Take A Thousand Cuts

by TERESA HUNTER

  “The sun started to come up,” Pitcher helped her.

  “Grace fell. She slipped on some sticky gunge. She looked up and...”

  “Saw a man hanging,” Pitcher finished for her.

  “Dear God, those poor girls,” Julia said.

  “Indeed.”

  Mrs Cadbury stopped walking when they reached the trees.

  “I’ll stay here if you don’t mind Chief Inspector.”

  Pitcher led Julia and Cody down to the spot where the body was found.

  “He was hanging,” Pitcher pointed up to a tree. “But that’s not how he died.”

  “You say murder, could it have been suicide?” Julia asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Hell of a lot of blood here judging by the staining,” Cody pointed to dark stains drained deep into the undergrowth.

  “Yes there was. Walk with me down to the stream,” Pitcher led the way. It was little more than a trickle of water. He stared into the shallow current then spoke softly.

  “He was hacked to death. A meat cleaver still rammed in his back.”

  “Triads,” Cody said. “Lingchi – death by a thousand cuts.”

  He sneezed.

  Julia clenched her jaw.

  “OK, let's go.”

  Mrs Cadbury waited for them by the trees, and walked back with them through the field.

  “Gruesome business,” she said.

  “Thanks for letting me have another look,” Pitcher nodded.

  “Always a pleasure Inspector,” the Guider gave a little giggle.

  Julia cringed. Don’t tell me even the sensible Mrs Cadbury with her brown lace-ups has fallen for his charms. He’s a handsome devil. Trouble is he knows it.

  “Does that little stream have a name?” Pitcher asked.

  “I don’t think so, but it drains into the River Ching.”

  They were back at the car. Pitcher turned to shake hands with Mrs Cadbury and say goodbye.

  “One last question,” he said. “Who owns this land? Is it the Guiding Association? This camp's been here since I was a kid.”

  “Oh no no. The Girl Guides don't own anything Chief Inspector. It's a big trust. Now let me think. The Wallace, no, that’s a gallery. The White, White, no, I’m thinking of the cube. Wait a moment, it’ll come. That’s it, I’ve got it. The Whittingdale Trust. Our landlord is the Whittingdale Trust.”

  “Oh yes, we know all about the Whittingdale Trust,” Julia said looking at Cody.

  “Do we?” the Chief Inspector asked.

  “Oh yes we do,” Cody replied.

  They said their farewells and got back in the car.

  PITCHER SWUNG the car out of the lane, turned left, and pulled up a few minutes later outside the Two Brewers pub.

  “I need something to eat,” he said, switching off the engine and getting out. They followed him inside. A log fire burned for atmosphere in “ye oldie English inglenook”.

  Weird, Julia thought, in the middle of summer.

  Pitcher went straight to the bar. “Serving food?” he asked the landlady, who handed him a menu.

  “I'll have a braised shoulder of lamb, dauphinoise potatoes, tenderstem broccoli, rosemary gravy – and a pint.”

  Julia couldn’t help noticing it was the most expensive item on the menu.

  “Just a coffee for me,” she said, passing the menu to Cody, who ordered burger, chips and a coke. Julia paid for them all. They took their drinks to a table in the corner.

  “What’s with this Whittingdale Trust then?” Pitcher began. “How come it’s on your radar?”

  Julia scratched her ear. “You could call it a coincidence. I’d go further. I’d say it’s uncanny – downright creepy. It’s why we wanted to see you. A few months ago, a set of accounts arrived anonymously in the post. It was just after Adam Lee was found. I was up to my eyes with the financial crisis. So I asked Cody to take a look. Anonymous packages are ten-a-penny in our line. If people suspect something but don't know what to do, they send stuff to us. It usually turns out to be nothing. So with everything collapsing around us – ”she looked at Cody. “Why don’t you take it from here?”

  “I found it hard to get anywhere at first. After hours in the Guildhall Library, I discovered the documents related to the Whittingdale Trust. I was still struggling to work out what they meant when Julia put me in touch with a forensic accountant. He spent days pouring over the accounts and reckons not only don’t they add up – they’re £1 million out.”

