HOOKER:
Fire & Water
David Scott
Copyright © David Scott 2011
Published at Smashwords
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
It is almost too dark to see the river as she hurries over the bridge. But she can sense it’s presence, a huge, ominous black snake, slithering it’s way out of the little town of Brandale.
Soon she would be leaving there too, thank God.
It’s late, after 11.00 p.m. now, and freezing. Already a frost is starting to form, and a slight fog blurs the distant street lamps.
The only sound, other than a slight ripple from the river is the clack of her high heels on the flag stones.
She slows as she reaches the steps at the end of the bridge and carefully descends to the riverbank below. She isn’t really dressed for this weather, party dress and high heels. Not really her style, but it was expected at these events, and she had to be there. She’d had a job to do, unfinished business.
She folds her arms across her chest to fend off the cold, should have taken a coat, but she’d been in such a rush. But she’d done what she came to do. Now, despite the denials, the truth would be out and they could move on.
Yes, it hadn’t all been bad. She had come here for the worst of reasons but gained so much.
She quickens her pace again and continues back along the river bank towards the hotel. She can see the coloured lights from it’s windows, despite the fog, and hear the hum of the music. They would all be slowing getting pissed now, oblivious to what had been going on around them.
Soon she would be back inside and putting and end to all that.
“Rachel!”
She almost stumbles as a figure steps out of the shadows in front of her, blocking the path.
She sees the familiar face and relaxes, “Oh it’s you, thank God. I was coming to see you …”
“Yes I know.”
“What…”
An arm flashes out to her face and something hard catches her a glancing blow across the forehead, stunning her.
Her eye’s blur as the scene changes from black to red. Instinctively her hand goes up to her head, she feels something wet, sticky, she feels faint, nauseous.
She staggers back towards the river.
The figure steps forward, determined hands push her, hard.
Her foot slips on the river’s edge.
She falls, hits the icy water, the shock of the cold drives the breath from her lungs.
Her mouth fills with cold, dirty water and quickly she passes out, then slowly, slowly, passes away.
The killer watches her body sink, face down, then drift away downstream.
They look down. Only a shoe is left on the bank. It is quickly kicked in after it’s owner and the rock that stunned her tossed casually after it.
The figured scowls triumphantly down at the water and gently curses, “Good riddance.”
CHAPTER 1
Tuesday 1st January
The girl beamed her smile directly at him, like some kind of irresistible weapon. It was dazzling. Perfect white teeth set against an olive, almost Mediterranean, complexion. He silky black hair had a natural curl and swayed as she moved and spoke.
Marc Hooker was mesmerised. It was rare to see such a beautiful creature outside of a cinema or the pages of a glossy magazine. But there she was, seemingly close enough to touch, and with a natural sincerity that made him feel she was speaking just to him. Her moist, full lips had a sensuality that in itself made you want to listen to whatever she was saying. Hooker sat expectantly.
“This is the new Rambler, compact folding caravan from High Peak Trailers!” she enthused.
Hooker had never expected to see anyone look so excited over a caravan, nor to find himself actually wanting to listen. Perhaps the woolly jumper brigade knew something he didn’t. But this girl was not your average camper. No, not by any means.
She charged on with her sales pitch. “Our twenty five years experience in the trailer industry has allowed us to produce the perfect folding caravan for couples or smaller families who want to get touring for the first time!”
“It’s small and light enough to be towed easily by a small family car, and you don’t have to be the worlds strongest man to manoeuvre it!” To demonstrate she bent over and unhooked the trailer from the pale blue Audi A4 Cabriolet it had been coupled to and effortlessly wheeled it a couple of feet away, dropping some kind of dolly wheel as she set it down.
“There, that’s nice,” she said.
You can say that again, thought Hooker who had been more interested in watching her pert behind tense as she strained to manoeuvre.
Still he had to concede that there might be more point in having a young girl do the demonstration than just to provide a bit of glamour. When he and partner Suzy had hired a trailer to move out of the flat and into the new house he had been knackered trying to move it around. This girl couldn’t be more than five foot two and she handled the caravan like it was a toy.
Hands on hips the girl flashed him a self-satisfied smile and ploughed on. “It takes literally minutes to set up,” she said. Inserting a key to unlock the caravan, she began to demonstrate.
The top cover split horizontally in two down the middle and was hinged at each end. The girl came around to his side of the caravan and, in turn, slid each side of the cover up to form two of the walls. Then she busied herself unpacking the side walls, which slid up from the sides and the roof until the entire area was enclosed. It was basically a cross between a caravan and a folding shed on wheels.
“It comes with beds and cooking equipment ready set up, even a loo and shower,” she assured him.
To Hooker it still looked like a gigantic dolls house. Although he enjoyed holidays he preferred staying in hotels and wasn’t even that keen on self-catering. He assumed people like his mate Ged, who enjoyed camping ,liked roughing it. This veritable palace on wheels might defeat even that object.
All the same this girl was hardly your typical camper, Hooker reflected. If there were more women like her at campsites and less who seemed to shave more than he did he might be tempted to give it a go himself.
He continued to admire the girl as she carried on talking him through the setting up of this Xanadu of the camping world. She looked fit and athletic in her slacks and tight fitting, T-shirt. Her long, silky black hair swished alluringly around her oval face as she moved about the caravan. All the time flashing him that deadly smile. Hooker admired her figure as she leaned and stretched, making the whole exercise look like some kind of aerobic workout. He had never dreamed caravaning could be so fascinating to anyone under fifty.
He was so enthralled in fact that he barely noticed the phone ringing impatiently behind him. Suddenly the girl froze.
“Hey, I was watching that!” he protested to Suzy, his partner, in mock outrage.
