And the winning bid goes to...
11 Eleven: Reminiscences
Brains took his seat in his little room in the aircraft hangar. Yesterday's work had seemed to achieve nothing; all of the investigators' searching had proved fruitless. They were no closer to solving the mystery of Jeff Tracy's crash.
"Morning, Hiram," David Campbell greeted Brains as he entered the room. Over the course of the previous day he'd decided that, despite his misgivings, he quite liked the designer of the aeroplane that was now a tangled, charred mess before them. The serious young man was clearly as impatient to discover the true cause of the crash as they were and had done nothing to suggest that he was trying to absolve himself of any guilt.
"G-G-Good morning, David," Brains replied.
"Let's hope we have more success today," David said.
Brains nodded.
"The team's been hard at work," David told him. "We're hopeful to get some results."
"I-I-I hope so."
"Better get started then." David did up the front of his overalls and stepped outside the office and over to where a group of his assistants were standing in a huddle. Brains watched as the assistants explained something to the chief A.A.I., looked at an object, examined the plans, conferred with each other, examined that plans again… and then looked in Brains' direction.
He watched as David Campbell took the item and carried it towards the office.
"We're stumped with this one," David said, laying the mystery item on the desk. "We can't find anything in your plans that remotely coincide with this."
Brains looked at what appeared to be some linkages and bits of wire. "In wh-what part of the jet w-was it found?"
"Near the nose. We think in the vicinity of the control yoke. The plane didn't have some new kind of steering mechanism, did it?"
Brains shook his head. "No. Wh-When I was designing the jet, M-Mr Tracy said to keep the pilot controls the same as a s-standard plane. He said he was too old to start learning how t-to fly all over again... It was rubbish, of course," he managed a reflective smile. "He was an intelligent man, and w-was willing to try any new invention."
"So what is this then?" David asked, dragging International Rescue's engineer back into the present.
"Ah?" Brains looked closer at the mysterious bits of metal and wire. "May I touch it?" David nodded.
Taking care not to disturb the article any more than he had to, Brains examined it closely. He frowned. "I-If I didn't know that th-there was no such thing on board, I w-would have said that it was s-some kind of remote control device. S-See…" he extended a length of wire. "Th-This appears to be an antenna."
"And there's no reason why Mr Tracy would have such a device near the control yoke or in the vicinity of the pilot's controls?"
Bewildered, Brains stared at the Air Accident Inspector. "N-No. N-None."
Angus Brett paced up and down the floor of his hotel room. All that money spent on the expensive bed and he'd barely spent five minutes in it. His overactive mind had refused to let him sleep. During the day he could bury the knowledge that he'd indirectly caused the deaths of all those people at the Sunflower Mall. But at night… "It wasn't meant to happen like that!" he exclaimed out loud to the darkness.
He rubbed his hand over his face and, yet again, relived the events that had lead up to this day……
"Ah, Mr Brett. Do sit down," the greeting, while cordial, had all the warmth of a rattlesnake settling down for the night.
"Ah… Thanks… Thank you," Brett said nervously and did as he was instructed. "You wanted to see me, Mr Earl?"
"I did," Mr Falcon Earl said. "Miles, perhaps you will leave us for a while?"
"Of course, Mr Earl," Miles said and retreated through the door that Brett had just entered.
Brett relaxed somewhat. Without the muscle man present at least his health should remain intact for a little while longer. But for how long he had no idea. He had no doubt that Miles was waiting outside that door, blocking the only exit, and waiting to be summonsed to do what ever it was that he did best.
"I have called you in for a chat," Earl said, leaning back in his vast leather chair and sipping his drink. "I presume you remember that little loan I gave you."
"Oh, yes. Yes I do!" Brett waggled his head eagerly in the affirmative. "You saved my neck."
"Good, good." Earl rubbed his ample abdomen. "Always glad to help someone in need. In fact," he continued as an idea came to him, "you could call me the International Rescue of the financial world."
Brett laughed, hoping it was the right thing to do.
"There are, of course, differences," Earl continued on. "I don't have fabulous machines at my disposal, and, unlike the other International Rescue, I expect repayment."
"Quite right too," Brett said.
"I'm sure you understand how necessary it is for me to expect repayment," Earl said. "You can't just give away money willy-nilly, can you?"
"No," Brett agreed.
"I mean... I have expenses. I have outlays. I have… obligations."
"I wouldn't expect otherwise from a man in your position," Brett said.
"No." Earl spread his hands apart. "And it's not an easy world to live in. People want things from me. The IRS claim that I owe them simply ridiculous amounts of money. The police are trying to frame me with the murder of Harry Gates… A fact of which I am completely innocent."
"I'm sure you are."
"They pester me all day and don't allow me to get on with my legitimate business. If I could get away somewhere from all these hassles, somewhere free of petty bureaucracy, somewhere where I could live my life my way, I would be happy." He indicated a photo on his wall. "Somewhere warm… Somewhere idyllic… Somewhere free from Governmental persecutions."
Brett obediently looked at the photo of a tropical landscape and nodded.
"But I am not happy… But, despite these trials, I must try to continue to run my business. I must insist on having all debts paid on time and in full."
