My beloved wife, Dorothy. I grant that some may see my isolation from the world and my reclusive behaviour as symptoms of madness. They are not. Dorothy had suffered all her adult life with a debilitating mental condition. It had become worse in the last six months before she vanished from the world. She was a proud woman who did not want people to know. If she had died, there would have been an autopsy. Such is the burden of men as successful as I have been. There was also a substantial life insurance policy in her name. Suspicion would naturally have arisen. On the day my wife died of natural causes, I closed all the shutters in the house and placed my wife in the cellar. The possibility of her vanishing from the house and dying as a result of misadventure was plausible and ultimately accepted.
It is strange to reflect that the preparation of my wife to allow her to be placed in her bed was a calming experience. She was there with me, and I wanted nothing more. Some people will see it as macabre, others as a sure sign of madness, but believe me, it was neither. It was a sign of love.
I had never been a sociable man and the attention that I received as I became all the more successful did not sit easily with me. Being reclusive in the house with Dorothy suited me admirably. Molly continued to look after me and was never involved in any way with Dorothy’s disappearance.
In time, as I aged, I have become more careless in my appearance and my health. I contacted three companies of psychoanalysts. Their names are with Caroline and Dundas. I did not meet them, although I would speak to them once a year, and go through their questionnaires, their attempts to understand the state of a person’s mind. They will attest to my sanity. Of the three companies, one is in the UK, one is in the USA, and the final one is in Australia. If an attempt is made to dispute my sanity, a well-honed team of lawyers is in place to deal with it, and a fund in place to pay for their services. Yet again, a process of checks and counter-checks between the companies has been set up. Collusion by anybody or any group will not be possible.
I cannot allow my legacy and the love of my wife to be destroyed by unfettered greed. That is all. Gilbert Lawrence.
Chapter 9
Ralph Lawrence rarely regretted any decisions that he had made in his life. He was a man with an unrelenting belief that life was what you made it, and luck had nothing to do with it.
As he sat on the chair in the back room of a disused warehouse in the east end of London, he was beginning to regret his philosophy. He had returned to England primarily because the Spanish authorities wanted him out of their country, but secondly because his father had died.
Not that he had felt any sadness. On the contrary, the man’s death, tinged with intrigue about how he died, gave him the best hope for the future. Yet now he was in trouble, and he knew it was not going to be so easy. The man sitting opposite him in the seedy back room that smelt of damp and decay was not likely to be swayed by smooth words.
‘Lawrence, I staked you money for your venture in the sun. Where is it?’ Gary Frost said.
‘I need time. There’s been a problem,’ Ralph said. On either side of him were two men who looked as though they were used to beating people for a living.
‘Gilbert Lawrence, a relative of yours?’ Frost said. He was a small man, quietly spoken. He was dressed in a navy-blue suit, a red tie, and a white shirt. He looked like a banker, and that was what he was: the banker of last resort.
Ralph had done the sums. The cost to set up the scam in Spain was more than four hundred thousand pounds. No use skimping on a cheap website, and then there were the advertisements, and transferring the money overseas, and the bribes, a lot of money in themselves. His Spanish partner, another charmer, still languished in a cell in Spain. He had also borrowed money, and it had been going well. They had managed to sucker over one and a half million out of the tourists, another two million to be followed up on. And the money was not there. Lawrence was not sure why, although he suspected the bribes they had been paying hadn’t been enough. No doubt his Spanish partner would be making a deal to get himself out of jail.
One of the men standing over Ralph grabbed hold of his shoulder, almost lifted him out of the chair. ‘You never answered the boss’s question.’
‘He was my father.’
‘Then why are we here having this unpleasantness,’ Frost said. ‘Let go of Mr Lawrence. He is our honoured guest. And what is four hundred thousand? How much was your father worth?’
‘Somewhere close to seven hundred million pounds, probably more.’
‘And your share?’
‘It’ll take time to realise on his money, but it should be three hundred million pounds.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us before? I was prepared to let my boys go to work on you. You know what that would have meant?’
Ralph flexed his legs, imagining the pain of a low-velocity bullet penetrating his kneecaps. ‘It may take time to get the money.’
‘What does it matter. We can wait. Six weeks, is that long enough for you?’
‘It is,’ Ralph said, hoping that it was long enough to get out of the country.
‘Give our guest a whisky,’ Frost said.
One of the heavies poured the drink and gave it to Ralph. The man now receiving the VIP treatment was shaking so much he was barely able to hold it.
‘I’m a reasonable man. It’s only business, you know that.’
Lawrence knew it wasn’t. It was sheer desperation on his part that had led him into the clutches of the loan shark. He was shaking now because he had just been saved from a savage beating, and his kneecaps possibly being shattered. He knew that once he was free of Frost and his men, he would be shaking until he had distanced himself from them. But what to do for money: he had none.
***
Caroline Dickson realised that her father had made a strategic error. A possible indication that the man had been slipping in his later years. It would have been understandable, given his advancing years and his morbid account as to what he had done to her mother, and how he had kept her in her room. She could imagine him up there with her, discussing business, updating her on the economy and what was outside, and how she was better off where she was.
