about her looks, and he could now see why. She had slightly buck teeth, a sharply pointed nose and thick eyebrows that accentuated her wide-set eyes, but Jack was certain this was the woman who had called herself Sandra Raynor. There was also a newspaper article dated March 1991 about the mystery disappearance of a wealthy businessman, Anton Lord. His partner in life and business, Ms Lorna Elliot, claimed that he had gone to spend the weekend at their country cottage in Kent. When he had not answered any of her calls she had driven to see if he had perhaps fallen, and found the cottage unlocked. Their Spaniel had been locked in the garage and it appeared that Mr Lord had been in the middle of having breakfast as there was food left uneaten on the table. It also seemed that he had still been wearing his dressing gown and slippers.
Jack sat back in his chair, looking at the photograph of Anton Lord. He was handsome, with dark eyes and thick hair. He had a chiselled face with a wide smiling mouth and was considerably younger than Lorna. He was described as a ‘millionaire businessman’ and they were planning to get married.