Hill - Verbatim

First published in Great Britain in 2019 by

The Book Guild Ltd

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Copyright 2019 Andrew Hill

The right of Andrew Hill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This work is entirely fictitious and bears no resemblance to any persons living or dead.

ISBN 978 1913208 349

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

To my future wife,

whoever she may be.

Part One

Sometimes its just plain obvious skulduggery has been employed; Tuesday, 14th September 1988 at eleven twenty-three in the morning was one such moment.

Phil Johnson headed his own publishing house, Johnson Books. Phil regarded pride a sin, something ingrained into him as a child but was proud of his accomplishment, and why not, after leaving school with no academic qualifications and acquiring his first job as a tea boy for a small local publisher.

First-time novelists were Johnson Books speciality; a refreshing concept. With 103 titles to its name, Johnson Books was not housed in a plush part of Londons West End as you might think. Clerkenwell was the location, very near to where Oliver Twist first encounters Mr Brownlow and realises that Fagin may not be quite such a kindly gentleman.

But the story I am about to relate is not one telling of the appalling conditions lived by millions in a far off era, it is a story of our own period, a time that is supposed to be more civilised, a claim that can hardly be justified when considering the terrible never-ending conflicts we humans have created. There are no Fagins in this tale, turning lost, abandoned or orphaned children into criminals who will finally come to grief upon the gallows while society looks on blaming only the victims. We have two people separately trying to find a niche for themselves, to live out their days in as much comfort as can reasonably be expected among the lonely lives led by so many now the extended family has turned into a broken mass of single units, human units, alone, confronting the big world. It is the strangest story I have ever encountered with no understandable answer.

Johnson Books home was a relic of a past industrial nation. No, Im being a little unfair, the building had been regenerated to a high level reflected in the rent not being that much less than the West End, but was much more to Phils liking than a modern architectural entity, a satisfying consolation.

Phil was just arriving, a little later than usual, but still found a moment to look at the board indicating the companies occupying the building, Charlton and Partners Architects, Ayscough Ravenspurn Watkin Chartered Accountants, Zenith Actors Management and Johnson Books, as always generating a feeling of pride tempered by a little guilt.

Phil was in keep-fit mode and strode up the stairs rather than using the lift to reach a large open-plan area with a dozen or so desks, his own self-contained office was at the far end.

He walked past a young redhead, Good morning, Alice, this was Alice Lincoln, Phils secretary.

Good morning, Mr Johnson.

It did not go unnoticed by Miss Lincoln that Phil was slightly out of breath. She knew this craze wouldnt last. Once hed disappeared into his own office, Alice smiled to herself as well she might, shes a far better athlete than most and would easily beat the majority of men in a mass marathon.

How many manuscripts had been pitched at Johnson Books and rejected he didnt know, it must be in the thousands. The seemingly bottomless waste bin has produced yet more this Tuesday morning but one of them might be something special. Almost everyone seems to think a novel is inside them waiting to be released. Perhaps there is, but Phil would say, Inside them is the best place for it. Which is probably right.

A team of readers at Phils disposal send reports on each one; if the reader wasnt gripped by the end of the first chapter its returned with no report and a recommendation to reject the volume.

Dead Letter Perfect was on the top of the manuscripts placed on Phils desk by Alice that Tuesday morning.

An odd title, thought Phil.

It was written, or so the title page announced, by someone calling herself Verity Faithful.

I bet thats not her real name, he thought. Shell be neither truthful nor faithful. Phil was in one of his more cynical moods that day but whether she was Verity Faithful by nature as well as by name was not Phils concern; could she write a good yarn and hold a reader?

Occasionally something will attract Phils attention and he may take a look at it himself before sending it to one of his team. It could be an intriguing title, such as we have here, or a clever opening sentence. Phils even received novels with illustrations, something that rarely happens these days. Once there appeared on top of the days books a manuscript of one hundred short stories all exactly 1001 words long, that book is now among the 103. Sometimes he received a novel with the same title as another. Nothing wrong with that; theres no copyright on titles, though there are laws against passing off. Plots can once in a while be very similar which makes for a suspicion of plagiarism. Its hard to be sure, people often come up with similar ideas.

Phil placed Dead Letter Perfect neatly on a pile for one of his regular panel revealing the second manuscript of the day showing its title as Dead Letter Perfect . It took a moment to clear his mind of confusion.

This is going to be one of those days.

Is it a duplicate? Phil double checked to see but the second tome was by Grant Webster. Different name, different address, different phone number, same title. Phil read the first paragraph but thought, no, Ill leave it to the reader. He was about to do the same with the other copy but was overcome by curiosity and started to read the first paragraph. He was now reading exactly what hed previously read verbatim thinking hed picked up the wrong one Phil placed it down and took up the other and began reading both opening paragraphs; they were exactly the same verbatim. He read on; the first pages were the same. Passages picked at random were the same. It was not long before Phil formed the obvious opinion that they were identical. Different name, different address, different phone number, same novel!

Phil considered there were only three possible explanations for this state of affairs; one of the two authors had plagiarised the others work, the same person had sent in the novel twice under separate names, or theyd both copied the work of a third author.

Why would anyone steal a novel in that way? It would be very hard to get away with but some people will try anything once without considering the consequences. Its one thing discovering a secretly written manuscript by a recently deceased writer, changing it here and there and claiming it as your own work, you may get away with that and it has most certainly happened from time to time. Perhaps thats what happened; they both know the same deceased author and have independently stolen the work.