CHAPTER 6
For Mark Dobson it was the so-called ‘training day’ for their new recruit, Ritchie Nolan
Their day had started outside the Istanbul Turkish restaurant on Queensway at 9am. When Dobson drew up in his ten-year-old Ford Mondeo, Ritchie was standing there as if expecting a flash BMW or Jaguar. He had also dressed appropriately in a suit – a dark grey two-piece with a white handkerchief in the top pocket, a white shirt and a scarlet tie. He’d even done away with the coloured hair bands and created a sort of central parting. From a first impressions perspective it was a nice effort and Mark took note. Meanwhile he, himself, was in his usual grey chinos and black sweater.
“Where are we going?” Ritchie asked once seated.
“Round trip - Oxford and back. It’s training on the go. No classroom, no charts, no diagrams, no power-points, just sit, listen, watch and ask questions. We’ll stop for lunch at around eleven as I can’t remember when I last ate.”
Instead, they stopped at 10am, a cheese and pickle sandwich at a motorway services outside Oxford. Richie waited in the car. They didn’t stop to eat it but drove on, right past Vital Cosmetics’ office with its lime-green V-shaped logo and, to Richie’s surprise, parked around the side.
“OK,” Dobson said pulling on the handbrake and switching off.
“Training Part One. Location of client. Vital Cosmetics is a possible new client but nothing’s signed yet. This is their main office, processing plant and factory. It’s not worth seeing. It’s just a pre-fabricated block made of corrugated tin and painted lime green. Inside there will be shiny, stainless steel machinery, bottles, drums, conveyor belts and carboard boxes and it’ll smell like Harrod’s cosmetics counter or Holland & Barret on a Saturday afternoon.”
“When did you see inside?”
“I haven’t been inside. They have a video on their website promoting their good manufacturing practice, streamlined efficiency, their smartly dressed workers and of course their sustainability. For our purposes at this stage, seen one seen them all.”
“And the smell?”
“I’m guessing,” Mark replied. He started on the cheese and pickle sandwich and, at the same time, fired up his laptop. “I repeat, this is a potential client, being used for training purposes only.”
“Is that why we’re not going inside?”
“Patience, Ritchie. Moving on. Training Part Two. Intelligence gathering. Did Colin explain about my own special tasks man in Kuala Lumpur? No? Well, meet Jeffrey Lim.”
On the laptop, Jeffrey Lim was pictured standing in rolled-up sleeves in various uninspiring poses next to an old blue Mitsubishi on a trading estate with coconut palms as backdrop.
“We’d just had a tropical thunderstorm when I took the photo so there were deep pools of water running across the concrete,” Dobson explained. “Jeffrey is smiling because he’d done well. We already knew of a company in Malacca we suspected of counterfeiting Kenny Tan’s Red Power energy drinks.”
“Kenny Tan is a client?”
“Correct. When I was there a few days ago, I asked Jeffrey to return for another looksee. It’s a big building. We think it may be a bottling plant and there may also be a sort of distillery inside, not for alcohol but oils for the cosmetics industry. We’re not sure. At any rate, something is going on there that doesn’t smell right if you’ll excuse the unintentional pun. Hence the possible link with Vital Cosmetics. Eddie Higgins agrees. Co-incidentally, he’s also been there. Not inside the building but, apparently, he sat outside and watched it for an hour. If Eddie wasn’t a poet and an Oxford professor, I reckon he’d make a good private investigator.”
“What evidence did Jeffrey get?”
“Photographs.”
“Does Jeffrey ever go inside places like that?”
“Sometimes. He has several business cards. On one he’s a government factory inspector.”
“Will I get a business card?”
“You’ll certainly get a choice of passports. If we decide to pursue this case then the one that you’ll get bears the name Michael Howard Parker.”
“Is Michael a guy like me?”
“Micky Parker? Micky looks like you – right skin colour and hairstyle and so on - and he’s from north London, but you’ll need come to terms with his character.”
“I can do more educated accents if necessary.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Dobson said. “Micky is a small-time crook from Dagenham, Essex.”
Ritchie grinned. Dobson put the car in gear, moved off and then his phone rang. “Answer that will you, Ritchie? It’s probably Colin wondering where we are. He’s like an old woman whenever I’m in the country.”
“Hello?” said Ritchie.
“Mark. I’ve got someone who needs to speak to you.” said the voice. It was Eddie.
“Hello?” said Ritchie for the second time.
“Am I speaking to Mr Dobson?” said a crystal-clear woman’s voice.
“No, he’s driving. Can I help?”
“My name is Isobel Johnson. I’m with Professor Higgins. He’s suggested that…”
“Oh, right,” said Ritchie looking at Dobson. “We were just talking about you.”
“About me?”
“It’s Vital Cosmetics, yes?”
“Yes, but...”
“Mark’s driving. My name’s Ritchie Nolan. I think you should speak to Mark.”
“Enough,” Mark Dobson told Ritchie from the driver’s seat. “Tell her I’ll call her back.”