The Constant Gardener

Despite assurances from ThreeBees that searches were under way, we are informed that no papers, letters, case histories, e-mails or faxes from Tessa Abbott or Quayle or Arnold Bluhm have so far come to light. KVH deny all knowledge of them, so does the ThreeBees' legal department in Nairobi. Our attempts to recontact Eber and Crick have also proved unsuccessful. Crick is "attending a retraining course in South Africa," Eber has been "moved to another department." Replacements have not yet been appointed. Ms. Rampuri remains unavailable, "pending the restructuring of the company."

RECOMMENDED: That Scotland Yard make direct representations to Sir Kenneth K. Curtiss with a request for a full statement of his company's dealings with the deceased and Dr. Bluhm, that he instruct his staff to mount a strenuous search for Ms. Rampuri's diary and the missing documents, and that Ms. Rampuri be produced immediately for interview.

[Initialed by Superintendent Gridley, but no action ordered or recorded.]

APPENDIX

Crick, Douglas (doug) James, b. Gibraltar 10 Oct. 1970 (ex Criminal Records Office, MOD and judge Advocate General's Dept.)

Subject is the illegitimate son of Crick, David Angus, Royal Navy (dishonorable discharge). Crick senior served eleven years in U.k. jails for multiple offenses including two of manslaughter. He now lives lavishly in Marbella, Spain.

Crick, Douglas James (subject) himself arrived in U.k. from Gibraltar at age nine in the care of his father (see above) who was arrested on landing. Subject was given into care. While in care Subject came to notice in a succession of juvenile courts for varied offenses including drug peddling, grievous bodily harm, procuring and affray. He was also suspected of complicity in the gang murder of two black youths in Nottingham (1984) but not charged.

In 1989 Subject claimed to be a reformed character and volunteered for police service. He was rejected, but appears to have been retained as a part-time informant.

In 1990 Subject successfully volunteered for service with the British Army, received special forces training and was attached to British Army Intelligence, Northern Ireland on plainclothes assignment with the rank and entitlements of sergeant. Subject served three years in Ireland before being reduced to the rank of private and dishonorably discharged. No other record of his service is available.

Although D. J. Crick (subject) was presented to us as a public relations officer for House of ThreeBees, he was until recently better known as a leading light in their protection and security branch. He reportedly enjoys the personal confidence of Sir Kenneth K. Curtiss, for whom he has on many occasions acted as personal bodyguard, e.g., on Curtiss's visits to the Gulf, Latin America, Nigeria and Angola, in the last twelve months alone.

* * *

Bearding him at his farm, poor fellow, Tim Donohue is saying across the Monopoly board in Gloria's garden. Phone calls at unsociable hours. Rude letters left at his club. Sweep it under the carpet, our advice.

They kill, Lesley is saying in the darkness of the van in Chelsea. But you've noticed that.

With these memories still echoing in his head, Justin must have fallen asleep at the counting table because he woke to hear a dawn air battle of land birds versus seagulls that turned out on closer inspection to be not dawn but dusk. And at some point not long after that, he was bereft. He had read everything there was to read and he knew, if he had ever doubted it, that without her laptop he was looking at only a corner of the canvas.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Guido was waiting on the cottage doorstep, sporting a black coat that was too long for him and a school satchel that couldn't find anywhere on his shoulders to hang. In one spidery hand he clutched a tin box for his medicines and his sandwiches. It was six in the morning. The first rays of spring sun were gilding the cobwebs on the grass slope. Justin drove the jeep as close to the cottage as he could and Guido's mother watched from a window as Guido, rejecting Justin's hand, swung himself into the passenger seat, arms, knees, satchel, tin box and coattails, to crash at his side like a young bird at the end of his first flight.