Suzy Spencer tossed him the DVD remote control. “Sorry Marc. It might be my boss. Don’t want him to hear your porno’ movies playing in the background, do we?”
“Promo! Anyway it’s New Years day? Don’t you two ever wind down?” Hooker hated Suzy’s boss Adrian Robson. He was one of these dynamic, go-getter types who never seemed to be off duty and everyone thought was a really great bloke. Sickening.
“Shh!” Suzy impatiently waved him to be quiet as she picked up the receiver. Her free hand on her hip her stance emphasised her height and her curves. Unfortunately he hadn’t seen much of them unwrapped recently.
Hooker sank back into the sofa and began to flick disconsolately through the brochure and other marketing bits and bobs High Peak Trailers had given him in addition to the promotional DVD he had been watching. He supposed he ought to be grateful, he’d been lucky to drop on some temporary work at this time of year. Nice of his former employers, Autotech, to make him redundant just before Christmas. Picking up this temporary contract was one in the eye for them at least. But it hadn’t kept Suzy off his back for long. When she first heard he had found some work, just before Christmas Eve, she had seemed delighted. But she quickly changed her mind, badgering about finding something more secure through the whole of the holiday. What was he supposed to do? No one was recruiting this time of year.
Still he knew deep down that he should be working on the business plan for the sports coffee bar he’s been working up for a couple of years. At thirty-two he was starting to feel like life had passed him by already. He really must get weaving. He started to go over the “to do” list in his mind. First off identifying premises. Location, location, location, that was the key to success for any retail operation. Second get some fit out designs and costing done, need to know the capital outlay. Then start looking at the staffing structure, running cost, suppliers etc. The marketing side would be easy, for him at any rate….
“Oi, it’s for you!” Suzy was holding the telephone receiver in front of his face. He came back to reality again, looked at the phone, then at Suzy.
“You’re new boss, Nat,” she whispered. Nathalie Wilson, Marketing Manager at High Peak Trailers. With his luck they she was probably ringing to tell him they had changed their minds. Apprehensively, he took the receiver.
“Hello, Marc Hooker.” He tried to sound unconcerned.
“Marc, its Nat, from HPT.” A slightly Sloaney accent he thought, more so on the phone, but they probably all talk like that were she comes from, down in Surrey somewhere. Certainly not a Northerner.
He raised his eyebrows to the ceiling for Suzy’s benefit, “Hello, Nathalie, how are you? Did you have a good break?”
“Such as it was,” she sighed, “ended up taking a lot of work home, what with the exhibition coming up.”
Nat he gathered had been something high up in the marketing department of some blue chip financial services company and had been appointed by High Peak Trailers about eighteen months ago. Possibly because the Managing Director, Frank Quinn, who was a self-made man in the old fashioned sense didn’t know any better. At his interview he’d suspected Frank thought marketing was something you just got in, like cleaners. Hooker was dubious about how effective Nathalie would be in a metal bashing industry like trailer manufacturing. He’d seen the type at Autotech. They’d come in with loads of qualifications, experience in massive departments, with budgets to match and get nothing achieved in the real world where everything was done on a shoe string. Still, he’d keep an open mind.
“Anyway,” Nathalie continued, “I know you’re starting with us tomorrow.” She paused as if waiting for confirmation.
“Yes, yes, looking forward to it,” he said hastily. He turned to avoid the eyes of Suzy who had seated herself in one of the easy chairs pretending not to listed.
“Well,” Nathalie continued, “I’ve got a meeting first thing so I just wondered if it was possible for you to come in a little later as it’s your first day, about 9.30?”
“9.30? That should be fine,” He confirmed.
“Ok, I’ll see you then. Just ask for me at reception and I’ll show you the ropes. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” he echoed and they both hung up.
“Everything ok?” asked Suzy.
“Yeah, just wanted to tell me to turn up a little later ‘cos she’s got some meeting first thing. Likes to let everyone know how busy and important she is I guess,” he said. “A bit like your boss Adrian.”
“Checking you were still turning up, more likely,” said Suzy, ignoring the dig at her boss.
“Are you saying I’m unreliable?”
“Is the Pope a Catholic?” she retorted.
“Cheeky mare.” They both smiled, but Suzy’s seemed a little forced. He had the impression she was only half joking when she baited him lately.
“Anyway, what is this crap you’re watching? she asked, nodding in the direction of the TV which still held the slightly startled, frozen image of the young actress.
“Oh, it’s the first edit of the promotional DVD for this folding caravan they’re launching. The Rambler.” He waved the paperwork he had been scanning earlier as he spoke.
“They are all in a bit of a panic over it apparently,” he continued. “The girl they had doing their marketing for it got killed in an accident just before Christmas, leaving half a job done. It’s being launched at the NEC in Birmingham in less than a fortnight. Hence yours truly to the rescue.”
“Yes, you were saying,” said Suzy, pushing her blond hair behind her ear. “it doesn’t sound a very good place.” She continued to stare at the girl on the TV and they both fell silent.
He returned his attention temporarily to the paperwork he had been reading. He had intended to study this over Christmas in the hope of looking knowledgeable when he started. But who really works over Christmas and New Year?
Suddenly Suzy got up without a word and headed out of the room.
“Making a brew?” he asked, hopefully.
She didn’t answer instead he heard the door of the cupboard under the stairs open followed by the sound of Suzy generally rooting around.
So he got up himself, eased past Suzy’s attractive behind, which he had seen far too little of recently, and walked into the kitchen. He filled the kettle, then leaving it to boil wandered back towards the lounge. Leaning against the doorframe he looked again at the TV with the sexy girl frozen in time.
He thought about reading a little more of the book about the Kennedy assassination he had treated himself to as a reward for finding this job. But he really needed to get this caravan stuff read.
