17th February
‘I think we’ve pretty much salvaged as much of your stuff as we can,’ Barney said to me, brushing the brick dust from his hands.
Barney was the owner of the demolition contractor that my insurance company had commissioned. His job was to make the property safe and to help me salvage as much as I could from what had once been my home.
He and his men had been really helpful – carefully moving timber and masonry, ensuring it was safe to retrieve items and then carrying what could be saved across the road into Helen’s garage for storage.
I walked to the edge of the recently exposed hole in the ground that had been caused by the meteorite.
It wasn’t the crater that you might expect from looking at pictures of meteorite impact sites. The object had punched its way through the thin concrete of the patio and buried itself in the ground, leaving a neat hole – half a metre in diameter. It had caused radial fractures in the surrounding patio, similar to those caused by a bullet passing through glass.
‘How much would you want for digging it out?’ I said, turning towards Barney.
Barney joined me and looked down into the hole. ‘The sides have fallen in,’ he said, ‘so I can’t see how deep it is. If it’s no more than five or six metres down, I could do it for two hundred quid.’
‘OK,’ I agreed.
‘That’s a lot of money and effort for a bit of rock,’ he said.
‘It might be just a bit of rock to you,’ I replied, ‘but it demolished my house and killed a friend. I think I’d like to see the villain.’
‘I’ll get the JCB,’ Barney replied.
‘Mr. Morrison.’ An unfamiliar voice called out my name.
I looked round to see a black Range Rover parked in front of the site and a short, plump man in a dark suit waving at me.
‘Yes,’ I replied, walking towards him. ‘Can I help you?’
‘My name’s Andy Fletcher of Fletcher, Fletcher and Watson,’ he answered. ‘I was Sam Collins’ solicitor. Can you spare me a few minutes?’
‘Sure,’ I said, ‘what’s it about?’
‘Mr. Collins presumably didn’t have any close relatives,’ Andy Fletcher explained. ‘His will leaves his entire estate to you.’
I was stunned. Sam and I had enjoyed some interesting evenings together, but I didn’t feel I knew him that well.
‘That’s a bit of a surprise,’ I said. ‘I don’t mean to sound mercenary,’ I added, ‘but just to get some perspective on this, how much money are we talking about?’
‘The house wasn’t insured, I’m afraid,’ Andy Fletcher continued, glancing at the rubble, ‘but the site is probably worth one hundred thousand pounds. Sam had around a further one hundred thousand pounds in savings and investments. Beyond that, it’s just anything valuable that survives from the contents of the house.’
Andy Fletcher reflected for a few moments, looking again at the remains of the houses. ‘You would, of course, have to spend some of the money to salvage his property and make the site safe, just as, I assume, your insurance company is doing for yours.’
Ten minutes later, I walked up to Barney as he sat in the cab of his JCB. ‘I’m too good to you,’ I said. ‘I’ve just found you another salvage and demolition job.’