Gillard had done his homework on what was expected of him. He was surprised by how little a Hindu funeral differed from the Christian tradition. There would be an open coffin, prayers, and a farewell. Traditional Hindu practice stipulated a cremation open to the sky, as would occur in India. Though the Court of Appeal had ruled that such a practice could be allowed in Britain, no crematorium as yet offered a retractable roof over the cremation chamber, which would allow the process to meet both Hindu custom and UK health and safety rules.
Mrs Roy’s casket arrived garlanded with chains of orange and white marigolds, and each of her children carried a framed black and white photograph of their mother with them as they walked into the building. The detectives were not there purely to pay their respects as representatives of the police, but to watch the mourners, and to further the investigation. They took their seats towards the back of the chapel, and turned to watch the others filing in.
Gillard mentally ticked off those he knew: Simon and Prisha with her daughter Indigo, Harry, flanked by Morag on one side and Kiara on the other, and Zayan Lal with Philippa Boswell on his arm, his other hand busy on his phone. Unsurprisingly, there was no sign of Deepak, but Gillard did recognise Johnny Lam, talking to the family lawyer Vikram Vaj. The retired Indian judge, L. P. Gosht, seemed to be at the centre of a large convention of elderly men, almost all of whom turned to look at a set of new arrivals.
A very upright, white-turbaned man with a magnificent grey moustache led an entourage of a dozen, his short and bespectacled wife at his side. However, it was a young woman waiting immediately behind them that drew Gillard’s eye. She was dressed in a pleated floor-length white dress with a green and gold sash over one shoulder. Her glossy dark hair fell in magnificent curls to her shoulders.
‘That’s Sonali,’ Claire whispered.
‘My God,’ breathed Gillard. ‘She’s a goddess.’
‘And equally high maintenance, apparently.’
The woman’s huge hooded eyes, framed by dark eyebrows, skated across the congregation before alighting on Harry Roy. She gave him a measured but not effusive smile, and then moved towards him. Her gait was awkward and one hip swept low as she moved forwards. Only then did Gillard notice on the side away from him that she leaned heavily on a stick. She was guided into a reserved area of seating away from the Roy family.
Gillard and Claire exchanged a glance. ‘That’s interesting,’ she said. ‘Could be polio.’
Nearby, the muffled sound of bells and a gong hushed the congregation. At that moment, Zayan, the wedding planner, slipped from his place, squeezed past others in his row, and hurriedly left by the rear door, eyes glued to his phone. He looked distressed. Gillard saw Harry’s head dip, too, as if looking at a phone. The two detectives shared a glance.
‘Nosh2U news, probably,’ Gillard whispered.
Claire looked horrified. ‘Really? At a funeral? They’ve got no respect.’ The detectives joined the others in processing around the open coffin. The funeral directors had done a good job. Mrs Roy looked a lot better than when Gillard last saw her at the mortuary. The wig and the make-up were professionally done, and there were garlands at her feet, and one around her neck. Her hands had been dabbed with turmeric, and he could smell this and other less familiar smells. Prisha, just ahead of him, placed a rice ball in the coffin, and uttered a brief prayer as she passed. A priest in white and saffron robes uttered a mantra in the background.
Then the close family members were invited into the committal room to witness the start of the cremation ceremony. For all the sandalwood scent around, the distinctive and penetrating taint of the burning of human flesh could not be escaped.
Sometime later Harry Roy emerged, and made straight for the two detectives. He looked unwell, almost ghostly in his white traditional robes.
‘Thank you for coming. I hoped that you would by now have some answers for us.’ He searched Gillard’s face. ‘But I see not.’ He looked across at his family. ‘I think my mother would have been disappointed to see how quickly her work has been ruined. Greed, ambition – even love, when blind – can make a pyre of all that we hold dear.’ He looked up at the thin trail of white smoke seeping from the furnace chimney.
