Dreams to Die For (11 page)

“Oh Alan, you're not on this again are you? Look, I'm really very happy and when I'm not you will be the first to know. But if you're saying that you want to try and find someone else that can give you the affection you need, then I understand. You deserve better than me Alan. I'm sorry but I really don't think I can give you what you want anymore.”
This was at least honest
, she thought,
and no more than she had said after their last physical encounter.
Alan started to explain that he didn't want to find anyone else but Cindy rose from her chair cutting him off mid-sentence.

“Coffee or another whisky?” she enquired, but didn't stay in the lounge long enough to hear his answer. The whisky, allied to Crossland's inner tensions, seemed to be having more than its usual affect. Alan began to get quite angry and when Cindy returned, he raised his voice at her.

“Then we must consider a divorce, Cindy. We cannot go on like this.” Cindy had not expected this, and with her relationship with Gordon still to get to first base, she was not going to say anything she might regret. She still liked Red Gables, and her current life with Alan had a lot to commend it. She knew a lot of women would be deeply envious of her creature comforts and the life she led. This was not the time to be impulsive and throw it all away. That moment, should it come, would be when it suited her and when she was absolutely certain she could improve upon the life she had now.

“Why on earth would we want to do that? Look at what we have both achieved over the years. We make a good team, you and me. I know the sex thing with me is a bit strange at the moment – and you hardly helped that, remember – but I can't really explain how I feel at the moment. I'm sure it will sort itself out, but if you have someone else in mind then tell me. I would understand.”

This was disingenuous. Cindy knew it. Alan knew it, but there was nothing he could say other than to repeat his love for Cindy. He rose and poured another whisky.

The weekend discussion had, however, alerted Cindy to the tricky situation with which she was going to be faced at Christmas. There was, of course, the problem of what she was going to tell Alan, but additionally there was always the possibility that even if Gordon and she got together over the festive season all might not work out well, or continue as she was hoping. Ideally, she had to find a plausible excuse to placate Alan which would permit a continued life back at Red Gables if needed. She knew that simply not telling her husband the truth would be difficult and she began to lose confidence. Whatever she came up with was going to be hard to carry off convincingly and whatever she ultimately decided it was almost inevitable that her relationship with Alan would deteriorate further.

She thought of little else over the next few days and wished she had a brother or sister living the other side of the world that she could say she was visiting and whom she could rely upon to cover for her. There were few friends she knew well enough to ask such favours from and, anyway, she thought that to ask one's friends to lie for you, whilst you conduct an illicit affair, would be a particularly shitty thing to do. Whilst sitting at her computer one day she thought of Peter and his boyfriend, Stephen. Alan had only met Peter and Stephen once, at a party, and Cindy gained the impression that they were not overly impressed by him. Peter was extrovert and Alan was a naturally reserved, quiet person who did not seem able to relax amongst the strange guests at the party. Cindy went alone to their future invites. Her work had brought her into frequent contact with Peter, whom she regarded as a most dear and trusted friend. At the very least he would provide some advice to her, but could she trust him enough to lie for her at Christmas?

Despite her misgivings, she phoned Peter's personal mobile and was relieved when he answered. Pleasantries over, she asked if he had a few moments to talk.

“Of course, my dear. For you, anytime.”

“Peter, this is a simply dreadful thing to ask but are you and Stephen going away at Christmas? Have you made any plans?”

“Why? Do you want us to join you sometime over Yuletide or do you wish to join us in Portugal? You will always be welcome.”

“No, it's not that, Peter. I have problem. I need to be away at Christmas and probably New Year, but I will not be with Alan. In short, I may need some sort of cover and wondered if I could possibly say I was coming to you, or some such. I really don't know quite what to do; I can't seem to think straight on this. It's an awful thing to ask of you, but this means so much to me.”

“Oooooh. I see” Peter slowly exhaled. “Well, this is your business Cindy, so I won't ask, but we go back a long way and you will always be a friend. It could be tricky though,” he was thinking hard as he spoke. “I know” he said. “Say you have been invited to spend Christmas with me and Stephen. You have absolutely no details or other information as it's a mystery – you must stick to that as Alan is bound to pressure you for information – but you understand we are hosting a sort of a special gathering for the old backroom people from Number 10. All I've told you is that we won't be staying in London and to bring your passport. If Alan phones me, and I doubt it will happen but it just might, I will confirm only what I have just told you. Once Christmas is upon us, Stephen and I will be gone and out of contact so there will be no way Alan can check on your whereabouts. Give me a call after your holiday and I can then tell you all about what happened in Portugal.”

