She stood up to greet him. He waved a quick hello and sat across the table but said nothing more.
“I saw Pole this morning. We learned something new,” she hesitated.
Nothing of what she could say was going to change the path he had decided to embark on. As Henry remained silent Nancy decided to continue.
“Anthony Albert was terminally ill.”
“So, are you trying to tell me that terminating his life a tad early was a form of mercy killing?” said Henry springing back to life. “How about the pilot of the plane, was he also terminally ill?”
This is more like it, thought Nancy, ignoring Henry’s aggressive tone.
“No, I am simply giving you the facts.”
“Nothing you can say, Nancy, will change the fact that I have killed these guys.”
Nancy was about to reply but Henry cut her short.
“I don’t care whether this is directly, indirectly, whether Bobby was a sicko who heard voices. I have known that all my life, I kept meeting them, I kept giving money. I also knew the reason, so what does that make me? A guy who thinks he still has principles because he sticks to his old school friends, a guy who believes in a cause? That’s a lot of bullshit, a feel good factor as long as things don’t go wrong or I don’t know the bloody details. I did what I did.”
“No one is contesting that, Henry, but pay for what you did, not for what you think you did,” replied Nancy, her tone matching Henry’s.
“You have never seen a man die in,” started Henry, through gritted teeth and could not complete his sentence, the lump in his throat too large for him to continue.
“Yes, I have, bodies torn apart, the smell of blood. Do not assume you are the only one who knows about savage killings,” Nancy retorted with more vehemence than he had ever heard before.
The anger and anxiety in her voice shocked Henry. They both remained silent, facing each other and not able to say any more.
“Then you know,” concluded Henry.
She said nothing. He needed to find his truth. She knew the validity of the search. She would for her part keep doubting. Her intuition told her that Henry’s story had not been fully unravelled yet.
* * *
Pole was standing in front of the fax machine. Documents were pouring in from Switzerland. His police contact had managed to convince the doctors in Geneva to lift the doctor-patient confidentiality. The word terrorism had done the trick again. Everything he had received so far confirmed Anthony Albert’s condition. He had indeed reached the terminal phase of his illness with possibly less than six months to live. Albert had been diagnosed two years ago and was going to Switzerland regularly for treatment. His job had brought him regularly to Geneva so no one ever suspected. Pole thought about the sheer willpower the man must have had to endure treatment and carry on his job. Rumours, of course, had circulated in the City that a lot of what he had structured was linked to the subprime market. Then again, he probably would not have cared a damn. Pole looked at the documents churning out and gave an irritated grunt. They were hardly legible. He walked back into his office, shut the door and dialled Nancy’s number.
Pole had dialled from his hands-free set. He would pick up if she answered. The phone rang four times and a small click indicated that the answer phone would kick in any second:
“Oh dear! You’ve just missed me but fear not I will call you back as soon as I can, et pour les Anglophiles non Anglophones,” chimed Nancy’s voice.
The message carried on in French, a story about Anglophiles not being Anglophones followed, bringing a smile on Pole’s face.. He needed a trip back to his roots in Aquitaine. Pole disliked having to leave concise messages on voicemails and was preparing to deliver a witty response.
“Chère Madame Wu, mes hommages. I am devastated I have just missed you but if you could—”
Nancy’s elegant voice took over.
“Mon cher Jonathan, I thought we agreed you would call me Nancy.”
Pole let out a short laugh.
“Trés bien, avec plaisir, Nancy, I am sorry to disturb you but I think I need a little help.”
“I am all ears, Jonathan.”
“It is proving rather difficult to obtain the documents we need from the Swiss Clinic. Using my natural charm does not seem to work, and my French has become a little rusty.”
“And you would like me to add a certain je ne sais quoi to your natural charm,” said Nancy.
“Voila,” exclaimed Pole
“The number please, I will call you as soon as I have results.”
* * *
Nancy was navigating a number of options to find the right correspondent. A young voice finally answered. She introduced herself to her interlocutrice, now using her perfect French. She was one of the lawyers on the Crowne-Albert Case, she explained, and was asking for a copy of all documentation that had been sent to the police. This was a matter of urgency. It was imperative that she should have access to all relevant material.
