The Fifth Identity. Ray CW Scott
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shown them a copy of the receipt that had been issued, the original of which had been found in Accrington’s room.
An examination of the room and the victim’s clothing indicated that robbery had not been the motive, Accrington’s wallet containing about £250 was still in the inside pocket of his jacket and had not been touched. An expensive watch was also still on his wrist. They had discovered who he was, he was one of the directors of Billacc, a successful and well known computer software company and that he was a very rich man.
Their first priority for Freedman and Harrison was to make a visit to Mr Richard Bilston, the managing director of Billacc Company plc.
“I can offer no explanation for this at all,” confessed Richard Bilston, running his hands through his hair. He was a man of about middle thirties, dark haired and fairly slim build. The company occupied a three storey building near Paddington Station and Bilston’s office window overlooked the railway tracks that finally ended up at the main line station. “I’ve no idea what he was doing there, or why he’d be carrying that amount of money with him.”
“Was he active in the business, I gather he must have been into his 80s?” asked Freedman.
“He has been, but his input was tending to tail off in recent years since my father, who was his original partner, died. My brother James and I are mainly involved in the day to day running of the company.”
“What sort of man was he?”
“Not easy to answer that one,” replied Bilston. “In all the years I’ve been here I could never claim to really know John, being of differing generations probably didn’t help. I know very little of who he was or where he came from. As for the money, since you’ve told us how much he had with him, we’ve thoroughly checked all the firm’s accounts and there’s nothing missing. It must have been his money.”
“Maybe he was after sex,” commented Sergeant Harrison.
“Must have been some classy tom if he needed £10,000, even by city of London standards,” grunted Freedman. “No, I don’t think so.”
Richard Bilston found time to smile at that one.
“Have you traced the man who was with him?” he asked.
“No,” Freedman shook his head. “No joy so far. We were hoping you could tell us that.”
“There’s nothing in his desk diary, except a notation of a time, 8 o’clock and the name of Simon alongside it, but nothing else to indicate who he was.”
“Could someone have been blackmailing him?”
“Well if that’s what it was, I can’t think what it could be,” Bilston looked perplexed. “He seemed to lead a quiet, sedate life, and nothing untoward has surfaced within the company, everything is in order, as I said, no money is missing from here.”
“Does he have any family? Who would stand to gain by his death? Who gets his money?”
“No idea,” Bilston shook his head. “He was a widower and lived alone.”
“Did he leave a will?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“I’d have thought you would have known that.”
Richard Bilston flushed; there had been an element of sarcasm in Freedman’s tone.
“Well I didn’t,” he said irritably. “I suggest you ask his lawyers.”
“Who are they?”
“Fell Pelham & Drysdale, they’re in the city.” said Bilston. “They’re our lawyers as well, of the company that is.”
“That would be Clifford Fell would it?” asked Freedman.
“No, Matthew Pelham. He’s dealt with us for about twenty years.”
The two policemen rose to their feet.
“Thank you, Mr Bilston,” Freedman said. “We’ll keep you informed if we find anything.”
Their next call was upon the offices of Fell, Pelham & Drysdale. Freedman had come across the firm before, he knew them to be of high repute and they dealt mainly with corporate litigation. Freedman had occasionally met both Fell and Pelham during his days with the Fraud Squad, when Pelham had been representing a company under investigation. They didn’t come into the category of friends, merely occasional acquaintances. Both partners were men in their fifties, and were the grandsons of the original founders of the firm which had been founded before the Great War.
“Seems like a large firm,” commented Harrison after they had been directed to seats in the waiting area by the receptionist.
“There’s plenty a damn sight bigger than this one,” responded Freedman crushingly and Harrison shrugged and subsided, with the thought ‘Up yours too!’ reverberating through his mind. He was becoming used to Freedman’s comments that were aimed at his country affiliations whether directly or obliquely, although Harrison had come from Bristol which could hardly be classified as a rural area. Harrison was aged in his early thirties, and was therefore much younger than Freedman. The inspector was aged about 45, about 5′ 8″ in height, had a florid complexion and smoked fairly heavily, in contrast to Harrison who was over six feet and had never smoked in his life. Harrison strongly disapproved of anyone who did, though he kept his views on this aspect to himself; Freedman was a trifle too quick to take offence for any liberties to be taken.
They sat in silence after that, until called by the receptionist.
“He’ll see you now.”
Pelham rose to meet them and ushered them to two chairs in front of his desk. Matthew Pelham was one of the senior partners of the firm, he was a man of average height, with a receding hair line with fairly lush hair growth around the top and sides and around the back of his head, which tended to stick up and fan out in a fashion similar in shape to a halo.
“I know you, don’t I?” he asked Freedman as they all sat down.
“Yes, we’ve met occasionally,” said Freedman, he didn’t elaborate.
“Yes, I believe we have,” Pelham responded. “Now how can I assist you? This is about John Accrington, is it?”
He listened intently as Freedman went over the case of John Accrington, and fingered his chin as the story progressed. As they reached the end of their tale, with, as yet, no leads, Pelham inclined his head gravely.
“What do you want from me?”
“Did he leave a will?” asked Freedman. “Is there anyone who would have benefited from Accrington’s death?”
“No!” Pelham shook his head. “John Accrington never made one, not so far as we are aware. I had been onto him for years about this. Quite apart from any family members who would be prejudiced; I am against a large estate like this merely passing to the government to do with as it pleases. Governments have no idea how to spend money.”
“I disagree,” interceded Harrison who had said nothing up to now. “If nothing else they know how to spend it and fritter it away.”
Pelham blinked and looked at Harrison; then he broke into laughter and nodded in agreement.
“Yes, yes! You’re right,” he said, nodding vigorously. “You are absolutely right, of course. That’s what I meant. You put it better than I did.”
“What about the Billacc business?” asked Freedman, slightly irritated at Harrison’s intervention. “What will happen to his shares?”
“That’s been done, he sold them to the Bilston brothers two years ago. John had become virtually a sleeping partner, or director. The business is secure and the Bilston brothers had nothing to gain by John’s death. What he ever possessed relating to the business, they already have. Financially they’ve gained nothing by his death, but they have lost his expertise, which I think was