  “Fraud?” Pitcher sucked the froth off his pint. “Certainly looks that way.”

  “Some £2 billion goes missing each year from charities doesn’t it?”

  “My, my, Chief Inspector. You surprise me,” Julia raised her eyebrows.

  “Crime is my speciality. Little’s ever recovered. Go on Cody.”

  “We needed more. So, I kept digging. Next thing, the Treasurer’s gone missing.”

  “Not another disappearance,” Pitcher banged his forehead with the stub of his right palm.

  “Fraid so. Have you identified this body?”

  “No, but I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions. My guess is your Treasurer hot-tailed it to Panama, and is necking glasses of Martini in the sun. What is this trust anyway, this Whittingdale Trust?”

  “Very old City of London charity. Set up in Shakespeare’s day to...”

  “The Chief Inspector doesn’t need a history lesson, Cody,” Julia interrupted.

  “Sorry,” he grinned sheepishly. “Well, today it owns most of London’s green belt, plus huge chunks of Epping forest and other land around the capital.”

  “Ripe for the pickings. A lost million sounds like small change.”

  “And small time crook,” Julia agreed. “Still theft from a charity – stealing from society’s most vulnerable. What d’you want us to do?”

  “Keep digging for the time being. I’ve got this murder, plus Lee.”

  “Spectacularly brutal, wasn’t it?” Julia said.

  “Yes but I’ve got a feeling...” he paused, as if he thought better of sharing his suspicions. “How d’you get on in Hong Kong?”

  “Learnt a lot about the People’s Republic of China, the Lee family, First State, and a bit about Triads.”

  “See any orchids?”

  “Lots, they’re everywhere. National flower, I believe. Why ask?”

  Pitcher stretched for a toothpick in a box on the table and began poking his teeth.

  “Getting anywhere with Lee and Chandler?” Julia continued.

  “I've never been convinced by Chandler. Doesn’t smell right.” Pitcher looked at Julia, his eyes narrowing. “Have you spoken to his wife recently?”

  “No I haven't. Haven't had time.”

  “Might I suggest you’re spreading yourself too thin? You’re hunting for bogeymen over half the globe, when the answer’s most likely right in front of your eyes. No Julia. The River Ching isn’t in China or Vietnam. It’s right here in London. The simplest explanation is usually the right one. I’d bet my shirt Chandler’s laying low.”

  Julia made a face. Pitcher could be so annoying, but he was echoing Ludgate’s warning earlier in the day. Two men who knew her so well. Perhaps they had a point. She was a money hack. What was she doing wading in blood?

  CHAPTER 29

  Wednesday August 18

  London

  PITCHER MUST have second sight, Julia thought as she woke the next morning to a story so big, she had no idea how they would ever manage to cover it. And it was breaking right here on her doorstep. The UK's biggest global bank, Gold & National, had run out of money and been taken over by the Government in the middle of the night.

  “Fuck, fuck fuck!” Julia sat bolt upright in bed, listening with horror to the 6am radio bulletin. “If GNB is bust, the UK economy’s about to be flushed down the drain.”

  Still listening, she swung her legs out of bed and went into the kitchen to make coffee. Never in my wildest nightmare could I have imagined
such a seismic shock.

  Government pledged to inject £500 million into the UK banking system to shore up confidence.

  Where will this money come from?

  Ludgate called at 6.30am. “I've spoken to the Chancellor. He took a call late last night from GNB’s James Ackroyd. Said the bank was bust.”

  “Nice they gave plenty of warning.”

  “Can you get into your office pronto and start digging? Unlikely any of the other banks will be able to open first thing. We need to get to the bottom of what caused this almighty...” he didn't finish the sentence.

  She dressed, emailed Cody, drained her mug and headed into the office. This is the collapse Silverman warned me of in that cave, she thought as she jogged to the office.