Sighing he ran his hand through his dark blond hair and admired himself in the mirror as he listened to the kettle whirring away to itself. Not bad looking if he did say so himself, not a classically handsome face but by no means ugly. But he looked tired and drawn, not how he wanted to start a new job. The stress of the redundancy had taken it’s toll despite the fact that he had been on about leaving Autotech for years.
Suzy was still rummaging though the newspaper recycling bag. Suddenly she re-emerged.
“I thought so!” she half shouted, “Hooker you plank!” He turned to face her, taking a step forward and they met in the middle of the hall.
“That’s her!” She held up an old newspaper she had retrieved from under the stairs. “Her, you’ve been ogling on the TV. That’s the girl you’re taking over from.”
She held the paper up to him. Underneath the headline “Girl Drowns After Office Party” there was a photo. It was obviously a professional shot, as she was posed for the camera with a plain backdrop, not the candid, animated shot frozen on the TV screen but it was unmistakably the same girl.
The girl who had held his attention so completely on the DVD he had just been watching, who had seemed so full of life, wasn’t an actress, she was Rachel Mills the dead girl he was replacing tomorrow.
CHAPTER 2
Wednesday 2nd January
It took about half an hour for the BMW to cruise the eleven miles from their home in Marple on the out skirts of Stockport to the High Peak Trailers factory in Brandale, near Glossop, on the edge of the Peak District. It was only the 2nd January, the first day back at work after the Christmas break. The schools were still off and many people would be enjoying an extended holiday. So the traffic on the winding country lanes, through the villages like Charlesworth, had been light.
But the weather was bleak. There had been a frost to scrape off the car that morning and the sky was overcast and threatening.
“Looks like it’s trying to snow,” Suzy observed as they’d left the house that morning. Indeed the tops of the peaks were already crowned with white and at one point on the journey traces of sleet smeared the windscreen.
So he’d taken the drive slowly. Truth be told he’d never liked driving these roads anyway. Not so much the constant, dangerous bends or even the patches of frost but the drops on one or other side of the car didn’t sit well with his fear of heights.
The BMW clung to the road well and he’d quickly relaxed. There was something about the luxurious leather seats and that new car smell that naturally put him at his ease. Usually he enjoyed his commutes to work, even if the traffic was heavy. It was his time for adjusting from home to work mode, and back again in the evening.
He enjoyed listening to music while driving too. But he didn’t have his blues CD’s with him. Something from Joe Bonamassa or Walter Trout would have been ideal to psyche him up for the first day in a new job. So he’d settled for listening to the radio, something he rarely did at home. This was a great stereo. Pity about the inconsistent reception in this part of the world. He gave up on the local music stations and eventually settled on Radio 4. Unfortunately Suzy felt the need to chip in with comments about every news item.
“How can they expect to do anything about crime while the schools let kids run riot?”
“The Americans cause most of the global warming! It’s like asking criminals to police the streets”
He nodded and made non-committal noises to all of this, he didn’t want to contradict her. She’d been on edge with him throughout the holiday period, probably worried about him being out of work. He wasn’t about to start an argument.
They entered Brandale and he took a left turn into the Industrial Estate. This took them past some smaller units housing an MOT station, a company selling gaming machines and, bizarrely, a snooker hall, then over a bridge crossing the icy river and through the gates of High Peak Trailers Ltd. He eased the BMW into a visitor’s space outside the main reception.
They both got out and Suzy came round to the driver’s side, clutching Hooker’s case.
“Well have a good day, have you got everything?” she said, handing him the case.
“You remind me of my Mum the day I started School. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll go well.”
He bent forward to kiss her; she offered only her cheek but squeezed his arm.
“Don’t get too settled, hey. Keep looking for something more permanent.”
“I will, I will,” he promised. “At least it will bring some money in.” He felt a little deflated. He thought he had done bloody well to find something so quickly. But after initially congratulating him Suzy had been arguing over Christmas, and again last night, that the job just wasn’t good enough.”
“Good luck then,” she said, at last.
“Thanks baby. You have a good day too. And drive carefully.”
Suzy got behind the wheel of the BMW and slid the electric window down.
“So what do you think of my new company car?” she asked.
“Great, just try not to damage it too soon,” he joked.
Suzy just scowled and drove off leaving him waving at thin air. She’d lost her sense of humour as well.
The car was very nice though. Pity is wasn’t his. At least things were going right for one of them. But seeing Suzy starting to fly at work, and still only twenty-nine had underlined his own predicament. Effectively out of work and only this contract with a tossing little trailer company to bring any money in.
But what Suzy didn’t seem to grasp was that the redundancy money and now a temporary job were a golden opportunity to get his own business up and running. He made a mental note to do some work on the coffee business plan that night. There was a catering exhibition at Manchester Central in a few weeks time. He would go to that, get some ideas, do a bit of networking.
He must have been lost in thought for a second. When he finally turned and headed towards reception he was slightly embarrassed to find two men observing him. One of them, the slightly older of the two, in his mid fifties or thereabouts, wore a mildly amused expression. Bizarrely, given the weather, both were is shirt sleeves and held lighted cigarettes.
“’Morning,” he nodded.
“You won’t get in yet mate,” the older man called.
Hooker paused and turned. The man gestured towards the site entrance behind him with his cigarette.
Hooker turned to look. A fire engine was just coming over the bridge, blue lights flashing but no siren, only the throaty rumble of its diesel engine heralded its arrival.
“Had a bit of a fire,” the younger man added helpfully.
Hooker’s eyes followed the red machine as it pulled up outside the main entrance to the site. Six burly and bored looking firemen disembarked and trudged into the building efficiently but with no obvious sense of urgency.
Christ that wasn’t a very good start. “Nothing serious I hope?” Hooker asked, dropping his case to the ground beside his feet and digging his hands into the pockets of his coat.