"You can't run a business any other way," Brett agreed.
"Your time is up," Earl said bluntly.
"Ug, uh," Brett articulated.
Earl held up a slip of paper. "I have here your I.O.U. On it says that you will repay me, in full, with interest, on this date."
"I know."
"It's a simple transaction. You give me the money and I'll give you this slip of paper. You will be debt free."
To Brett the idea sounded like heaven, except that heaven was a long way away. "Ah, well, you see…"
"You have the money?"
"Not in so many words. I have some, ah, irons in the fire, but nothing has come to fruition yet…" Brett shrank back into his seat as Earl's face turned nasty.
"You don't have the money?"
"Not yet. But give me time!" Brett gasped.
"Time," Earl snarled. "You've had time. You said you could repay me today! Did you lie to me?"
"No…"
"Because I won't tolerate liars. If you can't repay me in cash you will repay me in kind. Miles!"
"No…" Brett yelled.
The door began to open…
Even today, all these weeks after that conversation, Brett was still amazed at how clearly he'd been thinking at the time. Instead of his brain dissolving into a mush of nervous impulses an idea had sprung to the fore. "Wait! I have a proposition for you!"
"Proposition?" Earl snarled, as Miles closed the door behind him. "You've reneged on your initial proposition."
"I know," Brett gabbled gamely. "But I'm sure this will interest you. Please hear me out. Give me ten minutes?" he begged, sensing Miles standing at his shoulder.
Earl held up his hand and Brett heard Miles' arm drop to his side. "You have five."
Relieved at the temporary reprieve, Brett let out a breath. "You said that you would like to find somewhere where you could live away from the prying eyes of Government departments. I could supply you with that!"
Earl frowned. "You could? How?"
"I know some place, a tropical island in the South Pacific, far away from any territorial limits, where you could live in comfort and peace."
"An island! Even islands are under some form of government control."
"Not this one! It's in private ownership. It's got everything you'll need. An airstrip big enough to take full sized planes, state of the art communications, even a lab you could use to make dr… whatever you want."
Earl was beginning to look interested. "A Pacific island? Native girls?"
"Ah, no. The only residents are the family who live there. But there's a guesthouse, away from the main house, where anyone could stay. You could invite the World President over and she'd never need to know what you were doing in the villa. The main house is well appointed with every luxury, ten bedrooms, expansive kitchen, gym, theatre, library…"
"Are they looking to sell?"
"I don't think so, but I have a plan that'll make them give it to you willingly, even though they don't want to… But I'll need your help."
"You are sure this plan will work?"
"Pretty sure, but I can't do it on my own."
"Who owns this place?"
"Tracy."
"Tracey? Tracey who? Not Tracey Garcia from California? Eduardo Garcia's daughter?"
"No. Jeff Tracy. Of Tracy Industries."
"The reclusive billionaire?"
"That's him. I do some legal work for him."
Earl sneered. "A two bit lawyer like you does work for a multi-billionaire?"
"We go back a long way. I think he feels some loyalty towards me."
"Clearly the feeling is mutual." Earl was being sarcastic, but he looked thoughtful. "Are you sure you can get this place? I don't want any links to me."
"I can do it," Brett said confidently. "But I have one condition." He expected to see the sneer again and was surprised when Earl appeared willing to listen. "I'll admit to being a crook. I'll admit to being dishonest, or a thief, I'll even admit to being an embezzler, but I draw the line at murder. I don't want anyone hurt."
"But won't Tracy have something to say about you whipping his island away from him?"
"If it all goes to plan he won't know a thing about it until it's too late."
Earl looked at Brett in interest. "Apart from saving your miserable little skin, why do you want to do this? What's in it for you?"
Brett gave a sneer of his own. "I want to see Tracy's face when he learns that his precious, perfect sons have sold his island out from under him."
Brett threw himself into a chair and sighed. The plan had been that the aeroplane would 'crash' into the Pacific Ocean and Jeff Tracy would disappear; only to wash up on shore after the sale of the island had been completed. And, apart from the accident with the shopping mall, everything had been proceeding as planned.
Until those one of those precious, perfect sons had foiled him. The others had crawled straight into the trap.
He frowned, what could he do about Alan? Then his frown reversed into a sardonic grin. So, now he knew something that the rest of the world was dying to know. He knew the identity of the great International Rescue. He laughed at the idea. Jeff Tracy obviously hadn't trusted him enough to take him into his confidence and now one of Jeff Tracy's own sons had given the game away. Jeff Tracy's own son had sold him out just as Brett's son had done to him!
Brett felt the thrill of realisation of the power that that knowledge could bring him. He now had a bargaining chip that he could use to manipulate both sides…
He relaxed back in his chair and thought about the first time he met Jeff Tracy…
Angus Brett secured the last screw into the nameplate that bore his name and stood back to admire his handiwork. Now, after all those years of struggling through law school, he finally had his own practise. Maybe he wouldn't be as famous as he could have been if he'd followed his dream and taken up acting as a career. But then perhaps he could yet become a world class barrister; holding the judge and jury in the palm of his hands as he wove the tale of his client's innocence. Perhaps the law courts would be his stage…
He heard a throat clear behind him. "Excuse me." Brett turned and found himself looking at the lapel of an Air Force flight jacket. He adjusted his angle of vision and looked into the ruggedly handsome face and piercing dark eyes of a young pilot. The nametag on his jacket identified him as 'Tracy'. "I'm looking for a lawyer," Tracy said.
