Collapse

by Freddie P Peters

  “I have absolutely no bloody idea, Inspector. I can’t give you any answer to this apart from the fact that Albert and I never discussed this trip … and I mean never.” An alternative reality was unfolding around Henry. He was part of it … yet a powerless spectator.

  Remember, Control at all cost.

  “But I thought you said Mr Albert had mentioned a trip?”

  “I mean we never firmed up on it. It was not even a discussion more … a vague suggestion. Absolutely nothing more.”

  Pole sat back in his chair, looking at Henry, sizing him up. Henry knew exactly what Pole was thinking … Yes, this man was intellectually arrogant, an excellent negotiator. Probably hideously ambitious, but could he kill for it?

  Pole took his time, giving Henry space to measure the impact of his thinking and what would come next.

  “Understood, but we will need to talk to you again. You realise that the gap between your account of the facts and what we have as evidence is let’s say … unreconciled … I am afraid Mr Crowne I am about to become a regular feature in your timetable.”

  Having shown his two unwanted guests out Henry grabbed his mobile and speed dialled number one.

  “Pam, I need to speak to you urgently!”

  “Darling, you always need to speak to me urgently,” purred Pam in a husky voice.

  Pamela Anderson had worked with Henry on most of the complex deals he had put together since joining GL. Her name had been a constant source of sarcasm, mixed, of course, with the inevitable dirty joke. Pam had cleverly used this unfortunate homonym to her advantage, playing for or against it according to circumstances. After all, it was a name to remember and she certainly made sure that her contacts did exactly that. Pam was tough. Some argued that the City had taken its toll as it did on so many women. Truth be told, Pam simply paid lip service to the female condition but enjoyed the company of men more. She was one of the few equity partners at Chase and Case, the largest law firm in the City. Equity partnership meant sharing in the revenues of the firm, an enviable position with a foreseeable substantial income. This of course came with large responsibilities too, a state of affairs which many City critics preferred to ignore. But Pam had more than it took to preserve her position.

  “Pam, do you have a good criminal lawyer in your contact list? There is a crazy situation developing at work and I may need to check a few things … in private …”

  “Where are you?” interrupted Pam, switching immediately to her professional voice. “Has someone screwed up on one of our deals?”

  “No, no, not a deal Pam … something more personal … I’ll explain.”

  “I am completely stuffed at the moment but I could squeeze in twenty minutes for coffee at 4 o’clock.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Henry looked at his mobile in disbelief, anger … a constant companion as faithful as a dog, as hungry as a wolf.

  Fuck … No, I did NOT screw up. How could she be so bloody quick off the mark? She has collected enough fees from me, been so goddamn ass covering in each transaction. She was bleating away to me when one of the partners opposed her elevation … and without me where the hell would she be?

  Henry could not stay mad for very long at Pam. He would not question that feeling of slight helplessness whenever they started a new deal together, getting used to her proximity again after a few hours. But the keen anticipation would always be there after a few months of separation.

  * * *

  Inspector Pole settled at his desk, stretched his long legs and waited for Nurani to free up the only chair in his office. She dumped the files at her feet and sat at the edge of her seat.

  “So, Nu, what do you make of our particularly exciting case?”

  “You mean Crowne? Interesting. What I expected from the City … with something extra …”

  “And what would that extra exactly entail? Apart from the fact that he is single, probably a millionaire, rather presentable,” teased Pole.

  “You mean frankly, sexy …”

  “Great start … a frank assessment of The Banker of the Year 2006, 2007, 2008 … You look surprised Nu, but we have here quite a pedigree animal,” said Pole.

  “Not very politically correct, Jon, we are not at a dog show,” Nurani grinned.

  “And addressing the sex appeal of Mr Crowne is not exactly PC either… Is he sexy?” Pole mused.

  “I thought we were staying strictly professional, avoiding any crude sizing up of Mr Crowne.”

  Nurani was still smiling wryly at her boss.

