And Thereby Hangs a Tale

“You never forget your first case,” sighed Hadman, “but I fear this one won’t be something to excite your grandchildren with. My company has insured the Lomax family from the day they first opened shop in 1892, and the few claims they’ve made over the years have never raised an eyebrow at head office, which is more than I can say for some of my other clients.”

“Mr. Lomax,” said Alan, “can I say how sorry I am that we have to meet in such distressing circumstances?” That was always Colin’s opening line, and Alan added, “It must be heartbreaking to lose your family business after so many years.” He watched Lomax carefully to see how he would react.

“I’ll just have to learn to live with it, won’t I?” said Lomax, who didn’t look at all heartbroken. In fact, he appeared remarkably relaxed for someone who’d just lost his livelihood but had still found the time to shave that morning.

“No need for you to hang round, old fellow,” said Hadman. “I’ll have my report on your desk by Wednesday, Thursday at the latest, and then the bargaining can begin.”

“Can’t see why there should be any need for bargaining,” snapped Lomax. “My policy is fully paid up, and as the world can see, I’ve lost everything.”

“Except for the tiny matter of insurance policies totaling round four million pounds,” said Alan after he’d drained his orange juice. Neither Lomax nor Hadman commented as he placed his empty glass on the bar. He shook hands with them both again and left without another word.

“Something isn’t right,” Alan said out loud as he walked slowly back to the site. What made it worse was that he had a feeling Colin would have spotted it by now. He briefly considered paying a visit to the local police station, but if the fire officer and the insurance representative weren’t showing any concern, there wasn’t much chance of the police opening an inquiry. Alan could hear the chief inspector saying, “I’ve got enough real crimes to solve without having to follow up one of your ‘something doesn’t feel right’ hunches.”

As Alan climbed behind the wheel of his car, he repeated, “Something isn’t right.”

________

Alan arrived back in Fulham just in time for lunch. Anne didn’t seem particularly interested in how he’d spent his Sunday morning, until he mentioned the word shoes. She then began to ask him lots of questions, one of which gave him an idea.

At nine o’clock the following morning, Alan was standing outside the claim manager’s office. “No, I haven’t read your report,” Roy Kerslake said, even before Alan had sat down.

“That might be because I haven’t written it yet,” said Alan with a grin. “But then, I’m not expecting to get a copy of the fire report or the insurance evaluation before the end of the week.”

“Then why are you wasting my time?” asked Kerslake, not looking up from behind a foot-high pile of files.

“I’m not convinced the Lomax case is quite as straightforward as everyone on the ground seems to think it is.”

“Have you got anything more substantial to go on other than a gut feeling?”

“Don’t let’s forget my vast experience,” said Alan.

“So what do you expect me to do about it?” asked Kerslake, ignoring the sarcasm.

“There isn’t a great deal I can do before the written reports land on my desk, but I was thinking of carrying out a little research of my own.”

“I smell a request for expenses,” said Kerslake, looking up for the first time. “You’ll need to justify them before I’ll consider parting with a penny.”

Alan told him in great detail what he had in mind, which resulted in the claims manager putting his pen down.

“I will not advance you a penny until you come up with something more than a gut feeling by the next time I see you. Now go away and let me get on with my job. . . . By the way,” he said as Alan opened the door, “if I remember correctly, this is your first time flying solo?”

“That’s right,” said Alan, but he’d closed the door before he could hear Kerslake’s response.

“Well, that explains everything.”

Alan drove back to Romford later that morning, hoping that a second visit to the site mig

ht lift the scales from his eyes, but still all he could see were the charred remains of a once-proud company. He walked slowly across the deserted site, searching for the slightest clue, and was pleased to find nothing.

At one o’clock he returned to the King’s Arms, hoping that Des Lomax and Bill Hadman wouldn’t be propping up the bar as he wanted to chat to one or two locals in the hope of picking up any gossip that was doing the rounds.

He plonked himself down on a stool in the middle of the bar and ordered a pint and a plowman’s lunch. It didn’t take him long to work out who were the regulars and who, like him, were passing trade. He noticed that one of the regulars was reading about the fire in the local paper.

“That must have been quite a sight,” said Alan, pointing to the photograph of a warehouse in flames, which took up most of the front page of the Romford Recorder.

“I wouldn’t know,” said the man after draining his glass. “I was tucked up in bed at the time, minding my own business.”

“Sad, though,” said Alan, “an old family company like that going up in flames.”