Free Cherringham--Snowblind by Neil Richards

armchair by the fire and gestured for him to sit back in the sofa too.
    “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you, Mr. Brennan,” said Leacock.
    “Oh really?”
    “Absolutely. I assume you are here to talk about Broadmead?”
    “Broadmead, yes. And the death of Mr. Archy Fleming.”
    “Mr. Fleming, yes, of course. God. Terrible. Tragic. Awful — we were all so upset to hear about that …”
    “I bet.”
    Jack watched Richard Leacock as he finally picked up on Jack’s attitude.
    A little light bulb going off.
    “Mr. Brennan — am I right in thinking that you hold me — or perhaps my company — in some way accountable for the desperately sad events of the last few days?”
    Jack shrugged.
    “You’re the boss of Hearthstone. Hearthstone owns Broadmead. Broadmead is so badly staffed and resourced that a vulnerable old man was allowed to leave the house in the middle of a blizzard, and his absence was only noticed when police reported they’d found his body.” Jack shook his head. “And you don’t feel responsible, Mr. Leacock?”
    “I feel desperately sorry, of course. And angry about the death—”
    “But not responsible?”
    Jack watched Leacock get up from the sofa and walk to the windows, where he stood for a few seconds, then turned.
    “I hadn’t expected you to be so hostile, Mr. Brennan.”
    “Are you kidding me? You living up here, like this — and the people in that home in the cold, the dark, no heating, no light …”
    “I had no idea — no one told me that they lost power. I pay people—”
    “Pay them a ton, do you?”
    Again Leacock stopped. “I … did not … know.”
    “You know, if I hear that one more time — ‘had no idea,’ ‘not my responsibility.’”
    Jack was getting angry.
    He’d like to deck the guy, right here in his cosy living room.
    Instead, he took a breath. Anger would not be helpful here.
    “Okay, Mr. Leacock — you said you were glad to see me. Now why would that be?”
    Jack watched Leacock as he walked back to the armchair and sat down.
    “Well, to be honest, I thought you were here to help me.”
    “Help? Interesting. Why the hell should I help you?”“Perhaps if I explain the … architecture … of all this, it might be clearer?”
    “Architecture? Go ahead, I’m listening.”
    “I own Hearthstone — right? Or rather, there’s a trust in my name which owns Hearthstone—”
    “In the Cayman Islands, let me guess …”
    “Channel Islands, actually, but yes — anyway that’s a side issue — so Hearthstone has a portfolio of investments and one family of those is healthcare — expanding sector you know, very good yields — and a small part of that family is Broadmead Grange.”
    Leacock now sounded like he was sitting in a board meeting somewhere, rattling off information.
    “Broadmead is one of ten homes across the UK all owned and run by Broadmead Enterprises which has its own management structure, or rather it did until half way through last year when the homes were split into two smaller groups under different management teams—”
    “Whoa, whoa, whoa — Mr. Leacock, you’re losing me with the ‘who owns what’. Just what is your point?”
    “Sorry, sorry. Okay, here’s the point. Theoretically, I own Broadmead. But I have no involvement. I’ve never even been there. There’s supposed to be a management team — but half of them were … asked to resign about six months ago and apparently they’ve not been replaced.”
    “So you’re telling me that nobody’s running the place?”
    “As far as I know, the senior nurse—”
    “Shirley Woods?”
    “Yes, that’s her. Though apparently she is also taking legal action against Broadmead on various counts—”
    “What? The person running things is suing the people who own it?”
    “Least that’s what I hear from the board of Broadmead.”
    “She didn’t tell me that.”
    “I’m not surprised. It’s probably in her interest if the place gets into trouble