"Well, you've found one," Brett admitted. "Would you like to come inside?" He led the way into his spartan, one-room office. "What can I do for you?"
"My name's Jeff Tracy," the young man introduced himself. "I'm a pilot stationed at the local Air Force base…"
"So I gathered," Brett indicated the other man's clothing.
Jeff looked down and laughed. "I guess it is pretty obvious."
"What can I do for you, Mr Tracy?"
"I'm getting married in a week's time and it suddenly dawned on me that I'll have financial and legal responsibilities. I want to draw up a will."
"A wise idea," Brett admitted, and reached into his desk for the necessary paraphernalia. "I've just got married myself," he indicated a photo on his desk, "to Zelma. We're expecting a baby."
"Congratulations." Jeff picked up the wedding photo and examined it. The 'happy' couple were standing apart from one another and the smiles on their faces appeared forced. He placed it back on the desk and opened his wallet. "That's Lucille," he said as he withdrew a photo of a vivacious brunette with an impish smile.
Brett admired the photo briefly before getting down to business. "I think it's only fair to tell you that you are my first client."
Jeff shrugged. "We all have to start somewhere and it's not as if I've got a lot to leave her. But as I'm hoping to be selected for the astronaut squad I thought I should be prepared."
Brett looked up. "Wow!"
"Yeah," Jeff grinned. "That's how I felt when I first heard about it. My parents aren't too keen on the idea, but they're supporting me all the way."
"And your fiancée?"
"Lucille? She's great! Backing me to the hilt. I've promised her that once I've been to the moon I'll settle down… I don't know what I'd do though, it's not like I can see myself being stuck behind a desk all day."
That was the first moment when Brett had felt antagonism towards the man seated before him. His own parents had done all they could to thwart his thespian ambitions. Even while at law school he'd continued to tread the boards, hopeful that some talent scout would discover him and lead him away to the life he wanted. But none had. Even while at law school his parents had nagged him to forget acting and concentrate on his studies.
Eventually he'd graduated bottom of his class. The realisation that he wasn't a particularly good lawyer had prompted his decision to try full time acting. He set himself a limit of a year. If he had no success with in that time then he would return to the law. He'd told Zelma his plans and then emboldened by what he'd thought was her support, told his parents.
His father had thrown him out of the house and disowned him.
Then Zelma had become pregnant. His mother had retained contact with her errant son, but was not about to let him shirk his duty. Between her and Zelama's continuing naggings of: 'You're going to have a wife and baby to support. You'll never do it as an actor', Brett had been convinced to return to the more 'respectable' trade…
Brett dragged himself back to the present and hid his antagonism behind an actor's mask of friendliness. "If you want to ensure that Lucille is provided for, should the worst happen to you," he told Jeff, "may I suggest an investment that doubles as a life insurance?"
Jeff sat forward on his seat. "Can you do that?"
"Of course." Brett had made his first commercial deal.
Time passed and once again Jeff Tracy was in Brett's office. This time he brought Lucille along. "We're going to have a child," he said with pride. "Lucille and I have decided to update our wills."
"Congratulations," Brett said as he'd held out a seat for Lucille. "Not trying to steal your thunder, but Zelma and I are expecting as well."
"That's fantastic!" Jeff enthused, as Lucille smiled sweetly. "So that'll be two you'll have?"
"Ah, no," Brett said. "Unfortunately Zelma miscarried the first child."
"Oh," Jeff's face fell.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Lucille said.
Not as sorry as Brett had been. If only the unhappy event had happened before he'd placed that ring on Zelma's finger, he could have returned to acting. Perhaps life could have been so much better…
Jeff Tracy had announced on his third visit that he and Lucille were expecting another child.
"And how's your little boy," Brett asked.
"Scott?" Jeff's eyes gleamed. "Wonderful kid, I hope number two's as well behaved as him. And Lucille's a fantastic mother. I'm really lucky. How's your son?"
"Vince? He's a handful, always getting into everything. I couldn't find my car keys the other day. He'd hidden them under his pillow."
Jeff had laughed…
On the fourth visit Jeff decided to remind himself of the contents of his will. "The house is in an uproar and I've misplaced my copy. I know… I'm hopeless. If it wasn't for Lucille I'd forget which day it was," he laughed. "And since number three's on the way I've brought Scott along this time to give his mother a break."
"How do you do, Scott," Brett held out his hand.
Scott shook his hand. "I'm gettin' 'nother brother."
"We don't know about that yet," Jeff ruffled his eldest's hair affectionately. "We'll see."
"What a polite little boy," Brett exclaimed. "Mine would be screaming the place down by now…"
Scott, along with John, had also accompanied Jeff on visit five. "We're having to move to a bigger house," Jeff joked. "The Air Force residential officer is saying that they'll have to add on extra rooms to accommodate all our kids."