“Well I think we’d know by now if it wasn’t, mate,” the older man commented, taking a short drag on his cigarette. He was smiling and Hooker could quite decide if it was out of sarcasm or a poor attempt at geniality. The quick sideways glance to his sidekick suggested the former.
The older man was in his mid fifties, a few inches shorter than Hooker's five ten, reddish, sandy hair cut untidily and a faint trace of freckles on hid ruddy cheeks, more so on his arms.
“The fire was in the warehouse,” the younger man added, “the guard and one of my lads put it out though.”
Both men wore oily looking safety shoes. Manufacturing or engineering types Hooker decided, slotting them into his mental pigeonholes.
“You might be better coming back later mate. I doubt anyone can see you now,” the younger man continued. Taller than his mate, he had short black hair atop a slightly pock marked face. His small, sunken eyes added to the blank expression to give an air of suspicious aggression.
Obviously they’d got Hooker pigeonholed as a visiting sales rep’.
“No can do, I’m afraid,” he smiled, “I’m starting work here today, in Marketing, just on a consultancy basis, Marc Hooker.” He offered his hand. “Besides, I’ve go no transport, my other half just dropped me off. “
“Ah, marketing.” The men nodded slowly as if he had told them he was a follower of some obscure religious sect. The older man switched his cigarette to his left hand and briskly shook Hooker’s.
“Jack Thompson, Sales Office Manager,” he forced a sickly smile.
“But he spends most of his time on the shop floor under my feet,” the younger man added with his first trace of a smile. “Jeff Phillips, Production Manager.”
“Nice to meet you both.” So one production and one sales. He had been half right at least.
“So, you know much about trailers then? Worked in the industry before?” asked Thompson. His straight man, Phillips, just stared at Hooker autistically.
Hooker wanted to tell them there was a whole gigantic universe out there and trailers were a very, very, small part of it. “Sadly no,” he answered, defensively, “I worked for Autotech, on automotive leisure products, roof boxes and such like. So I think a lot of the routes to market will be the same.”
They looked at him doubtfully, slowly letting this information sink in, yet more new data to compute. Hooker wasn’t in the mood to justify himself to this pair of pillocks. It was always the same he found when you started a new job. The old guard always wanted to undermine you, especially when you were in marketing. An awkward silence fell. Hooker pulled his coat more tightly around him. For a few seconds they stood like three silent blokes at a bar, only missing their half-finished pints.
“Not the best start for you then, place on fire,” said Thompson, as if needing to fill the silence.
“Could have been worse,” reflected Hooker. “Mate of mine arrived at work on his first day, managing a DIY store and the place had burnt down!”
“Have to watch this one then Jeff,” said Thompson, amiably enough.
Hooker smiled, relaxing a little. He looked around and observed the scene around the factory. About a fifty yards away, in what must be the car park, he could now see dozens of staff huddled in small groups, some chatting, some smoking, others like them, just stood aimlessly as they awaited the all clear to return to work. A few, obviously fire marshals, clutched clip boards and looked around self consciously, worried they had missed someone.
It was an odd sort of site for a factory, he thought. Just on the outskirts of the small town of Brandale he’d driven right past the entrance to the estate on his first visit. It was easy to miss, just a gap interrupting a row of stone built terraced cottages, not even a sign indicate it was any more than a back alley.
Then past those few small industrial units and across a river and there it was, Brandale Mill. The old mill itself you could hardly see, but what there was must have been about 150 years old. It ran along one side of the river, quite picturesque in a dilapidated sort of way. Grafted onto the front of the mill however was a new office block and reception. The architect had done his best to keep within the style of the Mill, using the local stone, but it still looked odd, with all its smoked glass windows and big glass doors.
He couldn’t see anyone he recognised from his one previous visit. It had been a bit of a rush. Nineteenth of December. He’d worked at Autotech for about four years, he’d risen to Product Manager and looked after what they like to call Leisure Accessories, roof bars, roof racks, boxes etc.
But he had bigger ambitions; he wanted to start his own business. He was just using that job to pay the bills while he planned. Suzy had been less than convinced; typical accountant, no imagination. Then last summer the Autotech had sold out to a French outfit. They spent a few months nosing around then sacked a few people right at the beginning of December, including one Marc Hooker.
Bugger all jobs in the papers that time of year, of course but he’d sent his CV to a few agencies not really expecting to get anything back. But then one had rung with a temporary post, following a sudden vacancy. Now he knew it was because of the death of Rachel Mills, that lovely girl in the DVD. Pity, he wouldn’t have minded working with her.
He’d been for an interview a couple of days later. Met Nathalie Wilson and Frank Quinn, the Managing Director. Frank had seemed quite keen, the new folding caravans were his baby and he probably recognised a fellow entrepreneur. John Taylor, the Sales & Marketing Director, had only been introduced to him in passing.
They’d told him the post holder, Rachel Mills, had died, but were a bit vague about the circumstances… “and we need someone urgently to finish the launch of our new range.” Frank Quinn had then set off on a long explanation of the new folding caravans they were launching, new direction for the company blah blah blah. Hooker had let him rumble on, nodded in al the right places, feigned fascination and been offered a six-month contract. So here he was.
Just then he spotted someone he did recognise. “Oh, there’s Nathalie Wilson over there,” he told Thompson and Phillips I’m supposed to report to her so I may as well go over.”
They exchanged stiff goodbyes and Hooker picked up his case and strolled across the forecourt and over to the main car park. Mostly people ignoring him but some cast suspicious glances at the stranger in their midst. This was going to be a fun place he thought.
He wove his way through the crowd and came up at the side of Nathalie Wilson. She was staring intently at the front of the building and biting her bottom lip, an expensive looking coat wrapped tightly around her. She stood alone, perhaps another outside the clique.
