As the Crow Flies
“He’s right,” said Daphne. “You’ll have to try, Charlie, for the long-term good of the company you founded.” She added quietly, “However much it hurts.”
Becky nodded her agreement and Charlie turned to ask Jessica to make an appointment with Trentham at his earliest convenience. Jessica returned a few minutes later to let the board know that Nigel Trentham had no interest in seeing any of them before the March board meeting, when he would be happy to accept their resignations in person.
“Seventh of March: two years to the day since the death of his mother,” Charlie reminded the board.
“And Mr. Roberts is holding for you on the other line,” Jessica reported.
Charlie rose and strode out of the room. The moment he reached the phone he grabbed at it as a drowning sailor might a lifeline. “Roberts, what have you got for me?”
“Guy Trentham!”
“But he’s already buried in a grave in Ashurst.”
“But not before his body was removed from
a jail in Melbourne.”
“A jail? I thought he died of tuberculosis.”
“I don’t think you can die of tuberculosis while you’re hanging from the end of a six-foot rope, Sir Charles.”
“Hanged?”
“For the murder of his wife, Anna Helen,” said the solicitor.
“But did they have any children?”
“There’s no way of knowing the answer to that.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It’s against the law for the prison service to release the names of the next of kin to anyone.”
“But why, for heaven’s sake?”
“For their own protection.”
“But this could only be to their benefit.”
“They’ve heard that one before. Indeed, I have had it pointed out to me that in this particular case we’ve already advertised for claimants from one coast to the other. What’s worse, if any of Trentham’s offspring had changed their name, for understandable reasons, we’ve little chance of tracing him or her at all. But be assured I’m still working flat out on it, Sir Charles.”
“Get me an interview with the chief of police.”
“It won’t make any difference, Sir Charles. He won’t—” began Roberts, but Charlie had already hung up.
“You’re mad,” said Becky, as she helped her husband pack a suitcase an hour later.
“True,” agreed Charlie. “But this may well be the last chance I have of keeping control of the company, and I’m not willing to do it on the end of a phone, let alone twelve thousand miles away. I have to be there myself, so at least I know it’s me who’s failed and not a third party.”
“But what exactly are you hoping to find when you get there?”
Charlie looked across at his wife as he fastened his suitcase. “I suspect only Mrs. Trentham knows the answer to that.”
CHAPTER
44
When thirty-four hours later on a warm, sunlit evening, Flight 012 touched down at Kingsford Smith Airport in Sydney, Charlie felt what he most needed was a good night’s sleep. After he had checked through customs he was met by a tall young man dressed in a light beige suit who stepped forward and introduced himself as Trevor Roberts, the lawyer who had been recommended by Baverstock. Roberts had thick, rusty-colored hair and an even redder complexion. He was of a solid build and looked as if he might still spend his Saturday afternoons in a different type of court. He immediately took over Charlie’s laden trolley and pushed it smartly towards the exit marked “car park.”