‘This doesn’t make sense,’ Gillard said, after Harry had returned to Morag’s side. ‘The bride-to-be is here, yet he’s not gone to speak to her. And didn’t Zayan say the wedding was deferred?’
‘He said it might be,’ Claire replied.
Gillard turned to her. ‘If you were Sonali what would you think to see Harry almost welded to Morag’s side?’
‘I’m sure I’d want answers. I’d like to see evidence that she was a part of the history syllabus, not current affairs.’
The detectives decided not to stay for the reception. Gillard had a meeting scheduled at five p.m. in central London with the City of London Police and the Serious Fraud Office, while Claire was due to assist CSI at Deepak Tripathi’s house.
‘They’re going to hate selling up and losing control of the family business,’ Claire said as they were leaving.
‘I’m sure they will,’ Gillard replied. ‘But they’ll still have more money than most of us can dream of.’
‘Not now, at least not the women of the family, Craig. Half a per cent each of a lot less than they thought. They’ve been short-changed at every turn.’
‘None more than the murder victim herself,’ Gillard said.
An appreciation of the late Mrs Roy stayed with him as they walked, more marked for having been reminded of the power of Indian tradition. A woman born in one world who became, through hard work and drive, famous in another. A woman who, through sheer force of character, eclipsed discrimination and tradition to lead her family firm to success. And yet, almost certainly, one of those closest to her had a hand in her brutal death.
Gillard had one day left of Rigby’s deadline to find whoever it was.
But something he’d seen at the funeral had given him a new idea.
* * *
Gillard and Claire took the train to Clapham Junction, where she changed to head back to Guildford, and he continued onwards to Waterloo. He met Shireen Corey-Williams as arranged at a cafe in the crowded terminus, and walked across the footbridge to Embankment tube station. They were squashed together on a packed underground train heading for the City at 4.20 p.m. when the next shock occurred. Gillard was looking around, noticing that almost everybody had a copy of the Evening Standard, emblazoned with the story of the collapse of Nosh2U Plc, whose shares were changing hands at 17p, instead of the £3.50 they had started the day at, and a fraction of the £19.80 they were worth at the start of Tuesday. Analysts were quoted describing the firm as worthless. Shireen was looking at her phone, monitoring the price of Empire of Spice shares.
‘That’s funny,’ she whispered. ‘The market closes in ten minutes and the share price has fallen back well below the level it opened at.’ She tapped the screen, moved to a new page and said. ‘EoS has put out another statement. Oh my God! They’ve rejected the bid offer.’
Gillard looked over at the screen. ‘Really? Maybe they think it’s too low.’
‘Yes, but where are they going to get £108 million from now?’ she hissed. ‘They don’t have a leg to stand on. At least with Johnny Lam’s offer the company would be saved even though the family would lose control. This way the whole business risks collapse.’
‘So what happens next?’
Shireen shrugged. ‘Well, Johnny Lam can either increase the offer to change the family’s mind, or go hostile, which essentially means opening it up to independent shareholders to see if what he is offering is more attractive than staying with the existing management. Or he can abandon the takeover.’
‘Which, according to Cathcart, he never does.’ Gillard noticed that several commuters were eyeing them curiously, probably listening to what they were saying. ‘I don’t think this is quite the place,’ he said.
Later, as they walked to Snow Hill police
station, she said, ‘I really don’t understand this. All the hopes and dreams of the Roy children will be destroyed if they reject the bid. Prisha, desperately trying to give birth to a boy so she can grab the prize from the trust, Kiara and her fashion business, Deepak and his greed. I mean, they are really not in a position to pick and choose. The banks will demand their money back the moment they miss an interest payment. From what we’ve heard, EoS just doesn’t have the cash.’
‘Well, people can be stubborn,’ Gillard said. ‘They just won’t let go of the dream.’
‘It’s about to become a nightmare,’ Shireen said, pointing out an article on her phone. ‘The press has finally identified that EoS had a valuable stake in Nosh2U. By tomorrow morning they’ll have figured out that the company isn’t solvent.’ She looked up. ‘Boss, I think it’s the end for them.’
