Read Absolute Poison for Free Online Page B

“Hell, no. Clive do dishes? No way. At most, he'd have stacked them in the sink for the cleaners.”
    Maybe Eric Penn had cleared them away while he was waiting for the kettle to boil, thought Rafferty. He asked Llewellyn to check it out.
    There was short silence which Gallagher broke. “Perhaps I ought to warn you to expect a visit from Watts And Cutley's big cheese, Alistair Plumley. I can't say when exactly, but I left messages all over for him when your sergeant rang me with the news of Barstaple's death.”
    Rafferty frowned. “Watts And Cutley?” The firm was well-known and had various branches up and down the country. Rafferty didn't understand what they could have to do with this case and said as much.
    “We were taken over by them four months ago,” Gallagher explained
    “I see.” Even if Watts And Cutley had taken over Aimhurst And Son, Rafferty thought it odd that Gallagher should have so quickly informed the boss of the parent company of Barstaple's death, especially as, at the time of the phone call, it hadn't been confirmed that the death was suspicious. The close-mouthed Llewellyn would certainly not have let such a detail slip. “Is it usual to immediately notify a man of Mr Plumley's importance when an employee dies on the premises?”
    Gallagher laughed again. Rafferty wondered if it was his imagination that the American's manner seemed more uptight than before.
    “No, of course not. But Clive Barstaple was his man; reported directly to him. My job would be on the line if I didn't tell him asap. Alistair Plumley doesn't like people dying on the premises, Inspector, from whatever cause. Apart from being bad for the Company image, it shows a sad lack of team spirit—Watts And Cutley are hot on team spirit. Plumley likes his employees to die in their own time and on their own premises, not those of the Company.”
    Rafferty couldn't help wondering—if dying a natural death on Watts And Cutley's premises was regarded as showing a sad lack of team spirit—in what light an employee who had the temerity to get himself murdered there would be regarded. But rather than comment on this, Rafferty restricted himself to expressing surprise that such a large and diverse concern as Watts And Cutley should be interested in a small firm like Aimhurst And Son.
    Gallagher enlightened him. “The best things come in small packages, Inspector, isn't that what they say? In this case, Watts And Cutley wanted to get their hands on a nifty little mechanical gadget we hold the patent on—the Aimhurst Widget—to give it its non-technical name. This gadget is used in any number of household appliances and our workshop in Lincoln churns them out in their hundreds of thousands. It's a very profitable line. So when Robert Aimhurst, the founder of the firm, died last year, they saw their chance, moved in and made his son a very attractive offer which, unfortunately for us, he chose to take. Which is how Clive Barstaple came on the scene as interim manager. His unofficial brief was rationalization.”
    Rafferty nodded. Rationalization was, he knew, just one of a whole dictionary of euphemisms used by bosses to avoid the use of more emotive expressions. Nowadays, instead of being fired you were
iced
or forced into an
involuntary career event
. You weren't made redundant, you were
downsized
or
de-hired
.
    Rafferty had no time for the minds and attitudes that had created such expressions. As if the dole queue by any other name wouldn't still smell of poverty, deprivation and despair.
    “
Unofficial
brief, you said?”
    Gallagher nodded. “I guess Gareth—Robert Aimhurst's son—had just enough regard for the old guy to insert a clause into the deal with Watts And Cutley guaranteeing the continued employment of the current workers—unless they gave due cause for dismissal—that's where Clive Barstaple and the unofficial rationalization came in.”
    Llewellyn interrupted. “Excuse me, sir, but how did you know about this