"Three boys," Brett said. "Do you know what this next one's going to be?"
"A boy!" Scott said confidently.
"Maybe," Jeff smiled. "We like it to be a surprise. It'd be nice to have a little sister though, wouldn't it, Guys?"
John gave a beatific smile at the thought, while Scott screwed up his face.
"How's Vince?" Jeff asked.
Brett chuckled. "His latest trick is sneaking up behind women and looking up their skirts. I try to explain to him that it's not the done thing, but the boy has a mind of his own." He looked at Scott and John, each absorbed in their books; Scott's about aeroplanes, and John's on the stars. He felt a pang of envy.
"He'll grow out of it," Jeff was saying confidently…
"I've promised her that this is the last one," Jeff joked on his sixth visit. "I've told Lucille that I'll do something about it."
Brett got an extra seat for Virgil. The boy clambered onto it and started scrawling in his sketchpad as his two older brothers got out their books. Scott started reading what appeared to be an aviation textbook and John began writing in a notebook. "You're just back from the moon, aren't you, Jeff?" Brett asked. "You've become quite a celebrity."
"Boy! Was that an experience," Jeff enthused. "I've never seen anything like it."
Scott looked up. "Tell Mr Brett about the lift-off."
"Yeah, and how the whole rocket shook," John added. "Show him, Daddy."
Jeff chuckled. "Later, Boys. Mr Brett and I have work to do."
Virgil held up a picture he'd drawn. "That's Daddy's rocket."
"That's a very good drawing, Virgil," Brett said.
"Thank you." Virgil said and returned his attention to his drawing.
"I'm writing a story," John said proudly. "It's about Daddy going to the moon. I'd like to go to the moon. I could see the stars much closer." He held his notebook so that Brett could see his tidy writing.
"Your writing's very neat, John," Brett complemented. "My boy's writing isn't as neat as yours."
"I'm going to join the Air Force," Scott said.
"Shush, Boys," Jeff admonished gently. "You can tell Mr Brett about it later."
"Sounds like they're itching to follow in their Dad's footsteps," Brett laughed.
Jeff looked at his sons with pride.
In the years between that first meeting and the seventh Brett watched as Jeff's career literally went into orbit, while his stayed firmly grounded in that little one-room office in town.
Brett would only ever admit to himself that the seventh meeting brought a bitter pleasure to him.
"Jeff? What can I say? I'm sorry."
Jeff tried to smile and failed. No longer was he the carefree man with the world at his feet. The death of his wife had had turned his world upside-down. "I received the card. Thanks."
"I wish I could have done more."
Jeff Tracy's five sons crammed themselves into a corner of the room. No one was reading, writing or drawing this time. They all looked lost and bewildered by the sudden departure of their mother. Scott was talking to them quietly; trying to reassure his younger brothers.
"What are you going to do now?" Brett asked the bereft man before him.
"I don't know," Jeff admitted. "I relied on Lucille for so much… Obviously I can't continue as an astronaut, not with five sons to care for. My mother says she'll help, but I can't lay it all on her. I'll have to find a job, but doing what I don't know. My only skills are flying rockets and I can't see that rating very highly on a CV."
"Come on, Jeff. A man with your personality and talents? You'll be fine." Brett was proud of his acting skills that day.
"I hope so." Jeff took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. "Sorry," he apologised. "I guess we'd better get this over and done with."
"Yes." Brett opened the document and began reading the last will and testament of Lucille Tracy…
Despite his misgivings Jeff Tracy's life had prospered. He'd gone into partnership with an old friend and started an engineering firm. The firm grew and expanded, becoming more and more successful.
Brett watched Jeff's fortunes rise and felt more and more bitter. At first he'd hoped that Tracy Engineering would use him for all their legal business, but Jeff had explained apologetically that his partner's sister was a solicitor who specialised in business law and that both partners agreed that it would be better for the company to utilise her skills. Jeff was sure that Brett would understand...
Understand! Angus Brett understood all right! He understood that the great Jeff Tracy didn't rate him as a lawyer. Oh, he was okay for wills and that first investment, but for anything else…
It was a bitter pill for Angus Brett to swallow.
Nearly as bitter as his marriage to Zelma. There was no doubt that the union was a mistake. If it hadn't been for that one miscarried child he would have been free of her nagging and moaning, and the affairs that she openly flouted in front of him and the wider society.
Their only child, Vince, had been a disappointment too. His babyish screaming had continued on into his adult life, developing a vocabulary that wouldn't have been out of place on the docks. His childish scrawl was more often found on people's walls rather than pieces of paper. His hiding of his father's car keys had grown into the theft of other people's cars. Looking up women's skirts had escalated into accusations of sexual assault and ultimately rape. Vince displayed no loyalty or responsibility to his family.
A year or so ago, when Brett was desperate to try to have something resembling a normal marriage he'd manipulated some investment accounts to try to rake in a little extra cash.
Zelma had been unimpressed with his sudden largesse.
Then one day the police came knocking. "Mr Angus Brett? We have reason to believe that you have been embezzling funds."