“Peter, thanks, thanks so much. Are you sure you don't mind? I feel really bad at having to ask.”

“My darling Cindy, for you to ask it must be important and what else are friends for? I shall always be your friend, but should Alan ever find out about my involvement in this it will in all probability cause him a great deal of understandable resentment and anger. To be brief, it is likely to end our mutual friendship. Perhaps sometime you will tell me the reason you ask this of me. Until then, say no more.” Cindy was overwhelmed.
It was not perfect, and still had a lot of risks, but it might just be enough,
she thought. Cindy delayed mentioning Christmas knowing that sooner rather than later Alan would bring the subject up in conversation. She didn't have to wait long and the following week he asked what they should do.

“Is it the usual Christmas this year, with the parents staying with us or should we go there?” he enquired. Cindy rejoined that it was up to him as she had already told him she was going to spend Christmas with Peter and Stephen, but she was unaware of the exact whereabouts as Peter wanted it to be a surprise. Alan was dumbstruck. He knew she hadn't mentioned any such thing, and after saying so a heated argument broke out.

“Are you saying I can't go, then?” Cindy indignantly shouted. “Or is it that you want to come to? You didn't say so when I mentioned it a month or so ago, but if you do then say so and I will ask Peter if partners are invited – but you know you didn't like him and I doubt you'll enjoy spending several days at Christmas in his and Stephen's company, to say nothing of their gay friends.”

“Bugger you Cindy. I either come with you, somewhere God knows where, doing God knows what, with people I profoundly dislike or I spend Christmas alone. Some choice! Thanks.”

“I take from that you won't be coming then” she swiftly retorted. “I'm sorry if this has upset you, Alan, but it sounded fun. I knew it wouldn't be your scene but I thought it might snap me out of things a bit.” The carrot of her returning from her Christmas break in an improved mood was cynically dangled like a poisoned chalice being offered to a man dying of thirst.

Alan gave up arguing, defeated again though now he felt a rising anger within him. He visualised the embarrassing conversations he would have with his parents and friends when he would tell them through a false smile that Cindy was holidaying with past work colleagues at Christmas. They would of course nod their heads and say how wonderful, but in reality he knew they would think that something a little odd was going on with the Crosslands. It would be humiliating.

“You know, just lately you treat like me shit. I work bloody hard at the bank, and there are all sorts of pressures at the moment that I never bother you with, but which I have to deal with during the week. All I ask is that at weekends and holidays we can spend some quality time together.”

“I'm truly sorry, Alan” said Cindy, deliberately lowering and softening her voice. She meant it, but she knew she couldn't help herself. She had fallen out of love, and since she had met Gordon she rather resented Alan's presence. It was as if he was an impediment now to her future. Gordon excited her, made her feel alive, and although they had spent only two brief lunches together she wanted to know and experience everything about him. If that hurt Alan so be it. She had a life and only she was going to live it. She waited a few moments before speaking again in a firmer, more authoritative tone.

“I'm going away at Christmas, Alan. Get over it.” Her mind was focussed on Gordon now, and whilst she had desperately wanted to phone or text him since he had been away she had refrained from doing so as per their agreement. Now, however, she felt an uncontrollable urge to be near him. She went to her room, picked up her mobile and sent Gordon a text message.

miss you. Looking forward to xmas.

x

It made her feel better, closer to him and she felt sure he would reply even though he would be back in the country in the next few days. She was surprised and delighted when five minutes later she received the small bleep on her phone telling her a message had arrived. It was from Gordon and said simply,

me 2. Back next Monday.

G xx

She lay down on her bed and gradually went to sleep, with thoughts of Gordon and Mealag once more on her mind.

Assistant Commissioner Manders was not satisfied that his team's investigation into tracing possible contacts of the London bombers was proceeding as he had hoped. Sure, the ATU had some spectacular early successes, but the shooting by police of the innocent Jean Charles De Menezes in the wake of the bombings had taken up valuable time and had been at the very least a distraction into his own specialised area of tracing suspects via business and bank records, accounts and the like. It was one of his team that had visited the banks in July and they had frankly got very little of worth. He reviewed the outstanding areas still under investigation, and for the umpteenth time read over the information on each of them again. Every time he reviewed the progress reports and files, he puzzled over just one – the Hannet-Mar International Bank and the account of Chalthoum Universal Holdings with its links to the Corniche Consortium opened by Halima Chalthoum.

