* * *
Anderson’s stomach was seriously starting to protest, arguing that two courses at the Farriers, followed not long afterwards by a large helping of homemade apple-pie at the Saunders’ house, was just too much. Anderson himself chose to ignore such protests, his taste-buds confirming Jessica’s culinary skills – at least with apple-pie – more than matched those of the Farriers’ chef.
Jessica’s invite had seemed more of an instruction than a request, but Anderson had no cause for complaint, Jessica working hard to make him feel at home. Anderson sat on the sofa with Jessica on the chair opposite, a pot of freshly-brewed coffee between them. Their conversation mainly consisted of reminiscences related to the Commander, or occasionally Charlotte, with Anderson happy to sit and listen. Jessica kept apologising for boring her guest, but whenever she tried to move the topic of conversation round to Anderson, he merely deflected it back again to ask something new about the Commander or Jessica. Eventually, after almost an hour, it was Jessica who brought up a more contentious subject.
“I was a little taken aback yesterday and I wondered later whether I should have been outraged by what you were implying; but then you were really only voicing my own fears... Have you got any further with your theory that George’s death might not have been an accident?”
“I didn’t quite go that far,” Anderson said hastily. “There were just certain aspects I needed to check out.”
“Aspects? Such as Darren Westrope? And the man from Erdenheim?”
“Darren’s crash was definitely an accident. As for the rest, it seems likely that I’ve just got a very vivid imagination. There’s certainly nothing to suggest otherwise.”
“And you’d tell me if there were?”
“Of course,” Anderson replied, instantly regretting his promise.
Jessica still wouldn’t let it lie, “What about George’s book? Has that been of any help?”
“To be honest I’ve not read much of it; but again, it looks like a dead-end.”
“A poor choice of words, Michael,” Jessica said solemnly, but with a twinkle in her eye. “I, however, do have a lot to report; although it’s more negative than positive, I’m afraid. It’s surprising what you can achieve once you put your mind to something, and I’d far rather try and be useful than sit on my hands and do nothing. I’m not saying I agree with your concerns but I am curious as to why George bought those damn books.”
She paused momentarily, getting her thoughts in order. “First, the laptop: nothing exciting in the search history and, despite it feeling like I was prying, there were no relevant files or emails. George’s close friends were next; I tried my best to be subtle and none of them can recall a recent mention of Erdenheim or Pat McDowell. Also nothing related to terrorism or why George would want to buy Zhilin’s books.”
Jessica stopped and took a deep breath, “It’s quite exciting all of this detective work; sorry I’m dragging it out. George’s mobile was another casualty of Spain, I’m afraid, and it seems even a widow isn’t allowed access to her late husband’s call records. I was able to check the landline calls; we both mainly use our mobiles, so it wasn’t too hard and I looked at everything in the last two months – no calls to Darren or Erdenheim.”
Again Jessica paused for a moment, as though building up to something more exciting than a long list of negatives. “There were just two landline calls that stood out, both USA country code; George phoned them four days after he visited Erdenheim; one call finished the other started ten minutes later, each a good forty minutes.”
Jessica smile was getting wider, a measure of how pleased she was for winning the battle against modern technology. “Feeling brave, I phoned them both: the first went to straight to the Office of Naval Intelligence; the second was diverted and I ended up speaking to someone at the Pentagon. I’m afraid I just stuttered ‘wrong number’ and put the phone down.”
“Pat McDowell was 82nd Airborne,” confirmed Anderson. “The Commander must have been checking up on him; hence the Pentagon.”
“I thought as much. I imagine George would still know a few people in the ONI and they obviously put him on the right track.”
It was intriguing without being particularly helpful, Anderson pleased that he seemed to have an ally, worried in case he was selfishly leading Jessica on.
Jessica had no such concerns, keen to drag out every relevant fact, “What do we know about McDowell’s fellow director, Jon Carter?”
“Not much: degree in Computer Science, founded his own games company before selling it on to work as a game-play programmer; Erdenheim seems to be seems to be his first venture with McDowell.”
“So not quite in the same category as Mr McDowell,” said Jessica thinking aloud. “George and I both use the same Amazon account and I checked the order for Zhilin’s books; he bought them on the Tuesday and it was next-day delivery. That would be four days after he spoke to someone at the Pentagon, so either the Americans weren’t that helpful or he was trying something different. Visit, phone calls, books – George was clearly following-up on something.”
Jessica leaned forward, eyes holding Anderson. “I’m not very good with all these secrets and I’m not sure what I really want to believe. Is it better to live with the thought that your husband has been murdered, or that he simply slipped and fell to his death? George was always a careful man but deep down I know his death has to be accidental...”
She paused, shaking her head as if afraid to voice what she wanted to say, “But then, sometimes what you believe to be true turns out to be just a naïve hope. If I can help, Michael, in any way, please just ask.”