"That's outrageous! How did you get that idea?"
"We have our sources, Sir."
Brett knew what those sources were. He'd caught a glimpse of a familiar childish scrawl. Vince had plea-bargained with the police to try to reduce the rape charges against him. His son had accused his own father of fraud to help himself! At that moment Angus Brett knew he no longer had a son.
He felt no grief when he heard that the boy had been killed trying to outrun the police in a stolen car.
Zelma had taken the embezzlement charge as the excuse she'd always wanted and had finally left her husband. She'd run off with a younger man.
Brett felt no sorrow at her loss either.
But now he was alone and he was in trouble. He had to get the money back quickly, so that when the accounts were checked it would all seem to have been nothing more than a simple clerical error. He needed help and he'd turned to Mr Falcon Earl.
Mr Earl had been more than willing to help. Of course he understood. No need to explain. Just sign this bit of paper and all would be well…
Until the money was due to be repaid…
Brett rubbed his face again.
The irony of it all was that Jeff Tracy had inadvertently aided and abetted the scam; even as his 'demise' was being prepared. The morning of that day when Jeff Tracy's aeroplane crashed, the philanthropist had been to see him. It had not been a happy meeting. Tracy had accused Brett of embezzling the solitary investment and had said he was going to the police. He'd shown him the proof he had; duplicates of papers from a detective, the company solicitor… his accountant. Brett laughed at the memories. If only Jeff Tracy had realised that by supplying him with those official letterheads he had walked straight into the trap. Mr Earl had supplied him with equipment to forge the will and it had been easy to use the same equipment to forge substantiating letters using those letterheads. Letters that had convinced Jeff Tracy's sons that they had nothing.
The biggest gamble had been that one of them would have done a little research of their own into their father's affairs. Brett had taken the chance that they'd be so caught up in their grief that the idea of confirming what they'd been told hadn't even entered their heads.
His gamble had paid off. Even Alan, after his 'climbing accident' had seemed disinclined to ask for outside help.
Brett stood, looked around his empty hotel room and noticed the cold, grey light of dawn was starting to peek through the curtains. He decided to try for one hour's sleep before facing the new day…
It was the early hours of an English morning, but late afternoon Central Daylight Time, when Lady Penelope and Parker drove in FAB1 through the streets of Kansas City.
"Parker," Lady Penelope instructed. "Turn right here, would you?"
"Yes, m'Lady," Parker affirmed and made the necessary correction. "H-If you don't mind me h-askin'; why? H-I thought we was 'eadin' to where Mister Alan said 'e'd seen Mr Tracy."
"And so we are, Parker. But it's still too early in the day to do any, ah, 'snooping' in the research complex. And since we're in the vicinity of Jeff's office, I thought we'd pay a visit. I should like to have a word with Mr Tracy's personal assistant before we leave the country and I daresay that if we wait until after we've examined Alan's warehouse, Miss Fordbury will have left work for the day."
"Very good, m'Lady." Parker stopped the shocking pink Rolls Royce outside the imposing building. "Do you want me to come h-in?"
Lady Penelope watched as a man tried to remove the letters 'murd' scrawled on the front of the building. "No. I feel that you may learn more from staying out here."
Parker followed her gaze. "Rightio then." He opened the gull-wing door and assisted his mistress out of the car.
Lady Penelope strode into the foyer of the Kansas City office of Tracy Industries and walked up to the young woman manning the reception desk.
The receptionist smiled up at the visitor. "May I help you?"
"I do hope so," Lady Penelope gushed. "I was hoping I could have a word with Mr Tracy's personal assistant, Miss Fordbury."
The receptionist became wary, obviously considering the possibility that Lady Penelope was a reporter. "May I have your name?"
"Certainly. Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. Miss Fordbury and I have met before."
As she waited for the receptionist to announce her arrival, Lady Penelope looked about her. Above the reception desk hung a portrait of Jeff Tracy, black crepe framing his photo. A lump formed in her throat as she took in his rugged features. "He was a handsome man," she commented.
The receptionist glanced at the photo. "He was. He was a very special man, a caring man who took an interest in everyone, no matter who you were… Unfortunately not everyone believes that." Intrigued by the comment, Lady Penelope waited to see if the woman was going to expand on her statement, but the young American had clearly decided that she'd overstepped the mark and was in the process of steering the conversation back to safer ground. "I've always liked that picture. If you look at it long enough you'd swear he's trying to hide a secret…" A light flashed on the switchboard. "Miss Fordbury will see you now."
"Thank you," Lady Penelope said.
---F-A-B---
Parker tossed his chauffeurs hat onto the driver's seat of the Rolls Royce before wandering over to the maintenance man. "Some people ain't got no respect," he began by way of conversation.
The maintenance man glanced at him. "No," he agreed before returning to his work. "No respect and a lot of cheek. Only happened a half hour ago. Some punk walks along, bold as brass, and sprays 'murderer' right across the front of the building."
"Didn't someone see 'im?" Parker asked.
"Sure. Lotsa people. But no one did anythin'. They prefer to leave it to the cops," he pointed up into a recess in the veranda, "and the security cameras."
