It was unusual for him to be called on this phone, so they must have dialled a dedicated work number that Jo monitored.
“Sure. Did they say anything?” He was beginning to worry that there was some sort of trouble in Mexico.
“He’s an Inspector Maslen from Special Branch, London. He wouldn’t say anything else to me.”
“Thanks, Jo. Please put him on.”
He allowed a couple of seconds to pass while the sound of mowing grass and rooks arguing in the avenue of limes took centre stage.
“Inspector. Charles Yelland. How may I help?”
“Hello, Mr Yelland, and sorry for disturbing you on a Saturday. I was hoping you could help me with an ongoing investigation?”
“No problem. Fire away.”
“Do you know a Walter Flushing?”
“Sorry, but I’ve never met a Walter Flushing. It’s quite a distinctive name. I think I’d remember.”
“Sadly, he’s been murdered … in France.”
“Again, sorry, but I don’t know anyone with that name in France or anywhere else.”
“I’m calling you because you were the last person he rang before he was murdered.” The inspector paused to let this information permeate.
In such situations, the brain looks for a distraction from the main event. In Charles Yelland’s case, this meant he suddenly noticed that the tractor had stopped and the background sounds of Buckinghamshire in autumn were at their most vibrant.
“Who was he?” Charles asked eventually.
“We’re currently checking, but can you think of any reason why he might have phoned you just before he was murdered?”
“Inspector, as I’ve said, I’ve never heard of this man. That means I have no idea at all why he might phone me.”
“The phone records show that you answered the call. What did he say?”
Charles stood there, frozen. A billionaire with the world at his feet who was at a complete loss for words. He wasn’t one to think ideas through – he just reacted. In truth, he couldn’t exist without Jo to organise his life; Tony, his brother-in-law, to push the business forwards; Maria, his wife, to schedule his private life; and Mike Kingdom to sort out any problems that came in from left field.
“I remember a strange call now you come to mention it,” he admitted. “I have no idea what it was about.”
“Yet he got straight through to you? Someone who is notoriously private. How did he get this number?”
“No idea.” Charles was walking back to the kitchen, which might have been to satisfy a natural craving to be in a safe place.
“What did he say?”
Charles was right out at the end of the plank, looking back at the sharp end of a pirate’s sword. The sharks were circling beneath.
“He said something odd about my life being threatened.” Charles regained his composure. “I just assumed he was a crank. Inspector, you have to understand that I’m in the public eye and thus the target of so many crackpots.”
“Do you have any idea who might want to kill you?”
“Inspector, I run an oil and gas exploration company that operates all over the world; you can imagine the list of my enemies is quite long.” He had reached his back door and was about to turn the handle.
“Out of all these people, who might be near the top of the list?”
“No idea.”
The inspector didn’t bother to say that he himself was probably at the top of that list.
Charles had barely reached his study when his phone rang again. He was staring up at a kid’s sketch of Antarctica on the wall, which had been drawn – or rather, coloured in – by his daughter. He saw that the caller was Mike. “Good morning, Mike.”
“Have you had a call from an Inspector Maslen?”
“Yes, I’ve just been speaking to him.”
“He’s not for real. What did you tell him?”
“The truth. That my life has been threatened.”
“Did he ask to see you?”
“No. Who is he?”
“I’m checking, but I don’t think he’s going to become your best buddy.”
Charles sat down at his desk and stared out of the windows of what had been a loggia before he had got it glazed and turned into his office, his snug, his safe place.