“Hi,” he said lightly. She turned to face him as if waking from a trance.
“Oh hello!” she smiled.
“Just reporting for duty,” he added.
“Sorry, we’ve had some sort of fire. The firemen are just checking the place out.”
Nathalie’s smile was impressive. As tall and about the same age as Hooker, she was slim, but shapely. Her shoulder length black hair, was tucked behind her ears. Her complexion was pale, like porcelain. “So it’s completely thrown me this morning,” she concluded.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Hooker said. “We’ll soon get sorted.”
They chatted aimlessly for a few more minutes. What did you do at Christmas? The usual small talk. She wasn’t a bad looking woman, he concluded generously. Bit too tall and skinny, pale skin but nice raven hair. Good legs as well. Striking more than beautiful he would say. She had what Hooker thought of as a posh accent but probably perfectly normal for the South East where she apparently hailed from.
Finally the firemen emerged from the building and started to climb into the engine as the staff were waved back in. It was past 10.00 a.m. already.
“Look, this fire has put me behind now.” Nathalie said as they walked into reception. “So do you want to wait here for a bit while I get sorted?”
“Sure.” He planted himself on a leather settee and watched as the last few stragglers drifted back into the building. He barely received eye contact from any of them. Inside there was a distinct smell of smoke from the fire.
They’d obviously spared little expense with the décor in the reception. It was bog standard reception area stuff, but it was new, and expensive. Hanging on the walls were framed publicity shots of the product range, someone had edged them in festive tinsel. Horse boxes, industrial stuff for ferrying plant about, those big box trailers, whatever they were called, that market traders used or that people could hire when they were moving house. There was also the obligatory glass cabinet in one corner and he could just make out the Queen’s Award for Export.
“Good morning!”
He hadn’t seen her come in, a bubbly looking girl of about twenty was stood behind the reception desk, shrugging out of a red and black walking coat that seemed at least two sizes too big for her.
“Phew, great start to the New Year this is,” she added with a smile.
Returning her smile, Hooker rose and stepped over to the desk. “Hi, I’m Marc Hooker. I’m starting work here today in the marketing department. Nathalie Wilson asked me to wait here while she got sorted.”
“Oh, hello. I’m Elaine Marshall, the receptionist.” The badge pinned to her white blouse confirmed this and led his eyes, quite accidentally, of course to an interesting hint of cleavage.
When their eyes met again it was obvious she had clocked him assessing her assets. “Anything you fancy? A coffee perhaps?” There was no apparent irony.
“Err, yes, why not?” God knew how long he would be hanging around. “Black, no sugar thanks.”
He returned to his seat and watched as Elaine busied herself straightening her hair and tidying away a bright red clipboard she had left on the reception counter, she had obviously been one of the fire marshals. She took a couple of calls efficiently putting them through to whatever department, then turned and put a sachet in one of those automatic drinks making machines that Hooker could never quite get the hang of. She had a nice figure and a pretty, if slightly girlish, face crowned by carefully cut, shoulder length brown hair.
“There you go,” she picked up a cup and saucer from under the machine and passed it to him over the reception counter.
He quickly got up and collected it, “Thanks.”
Placing the saucer on the counter he lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip. Just about drinkable, he and Suzy had become coffee snobs on holiday in Europe. “Very nice,” he said. Elaine looked doubtful.
“So, what was it then?” he asked replacing his cup and leaning against the counter, “the fire I mean.”
“Oh, it was in the warehouse. Arthur on Security and one of Jeff Phillips’ blokes, that’s the Production Manager, they’d put it out by the time the firemen arrived. But once the alarms have gone off they have to come,” she added.
She had started sifting through the mail by now and was busy popping things into a bank of pigeonholes on the wall behind her desk. “So, are you taking over from Rachel, then?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, that’s right,” he confirmed, cautiously. It was always difficult to come in and replace a popular member of staff, you inevitably get benchmarked. But filling in for someone who had died was a whole new minefield. “Just for a few months,” he added, “while they launch the new Rambler range. Then I expect they’ll recruit properly.”
She hit a button on the switchboard, “Good morning, High Peak Trailers.” She listened on the headphones and slotted another letter into the relevant pigeonhole, “Putting you through.” It always fascinated Hooker how women could multitask, whether letters were going into the right holes or not was another question. “So did you work with trailers before then?” she asked.
God here we go again. Even the bloody receptionist grilling him. “No, I was in automotive products. Leisure accessories mainly, roof boxes and such. So it’s a kind of related market.”
“Oh, right. That sounds interesting.” She finished the mail and turned to face him. “So what attracted you to HPT then?”
“Well, I was looking for contract work, this came up and it looked like an interesting project.” He didn’t want to go all down the redundancy story with her. He decided to divert the conversation. “Must have been quite a shock for everyone I suppose, what happened to Rachel Mills, I mean.”
“Yes, it was,” her voice lowered.
“I’m sorry, did you know her well?”
“Quite well. She’d not been here that long actually, only about nine months. I’ve been here for two years. Rachel worked upstairs, you don’t see them as much, obviously. But there aren’t that many women our age here. I knew her from work obviously, but I didn’t,” she searched for the right words, “I didn’t know her very well socially. The Christmas party was the first time I had seen her outside work apart from the gym and out and about. Well, you know…” she trailed off. “But it’s still a shock, obviously. Awful.”
He nodded in agreement and they fell silent. He wondered if this was going to be one of those old fashioned stratified companies. She talked about “upstairs” like it was another world, Narnia or Neverland or somewhere. Mind you the directors floor at Autotech had been practically another world, where the normal laws of physics didn’t apply, let alone the laws of sound management.
“Did I read in the papers that it was at the office party that she, well…”
“Yes. Well, afterwards. They say she fell in the river, hit her head on a stone or something.”