  “Quite so my dear … quite so. Anyway, the question with Mr Crowne despite his numerous attributes is–”

  “Has he got the gumption to commit murder? Could he literally pull the trigger? I am sure he has done so at least in his mind many times in the past, you don’t get to be where he is without having slaughtered a few opponents on the way.”

  Nurani whilst speaking was firing an imaginary gun at the level of someone else’s head.

  “Well, this is the preconceived idea anyway, you assume that he has had to do some pretty bad things to get where he’s got to, but has he? And as you know we are not in the business of assumptions but facts so …”

  The phone rang and Nurani picked up

  “Some preliminaries from forensic, I’ll go. Shall I also call the team in?”

  “No, just bring the results back to me. We’ll have a look, you and I, before drumming up the troops.”

  Pole watched Ms Shah (her preferred title) as she disappeared down the lift to the basement. Nurani had been his first choice when the case had come through. What she lacked in experience, she made up for in sheer determination … no one in the City could faze Ms Shah.

  “And … she can find a needle in a haystack,” Pole muttered as he made room on his untidy desk. His office was in a permanent state of untidiness, files, papers, various documents strewn across the room or mounting in piles of various heights. The department’s common joke was that any piece of missing evidence would be found in this ridiculous mess.

  Pole didn’t care. “My favourite detective is Columbo,” was the equally common reply given to anyone attempting to introduce their order into his chaos.

  He moved a couple of piles with precision, uncovered a blue file, reached for document three, pulled it out with a small flick of the wrist. He had exactly what he wanted. Pole sat down again while surveying his office with a contented grunt.

  Pole enjoyed the job because it was ‘totally him’. An odd answer for the many who had not reflected on why they were doing what they were but a highly enlightened one for those who had. Pole’s propensity to philosophise was regarded with irritation at the Yard. Yet his ability to zero in on a suspect’s motivation and get results held in respect in equal measure.

  As he started reading, Pole proceeded with impeccable logic, creating an elaborated web of possibilities.

  There are a number of hypotheses, he thought whilst scribbling some notes. First accident or homicide-murder. Let’s see what Nurani brings but my gut … Murder. Pole wrote the word in the far-right end side column on his paper. Then … People known to Albert, either close family friends or within his wider social circle, work … the takeover, past deals, promotion-bonus … any other link to a network of influence. Money, power …a good receipt for a bad outcome.

  Simplicity was paramount as many answers to crime resided in the immediate environment of the victim but the Albert case was already proving different. He had, just this morning, gone through a preliminary interview with Anthony Albert’s widow. Pole opened his notebook.

  Shockingly calm she was … a high profile hit job … Possible.

  Pole looked at the far side of the corridor. Nurani should be back any minute now.

  Yes … it’s got to be murder, the signs are there, a new plane and one of the most reliable on record, an explosion near the tail of the aircraft where the luggage is stored … Pole had, however, another niggling feeling, difficult to identify,
a vague and contradictory sense that although he wanted to keep matters simple, the way evidence was presenting itself was almost too neat. A thought he would keep in the back of his mind for the time being.

  “Yep, ’tis a murder case,” said Ms Shah.

  She had pushed the door open without knocking and was still reading the report.

  “Traces of Semtex were found on some of the remains of the private jet, a fairly common but very effective type of explosive.”

  “Have you asked for the origin of the sample to be traced?”

  “Yes sir, Forensics are on it. It may take a little while unless it is already on the data bank. The guys from the IAFA have also left a message by the way, hope they will not want to interfere too much”

  “You bet ... There is a clear security breach at the airport. It’s bad enough at a large airport but how can it happen on a private jet. No guaranteed security for the high flyers ... as welcome a problem as a pork chop in a synagogue.”

  “Wow, goodbye political correctness … seriously, Jon.”

  “First thing … we need to eliminate the pilot from our potential suspect list,” Pole said satisfied with his little bad joke.