Apart from the two deposits there had been no activity on the accounts. That in itself was not particularly unusual, but it hardly smacked of some dynamic consortium ready to fill their boots during the current Dubai boom times. Also, the amounts were pretty small yet the bank's chief executive seemed convinced the account was worth his personal attention as he was clearly expecting it to expand. Then there was the very close proximity to the 7
^th
July, possibly indicating that friends or relatives of the bombers might be about to receive some compensation for their loss, but even that theory hardly stood up to what the ATU already knew. The bombers' families were as shocked and surprised as anyone could be that their loved ones had committed such horrendous acts of violence against innocent commuters.

None of it made any sense to Manders, which was precisely why he was becoming more interested by it. In his twenty two years of experience in the Metropolitan Police Force, his nose had become ever more sensitive to the smell of criminality and there was a slightly pungent whiff emanating around the Hannet-Mar account. Whilst he was not convinced the account was genuine, he had scant reason to believe it was linked to terrorism. More likely would be a dodgy business deal, possibly involving the bank manager himself, but obtaining a rational explanation for his unease would not be easy. All he had to do was find it. That was his job – looking into seemingly innocuous crevices, examining for cracks in apparently pristine paperwork, shedding light on the concealed. Checking, rechecking, data mining, cross-referencing. It was boring, hard grind and very unglamorous. But he loved it, because whilst other units stole the headlines and appeared in front of TV cameras, Manders knew that often these public success stories were down to the men and women of his team. Unseen and unsung, they had proved vital in the detection of those wishing to harm the country he served.

Manders picked up his phone and asked Bill Ritson, the lead officer of the Hannet-Mar Bank investigation, to join him. Over a lengthy chat and two cups of coffee, they reviewed what they knew.

“I don't like it,” said Manders. “Something isn't right but what it has to do with 7/7, Christ knows. Everything apparently checks out, yet only partially, like the PO Box in Dubai. We know it was genuine but strangely it was closed immediately after Crossland's confirmatory letters arrived. Didn't Crossland tell you, Bill, that he had received excellent references including an Affidavit or some such? Presumably you've had them checked them out?”

“Well of course, Sir. I personally read them and noted down the details. We didn't retain copies but most were from organisations and companies from abroad. All seem reasonably bona fide but who knows what goes on over there. There were a couple of references regarding the woman Halima Chalthoum. There were at least a couple from business acquaintances in Dubai claiming to have known her for many years and vouching for her in quite glowing terms and the affidavit was from a friend of Crossland. I think he said it was from someone whom he would trust with his life or something a bit OTT like that, and from memory the document itself said all the right things. Pretty formal, but impressive I seem to recall.”

He began searching through the paperwork. “Here's the name, Kenneth Styles. He runs his own consultancy firm, unimaginatively called Styles Project Consultancy, and acted for various organisations mainly based in, or with connections to, Dubai. Lives in Sussex when he's back in the UK. Of course, quite what exactly his services are I don't know. He may just be a fixer of sorts between various parties or he may be a hands-on specialist. Do you think we should give him a tap?”

Manders stroked his chin, a sign he was deep in thought and not wanting to be disturbed. After two minutes, he replied to Ritson's question and said that interviewing Styles could be tricky. If Styles complained to Crossland, the whole investigation could get messy, meaning it might come to lawyers – and whilst the ATU could, he felt, justify pretty much anything they did or wanted to do under UK Anti-Terrorism legislation, this case didn't warrant the use of the heavy hand, at least not yet.

“I don't want the local boys handling this, Bill, but tell them you'll be on their patch making very discreet enquiries. See what you can turn up on Styles and his known associates.”

“I have to ask what sort of priority you want me to give this, Sir. Sorry to ask but we are already at full stretch.”

“Understood, yes I know. Well, let's say do what you can when you can. Something within a month would be good.”

Manders was therefore surprised when within an hour, Ritson put his head around the door.

“Styles is dead. Died 4
^th
June when he drove his car off the road, apparently drunk. We're getting coroner's stuff and the Sussex reports here A.S.A.P. The web page of the local paper has a quote from the widow saying she can't understand how it was that her husband was over the limit – apparently he was only a moderate drinker and never drank if he was driving.”

“Maybe so, maybe not. She wouldn't be the first wife of a drunk driver to say her husband never touched a drop. His death is probably just pure coincidence but keep on it, Bill. Same priority.”

The information was intriguing, certainly, but until more actual evidence and some hard facts were obtained, at this stage the assistant commissioner could not justify an increase in resources to undertake more rapid investigations. Manders decided to wait and see what turned up, but smiled as he recalled his old mentor's favourite phrase. It was strange how often ‘following the money' led to unexpected results.