“Did no one go in after her?” he asked.
“There wasn’t anyone else, they say. It was while the party was still going on. We were at the Cat’s Cradle, down the road. Do you know it? It’s a nice place to go for a drink after work.”
“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been,” he replied. Suppose the girl must have been pissed, he thought. Still strange she was out on the riverbank alone.
“Oh, you’ll have to,” said Elaine enthusiastically.
“Have to what?”
“Join us for a drink at the Cat’s Cradle.”
“Yes,” he said, and drained the rest of his coffee. “Thanks for that.” It was gone 10.30 now. Where was Nathalie?
“Well, it looks like Nathalie is still tied up,” he said. “I might just see if I can find my office. Do you think they would mind if I go on through and make myself comfortable? I’ve got some stuff I can be reading.”
She looked uncertain, “I suppose not. I guess you’re in the marketing office, they’re all marked. Its upstairs.”
“Upstairs,” he repeated, “Well I think I’ll just mosey on up. I’m sure I can find the way. “Nice to meet you, Elaine.”
“See you later.”
Collecting his brief case he headed past the lift doors, up the stairs and onto a small landing decorated with more exciting photographs of every conceivable manner of trailer. There was a toilet to one side of the lift doors and on the other a door with a glass panel through which he could see a long corridor stretching out seemingly to infinity.
He remembered this from his interview. He pushed cautiously through. If he remembered rightly the office he wanted was about half way down. The seemed to have laid it out in order of rank, the first door on his left was the Board room, then the MD’s office. Through the narrow glass panel he could see Frank Quinn leaning back in his leather swivel chair, his back to the door, deep in a telephone conversation. He could only hear the rumbling of his Derbyshire accent through the thick fire door. A blond woman sat patiently on the other side of Frank’s desk with her back to the door.
Next was the Financial Director’s Office. Lights on but no one at home, like most Financial Directors he mused. Then John Taylor, the Sales & Marketing Director to whom Hooker had barely been introduced. He would have to build some bridges there. Like Frank Quinn, Taylor too was deep in conversation on the phone, his back to the door. Despite the proximity of their offices it was entirely possible they were talking to each other!
Nathalie Wilson’s too was deep in conversation, both elbows resting on her desk. He noticed on the other side of the corridor prints of Peak District scenes alternated with small windows overlooking what must be the finished goods warehouse. A variety of finished trailers stood, partly enclosed in polythene, waiting to go out. In one corner he could see a blackened mess, where the fire had obviously been. That must have been a near miss, any bigger and the whole place would have gone up.
Finally he found a door marked Marketing. He let himself in, wondering what he was letting himself in for!
CHAPTER 3
Wednesday 2nd January
So this was the marketing nerve centre of High Peak Trailers. It didn’t look as if the cleaners had been in at all last year! It wasn’t that the office was dirty, just crammed. There were two desks in it and, in theory, plenty of room for two people. Two people if they don’t come with about eight filing cabinets and two wardrobe sized cupboards that is! Every surface was covered with paperwork. Piles of trade magazines, mock-ups of brochures, photographs, drawings, a couple of dehydrated potted plants. You name it.
To be fair, when Hooker looked more carefully it wasn’t that it was untidy, exactly. It was all neat enough but they had obviously never heard of a clean desk policy. Whoever had lived here could probably have found anything they wanted, but how Hooker was going to manage he couldn’t imagine. Nor could he imagine Rachel Mills, the girl from the DVD, tolerating a place like this. Maybe the roommate was the problem.
He put his case down and slipped his coat off, then realised he wasn’t sure which desk would be his. There was a coat stand in the corner behind the door so he hung it there for now.
There was a visitors chair of sorts in front of the desks facing the door so he sat down and surveyed his new kingdom. So this is where I’ll be confined for eight hours a day for the next six months, he reflected. Probably nearer ten, let’s hope the other inmate doesn’t suffer from BO, flatulence or halitosis.
He leaned over and pulled randomly at a drawer in one of the filing cabinets. It was full of neatly labelled hanging files most of which were full of brochures and files. Competitor files if he wasn’t mistaken. So its not like they don’t do any filing, just not all of it.
He opened his case and took out his file on High Peak Trailers. Better at least look as if he was working. He knew Rachel Mills wasn’t about to turn up but he wondered where his cellmate was. Probably taking an extra day off after New Year, like Suzy was, and like he should be doing.
That reminded him, he should give Suzy a call. He didn’t know what this lot were like about private calls in work time so he slid his mobile out of his shirt pocket and began to navigate the keypad to bring up home. It rang for a while then the answer machine cut in. He killed the call and went back to his address book. Perhaps he could catch her on her mobile.
Suddenly the door burst open, nearly making him jump out of his skin.
“Opps sorry, got the wrong room!” It was Jack Thompson, the Sales Office Manager Hooker had met earlier. He looked as startled as Hooker.
“Sorry, meant to go to Nat’s office,” said Thompson.
“No problem. It’s easily done I imagine. The corridor is a bit, utilitarian!” said Hooker.
Thompson looked doubtful, as if trying to work out what utilitarian meant, but hung around anyway. He quickly rallied and reasserted the confident persona Hooker had met earlier. “So making yourself at home then?” he grinned.
“Literally actually. Nathalie, Nat, was going to pick me up from reception but I think she got tied up. So thought I’d better find my niche and get started. I expect she’ll find me.”
“Bit of a close shave with the fire this morning,” Thompson added, “you nearly didn’t have a job to go to.”
“Yes, I saw the mess it’s made though those windows there,” said Hooker, gesturing towards the corridor behind Jack Thompson.
“Ay, if it hadn’t been for Arthur, that’s the guard, and one of Jeff’s lads, putting it out the whole place might have gone up again,” continued Thompson, shaking his head ruefully.