  “Do you think the pilot could be involved? That would be very odd.”

  “Everybody is a suspect as you know … don’t assume anything in the first instance. And yes, I understand what you mean. But it is possible … mental illness, less unusual than you think … frighteningly so.”

  “OK, that is definitely frightening. I will speak to the company and do a full background check on him.”

  “Although I have to admit, with a banker on board, my gut is telling me we won’t find anything on the pilot.”

  “So, what do we do next?”

  “Now, we follow the trail Ms Shah … We follow the trail.”

  “Motive, means, opportunity,” she said.

  “Correct. Do we think this guy Crowne is on the list?”

  “He hates his rival who may be about to take over his team.”

  “OK, motive!” Pole said.

  “He was supposed to be on the aircraft with him.”

  “Opportunity, I sort of buy that.”

  “He might have given him docs to carry, or … something else.”

  “Yep … means to achieve his purpose.”

  Pole was looking through the report without paying real attention to it.

  “That is a bit obvious, not a very clever way of covering one’s tracks, for a guy who I think is pretty bright.”

  “Yes but, this is only circumstantial for the time being, he may have involved a pro. I don’t see him doing a DIY job on this one, I agree.”

  “He may lose in the battle for power, but this is common in the City. You live by the sword. You die by the sword … then get reborn and move on to yet another guaranteed bonus.”

  “Is that right?” said Nurani, incredulous.

  “Yep, absolutely. But granted, Crowne may no longer be thinking straight.”

  “Exactly. Have you seen his face? He looks as if he has not slept for a hundred years and he lied at our first meeting, several times. You said so yourself.”

  “Bon. Mr Crowne, you’re number one on our suspects’ list.”

  Nurani opened up her notebook and slowly penned Henry’s name. She was about to suggest another name when Andy Todd knocked at the door. The youngest recruit in the squad, he had started two weeks ago and was eager to show commitment.

  “Hey, Nu, got the tapes you wanted. Do you want to view them now?”

  “Tapes?” said Pole raising one eyebrow in his inimitable fashion.

  Nurani blushed a little.

  “Yes, I asked to see the video cameras at the entrance of Crowne’s place. Just in case Albert or someone else came to pay a visit. Just to make sure …”

  “I see, no flies on you Missus.”

  Pole was grinning at the speed at which Nurani was following her own logical path.

  Pole looked in amusement as his little team vanished in the distance. He stood up and closed the door. A sign he wanted no disruption and started meticulously reading through the file.

  * * *

  Henry was pacing up and down the small cosy lounge of Chase and Case. Pam had said twenty minutes at 4pm. It was already ten past four and Henry was growing irritable. He stopped his restless walk to pick up a newspaper when someone grabbed his arm. Pam placed a peck on his cheek in a mechanical fashion and pushed him through the exit doors.

  “Let’s go.”

  She was looking tanned and relaxed in her grey designer suit, having just come back from two weeks in Barbados where she owned a large flat in one of the secluded parts of the island.

  “Right, Henry, what is this garbage about a criminal lawyer? You look like shit by the way, you need to rest my friend.”

  “Thanks. I feel so much better after that reassuring comment.”

  Henry was staring at his tea, adding yet another sugar and stirring it cautiously. Contacting Pam may not have been such a good idea after all, however here she was. He told Pam pretty much everything including about Pole’s visit. Pam frowned for the entire time he was talking, her dark brown eyes fixed on Henry. She said nothing until he had finished.

  “The first thing you must do is ensure you have the GL legal team involved, you don’t want to say anything unless you know they are. GL’s gators are pretty fierce.”

  “Who?” asked Henry.

  “I mean the litigation team, nicknamed gators after the creatures that hunt in swamps.”

  “Right … right,” Henry nodded, not amused.

  “Henry, what are you concerned about anyway? You seem to imply you are targeted.”

  “These emails are strange. I’ve never seen them, I am pretty sure. I am tired not senile.”

