The Kill Call

opportunity for a dynamic, enterprising company to break new ground.’
    ‘And that’s you?’
    He smiled smugly. ‘Absolutely. R & G Enterprises are ideally positioned in the market place, Sergeant. We saw an opportunity, and we’re taking it. That’s what enterprise is all about. One day, we’ll expand into Europe and take on the French and Belgians at their own game. A shame we can’t establish a market in the USA. But the Americans are most against eating horse meat.’
    Fry looked at the company logo, etched into the window of the manager’s office.
    ‘I take it Patrick Rawson is the “R” in R & G Enterprises, Mr Gains?’
    ‘Yes, poor Patrick. Do you know how it happened?’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘I spoke to Deborah yesterday. She said it was a robbery. Unusual place for it to happen.’
    ‘We can’t be sure of the circumstances,’ said Fry stiffly.
    ‘Pity. I was hoping you might have some news.’
    ‘How did you and Mr Rawson happen to go into business together?’
    ‘Well, it didn’t just “happen”,’ said Gains. ‘We had talked about the possibility for some time. Years, I suppose. We met through Hawley and Sons, the abattoir owners. I used to work for the Meat and Livestock Commission. Then, about a year ago, we agreed that the time had come, and we put the package together.’
    ‘Mr Rawson put up some of his own money?’
    ‘Yes. I was fortunate – I had an inheritance from my father, a few thousand I had put away for just such an eventuality. Patrick, I believe, raised some equity from his property in Sutton Coldfield.’
    ‘He used his house as security?’
    ‘That’s right. But the majority of the finance came from our business loan. That has to be serviced, and paid back first. But we’re building the enterprise well. Everyone will be happy with the outcome, I believe.’
    Fry tried to ignore the complacent smile. ‘Do you know Michael Clay, Mr Gains?’
    ‘Oh, Clay? I gather he’s worked with Patrick on some other projects. But I’ve never met him.’
    ‘He’s not involved with R & G?’
    ‘No, that’s just the two of us. Me and Patrick.’
    Fry was vaguely disappointed. At the moment, Michael Clay could only be counted as an elusive witness. But ever since she’d spoken to Erin Lacey in Great Barr this morning, she’d been bothered by a nagging feeling that he would soon turn out to be something more than that.
    ‘I see. And, Mr Gains, I have to ask you – were you aware that Patrick Rawson was the subject of a Trading Standards investigation?’
    Gains hesitated, for the first time. ‘Yes, I was. It was quite well known in the trade. But no charges were ever brought against him, so I couldn’t see any problem. Innocent until proven guilty, eh, Sergeant?’
    ‘So they say.’
    ‘Patrick is in regular touch – sorry, was in regular touch. He phoned on Monday, in fact. Just for a chat, nothing specific.’
    ‘He was in his car when he phoned, I suppose?’
    ‘Yes, I believe he was.’
    Fry was interested that Maurice Gains had volunteered the information about Rawson’s phone call before she asked the question. Clearly, this man wasn’t stupid.
    ‘Was that the last time you spoke?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And he was happy with how things were going?’ said Fry. ‘No problems?’
    ‘None at all. Between you and me, we talked about future expansion. We’re modelling ourselves on a well-established Belgian company, which does the whole job – buys the horses, slaughters them, carries out the butchering, then packages and distributes the meat. But that’s for the future. We’re only just getting a toe-hold on the market at the moment.’
    ‘You’d be looking to buy a slaughterhouse, then? Like Hawleys, for example?’
    ‘Yes, that would be ideal,’ said Gains. ‘We’ve already had talks with Hawleys. Of course, the equine side of their business is a drop in the ocean. The countries supplying the most horse meat in Europe are Poland and Romania. And we do need certain types of horse. The optimum age for slaughter is between ten and fifteen years, the minimum about seven. Funnily enough, the older the horse, the more tender the meat. It’s the opposite of other meats.’
    ‘No young horses?’
    ‘Well, foal is OK up to fifteen months, but it’s a specialized market. Italy likes white meat from very young horses, but the French prefer red. We think the UK market will favour red meat, too.’
    Through a window, Fry could see into the packing room,