Ralph may be a fool, and his outburst when the will had been read had not endeared him to anyone, but Caroline knew that the brother she had not seen for eight years had been right. Their father had been mad, but the medical and psychoanalytical reports showed clearly that the checks had been conducted correctly, and her father’s responses had been above average. How could that be? Caroline thought. Do I want to rock the boat?
She knew she had voting rights, and as a direct descendant of the dead man she had precedence over Dundas, but the man and his daughter had control. She had had to look up where the Marshall Islands were, as there were five million two hundred and fifty-nine thousand dollars in an investment fund there. The Cayman Islands she knew, as well as Cyprus and Mauritius. She needed the accounts in her name, and that had not occurred yet. She could see the hands of the Dundases pulling strings. They had access to all the bank accounts, the title deeds of all the properties, and yet they were all in the name of Gilbert Lawrence and the companies that he had set up. Caroline knew that it would be a battle royal.
Desmond, her husband, was an honest man, and he would help, but he was used to dealing with trustworthy people, not with Leonard and Jill Dundas. But Ralph knew crooks, and he knew how to deal with them. She needed him as her special adviser.
***
Isaac Cook and his team in Homicide studied Gilbert Lawrence’s letter from beyond the grave. The distribution of the wealth was not the primary concern, although it was important. What concerned them more was what the dead man had revealed about the death of his wife, Dorothy. Wendy Gladstone and Bridget Halloran abhorred the cavalier manner with which he had described his wife in the cellar. Larry Hill was more intrigued by the process. All, including Isaac, could not believe it was the behaviour of a rational man, a man capable of satisfying three respectable psychoanalysts
on three continents that he was sane.
The experts’ results were of no concern if they were legitimate, but what if the tests had been falsified? If they had been, as seemed possible, then it would invalidate Lawrence’s will, which in turn would throw the motives behind the man’s death into confusion.
‘How do we prove this?’ Bridget said.
‘Research these companies, see what they have to say.’
‘I’ve done some research, not of the companies, but what constitutes insanity.’
‘And?’ Isaac said, knowing full well that Bridget would have been thorough.
‘If the will is to be contested…’
‘Assume it is,’ Isaac said. ‘Ralph Lawrence has been left out of any immediate money, and Caroline Lawrence is only to receive a minor amount.’
‘Five million pounds, minor?’ Larry said. He was struggling with finding fifty thousand for his wife’s house-hunting plans. To him, Caroline Lawrence had received a fortune.
‘The dead man had a property portfolio in the billions. And it’s still with Leonard Dundas. If that man has concealed some of his client’s money and property holdings, there’s no way that anyone could find out the full extent of what the man owned.’
‘He’s either the greatest crook or naively honest,’ Wendy said.
‘Have you met any honest men lately?’ Larry said.
‘My husband was, but he could only lay claim to a small pension and a bungalow. Apart from him, there aren’t too many, especially if they’re worth hundreds of millions.’
‘We can debate this ad infinitum,’ Isaac said, ‘but what is important is whether Gilbert Lawrence was sane.’
‘As I was saying,’ Bridget said.
‘Apologies, we digressed.’
‘This is what I’ve found out. The person must be of “sound mind, memory, and understanding” when making a will. That person must understand the nature of the act and its effects, the extent of the property of which he/she is disposing and must be able to comprehend and appreciate the claims to which he/she ought to give effect.’
‘Is that it?’ Larry said. He had had an aunt who had died and had given her money to the church instead of her family. He remembered his mother, his aunt’s sister, saying over the dining room table that the woman was mad, but the money remained with the church.
‘There’s one more clause. It’s in legalese. “And must not be affected by any disorder of the mind that shall poison his affections, pervert his sense of right, or prevent the exercise of his natural faculties and that no insane delusion shall influence his will in disposing of this property and bring about a disposal of it which, if the mind had been sound, would not be made.”’
‘The précised version,’ Larry said.
‘If he had been declared sane and he had the necessary proofs at the signing of his will, then it’s valid. Remember, most people don’t get their sanity verified while they’re alive. It’s up to the beneficiaries, or those who believe they should receive something from the person’s estate, to contest it afterwards.’
‘Are the three certificates valid?’
‘They are.’
‘Did they have all the facts?’
‘How could they? Nobody knew about Dorothy Lawrence upstairs in the house.’
‘The will is contestable?’
‘Without a doubt. And if Gilbert Lawrence was so smart, he wouldn’t have left loopholes in the will.’
‘There was a clause at the end for those present to sign their agreement,’ Isaac said.
‘That may have been legally binding, but Ralph Lawrence didn’t sign.’
***
Ralph Lawrence made contact with his sister one day after his encounter with Gary Frost, a man who had an unenviable reputation as to how he called in his debts. Ralph had not wanted to use the man, regretted it now, but he had been down on his luck, and he needed out from the predicament he had found himself in. The first day he had made contact with Frost was the first time for a very long time that he felt trepidation about what he was doing.