  “Albert was trying to make you sound like an uncooperative little shit. What’s new? It’s a classic merger tactic.”

  “Unlikely, he would have been found out pretty quickly.”

  “Look, I’ll have a think, don’t panic. It is nothing for the time being, OK?” She glanced at her watch. “Got to go. Hang on in there, big boy.”

  Henry was one of Pam’s best clients. She owed him her elevation to the enviable position of equity partner and would call him a friend. These events were, however, strange and dangerous for a young partner. Pam tapped him on the shoulder and left. Henry watched her energetic silhouette move away and noticed that her hair had become blonder in the sun. She had spent exactly twenty minutes with him.

  * * *

  Back at Scotland Yard, Inspector Pole was still reading the file when he got an excited call from Andy Todd.

  “Boss, I got something. I can come up and …”

  “I’ll come your way. I need to stretch my legs,” said Pole amused at the enthusiasm. “Ah, to be young and keen again!”

  Pole entered the room in which Andy had been sitting without noise.

  “So, how many wine gums packets has it taken you?”

  “Er, only three. I mean, I know it’s not really mature and all that but it helps the concentration.”

  “Just kidding, show me what you’ve got.”

  They both leaned forward, as Andy rewound the tape and played it back. A man resembling Anthony Albert was pressing a doorbell, hunched over as if speaking into the intercom system, then keying some numbers into the entry door pad. Andy froze the image.

  “And now Boss, may I introduce you to Mr Albert,” Andy grinned.

  “Well done, young man. Keep at it. And have another packet of wine gums on me,” said Pole leaving Andy to his task.

  Andy punched the air, several hours of viewing not spent in vain. He carried on with the tape to see Anthony Albert walk into the building and come out of it ten minutes and thirty-seven seconds later with not one but two briefcases. Life was hotting up for Henry Crowne.

  Chapter Four

  Henry decided to walk home. Work was piling up at the office but he could not shake off the ev
ents of the past few hours. It was only 5pm and anyone back at base would have called it a half day. He took his BlackBerry out of his jacket pocket in a mechanical gesture and started scrolling down the messages, only paying attention to those that seemed important. The sun was out and despite the bitter cold it felt good to be walking at a quick pace. Henry recognised St John’s Street. He had somehow given up on the BlackBerry and for the first time in years found himself looking at the buildings in the street. Some of them had been freshly renovated, some replaced by new premises. A strange mix, yet not disharmonious, he was taking the time to notice.

  Unlike many City professionals, Henry had chosen to live away from Chelsea, Belgravia or Holland Park. He found these upmarket places stuck up and predictably bourgeois. He had decided to remain in Islington, the area he had moved to when he had secured his first job in investment banking. He had been hunting for the perfect flat for years and had finally found it at great expense. A cash purchase, no mortgage. The estate agent had taken two seconds to persuade the vendor to accept Henry’s offer.

  A large warehouse with an unusual glass entrance appeared on his right-hand side. The place had been converted a few years ago into a meditation centre for aspiring City MDs. Henry had always resisted the training programmes that might come too close to deciphering who he truly was. He knew he had ambition and that was enough. Henry did not distrust psychology as a science but had little respect for those selling their so-called coaching skills to the banks.

  He slowed down as he passed the entrance and shook his head at the thought. He had been in competition with Anthony Albert to win the same client and had engaged in the battle mercilessly. The CEO they were wooing had discovered the power of meditation recently and was enthusiastically visiting this City outpost of St Augustin. Henry could now see himself, kneeling on an uncomfortable cushion trying to stay still without too much wriggling. Albert was sitting a little further in front and closer to their prospective client. Keeping one eye open, Henry was surveying the situation. Albert’s heavier body was constantly tensing up. He would not last an hour. To Henry’s satisfaction Albert had had to bow and retreat, the cramps in Henry’s own legs indicating that he would not last much longer either. At least he could withdraw without his client noticing.