‘Did either of you have any idea if there was anything else that might have caused Sir John to cut himself off like that, apart from his illness?’ asked Vogel.
Martha chimed in again, shaking her head. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘We wondered if it had affected his brain in some way, to tell the truth. Otherwise it just didn’t make sense to us, really, for him to behave how he did. I mean, if you’m ill you want your family and close friends around you, don’t you?’
Vogel agreed that most people did want that. He finished his tea and a second piece of cake while Saslow tucked into a second bacon roll. Then the two officers thanked the Kivels and left.
In the car Saslow turned to Vogel as she started the engine.
‘Bit of a riddle, isn’t it, boss?’ she commented.
‘It certainly is, Saslow,’ said Vogel.
‘I mean none of it adds up really, does it?’
Vogel took off his spectacles and wiped them with his handkerchief. He was a man who still always carried a linen handkerchief. He didn’t like paper tissues. They left little bits all over your glasses.
‘Oh, it adds up all right,’ he replied. ‘These things always do. It’s just that we haven’t worked out the mathematics yet. That’s all.’
Ten
A sun-tanned man with sun-bleached hair, still handsome in a dissipated sort of way, sat outside a bar in Brisbane gazing out to sea. He had just lunched on Brisbane Bay bugs, a crustacean some thought every bit as delicious as lobster, and which Brisbanites, of course, thought even better. The man drew deeply on a cigarette. He’d decided some time ago that he was never going to give up now, so he might as well stop fretting about it and just enjoy. However, on that particular afternoon, he derived little pleasure from the sensation of acrid smoke filling his lungs.
He had a freshly filled glass of pale Aussie beer, the amber nectar of his chosen country of residence, on the table before him. The beer was also giving him little pleasure. His mobile phone, switched to silent, was on the table next to the glass. He hoped the call he was expecting would come soon. And sure enough, before he was halfway through his beer, the phone buzzed and vibrated.
He picked it up, hoping for an explanation that would put his mind at rest.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Do you know what’s happened?’ asked his caller.
‘I know,’ replied the man. ‘I saw it online. Not made our papers yet. It was an accident surely? I mean, we only had to wait...’
‘Of course it was an accident. Nothing has changed. We can still go ahead with our plan.’
‘OK, what happens now?’
‘Well, we need you back here obviously, assuming you still want to be involved?’
‘Of course I do. I don’t have much choice, do I, if I’m going to protect my inheritance.’
‘Right, you should call your sister and tell her you’re on the way. Then you should contact the police where you are. They will put you in touch with the investigating team in the UK. As you are the heir, they will want to talk to you—’
‘Investigating team?’ interrupted the man. ‘I thought you said it was an accident. Why are the police involved? And why do they want to talk to me? I wasn’t even in the country.’
‘It’s just routine. You have nothing to worry about.’
The voice was both confident and soothing.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, quite sure. But everything needs to be done properly, and with apparent transparency. We cannot afford any mistakes. I hope you understand that.’
‘Yes, I understand,’ said the man.
‘I must stress that you need to be disciplined and vigilant in everything you do,’ said the disembodied voice. ‘You have made many mistakes in the past.’
‘That’s as may be,’ said the man. ‘But not anymore. I have too much to lose.’
‘We all do,’ said the voice, ending the call.
Freddie Fairbrother wasn’t entirely reassured, but he was certainly not going to back out now. In any case, he had a history of believing what he wanted to believe, rather than facing up to any potentially undesirable reality.
Freddie had led a fairly indolent life in Australia for almost two decades, enjoying the sun and the sea. And the beer. He didn’t do drugs any more, although he undoubtedly drank far too much. He had an easy smile and bright blue eyes. He was attractive to women and had enjoyed the company of a succession of girlfriends over the years. But none of his relationships ever lasted. In spite of the beer, he was muscularly slim and more than averagely fit for a man of his age, because he swam regularly, sailed, and scuba-dived. Freddie loved anything to do with the sea, but scuba diving was his true passion, largely because he had long ago been seduced by the Great Barrier Reef, that unique complex of almost 3,000 individual reefs and 900 islands stretching for an extraordinary 1,400 miles just a short boat ride from the coast of Queensland.
Freddie was going to miss the Barrier Reef. Diving regularly into the depths of this massive coral paradise had sparked in him more genuine emotion than anything else he had ever experienced. When coral bleaching had struck, Freddie had found himself weeping into his mask. People, including family and such friends as he had, rarely aroused any sort of emotion in Freddie. His father had once accused him of being a sociopath.
Certainly, whilst on the surface appearing to be likeable and funny, he was extraordinarily selfish. All Freddie had ever really cared about was Freddie. And that would never change.
His streak of irresponsibility remained. Freddie had enjoyed a good life in Australia, financed by a relatively modest but more than adequate allowance from the family business. His home was a small wooden bungalow right on the beach. He drove a jeep. He had a little boat he used for fishing and diving trips. He had enough money to drink himself into a stupor whenever he liked. And he didn’t need to work. That for Freddie had, at first, been more or less the perfect package. He hadn’t hankered after great riches. Until recently, when he had come to dwell on what he saw as the unfairness of having been deprived for so long of his birthright. He still had no desire to work to attain either money or the position in life which he felt should already be his. But a course of action, or rather very little action, had been presented on a plate to Freddie, which would allow him to enjoy the privileges of his birth without actively doing anything to achieve them.
All Freddie had to do, he had been assured, was to be Freddie. To play out the role for which he had been born, and for which he had been extensively educated and groomed as a boy and a young man.
Freddie’s birthright awaited him. And, as his forty-first birthday approached, somewhat to his surprise, he found he wanted it back. Rather badly.
He took a sip of his beer and gazed out to sea, to where he knew the corals of the greatest reef in the world lurked just a few feet below the surface.
His lips curved into an involuntary smile. The reef wasn’t going anywhere. But from now on diving it would be, as for the majority of people, only a holiday pastime for Freddie Fairbrother. That was just fine, he told himself. Freddie was going to be able to afford as many holidays as he liked. Five-star hotels. Private jets. Helicopters. Constant VIP treatment. He couldn’t quite explain himself, but perhaps it was because he had been born a Fairbrother, and, deep inside, had never been able to fully dismiss his heritage, that he now lusted after all those seductive trappings of wealth and power which he had so casually cast aside as a young man.