And Thereby Hangs a Tale

“Romford,” he replied.

Anne tried to focus on the digital clock on her side of the bed.

“At ten past eight on a Sunday morning?” she said with a groan.

Alan leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Go back to sleep, I’ll tell you all about it over lunch.” He quickly left the room before she could question him any further.

Even though it was a Sunday morning, he calculated that it would take him about an hour to get to Romford. At least he could use the time to think about the phone conversation he’d just had with the duty reports officer.

Alan had joined Redfern & Ticehurst as a trainee actuary soon after he’d qualified as a loss adjuster. Although he’d been with the firm for over two years, the partners were such a conservative bunch that this was the first time they’d allowed him to cover a case without his supervisor, Colin Crofts.

Colin had taught him a lot during the past two years, and it was one of his comments, oft repeated, that sprang to Alan’s mind as he headed along the A12 toward Romford: “You never forget your first case.”

All the reports officer had told him over the phone were the basic facts. A warehouse in Romford had caught fire during the night and by the time the local brigade had arrived, there wasn’t a lot that could be done other than to dampen down the embers. Old buildings like that often go up like a tinderbox, the reports officer said matter-of-factly.

The policy holders, Lomax Shoes (Import and Export) Ltd., had two insurance policies,

one for the building, and the other for its contents, each of them for approximately two million pounds. The reports officer didn’t consider it to be a complicated assignment, which was probably why he allowed Alan to cover the case without his supervisor.

Even before he reached Romford, Alan could see where the site must be. A plume of black smoke was hovering above what was left of the hundred-year-old company. He parked in a side street, exchanged his shoes for a pair of Wellington boots and headed toward the smoldering remains of Lomax Shoes (Import and Export) Ltd. The smoke was beginning to disperse, the wind blowing it in the direction of the east coast. Alan walked slowly, because Colin had taught him that it was important to take in first impressions.

When he reached the site, there was no sign of any activity other than a fire crew who were packing up and preparing to return to brigade headquarters. Alan tried to avoid the puddles of sooty water as he made his way across to the engine. He introduced himself to the duty officer.

“So where’s Colin?” the man asked.

“He’s on holiday,” Alan replied.

“That figures. I can’t remember when I last saw him on a Sunday morning. And he usually waits for my report before he visits the site.”

“I know,” said Alan. “But this is my first case, and I was hoping to have it wrapped up before Colin comes back from his holiday.”

“You never forget your first case,” said the fire officer as he climbed up into the cab. “Mind you, this one’s unlikely to make any headlines, other than in the Romford Recorder. I certainly won’t be recommending a police inquiry.”

“So there’s no suggestion of arson?” said Alan.

“No, none of the usual tell-tale signs to indicate that,” said the officer. “I’m betting the cause of the fire will turn out to be faulty wiring. Frankly, the whole electrical system should have been replaced years ago.” He paused and looked back at what remained of the site. “It was just fortunate for us that it was an isolated building and the fire broke out in the middle of the night.”

“Was there anyone on the premises at the time?”

“No, Lomax sacked the night watchman about a year ago. Just another victim of the recession. It will all be in my report.”

“Thanks,” said Alan. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen any sign of the rep from the insurance company?” he asked as the fire chief slammed his door closed.

“If I know Bill Hadman, he’ll be setting up his office in the nearest pub. Try the King’s Arms on Napier Road.”

Alan spent the next hour walking round the waterlogged site searching for any clue that might prove the fire chief wrong. He wasn’t able to find anything, but he couldn’t help feeling that something wasn’t right. To start with, where was Mr. Lomax, the owner, whose business had just gone up in smoke? And why wasn’t the insurance agent anywhere to be seen, when he was going to have to pay out four million pounds of his company’s money? Whenever things didn’t add up, Colin always used to say, “It’s often not what you do see that matters, but what you don’t see.”

After another half-hour of not being able to work out what it was he couldn’t see, Alan decided to take the fire chief’s advice and headed for the nearest pub.

When he walked into the King’s Arms just before eleven, there were only two customers seated at the bar, and one of them was clearly holding court.

“Good morning, young man,” said Bill Hadman. “Come and join us. By the way, this is Des Lomax. I’m trying to help him drown his sorrows.”

“It’s a bit early for me,” said Alan after shaking hands with both men, “but as I didn’t have any breakfast this morning, I’ll settle for an orange juice.”

“It’s unusual to see someone from your office on site this early.”

“Colin’s on holiday and it’s my first case.”