"Murderer?" Parker queried. "Why murderer?"
"You not from these parts?" the maintenance man asked. "You know about Mr Tracy's accident?" Parker assured him that he did. "A lotta people died in that crash. Some people are lookin' for someone to blame. Mr Tracy's an easy target."
"You don't blame 'im though?"
"Me? Nah. Mr Tracy was a good man. He'd always greet me by name; I wasn't just another worker to him. There's no way he could be at fault. He'd take his own life before takin' anyone else's, especially innocent women and kids. Unfortunately a lot of people are grievin' and aren't seein' straight."
"What do you think 'appened?"
The maintenance man shrugged. "Who knows? I understand it was a new plane. Maybe there was somethin' wrong with it."
---F-A-B---
Lady Penelope was ushered into a reception area. "Miss Fordbury will be with you shortly," she was informed.
Shortly proved to be almost immediately and Lady Penelope extended her hand in greeting. "Pen. I'm sorry we have to meet again in such circumstances."
Pen Fordbury was a young Englishwoman who was as proud of her British heritage as she was of the fact that she worked for Jeff Tracy. Intelligent, resourceful, exceedingly good at her job, and the person Jeff had regarded as his most trusted Tracy Industries employee, she also harboured a secret crush on Gordon Tracy. She greeted Lady Penelope as she would any member of the British aristocracy, but with a warmth reserved for personal friends of her late employer. "Won't you come into the office, Lady Penelope?"
Lady Penelope inclined her head. "Thank you. I'm so sorry to be taking up your time."
"Think nothing of it. To tell you the truth I'm at a bit of a loss. There's plenty of work to do, but I don't know where to start. And things are up in the air at the moment with no direction. We haven't heard a word from Jeff's family."
"I've just returned from the island," Lady Penelope volunteered.
"Really? How are they?"
Lady Penelope delicately bit her lip. "I wish I could say that they were coping, but Jeff's death has rocked them. The press have been hounding them and they've cut themselves off from the outside world."
"So that explains why I haven't been able to reach them on the phone or fax," Pen said. "But I would have thought that they would be able to receive the post… or emails."
"When I was there they hadn't opened the mailbag," Lady Penelope admitted. "And I believe that Scott has been using his own email address for communications associated with the accident. I would doubt that he's been looking at his father's to avoid being confronted with the world's media."
"Oh…" Pen commented. "They are struggling, aren't they?"
"That is why I have come to see you," Lady Penelope lied. "I thought that if you could let me know how Jeff filled his last few hours then perhaps they will start to come to terms with this tragedy."
"Of course. Let me get his diary." Pen hurried into Jeff's office.
Lady Penelope followed, once again feeling the lump forming in her throat as she took in the rich surroundings of Jeff Tracy's domain. She stood admiring a photo of Tracy Island as Pen reached into a drawer, withdrawing a large volume.
"Here we are," Pen opened the diary at the fateful day. She ran her finger down the entries. "Nothing to do with Tracy Industries. He was here before I arrived to meet a Mr Spencer." She looked thoughtful. "I remember that Jeff seemed rather… solemn when Mr Spencer left. He commented that sometimes it pays to listen to your gut instincts."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I'd never heard of Mr Spencer before. Jeff arranged that appointment himself."
Lady Penelope looked at the diary. "I see that he visited Angus Brett at 11am. Had he cheered up by then?"
"Funny you should mention that," Pen looked thoughtful. "No he hadn't. He said something about it being a sad day. It's not written in here, but as soon as I arrived at work he asked me to arrange a meeting with Mr Walker of 'Walker and Crawford'. He saw Mr Walker, then Mr Brett, came back to work, finalised another couple of things and then left for the airport." Her voice caught in her throat.
Lady Penelope gave the young lady a moment to compose herself. "How was he the previous day?"
Pen turned back a page. "Oh, yes," she smiled. "He was much happier that day. He'd finalised a deal that he'd been working on for months. He told me he was going to get his hair cut to celebrate." She laughed before pointing at another entry. He shouted me lunch and then I dropped him off at the blood donation centre. The chauffeur picked him up afterwards."
"He gave blood?"
Pen nodded. "Yes. He did so most visits." She stared at the diary. "When I first heard about… heard what had happened, I did wonder if he'd fainted from blood loss. But he'd made his donation over 24 hours before the…" she swallowed. "That can't have had anything to do with it. He'd never had any problems in the past."
"Where is the centre?"
"The clinic is in Denys Street. The funny thing is that it was reported in the news that evening that they had had a break in. Jeff said they must have seen that it was a blood bank and got the wrong idea." Pen looked back at the diary. "The rest of his time was taken up with work related activities. He seemed happy in his work." She shut the diary and a slip of paper fell out. She picked it up. "Oh, it's the receipt from lunch! I'm in such a muddle that I haven't made a record of it yet. I must write this up. Do excuse me, Lady Penelope?"
"Of course."