‘It certainly will be if the SFO announces an investigation into the company, which is what I expect we’ll agree tonight. I just hope that we get our hands on Tripathi before he gets away.’
* * *
Susannah Majesky was on her first business class flight, her first major sales trip since being promoted to VP for South Asia. Okay, so the company was still loss-making, and there were bigger rivals among the ride hailing apps, but at twenty-nine she had the job that had been worth getting the MBA for. Now, reclining in her window seat, waiting for the BA flight to Mumbai to push back from the air bridge, she was sipping a glass of champagne, and looking forward to plugging into some very good music. She heard a slight noise behind her, and the thunk of the jet door closing. It was departure time, 4.10 p.m. The seat next to her was still vacant, even better news.
She looked up to see a sleekly handsome Indian-looking man in a dark suit. He smiled at her, perfect white teeth in a well-cared-for designer stubble.
‘Phew, just made it,’ he said, stowing his slim silver briefcase in the overhead locker. He settled himself down and introduced himself. ‘Are you a regular on this route?’ he asked, his mocha-coloured eyes drinking her in. She began to tell him her story, interrupted only when the pretty but overly made-up blond stewardess brought him a glass of fizz.
He downed it in one, returning the glass to her. ‘Thank you so much. It’s been that kind of a day,’ he said, earning in exchange a smile that seemed at least a millimetre broader and more interested than required. Susannah was surprised to find that it elicited a hostile pang in her.
They got back to their conversation, she finding in him a sympathetic listener. She liked too the sheer darkness of his skin, and the profuse hair which escaped at the neck and cuffs of his brilliant white shirt. Screw the music, this was looking like it would be a most enjoyable flight.
The purser came on the PA and announced a short delay. ‘Just some security issues groundside, and I’m sure in a couple of minutes we’ll be pushing back and whisking you on your way to the subcontinent.’
This announcement seemed to unsettle her companion, and she lost his attention. Some unusually hurried flight attendant movements along the aisle spoke of something more serious. And then a clunk as the door to the air bridge was reopened. Jet engine sounds intruded, and four burly uniformed officials were led up the aisle by the purser. Susannah’s companion was looking over his shoulder, and stood up just as the first security man approached.
‘Mr Deepak Tripathi? Would you like to come with me, sir?’
He nodded, and then turned to Susannah. ‘Goodbye. It was lovely talking to you. Have a nice flight. It seems I have some pressing business to attend to.’
And she regretted that this was the last she ever saw of him.
* * *
By eight p.m. Gillard had formally handed over the nascent Empire of Spice fraud case to the SFO. He had been given an enormous list of documents that the SFO was seeking, few of which Surrey Police possessed. He was told that the shares in Empire of Spice would be suspended first thing tomorrow once the investigation was announced.
In the meantime, he had one last chance to interview Deepak Tripathi locally, before he was handed over to his colleagues in London. Gillard and Shireen took the train back to Teddington, picked up his car and raced off to Heathrow police station. He’d only visited this facility once before, but recalled it was near Terminal Four and, ironically, just a mile or so from Empire of Spice’s Slough headquarters.
The detective guessed that Deepak had committed a series of criminal acts in his misuse of funds at Empire of Spice. What was less certain was what connection this may have had with the murder of Mrs Roy. Circumstantial evidence put him bang in the frame. He was the one close member of the Roy family, at least the only male, who could have been the cyclist who attacked her and close enough to her inner circle to have been the poisoner. What about the motive? Perhaps Mrs Roy had discovered a hole in the accounts, and was being silenced. However Harry Roy’s claim of complete ignorance about the accounting issue was a problem too. Mrs Roy and her son were, by common consent, in contact several times a day, presumably even while he was abroad. If Mrs Roy had discovered a hole in the accounts, the first person to whom she would have turned would undoubtedly have been her son. But he claimed to know nothing about it.