Hooker just nodded in agreement. He wasn’t really interested in spending more time talking about the fire than it had taken them to put it out.
Thompson seemed determined to hover, however. “So me laddo not in today then?” he said, nodding towards one of the desks.
“Who’s that?”
“Young, Andrew, I mean. Frank Quinn’s son, you know. Shares this office with… with you. I suppose,” said Thompson.
“Oh, right. I don’t know. Not seen anyone in here today.” So that accounted for the other desk then, thought Hooker, it just gets better and better, now I’m sharing with the MD’s son. So that’ll be like having a spy in the camp.
Thompson barely concealed his smirk. He was probably thinking exactly the same thing as Hooker, and enjoying the fact that it wasn’t him.
“Well that’ll keep me on my toes anyway,” Hooker added with a relaxed smile. It was only half an act, he was rapidly reaching the point where he didn’t care.
“Maybe, maybe not.” Thompson mused mysteriously. Clearly Hooker was supposed to ask more so he made a point of not doing.
“So how’s business then?” he asked Thompson, changing the subject.
He had obviously hit on a subject Thompson was passionate about. “Busy, busy, busy mate. It would help if we could get anything out of the factory on time or with nowt wrong with it!” he went on. “So you’ll be working on the new range then? About time, but I don’t envy you. I’ve told Frank we need to get our finger out. If we let customers down with a new product that’ll be it, our reputation will be fucked.”
He’d been jabbed the papers he was clutching in this left hand at Hooker like a knife as he spoke. Clearly folding caravans raise some considerable passions in these parts, Hooker reflected, and nodded sagely in agreement.
“It was the same when he did the box trailers for the first time,” Thompson ploughed on. “I don’t want to go through that again. The flack I took off customers over that.” He shook his head at the very thought.
“Problems, were there?” prompted Hooker.
“Oh, the usual. Production mainly. Getting stuff out of this place is like mating elephants. There ok if its something bog standard. Anything new? Well…”
Hooker gave a sympathetic smile. “Yes, it’s the same everywhere. Ideally they’d like to churn out bog standard widgets by the trillion.” He could see Thompson was warming to him now that he had a potential ally. But Thompson had been chummy with that bloke Jeff Phillips from production earlier, best to sit on the fence a bit. “Of course manufacturing isn’t an easy thing to manage,” he added.
“Yes, I suppose not.” It was Thompson’s turn to nod sagely as if contemplating the great management insight the two of them had just revealed.
Thompson continued to lean on the door handle, hovering half in and half out of the office as if uncertain whether to stay or go.
Hooker heard another door open down the corridor. “Anyway, I’d better get off.” Thompson said finally, “Welcome to HPT. I’ll see you later.” With that he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.
And in a flash he was gone, thought Hooker. “Yes, see you later Jack.” He called after him. Pound to a penny one of the Director’s had left his office and Thompson didn’t want to be caught gossiping.
Hooker returned his attention to the riveting information he had been provided on the company. A nice, posh corporate brochure, the basis of civilisation, in corporate communications terms a few years back, before the web site, of course but neither use nor ornament as a sales tool. Who on earth buying a trailer wanted to read a message from the MD and a history of the company? There weren’t even any accounts in it; he had had to get those off the web, so not much use to investors either, just an ego trip.
But there was also a quite nice catalogue in A4, landscape, that was well done with photos and specifications of what must have been the entire range. Horse boxes, little mini trailers, industrial trailers, boat trailers, boxy thingy trailers. It didn’t include this new range of folding caravans so it must predate that. Then there was also a price list for the new year, which did have the new range in.
All the other stuff he had on the new range was in draft form, it was doubtless down to him to get it finished and printed. The proofs didn’t look bad actually; probably just a bit of tweaking needed and job done. He wondered what design agency they used.
The door suddenly opened again, didn’t anyone knock around here?
Like Thompson earlier the new intruder started on seeing him. “Oh! Right…good. You, found your office then.” It was Nathalie Wilson. She seemed slightly out of breath.
He put the paperwork to one side and stood to greet her. “Yes, I assumed you were still busy so thought I’d better come up and get on with some work, if I could. Hope you don’t mind?”
She looked around uncertainly and then remembered to return his smile. “No, no, not at all. That’s good. Shall we go through to my office?”
“Fine. Lead the way.”
Nathalie’s office was a complete contrast to the marketing office. Bigger for a start off, and only occupied by one person. Instead of the mess of filing cabinets and cupboards there was one large desk, a small round meeting table with four chairs, just a couple of two draw filing cabinets and one waist high cupboard. In contrast to the standard office pine of the furniture next door in here it was all a deep mahogany and gleamed as if it was all freshly polished, every surface clean and tidy. Had it not been for Nathalie’s coat hanging behind the door, a few office accessories on the desk and the computer terminal whirring away in the background it could have been the corner of some furniture showroom.
They sat down at the meeting table and began to talk business, it was 11.00 a.m. already.
“Did you get a chance to look at the information I sent you?” she began.
“Yes I did,” he confirmed patting the folder beside him on the table.
“Any thoughts?” she ventured.
“Well,” he began with an intake of breath. “The priority is the launch of this new range of camping trailers?”
She nodded.
“So I’ve concentrated on the information you gave me on that.”
“Yes, absolutely!”
“Now, first question. Time scale? We’re launching at the CAMPEX exhibition at the NEC in a couple of weeks?”
“Yes we’re booked into CAMPEX at the NEC in Birmingham from January 11th to 20th. It’s the premier camping and outdoor exhibition in the country. All the trade press will be there and virtually every dealer. I feel it’s vital we have everything ready for then, and Frank agrees,” she said earnestly.
