Postage Due -Long Listed ONC2022

Chapter 2

Warren soaked another pair of shoes before he got home, but his attention was on the papers he took from the hotel. With a box of cookies and a tall vodka and lime, he sat at the kitchen table, reading what looked like notes from a meeting, only they were just a series of random jottings. He saw reference to some days, times, and a couple of names, one he knew from the evening newscasts – Lawrence Grainger, leader of the progressive reform party.

He set them aside and wandered into the living room. The envelope lay on the coffee table, daring him to look, and he fought back the urge; something just didn't feel good about it. Realizing he'd been at it for a couple of hours, he finished his drink, and stretched mightily. A final glance at the envelope that had started the bizarre evening, then he shut out the lights and went to bed.

Sleep didn't come right away as images of the body flitted across his mind along with Lynne's scowl, and her smile. Who was the dead guy? Did Lynne have anyone special in her life? He rolled over and imagined she didn't.

****

Cabinet Minister Bradford Aitkens sat quietly and listened to his aide report on the previous night's events at the Shropshire Hotel. He focused on the sterling letter opener on his desk, a gift from a donor, watching the tiny reflections caused by his pacing assistant. The upstart head of the dove heavy Progressive Reform Party, Lawrence Grainger, had been the topic of the secret meeting at the Shropshire. How to stop his growing opposition to Bradford's defence bill – how to stop him.

That nothing in the report pleased him was a huge understatement. The aide stopped talking and Bradford took a deep breath.

"You are telling me, that a total stranger was murdered in that room after we left, and we saw nothing on the recording?"

"The camera didn't catch the act, no." The aide shuffled his feet.

"Wasn't the meeting recorded as planned?"

"Uhm . . . no . . . Sabbi mentioned something about a glitch in the electronics . . ."

"A glitch. I pay a handsome sum for a professional technician to record an important meeting and I get a glitch in return!" Bradford shook his hands, unable to find something handy to throttle; his aide had retreated to the centre of the room. He made a gasping sound and swivelled his chair toward the window, the information curdling in his stomach.

"There is some positive news, sir," the aide ventured. "Nyles, the desk clerk, recognized the man in the couple from the hotel lobby video."

"And nobody else saw anything? What about the body, what did your professional do about that?"

The aide edged closer to the door. "We uhm- we kept the room a little longer until arrangements could be made."

"So a dead body continues to lie there in a room a number of members of parliament recently vacated, two more total strangers walk into the hotel, go straight to that room, go in and take the papers that were so carelessly left behind by someone at the meeting, walk out - and we have no record!"

"Sir, we're trying to put together a plan—"

"A plan . . . we had a plan, Peter, remember? Now, not only did that fail, but also we had a killing in a room we're all connected with. I want that couple found and that body identified and disposed of – no excuses. Are we clear?"

"Clear, sir."

"There is less than two weeks before the bill reaches the house and I want all this resolved, and Grainger and his mob silenced."

"Sabbi already has a man on it, sir."

"His man better deliver or there will be a lot more silencing around here."