Pen returned to her office leaving Lady Penelope alone in Jeff's. Feeling as if she were intruding into the private life of a friend, Lady Penelope had a quick look around, but found nothing of interest. She pretended to be admiring a photo of the five Tracy boys when Pen returned carrying a notebook. "See, I told you I was in a muddle. I'd forgotten the receipt." The P.A. opened the notebook on Jeff's desk and began writing. Then she slammed her ballpoint on the table. "Look at me! I've just gone and spelt cheque with a Q U again. If Jeff was here now he'd say. 'Look here, Penelope...' He always called me Penelope when he teased me, because he knew I didn't like it. 'Look here, Penelope. You're in America now. You've got to learn to spell our way'." Pen gave a misty eyed smile. "And I'd tease him back, saying that we English were spelling cheque with a Q U before Christopher Columbus was out of nappies. Then he'd correct me by saying that the correct word was 'diapers'." She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. "He was a hard worker, but never afraid to have a laugh."
"He was a good man," Lady Penelope empathised.
"He was a great man," Pen amended. "A caring man. The sad thing is that most of the world won't know how caring and selfless he was."
Lady Penelope reflected on the truth of this statement; even if her companion was not aware of its full implications.
Trying to regain her equilibrium Pen continued talking. "You've worked for him, haven't you?"
"In a manner of speaking," Lady Penelope said. "Life can be so boring without a little variety."
"I thought so. I remember Jeff saying once that he employed me because he liked to have a Penelope in his employment who would actually do what she was told." Pen laughed.
"I'm sure there was more to it than that," Lady Penelope corrected, knowing that Pen's efficiency and pleasant manner were the real reasons why Jeff Tracy had asked her to leave England. "Will you stay on and work for whoever takes over the helm of Tracy Industries?"
"I don't know. I will for the short term at least; until they learn the ropes. Then I'll see. It won't be the same without Jeff Tracy sitting at the desk. Maybe it would be a better to make a complete break…" Pen took up the photo that Lady Penelope had just replaced on the desk. "Do you think one of his sons will take over their father's role?"
"Somehow I doubt it," Lady Penelope said. "None of them have expressed any interest in taking over from Jeff; they all have their own skills and interests."
Pen replaced the photo. "Are you going to be returning to the island soon?"
"I am expecting to return tomorrow."
"In that case, would you mind taking something for me?" Pen returned to her office and this time Lady Penelope followed her. "I was going to freight these to the island," Pen was holding several thick, bound books, "but, if it's not an imposition, perhaps you would be willing to take them for me?"
"Of course," Lady Penelope agreed. "What are they?
"Memoriam books. Each employee of Tracy Industries in the States has signed as a mark of respect. Perhaps Jeff's family will feel better knowing how much he will be missed."
Lady Penelope surveyed the thick volumes. "Every employee?"
Pen nodded. "I believe so." She opened one book at the first page. "This book is from the Kansas Aviation factory and this message is from Sam Watson. He's off work as he is undergoing treatment for cancer. The idea of the book was his. The management liked the idea so much that they told the other branches under the Tracy Industries umbrella and they've all made one. People have been getting out of their sick bed in order to sign it."
"Even Mr Watson?" Lady Penelope commented.
"He's a brave man," Pen said. "Jeff visited him while he was here and commented on how he's still cheerful despite the fact that the prognosis is bleak… I'll get someone to carry these down for you," she added stacking the memoriam books together.
Lady Penelope looked at her watch. "I had better be going. Thank you for your assistance, Pen. I am sure that what you have told me will bring comfort to the Tracy Family."
"I hope so… and perhaps you could ask one of them to contact the company lawyers. They have been trying without success to reach Tracy Island."
"I will do that, though they seem to be shying away from the company business. But in light of their present financial situation…"
"Present financial situation?"
"I know I shouldn't be telling you this, and I trust you'll be discreet," Lady Penelope lowered her voice, "but Jeff has left them with rather a large debt."
"Jeff owed money?"
Lady Penelope nodded. This disclosure of the Tracy's personal business went against all her instincts, but if it could help... "They have to sell the island to repay the debt."
Pen Fordbury frowned in consternation. "But that can't be right."
"I know it came as a shock to us all. And it has hit the boys hardest; they have inherited the debt and little else."
"No, I don't mean that…" Pen exclaimed. "Well, yes it is a shock. But that he was in debt can't be possible! Jeff never discussed his private finances with me, and naturally I never asked. But…"
"Yes?"
"I was opening his mail the other day and I accidentally opened his private bank statement. Naturally I told him straight away and apologised. He laughed and then pretended to be serious as he said, 'you realise this means I'm going to have to kill you?'" Pen gave a wistful smile before the frown returned. "I hadn't meant to look, and I didn't take in the actual number, but I did see his balance and it wasn't written in red. And…" Pen appeared to be wrestling with her conscience. "I did notice the number of digits in the total." She bit her lip and looked at Lady Penelope.
"Was there anything remarkable in that?"
"Only that any one of his companies would have been proud to have a bank balance of that size."
---F-A-B---
"Nosey?"
Still talking to the maintenance man, Parker started at his nickname.
"Nosey Parker? Is that you?"