Ralph Lawrence knew himself to be a supreme optimist, fully aware that not many ventures had turned out bad. Some, his sister and their father included, would have said that a failed business venture was indeed that, a failure. To Ralph, his definition was that if you lost money, it was. But he had not lost money; others had. On every venture he had been creaming off the top and squirrelling the money where no one else could get hold of it, including his ex-wives, bloodsuckers all of them. But he had chosen them for their youth and beauty, or for their money. The last woman had been smarter than most and had seen through him early on. She had found some of his bank accounts, the cryptic passwords, and had helped herself to over two hundred thousand pounds before sending him a letter from an unknown destination: ‘The weather’s fine, so is the hotel and the man I picked up in the bar last night. And don’t expect me to wish you were here.’
‘Where have you been? I’ve been trying to contact you,’ Caroline said.
The siblings met at a restaurant. Caroline knew she would be paying.
‘I was occupied,’ Ralph said.
‘You didn’t pay for the hotel. I phoned them.’
‘Did you pay?’
‘Hell, I did. What sort of trouble are you in?’
‘Money trouble, the usual.’
‘Where are you staying?’ Caroline could see that her brother was looking the worse for wear and that he had a tired, faraway look about him.
‘A cheap hotel. It’s not much good.’
‘Why? You could always check into somewhere better.’
‘The deal in Spain has gone all wrong. It’s left me in a predicament.’
‘You’re hiding out. Why?’
‘Some people want their money. The sort of people who don’t take no for an answer.’
‘I need your help,’ Caroline said. ‘Dundas has got us over a barrel.’
‘Didn’t you figure that out when he was reading the will?’
‘I wanted the five million first.’
‘You signed the clause at the bottom, no contesting the will?’
‘It’s not enforceable. The tests of our father’s sanity are invalid. We can dispute that.’
‘Caroline, supposing I agree to go in with you, what’s in it for me?’
‘Two hundred thousand pounds today, and forty per cent of whatever we find.’
‘Assuming the will is invalidated, and we become the sole beneficiaries?’
‘We’ll never find it all. Dundas will have covered his tracks well. That’s why we need you,’ Caroline said.
She called the waiter over. ‘Another bottle of wine, please,’ she said. This was a time to celebrate.
‘We? You and Desmond?’
‘Regardless of what you and he may think of each other, he realises that he’s not up to what’s required.’
‘And I am?’
‘You know the tricks, what Dundas could have done. Where the titles to the properties are, the bank accounts.’
‘It will cost.’
‘I’ve offered you two hundred thousand pounds.’
‘We’ll need a top-notch computer hacker, someone to go through Dundas’s office, check the files, take copies.’
‘Illegal?’
‘Do you think he’ll respond to a legal demand?’
‘We need to know before we force him. How much for the additional help?’
‘Probably another three hundred thousand pounds.’
Caroline was suspicious. He was her brother, and she knew him better than anyone else. Give the man an inch, he would take a mile, and then disappear, brother or no brother. ‘You want me to give you more money?’ she said.
‘Not this time. Our father owes us a lot more than a pittance. I’ll play it by the book, but I need your assurance that you’ll help out if I can’t fend off the money lenders.’
‘Violent?’
‘I was desperate. I had no option. But now, with you
and me, we’ll deal with Dundas. Our father was crazy, you know that?’
‘I know it. Our mother up there in that room. Have you seen the body?’ Caroline said.
‘I’m not sure if I want to.’
‘I have. It’s ghoulish. Whether it was her death or not that turned him, there’s no way to know. And are we sure he was making the decisions all these years, with Dundas implementing them?’
‘How can we be? How can anyone be?’
‘We’ll never know. The will, we are assuming, is genuine.’
‘Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but whatever you do, don’t dispute it for now. You, Caroline, need to be with Dundas. He must never know of our meeting here today.’
‘Agreed. I’ll transfer the money to your account when I have the details. Play this fair, and we’ll deal with that bastard Dundas and his scheming daughter.’
Chapter 10
Homicide still wrestled with where Molly Dempster fitted into the investigation. There was no reason to believe that she was involved in her employer’s death or that of his wife, but she had spent more time in the house than any person other than Gilbert.
Isaac and Larry found her at her house. There were signs of her new-found wealth: the two men at the front of the house painting the windows and the door, another man tending to the garden.
‘I had to do something,’ Molly said. ‘Mr Lawrence gave me the money to look after myself.’
She seemed to be unaffected by the wealth of her lifelong employer and spoke of him and his children in a loving, almost childlike manner, as though they were her family. Not unusual, he supposed, as checks into the woman had revealed a life of modest means: no man in her life, no pets, nothing.
Inside the house, also being subjected to modest renovations, Molly Dempster sat in the small living room. Isaac and Larry sat nearby. A tray of tea and biscuits on a table in front of all three.
‘Miss Dempster, for all those years you were in that house with Mrs Lawrence upstairs,’ Isaac said. He had helped himself to a cup of tea and a biscuit. Larry, conscious of the need to keep his weight down, only had a cup of tea.
DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 2 Page 28