Deepak Tripathi had been in the custody suite for only an hour when Gillard arrived with DS Shireen Corey-Williams to interview him. Tripathi was already slouched at the interview table with a uniformed PC standing over him.
When the two detectives came into the room accompanied by the duty solicitor, Deepak jumped to his feet.
‘What on earth did you think you were doing, hauling me off the flight? I have urgent business to attend to in India, and the survival of our family firm depends on it. My phone’s been taken off me, and I’m told the police are upending my home.’
‘Just take a seat and calm down,’ Gillard said. ‘You are being held in connection with a fraud at Empire of Spice, and I hope you will able to provide us with some assistance.’
The businessman, smoothly attired in a well-fitting suit and a still-pristine white shirt, ran both hands through his dark swept-back hair and fixed him with a glare. ‘You’ve got this all wrong. I’m part of the solution, not part of the problem.’
Gillard ran through the formalities for the benefit of the tape, including a formal caution, while the female duty solicitor checked that the detainee had no complaints about the way he had been arrested, and how he was being held. As it turned out there were many, which took several minutes to detail.
‘I shall be taking legal action against Surrey Police for financial losses over the flight, and the public and humiliating way in which I was arrested in front of other passengers, causing damage to my reputation and standing.’
‘Good luck with that,’ Gillard said.
When he had finally calmed down enough, Deepak sat back down in the chair with his hands cupped behind his head. ‘So what do you want to know?’
Shireen looked down at her notes. ‘According to our information, you, as the sole director of the property subsidiary EoS Ltd (Property), on October 27 last year, secured a £108 million mortgage against the property assets of the company.’ She looked up at him. ‘Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘Under the articles of association of the company, any borrowings of over £1 million need the full backing of a board meeting. We can find no record of such a board meeting.’
Deepak laughed. ‘Secured borrowing within the division is excluded from that formal procedure. In any case, I discussed the plans with Harry and his mother, and they were fine with it.’
Shireen looked down at her notes. ‘There is no record of any approval, and Harry in his statement said that he knew nothing about it.’
Deepak gave a short sardonic laugh. ‘Harry, well, he’s not quite got his eye on the ball, has he? He is just very confused.’ The thin smile conveyed some rather deeper meaning.
Gillard leaned forward. ‘Mr Tripathi, what was the purpose of this mortgage?’
‘To pursue
investment opportunities. You can see that on the bank letter of approval.’
‘Is that how you put it to Harry?’ he asked.
‘I gave him a great deal more detail than that.’
‘Perhaps you’d honour us with the same level of attention then,’ Gillard said.
There was no reply.
Shireen again looked down at her notes. ‘Is it not true that all this money was used to buy shares in the food delivery company Nosh2U.com?’
‘You seem to know all about it,’ Deepak replied.
‘What was the purpose of this apparently high-risk investment?’ she asked.
He sighed. ‘I was hoping to make a great deal of money for our family business, and provide some growth which, let’s face it, was never going to come through selling more Indian snacks and chutneys.’
‘So this secretive endeavour,’ Gillard said, ‘was in fact a selfless attempt to help the Roy family?’
‘I don’t think there’s any need for sarcasm, chief inspector.’ Deepak’s hooded eyes had a powerful intensity to them. ‘I have worked very hard for the Roy family. Indeed, I consider myself part of the Roy family now.’
‘Even though your wife Prisha divorced you?’ Gillard said.
‘On account of your many infidelities,’ added Shireen.
‘Oh, you’re the morality police,’ he said, smirking. He turned to the solicitor. ‘I hadn’t realised that the much-respected British legal system had debased itself into some kind of celebrity witchhunt.’
The solicitor, so pale as to be almost translucent against the mahogany skin of the detainee, lifted one pale eyebrow, but said nothing.
‘What about your company car? The Bentley Bentayga.’
‘What about it?’ The director steepled his hands, as if nothing he was asked would trouble him.
The Body in the Snow Page 25
