Free Some by Fire by Stuart Pawson Page B

five-eighty pence. Not bad, eh? Seven years ago they were giving away shares in the Alpha Brig oilfield after borehole samples were analysed and the predictions made the whole thing look like a white elephant. JJ Fox bought up every available share and blow me if it didn’t turn out to be a software fault and the samples were promising after all. Everybody agrees that the water companies have a licence to print money, but last year was the driest on record and things looked dodgy for a while. When a technician put a decimal point in the wrong place and tipped a hundred times too much concentrated aluminium sulphate into the Tipley Valley supply, five thousand people were made ill. Tipley Water shares plummeted but this year they are predicting a record dividend. Guess who suddenly became a major shareholder? I could go on and on and on, Mr Priest.’ He sat back and waited for a reaction.
    I wasn’t happy. The midges were bothering me, my beer was warm and I didn’t like his story. I had no doubts that Fox was a crook, but so what? Everybody in his position must have done something mean and nasty as they fought their way up the heap. Nicepeople didn’t make it because they couldn’t do it. Well, that was my excuse. ‘So what’s all this to do with the fire?’ I asked.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, leaning forward. ‘I get carried away. It’s all been bottled up inside me for so long. Back in 1975 Fox was just making his mark nationally. He’d been involved in several contracts with a certain company of planners working on town centre developments. I’d been looking into his activities for a number of years, when I was in local government, and didn’t like what I was seeing. I asked questions in the House about him, and wanted him to appear before a select committee to explain his apparent good fortune. Proving what I knew was difficult, as I’m sure you appreciate, and I couldn’t voice my allegations outside the House, but I wanted his replies on record. The fire, like so many events, came at a very opportune moment for Mr Fox.’
    I wished that we had the power of parliamentary privilege to shelter behind, and said: ‘You’re saying he started the fire to discredit you?’
    ‘Not personally, Mr Priest. He didn’t start the fire personally. He has a network of recruits to do his dirty work for him, but he gave the orders. It’s the only explanation. The technician with Tipley Water is currently on a Reynard management training scheme. The computer programmer with Alpha Brig escaped the sack and moved to a systems analystpost in the Reynard Organisation, until he died in an accident. Fox looks after his friends, one way or another.’
    ‘Can you put all this in writing for me?’ I asked. It’s a simple enough theory. Someone pops in and gives you a lifetime’s work, so you bounce it straight back at them by suggesting they put it all in writing. Often, you never hear from them again.
    ‘It’s all here,’ he said, delving into his inside pocket and producing a bundle of papers and envelopes.
    Ah well, I thought, it was never much of a theory. I pointed at his empty glass. ‘Same again?’
    ‘Oh, er, yes please.’
    I meandered to the bar and ordered a pint of orange juice for myself. I’d tell him I’d ask around, do what I could, but I’d only be stalling him. Fox might be as guilty as hell, we might even prove it, but we’d never get near a conviction. His lawyers would tie us in knots, spin things out for years, cost the taxpayer a fortune and we’d be accused of wasting public money by pursuing a man who gave employment to thousands. He would be left whiter than white. Perhaps, they’d concede, some of his staff were over enthusiastic in their desire to see Reynard do well, but that was the unfortunate reverse side of loyalty… We were on a hiding to sod-all.
    I placed his beer in front of him and sat down. The three ladies were poring over the menus again,their empty dinner plates in a