The Mysterious Deposit Box …

Marcus set to work trying to cut the lock off. It wasn’t hefty; after all, the box would have originally been housed in an underground vault, so the boxes themselves didn’t need to be too secure. After a few minutes, the front of the lock fell away. Using a screwdriver and a hammer, Marcus managed to push the rest of it back into the box, and the lid was loose. He stood back.
“All yours.”
I hesitated before lifting the lid. What new surprise was waiting underneath? Did I really want to do this? Yes, I couldn’t stop now. I looked inside. Nothing immediately jumped out at me. No piles of pirate treasure; no glinting gold. There were three identical leather items, which looked a bit like wash bags, and two soft cloth bags, tied together. I looked over at Marcus.
“They won’t bite,” he said.
“You can never be sure with my father.”
“Why don’t you lift it all out, and I’ll get rid of the box and towels?”
We were soon sitting at one end of the table, with these innocent-looking items in front of us. Marcus was first to notice the initials. The three leather bags each had two letters embossed on them. AC, BM and PD. Encouraging me, Marcus picked the one initialled AC and handed it to me.
“Might as well start there.”
I slowly opened the bag and tipped the contents onto the table. A passport, a few folded pieces of paper, credit cards, some business cards, and a small bundle of banknotes. Marcus mumbled something which I didn’t catch.
“Sorry?”
“A life in a bag,” he replied.
I sat still, looking at the things on the table.
“May I?” he asked.
“Mmm.”
He picked up the passport and quickly leafed through it. Then the documents, unfolding each one, quickly casting an eye over it. The cards, the notes.
“I was right. Passport, birth certificate, driving license, credit cards, various membership cards and a handsome wad of cash. All in the name Anthony Crowther. A life in a bag.”
“But what does it mean? Why?”
“I’m not sure, but I have a hunch now what will be in the other two bags.”
We took one each and emptied them into separate piles. Marcus was right. Virtually identical contents to the first. Except in one everything was in the name of Brendan Mahoney with an Irish passport. The other in the name of Paul Doyle with a Hong Kong Territories passport.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Marcus said.
“Why would he have these? It can’t be good.”
“Honestly, Sal,” he said softly. “What did you expect? To find he’d been working for MI6 all these years? One of the good guys?”
“I suppose not. Whatever he was doing, he assumed these other two names to do it.”
“It might be a bit more complicated than that …”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, he has complete documentation here for three different identities. How do we even know Anthony Crowther was the real one?”
That hit me like a brick. I opened my mouth to answer, and nothing came out. I turned to look at Marcus.
“Think about it,” he continued. “All these documents were in a bank. We don’t know when he last accessed this lot before he died. But he was living day to day without any of these items. He must surely have needed them sometimes.” He shuffled through the pile. “Driving license, credit cards. Why are they here? Why didn’t he have them with him?” He had a point. “Do you remember seeing a passport or driving licence when you went through your Dad’s stuff?”
I tried to remember, but it was difficult. The events after the accident were a bit of a blur and I’d tried so hard over the years to forget them.
“I can’t really remember.”
“Even if you did, I bet they weren’t the ones we have here.”
I thought about my father. The man I had really begun to come to terms with over the last six months. Yet here he was goading me again.
“Do you want to carry on with this?” Marcus asked. “Or put it away for now?”
“Oh, no. He can’t hurt me anymore. I won’t let him. I’ve come too far to be afraid of him now. I want to know what he was up to.”
We set about examining everything. The passports were the first step. The British one was mainly used to fly to Schiphol and back, with an occasional trip to Spain. But the other two were well-travelled. All over Europe, as well as Hong Kong, Japan, America, Thailand. The list went on and on. Most visits were only for two or three days. Never very long. By the time we had examined everything, it hadn’t really helped.
“Well, we know he had three different identities. But it doesn’t tell us anything about why.”
“No,” Marcus replied. “And I don’t see how we’re going to find out.”
“Nor me.”