Parker spied the owner of the voice. "Yorkie?" He excused himself and strode over to the thin, weedy man in the flat cap. "Yorkie Entwhistle!" he grinned. "Wot are you doin' over this side of the ditch? Last I 'eard you were bein' accommodated courtesy of 'is Majesty."
"Got orf, di'n't I." Yorkie replied. "'Ad a bit o' help." He gave Parker, in his uniform, an appraising look. "Look at yer all dolled up! What 'ave yer bin up ter?"
"'Ere," Parker opened one of the gull-wing doors of FAB1. "'Op in where we can talk."
Laughing, Yorkie snatched Parker's chauffeur's hat off the driver's seat and put it on his own head before swinging into Lady Penelope's seat. "Wot's awl this then?"
Parker claimed the driver's seat and pushed the button which closed the car's door. "Gone straight."
"Gerraway. Nosey Parker? Straight? Never."
"Yep. Got meself a cushy number wiv one of London's toffs," Parker bragged.
"But yer were the best safecracker in the busyness."
Parker cracked his knuckles. "I keep me 'and in. The guv'ner keeps on forgettin' the combination to 'is safe," he lied. "Or else 'er Ladyship needs to get at 'er jewels in a 'urry. So, wot are you doin' here, Yorkie?"
"All part of the deal. This gezzer said 'e'd git me orf if I'd come work for 'im over 'ere."
"And the missus?" Parker asked.
"Glad to be shot o' me. She's takin' up wiv the barman at the 'Cock n' Bull'."
"You're lookin' well," Parker said.
Yorkie suddenly lost his jovial manner "Dunno fer 'ow much longer," he admitted. "If I could I'd catch the next plane ter England and turn mesel' over ter the first Bobby I saw, I would… Can I tell yer a secret?"
Concerned Parker looked at his friend and fellow con. "Course you can."
"I'd rather be in Parkmoor than workin' for the boss. 'E's bad news, Nosey."
"'Ow do ya mean?"
"'Cause 'is employees 'ave a short life span. No one oo crosses 'im lives fer long." Then Yorkie indicated the imposing edifice of the Tracy Industries building. "Did yer know o' Tracy?"
Intrigued, Parker pressed a minute switch on the underside of the steering wheel. "Yeah I did. 'E was a good bloke. Knew me backgroun', but still treated me right. That's why I'm 'ere. 'Er Ladyship's payin' 'er respects."
"Word orn the street's that 'e was murdered…"
Parker went cold.
"…And that me boss, 'The Earl' as 'e likes ter be called, was responsible."
"'E murdered Mr Tracy? Why?"
"Dunno. Earl's already top dog in the mid-west. 'E wants ter be King o' the 'ole country."
"Why does 'the street' think 'e murdered Mr Tracy?"
"'Cause Earl's right-'and man, Miles, ain't bin about lately. Nasty bit o' work. Word is 'e shot 'is own mother ta prove 'is loyalty ta Earl."
"Nice sort."
"Yer. 'E was last seen at the airport Tracy left from."
"But wot would 'The Earl' gain from Mr Tracy's death?"
"Dunno. They don' confide in lowlifes like me."
"So I know oo to keep clear off, wot does this Miles look like?"
Yorkie thought for a moment. "'Member Crusher Thompson?"
"Yeah," Parker recollected.
"'E's a beauty queen alongside 'Orace Miles."
"H-And Earl?"
"Dunno. Never seen 'im. 'E always works through an intermediary. Wouldn' sully 'is own 'ands."
"Thanks, Yorkie. I'll keep me eyes open."
Yorkie sighed and returned Parker's hat, before replacing his own flat cap. "I'd better be goin'. Don' want ta get yer inta trouble. Nice catchin' up with yer, Nosey."
"You too, Yorkie." Parker opened the gull-wing door and his fellow countryman climbed out of the car. "Look out for yerself."
"I'll try." Yorkie gave Parker an affectionate punch on the shoulder. "Yer keep yer nose clean."
Parker grinned and watched his friend walk away. Then he pushed a button on the dashboard.
A short time later Lady Penelope arrived. "I see you have been busy, Parker," she stated as he assisted her into the car. "I'm afraid that I held up Miss Fordbury for longer than I intended when I received your warning to keep away."
"H-I found out somthin'. I met up with an h-old friend. We was in Parkmoor together…"
Lady Penelope watched in interest as a video recording was played through the monitor in the back of Parker's seat. "It sounds as though your friend may have fallen in with the wrong crowd."
"Yeah. Poor Yorkie. Never could make the right choice. You'd guarantee that if the Old Bill was 'round the right corner, h-and the h-escape car was 'round the left, Yorkie would go right."
"So there is a belief that Jeff was murdered," Lady Penelope mused.
"Don't do much for Mister Alan's cause, does it?"
"Maybe, maybe not."
"Did you find h-out h-anything, m'Lady?"
"Only that Miss Forbury believes that Jeff was not as destitute as we've been led to believe. Also Jeff saw a mystery man on the morning of his, er, death; then later on that day he saw our Mr Brett."
"But what's it all mean, m'Lady?"
"It means that we still have a mystery on our hands, Parker. I believe that it is time for us to visit the scene of the crime as it were."
To be continued…