Chapter Five-1
999 Words
Chapter Five
RAFFERTY WAS IN HIS office early on Thursday, He had asked Hal Gallagher for the personnel files and he wanted to go through them, learn something of the staff before he spoke to them later in the morning.
Apart from the files of the firm’s current staff, he had also obtained those of the staff who had left between the death of Robert Aimhurst and the murder of Clive Barstaple. He was thankful there had been no more than three such departures, thankful, too, that, having reached the superstitiously significant figure of three deaths, they must now have reached the week’s total cadaver tally. It was a comforting thought and one he confided to Llewellyn as he arrived with the canteen tea. ‘I know that with its two corpses, yesterday was decidedly gutty, but let’s look on the bright side. We’re three corpses up and should be safe from any more—for this week at least.’
As the Welshman didn’t share his superstitious beliefs, Rafferty was surprised when, after putting the tea down on the desk, Llewellyn nodded and remarked, ‘Yesterday was a Dismal Day, so—’
‘You can say that again,’ Rafferty broke in, and waved at his office window and the sodden grey sky. ‘And, weather-wise at least, it doesn’t look as if today’s going to be any better. February—the dreariest month of the year. Ma reckons her daffodil bulbs have rotted.’ He scowled. ‘Bloody weather.’
‘I was actually referring to yesterday’s date,’ Llewellyn told him, ‘not its events or the weather. The 26th of February is one of the so-called Dismal Days of the year. Each month has two, traditionally regarded as evil or unlucky days. Comes from the Latin “Dies mali”.’
‘Might have known you’d drag those ancient Romans in somehow,’ said Rafferty. ‘It was certainly a dismal day for Clive Barstaple,’ he added, in an attempt to deflect Llewellyn from sounding off on his favourite topic. It was a forlorn hope. Llewellyn had connected with the part of his brain where he stored such edifying titbits and was not to be diverted from sharing the benefits of a superior education with Rafferty.
‘If my memory serves me correctly,’ he said, ‘they’re also known as Egyptian Days; though there are two views on why that should be so. Some say they had been computed by Egyptian astrologers, others say they were connected with the plagues of Egypt.’
Rafferty forced a smile as grey as the day. ‘I wonder what view our esteemed cadaver would favour? It certainly sounds as if Clive Barstaple was a past master at making plagues of enemies.’
He sat on the edge of his desk, dislodging the pile of staff files which began to totter. Llewellyn rescued them as Rafferty expanded. ‘From what Hal Gallagher said, Barstaple had succeeded in persuading some of the staff at Aimhurst and Son to leave. Without redundancy pay, of course. The rest, he’d apparently intimidated and browbeaten to such an extent they must have been on the verge of doing likewise. Barstaple seems to have been a thoroughly nasty piece of work. Who could blame them if one of them decided to rationalise him?’
‘‘Oderint dum metuant’.’ Llewellyn was off again. ‘‘Let them hate, provided they fear,”’ he translated. ‘A method of man-management attributed to the Emperor Tiberius. In this case, of course, it must have suited Barstaple’s brief very well. A frightened workforce is not usually the most efficient, which would have given him the excuse he needed to dispense with their services.’
Rafferty nodded. ‘Dangerous balancing act though—keeping the fear greater than the hate. Get it wrong and puff, you’re dead, as this particular exponent of the bully-boy school of business ethics discovered. Still,’ he frowned, ‘Plumley was right about one thing. If Watts and Cutley were determined to wriggle out of their commitment to keep Aimhurst’s staff on the payroll they’d have only taken some other rationalisation expert on to do Barstaple’s job. Whoever killed him must have realised that.’
‘You said yourself that reason doesn’t always enter into it. After weeks of stress, worry and insecurity their hatred would naturally have focused on Barstaple himself. After all, he was the one making their lives miserable.’
Rafferty nodded. ‘You know, I’ve been congratulating myself that our line-up of suspects is naturally limited to current staff at Aimhursts, the recently fired, and anyone he was intimate with in his personal life. But I don’t reckon we’re going to be that lucky.’
Obligingly, Llewellyn quirked an enquiring eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Simply this. We know visitors to the premises have to sign in, but who – exactly – would be regarded as visitors? I doubt other employees in the group at large would bother with such a formality. And another thing—maybe Barstaple wasn’t the only person to have changed jobs recently. What I mean is, maybe someone from his past – someone with a grudge against him – also changed jobs. Barstaple was, by all accounts, very successful at what he did, and Watts and Cutley has quite a number of subsidiaries. Sounds to me like there could be a fair number of people with reason to hate Barstaple. I wonder what would be the chances of one of them ending up at one of those subsidiaries? We daren’t ignore the possibility.’
Llewellyn’s less emotional temperament took the fact in his stride. ‘But it should be easy enough to find out. We’ve got the details of Barstaple’s previous consultancy appointments—do you want me to get on to their personnel managers and ask for the details of the relevant staff?’
Rafferty nodded. ‘It may be a long shot, but it’s worth a try. After all, nasty pieces of work like Barstaple don’t become nasty overnight.’
Llewellyn nodded. ‘Juvenal said something similar in his ‘Satires’.’
‘Smart bloke old Juvenal,’ Rafferty broke in quickly before Llewellyn could get launched on another erudite quotation. ‘Talk about great minds thinking alike, hey?’ Llewellyn made no comment as to the greatness of Rafferty’s mind. Instead, he said, ‘I’ll make a start on checking with the other firms for whom Barstaple worked as a consultant.’ He paused. ‘I imagine you’ll want someone put on to investigating the animal rights angle?’
‘It’ll probably be another dead end, but like the previous victims of his rationalising, it’s got to be checked out. Ring Plumley and Gallagher. Find out what form this threat took—if it was a letter and they still have it, ask for it.’ He walked round the desk, sat down and dragged the pile of staff files towards him. ‘While you do that, I’ll plough on with these.’
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