Christ, so D-Day is January 11th then, thought Hooker. A week on Friday. That was what he called cutting it fine. “Right, well in that case we need a critical path to get us there, I assume the 11th will be press day? It’s usually the build up day.”
She looked uncertain for a second, as if distracted. “Probably. Could you check that? But yes, you’re right. We need a critical path.” She seemed to like that phrase.
“Now I need to get up to speed with everything you have in the pipeline for the launch. I’ve seen the draft brochure. Looks good,” he said fishing the proof out of his file “a couple of typo’s and of course I can’t comment on the accuracy of the technical specification but once I can get that checked it should be ready to print. What agency are you using?”
“Oh our usual people, they’ve worked with High Peak Trailers for a few years.” she replied. “John Taylor, our Sales & Marketing Director brought them in before I came here. He gets on well with the owner, they’re quite highly thought of here,” she sounded a little doubtful herself, “Dimond PR.”
“Dimond PR?” Hooker’s head shot up from the proof he had been studying, “Oh really?” he said.
She looked at him curiously.
“I know Phil Dimond,” he explained, “We used to work together at Autotech before he set up on his own.”
“Oh. Oh good,” again she sounded a little doubtful.
Well, well thought Hooker. Phil Dimond “Pronounced Diamond” That was all he needed. Fancy Phil Dimond being involved with this lot. Dimond had been Marketing Communications Manager at Autotech when Hooker had first joined. One of the biggest bull-shitters he’d ever met. Very hail fellow well met, always first up the pub, always chatting all the women up, despite being married. Everyone’s mate. Hooker had loved him at first, but that had suddenly turned to a deep dislike, over the usual thing, a woman.
Then suddenly Dimond had up and announced he was going it alone, about three years back it must have been. Hooker had only recently started going out with Suzy at the time. He’d had had virtually no contact since the day Dimond left, apart from an Autotech Christmas dinner.
Nathalie was still looking at him. “Well what do you think?”
“Yes, I got on ok with Phil. Very professional. Reassuring to have him involved,” he lied.
Nathalie seemed to relax. “Good well, I suggest you meet up with Phil and go through everything as soon as possible.”
Oh joy! Hooker made a conspicuous note. “So who is putting the exhibition stand together for us?” he asked, pointedly returning to business.
“That’s Phil Dimond as well.”
“Great.” Yeah, great.
Nathalie seemed reassured at Hooker’s confidence in Phil Dimond. She must have quite a lot riding on this launch being a success, but hooker wasn’t convinced she was a Phil Dimond fan.
“Now we’ll need a press release to go out to all the relevant trade and leisure magazines prior to the exhibition….” Hooker continued.
“Drafted,” she cut in. “I’ve got those.”
“And the addresses? Of the magazines.”
“Phil was going to send those out.”
Naturally. “OK. Any other major things I need to pick up at this stage?” He sat pen poised to note down the next item.
“No, I don’t think so. Of course it’s the management meeting this afternoon. Frank and John will probably want to comment,” she said.
“I don’t doubt it.” She obviously wasn’t going to raise the subject so he would have to. “One more query, about the DVD,” he knew it was bound to be sensitive and didn’t quite know how to approach it.
“Oh, that’s finished. Phil organised it. Did I not give you a copy?”
Phil again. “Well yes but what I mean is, isn’t the girl doing the demo Rachel Mills? “
“Yes, that’s right.”
“So does it need to be re-shot? I mean given what happened.”
“Oh! Right, I see what you mean,” Amazingly she seemed not to have even considered this. “So do you think we should? As a mark of respect that is?”
“Well, I think we need to consider it. What was the DVD going to be used for, principally? Showing on the stand?”
“Yes, and to be given to dealers afterwards. Maybe even sent out to customers who visit on our web site. Frank thinks the unique selling feature is the ease of setting up,” she paused for his agreement, which he gave with a slight nod, “The DVD was meant to show that. It’s a key plank.”
“Yes. I can see that,” He remained silent while she mulled it over.
“But you’re right. It might not be in very good taste. Frank will not be happy, not least because of the cost. And would we have the time? It’s that or not use it at all I suppose.”
For the first time she seemed genuinely concerned. Hooker said, “Look. Why don’t we flag it up at the meeting this afternoon, get a view? I’ll speak to Phil about the logistics and cost implications of getting it done again.”
“Oh that would be helpful. Thanks,” she relaxed. Hooker decided to change the subject.
“Now in my opinion we ought to do a mail shot to all the possible dealers with the new leaflet prior to the exhibition?”
“Our salesmen will be dropping it off at our dealers on their normal rounds in the days before,” she said.
“What about dealers who aren’t our customers?” he asked. “I mean this is a new range for HPT. I would imaging the dealers who specialise in this kind of thing won’t necessarily be established clients.”
“Right. Now I think Rachel was compiling a database,” she searched her memory, “I don’t think I’ve seen it. You’ll have to have a look on her, on the PC!”
“Ok,” Hooker made a note. “Anything else?”
“No I don’t think so. There’s a few more things here I collected up for you.” She handed him a few sheets of A4. “This is a list of everyone’s contact details, you might want to key all the mobile numbers into your phone, and this is a list of meeting dates. But let’s touch base again after the meeting this afternoon.”
“Ok. What time is the meeting?” he asked.
“Two o’clock, in the Board room.”
Hooker glanced at his watch. It was nearly 12.00. “Right I’ll go and make a couple of phone calls and grab some lunch before the meeting. See you later,”
Taking his file he turned to the door, “I assume I’m ok to use the desk next door.”
Nat had already turned to her desk and was starting to turn her attention to the computer screen, “What? Oh, yes, yes. See you later.”
Well that was very inspiring he thought. Nathalie had seemed very preoccupied, considering how critical this must be.