  The Chancellor appeared on television throughout the day reassuring the public British banks were sound, but needed support because of what was happening in the US. By 11am, as a result of behind-the-scenes alchemy, all the main UK banks were able to reopen their doors. Analysts expressed doubts about how many of them were any more secure than GNB.

  Julia spent the day on the phone.

  “This £500 million’s just the start,” carped one of her contacts. “Mark my words, it'll end up costing upwards of £30 billion to bail the lot of them out.”

  “What? Who’s going to pay?”

  “Our children and their children. This total fuck up will have a very long tail for us all.”

  Many she spoke to were furious at the banks’ wrecking orgy, and the damage to their own businesses.

  “If I could get my hands on Ackroyd I would string him up,” said one.

  “Hope someone goes to jail for this,” vented another.

  She worked efficiently back in her own office. Pitcher's number popped up on her mobile several times. She was too busy to take his calls.

  As her main deadlines approached, she surveyed the material of the morning. It was all good and worthy – a sound account of the crisis of the day.

  Not enough, Julia drummed her fingers on her desk. A crunch on this scale needs more. Why’s this happening? What’s caused it? Who’s to blame? That’s what readers want to know.

  Politicians, bankers, economists and historians would argue about these questions for decades. But she had a head start. Silverman had given her an inside track.

  Why? she asked herself, thinking of Silverman standing in that cave, haunted by – what? She didn’t know.

  “He wants it all to come out – that’s why,” she answered her question aloud.

  “What’s why?” Cody stopped typing and looked up at the sound of her voice.

  “Nothing. Just thinking aloud.” A light had switched on. “Silverman wants it all to come out. Only once the authorities understand what’s happened, can they fix things.”

  “You really think they can fix this?” Cody asked.

  “They always do. The question is who pays? How you getting on?”

  “Fine. I’ll be ready to file my City reaction in about five minutes.”

  “That’s great. I’d better get on.”

  She started to write probably the biggest scoop of her career. She told the story of how sliced-and-diced debt packages infiltrated the entire global financial system to create a shadow banking monster. No one knew what they were worth or where they were. Only that they fuelled a boom built on worthless promises. The wealth of the world was primed with deadly incendiaries, and the touch paper was burning.

  Ludgate called a few moments after she filed. “Where d’you get all this?” he asked.

  “Deep source...”

  He didn't need to ask if it could be trusted.

  He paused for a moment, thinking. When he spoke again, she could hear the weariness in his voice.

  “OK, let's get this out and see what response we get. Good work. Seems you haven't been wasting your time. I owe you a drink.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m going to New York later this evening on the Chancellor’s plane. He’s addressing the IMF. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

  “Will do,” she cleared her throat. “Andrew, they must’ve known, mustn’t they? They must all have known what they were doing.”

  “They didn't have a fucking clue,” he was angry. “None of them. Not the traders, not executives, not the agencies, not the Treasury, the Fed or the European Central Bank. They should all be lined up against a wall and shot.”

  “What about us, we should’ve known?”

  He sighed.

  “These shadow banks are all off balance sheet. We can only report what we can see – but you’re right. We could have tried harder. Some of us tried.”

  She was glad he included her in the “us”.

  CHAPTER 30

  Thursday August 19

  PATRICK SILVERMAN called the next morning. “So you decided to run with the story?”

  “D’you mind?” she took a sip of her coffee. “It's nothing like the whole story, but it's time. Time to begin the drip...drip...drip to see where it leads.”

  “No, I didn’t mind. As you say, it’s time. The faster they understand what’s happened, the quicker they can put it right.”

  “In your dreams, don’t you think?”

  He smothered a deep chortle. “Maybe.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve not been in touch.” Julia felt guilty at not making contact since returning from Hong Kong.

  “How long’ve you been back?”

  “Around a week, but it’s been crazy.”

  Cody arrived and gave her a thumbs-up good-morning. She smiled at him despite a sinking feeling. She would have to come clean and her news wouldn’t be welcome.

  “Truth is, I didn't call, because I didn't have anything to tell you.”

