Murder... Now and Then Read Online Free PDF Page B

from two thousand.’ He smiled. ‘And a very long way from Mr Holyoak’s goal,’ he added.
    â€˜Victor Holyoak started out with nothing,’ she said. ‘His wife had a dreadful stroke about twenty years ago. He looked after her and his stepdaughter – making himself a millionaire at me same time. If he wants something, he gets it. If he says he’ll do something, he does it. He never gives up, he never lets himself be sidetracked – whatever his goal is, he achieves it. He’s a household name in Europe. Do you know how many people Holyoak Industries employs altogether – how many facets of life Holyoak products enhance and improve?’
    â€˜No,’ said Lloyd, smiling. ‘But you can switch off the PR machine. I’m just a policeman.’
    â€˜Sorry,’ she said, flushing slightly, which Lloyd found even more attractive. ‘It’s just that no one seems to believe in him here. And they should. He does what he says he’ll do.’
    â€˜Perhaps they’ve heard one too many promises,’ said Lloyd.
    â€˜He never goes back on his word,’ she said, looking across at Holyoak and Scott, who were in conversation with two local councillors.
    Scott looked edgy; he wasn’t actually taking part in the small talk. Perhaps he was belatedly worrying about his wife, thought Lloyd.
    â€˜Victor Holyoak doesn’t want vast complexes churning out a product none of the employees gives a damn about,’ Anna carried on as the lamb arrived. ‘That’s why he invests in smaller businesses in smaller towns where they need the work.’
    Because the rates are cheaper where they need the work, thought Lloyd. And they work for lower wages and waive their right to trade unions. And you can buy into going concerns for a song, and add them to the bewildering number of companies you already own, snuffing out their identity if they work, and their existence if they don’t.
    But he didn’t voice the thought; policemen weren’t allowed to have public politics and Holyoak Industries had built the new factory, and increased the labour force, so they must be reasonably serious about Stansfield at any rate. Besides, the food was surprisingly good for in-house catering. And he had no wish to offend his companion; he liked her. She must have learned all the PR hand-outs by heart, he thought, with a private smile. Every now and then she would speak in her own voice, but mostly it was pamphletese. There was something touching about that. And odd; she was obviously bright, and yet she seemed to be doing a job of which she had no real or personal knowledge.
    Lloyd turned his attention back to the beard, unable to rid himself of his absurd notion about it. ‘The Holyoaks,’ he said to the girl, leaning towards her so as not to be overheard. ‘Do they live in Stansfield?’
    â€˜He moved to Stansfield about three months ago,’ she said. ‘His wife came over first – she wanted to be with her daughter, and … well … no one was sure how much time she had left.’
    â€˜And until three months ago he lived in Holland?’ he asked.
    â€˜Yes.’ She looked up at him, a quick frown crossing her brow. ‘Why?’
    He didn’t answer, and contented himself with chat about this and that until the pudding arrived. Then, he thought it might be safe to try again.
    â€˜Have you worked for Mr Holyoak long?’ he asked.
    There was a moment’s hesitation before she answered. ‘Six months,’ she said.
    â€˜You won’t know him all that well then,’ Lloyd said.
    She turned, her eyes almost angry. ‘I’m sure you’ve done your homework on that,’ she said.
    Lloyd smiled a little uncertainly, not knowing at all what she meant. All he knew was that he had seen that scar before. It was a long time ago; at least it wasn’t in the recent past. He could hardly explain what was