of the staff of his company, Evelyn Pritchard, a nice woman, I think she used to be his secretary. She was about his age, and she died two years back. I don’t think she had any family either.”
“So you can think of nobody who might benefit financially by his death?”
“At this stage, no!” replied Pelham. “This morning we had a communication from the Probate Division of the High Court of Justice, they’ve asked us to act as administrators for his estate. If there is anybody, it’s up to us to find them.”
“How long have you been managing his affairs?” asked Freedman.
“About twenty five years, on and off,” responded Pelham.
“You don’t seem to know much about him, do you?”
“We knew all we needed to know to manage his business affairs,” responded Pelham sharply. “We never found it necessary to conduct a thorough investigation into his family background. As to his intestacy, I’ve already told you that for some years I have been on to him to apportion his estate in the event of his death, but he never did anything about it. It was not for want of trying on our part.”
He shuffled some papers on his desk and then rose to his feet.
“If there is nothing else, I have another appointment in about five minutes,” he said icily. “You know my telephone number if you need me.”
Freedman grunted and made a note in his pad. He couldn’t think of anything else at this stage, in any case he was desperate for a cigarette and could hardly light up in Pelham’s sanctum. He rose slowly to his feet, and Harrison followed suit. Pelham was already on his way to the door to usher them both out.
“Thank you Mr Pelham,” Freedman said heavily. “We’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Pelham responded, not without a trace of sarcasm.
As they made their way down into the street, Freedman ruminated that so far this case had produced no leads at all. He looked at Harrison, but the sergeant’s face was impassive and expressionless. Freedman knew he had been abrupt with Pelham, but he had had high hopes of Matthew Pelham and Richard Bilston, hoping for information that would resolve the case but both had come to nothing. His irritability at the lack of information and the craving for a cigarette had caused him to make a sarcastic comment where it would have been best to say nothing. He looked sharply at Harrison again, half expecting some expression of disapproval, but Harrison’s features remained bland.
Norman Ruddock entered his office and sheathed his umbrella into the stand by the door. It was late April and the month was living up to its reputation by liberally sprinkling the city of London with heavy rain showers.
He glanced out of the window and grimaced as the rain continued to fall and spattered against the window, he watched people scurrying along the pavements with umbrellas over their heads or briefly waiting in shop doorways for the heaviest rain to pass over. As he turned to sit down he realised that Ian Shaw, another junior partner in the firm, was standing in the doorway.
“You got wet!” observed Shaw.
“You’re very observant,” responded Ruddock with an element of sarcasm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Matthew wants to see you, he has a difficult case that needs looking at.”
“What’s it about?”
“Regrettably I’m not a member of Matthew’s inner circles,” Shaw shook his head. “But I suggest you don’t keep him waiting.”
Ruddock presented himself outside Matthew Pelham’s office and entered in response to a bellowed “Come in!” Pelham was on the telephone as Ruddock walked in. He waved Ruddock to a chair opposite him and carried on with his conversation.
“Yes, we were advised of this a few days ago, we’re looking into that aspect now. Yes, we were aware he hadn’t made a will, not through us anyway, but we just assumed that it was possible that he could have made alternative arrangements, maybe through someone else. He tended to be somewhat reticent, no, bugger it, I’d put it more strongly than that and say secretive, about his personal matters. We assumed he didn’t want one firm to know too much about his affairs. Strange way of looking at things, but who are we to criticise? Chacun á son goût . . and all that!”
Ruddock inclined his head to one side, and wondered whether the person at the other end of the line understood the phrase. Ruddock had heard Pelham use it before, amongst others. Pelham loved using foreign phrases to emphasise points, which did cause confusion at times when the party at the other end wasn’t conversant with it. Ruddock was familiar with it, having had it used on him before this. Although he had looked it up once he’d momentarily forgotten what it meant.
“Yes, we tried many times, but we never got anywhere, “Pelham continued. ” He tended to keep himself to himself when he was away from his company, almost a recluse. But clearly something has to be done now, he’s left a huge estate and it would be a pity if the government got it all. Alright, we’ll keep in touch.”
Pelham put down the telephone and looked at Ruddock.
“You know what this is about, Norman?”
“I’m guessing John Accrington?”
Pelham nodded and pushed over a file of papers.
“You didn’t have to be a mind reader or Rhodes Scholar to guess that,” he commented. “Nevertheless, you’re right, and we have a problem to resolve. That was Joseph Breeden, from Accrington’s accounts department. He’s confirmed that the money Accrington was carrying when he was killed, or murdered, didn’t come from the company.”
“Have the police discovered anything?” asked Ruddock, “I gather they were in here last week.”
“They don’t seem to have any ideas either,” snorted Pelham. “All I got from them was snide comments, bad manners, bloody sarcasm and …well never mind! We’ve been made administrators of the estate so it’s up to us now, and to you personally, to find beneficiaries - it there are any. There is some urgency with this one. Have a look through the file and see me tomorrow. Alright?”
Ruddock met up again with Ian Shaw as he walked into his own office and turned to Shaw.
“What does chacun á son goût mean?”
“You’ve been listening to the old man.”
“Yes, you told me once what it meant and I also looked it up, but I’ve forgotten it.”
“I looked it up in a French - English dictionary when he used it in front of me,” Shaw replied. “He was talking to somebody on the telephone. It means ‘each to his own’!
“Ah!” Ruddock nodded sagely and made a note on his pad. “Yes, I remember now. I’ll note it down for the next time he uses it.”
Ruddock studied the Accrington file at length for the rest of the afternoon. It made very interesting reading and he found himself becoming fascinated by it.
Ruddock had not had much to do with John Accrington’s affairs previously, which were mainly handled by Matthew Pelham. The file related to John Accrington, who with Kenneth Bilston had started an office equipment company in the late 1950’s in Leicester, which had then moved to Staines in Middlesex when it became larger and they wanted to be nearer to the commercial hub. They initially made spare parts for office machinery, adding machines, typewriters and the like, and as that industry grew in the post war period so did their business. In the 1970’s they diversified, they realised as computers began to dominate the scene more and more that office machinery was likely to undergo a complete upgrade and change. Similar conclusions had also been reached by the typewriter giant IBM who at that time had decided to sell their still profitable typewriter arm and move into computers. Accrington and Bilston had also anticipated the change and created a department for making and repairing computer equipment. However, as time progressed they also off-loaded their typewriter and