Val Mcdermid - Clean Break

I followed Michael meekly into his office. The opulence of the atrium hadn’t quite made it this high. The furniture was functional rather than designed to impress. At least he overlooked the recently renovated Rochdale Canal (European funding), though the view of the Canal Cafe must have been a depressing reminder of the rest of the world enjoying itself while he was working. We settled down on the L-shaped sofa at right angles to each other, my adolescent urge to jump on him held in check by the low coffee table between us. Michael dumped the file he’d been carrying on the table. “I hear good things about your agency, Ms. Brannigan,” he said. From his tone, I gathered he couldn’t quite square what he’d heard with my moonstruck gaze.

I forced myself to get a grip and remember I was twice the age of that romantic teenager. “You’ve obviously been talking to the clients who haven’t been burgled,” I said in something approaching my normal voice.

“No security system is burglarproof,” he said gloomily.

“But some are better than others. And ours are better than most.”

“That’s certainly how it looked when we first agreed to the premium. It’s one of the factors we consider when we set the rate. That and how high-risk the area is.”

“You don’t have to tell me. My postcode is M13,” I complained.

Michael pulled a face and sucked his breath in sharply, the way plumbers are trained to do when they look at your central-heating system. “And I thought you security consultants made a good living.”

“It’s not all a hellhole,” I said sharply.

He held his hands up and grinned. I felt the years slide away again and struggled to stay in the present. “Henry Naismith called to say you’d be coming in. He faxed me a preliminary claim,” he said.

“I’m investigating the theft on Henry’s behalf, and he thought it might be helpful if we had a chat,” I said briskly.

“My pleasure,” he said. “Of course, one of our staff investigators will also be looking into it, but I see no reason why we can’t talk to you as well. Can you run it past me?”

I went through everything I’d learned from Henry and Inspector Mellor. Michael took notes. “Just as a matter of interest,” I finished up, “Inspector Mellor mentioned they’d had other burglaries with a similar style. Were any of them insured with you?”

Michael nodded. “Yes, unfortunately. Off the top of my head, I’d say three others in the last nine months. And that’s where we have a problem.”

“We as in you and me, or we as in Fortissimus?”

“We as in Mr. Naismith and Fortissimus.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to tell me about it?”

Michael stared down at the file. “Client confidentiality. You should understand that.”

“I wouldn’t be here if Henry didn’t trust me. Why don’t you give him a call and confirm that you can tell me anything you would tell him? That way, I get it from the horse’s mouth rather than via Chinese whispers.”

His straight brows twitched. “Even if he agreed, it wouldn’t be fair of me to have the conversation with you before I have it with him.”

“So get Henry over. I don’t mind waiting.” As long as I can keep looking at you, I added mentally.

Michael inclined his head, conceding. “I’ll call him,” he said.

He was gone for the best part of ten minutes. Instead of fishing a computer magazine out of my shoulder bag, or dictating a report into my microcassette recorder, I daydreamed. What about is nobody’s business but mine.

When Michael came back, he looked serious. “I’ve explained the situation to Mr. Naismith, and he was quite insistent that I should discuss the ramifications with you.”

I was too well brought up to say “I told you so,” but according to Richard I’ve cornered the market in smug smiles. I hoped I wasn’t displaying one of them right then. “So, tell me about it,” I said, locking eyes.

Michael held my gaze for a long few seconds before turning back to his file. “As I said, we’ve had other incidents very similar to this. These thefts have all been from similar properties-medium-sized period properties that are open to the public. In each case, the thieves have broken in as near to the target as they could get. In a couple of cases, they’ve smashed through a window, but with a property like Birchfield Place, that obviously wasn’t appropriate. They ignore the alarms, go straight to the object they’re after, whip it off the wall or out of its case and get out. We estimate the longest they’ve been inside a property is five minutes. In most cases, that’s barely enough time to alert the police or the security guards, never mind get anyone to the site.”

“Very professional,” I commented. “And?”

“We’re very unhappy about it. It’s costing us a lot of money. Normally, we’d simply have to bite the bullet and increase premiums accordingly.”

“I hear the sound of a ‘but’ straining at the leash,” I said.

“You have very acute hearing, Ms. Brannigan.”

“Kate,” I smiled.

“Well, Kate,” he said, echoing the smile, “Here comes the ‘but.’ The first of our clients to be robbed in this way was targeted again three months later. Hollowing that, my bosses took a policy decision that in the future, after stately homes had been robbed once, we would refuse to reinsure unless and until their security was increased to an acceptable level.”

He might have looked like an ancient Assyrian, but Michael Haroun sounded exactly like a twentieth-century insurance man. We won’t make a drama out of a crisis; we’ll make a full-scale tragic grand opera. Pay your spiraling premiums for ten years good as gold, and then when you really need us, we’ll be gone like thieves in the night. Nothing like it for killing adolescent fantasies stone-dead. “And what exactly is your definition of ‘an acceptable level’?” I asked, hoping he was receiving the cold sarcasm I was sending.

“Obviously, it varies from case to case.”

“In Henry’s case, then?”

Michael shrugged. “I’d have to get one of our assessors out there to make an accurate judgment.”

“Go on, stick your neck out. I know that comes as easy to an insurance man as it does to an ostrich, but give it a go.” I kept my voice light with an effort. This was my security system he was damning.

He scowled, obviously needled. “Based on past experience, I would suggest a security guard on a twenty-four-hour basis in the rooms where the most valuable items are sited.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “You really believe in getting shut of clients who have the temerity to get robbed, don’t you?”

“On the contrary. We want to ensure that neither we nor our clients are exposed to unacceptable losses,” he said defensively.

“The cost of that kind of security could make the difference between profit and loss to an operation the size of Henry’s. You must know that.”

Michael spread his hands out and shrugged. “He can always put up the admission charges if it’s that crucial to the economics of running the place.”

“So you’re saying that as of now, Birchfield Place is uninsured?”

“No, no, you misunderstand me. But we will retain a portion of the payout on the stolen property until the security levels are rendered acceptable. Kate, we do care about our clients, but we have a business to run too, you must see that.” His eyes pleaded, and my fury melted. This was bad for my business, so I forced myself to my feet.

“We’ll keep in touch,” I said.

“I’d like that,” he said, getting to his feet and nailing me with the sincerity in his voice.

As we walked back to the lift, my brain checked in again. “One more thing,” I said. “How come I haven’t been reading about these raids in the papers?”