  “About Laura? You drew a blank?”

  “No, not entirely. I discovered something, but it doesn't take us much further. You were right she's been working as a doctor in Hong Kong. I met one of her colleagues.”

  “So you found her...that's brilliant.”

  “No, the thing is...” Julia breathed deeply. “Have you seen the stories about a new virus outbreak in Southern China?”

  “You mean Avian flu?” he stretched the words, as if apprehensive about what might follow.

  “I tracked down a friend of Laura’s. Another doctor – Kathy – lovely lady. They worked together at the children’s hospital in Sandy Bay. Kathy told me the Republic of China appealed for doctors to go and help with a new outbreak of the virus. Laura went. I didn't have the correct visa, so I couldn't go – and my paper called me home urgently.”

  “Sounds just like Laura. How long’s she been there? When's she coming back?”

  “That's the thing Patrick. No one knows. She’s been out of touch.”

  “How long?”

  “A year...”

  Silence. Julia waited for him to react. Cody’s phone started to ring. Silverman said nothing.

  Where do we go with this now? she thought. She could hear deep breathing at the other end. Finally he spoke.

  “Did I say I’m in London. Can we meet up? I won’t take much of your time.”

  “Sure, earlier – rather than later – better for me. You in the office?”

  “Yeah.”

  “OK, how about I see you in the Jampot in an hour. Few things to sort out here first.”

  “Let’s say 11 o’clock,” he put the phone down. Julia looked across at Cody and pulled a face.

  “What?” he said.

  “I’ve got a feeling I’ve just walked into a trap.”

  “Don’t worry, be happy. I’ve got some good news for you. Chief Inspector Pitcher called and said the British Museum’s finally got its act together and I can go and look at the CCTV for the morning Adam Lee died. OK, if I shoot across there now?”

  “Absolutely, but why isn’t he sending one of his officers?”

  “Something about couldn’t spare anyone for a wild goose chase.”

  “And he thinks we can?
Thanks Pitch!” she raised her eyes to heaven. “Try not to be too long. Deadlines, copy etc. OK, and remember the fifth rule of journalism – use your eyes. Seeing is believing.”

  “He probably wants us to take the first look. See if we recognise anyone. Honestly I don’t mind going.”

  Cody left, and Julia wrote a short piece looking at what the crash could mean for ordinary borrowers and savers. It didn’t work well, so she cut it, reinstated it, chopped it again, then hit send.

  That’ll fill a hole, she thought, grabbing her coat and heading for the door. She crossed London Bridge, and made her way to the Jampot.

  I didn’t imagine it, she thought, stepping inside. Echoes of the Foreign Correspondents’ Club in Hong Kong reverberated all around. Same bar, same furniture, same satirical cartoons.

  She skipped down the stairs, her eyes feeding on a Georgian skit on bankers, in their top hats and expensive suits, betting who would win the war with Napoleon. Ruin for all – if Britain lost. They got lucky, she thought. Maybe we will too.

  Silverman was sitting at the same table she sat at with Hugo. The bar was empty. He had already ordered coffee. She took off her jacket, sat down and reached for her cup.

  “Busy morning?” he greeted her.

  “Busy for us all. Is that what’s brought you up to town?”

  “Partly. I was due a trip. It’s good to catch up with friends and colleagues. Good to see you, too.”

  She nodded. “Let me apologise again, for not getting back about Laura. I didn’t know...”

  “So she's disappeared?” he raised eyebrows.

  “We don't know she’s disappeared. There could be a number of explanations. Without more information it's impossible to say where she is or what’s happened. Her friends keep trying to get information – only to hit brick walls. They’re worried about her.”

  Julia thought Silverman winked at her, then she remembered his nervous twitch. She looked down and saw his index finger tapping under the table.

  He seems very stressed.

  “What do we know about this virus?” he continued, the left eye winking again.

  “Nothing or not very much. That’s partly why Laura volunteered. The medics in Hong Kong were worried the Chinese Government wasn’t telling the truth.”