“I am very sorry,” replied the voice, “but these documents are patient notes, some of them handwritten and subject to doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“Of course, I can see your dilemma but you must remember that I am also subject to the same rules as you are. Lawyers are always. You could check my registration with chambers,” carried on Nancy in an affable but determined voice. “It is essential for the case that we understand the extent of Mr Albert’s illness.”
“Well, if I could check your registration, I could courier a copy to you, this might work better,” yielded the young voice.
“Very kind of you,” replied Nancy as she gave Pritchard QC’s number.
She would make a call and Pritchard would back her up. Nancy was calmly giving her old friend’s chambers details when she felt she could press on with more questions.
“I need to complete my findings as soon as possible. It is a rather unusual case,” she ventured.
“I read the story in the news. It is unbelievable that one of our patients could be involved in such a terrible thing. At least, Mr Albert was at peace with himself.”
“I am so glad to hear this,” replied Nancy.
She needed to encourage the young woman to say more.
“It is an unusual thing to see coming from someone like Mr Albert,” said Nancy tentatively.
“I did not know him so well you see,” replied the voice in earnest, “but I go to the chapel very often with patients. It is a lovely place in our gardens, always full of flowers and so peaceful.”
“Et bien Mademoiselle, you used to care for Anthony Albert,” carried on Nancy.
“Mr Albert was a very private man, but last time I saw him he spent a lot of time there. It was unusual because I’d never seen him there before. He looked relieved when he came out. People come to terms differently with the end of life.” She stopped abruptly, afraid she might be embarrassing the other woman with her remarks.
“I can see Mr Albert was in good hands. This is very comforting. Although he spoke little it must have been important to have a confidant.”
“Well, he only spoke much about his children. When he did he always was transformed. I think he was at the end at peace with what would happen when …” again her voice trailed.
“I am taking much of your time, encore un grand merci,” concluded Nancy.
What had Albert done next? He was not a religious man. Why such need for deep thoughts, the Will? But that had been changed a few months prior.
She thanked the young woman profusely and dialled Pole’s number. Pole needed to trace Albert’s movements in the last few weeks before his death. Pole took the call and grabbed his mac, walking out to his unscheduled meeting in a hurry.
* * *
BIG BOSS BANGED UP
The tabloid press knew how to compose a headline. A pile of newspapers lay on the sofa. She was in a comfortable spot, in her favourite little coffee place on Chancery Lane. Pole entered the shop holding more papers under his arm.
He had hardly had time to greet her when he saw a tantalising cup of coffee and an apricot Danish placed in front of an empty chair.
“I could have been late,” he said feigning reproach.
“Mon cher Jonathan,” replied Nancy in her best barrister voice. “You are not the type, and in any case apricot Danish turns out to be my favourite too.”
Pole changed the subject, fearing he would make some corny remark.
“I presume you have read all there is to read about McCarthy’s arrest?”
“Extremely precise reporting, for once the papers have done a good job of investigatory journalism. The explanations of what has happened are well researched. I suspect they had a lot of help from Whitehall.”
“You mean about the large subprime business GL was running?”
“More to the point, the ridiculously large losses GL were trying to hide, at least until the merger was completed – $51 billion all told, unthinkable.”
“Henry never touched that stuff, though.”
“True but he knew something was up. The minute McCarthy brought the CDO team from Credit Suisse First Boston, he had doubts. McCarthy should have played his cards even closer to his chest.”
“CDO?” questioned Pole.
“Collateralised Debt Obligation – product packaged with subprime loans,” Nancy replied confidently.
“Extremely dodgy stuff I take it. Henry mentioned them I now remember, and before you ask, yes, we will have a chat with McCarthy about Anthony Albert and his CDOs business, although my feeling is that it won’t yield anything.”
“Much to my disappointment, I think you are right.”
“Nancy – you mentioned Whitehall?” said Pole enjoying the use of her name.
“Ah yes, Whitehall. They know the party is coming to an end. A few economists disagreed with the government, in particular one of Tony Blair’s advisers. Whitehall understand how out of touch politicians can be with real economic data. One way to monitor the real state of the economy is to let some of the City bosses court them in return for, let’s say, a few favours.”
“How do you know that?” said Pole in disbelief.
“The judiciary is always close to the civil service.” She raised her cup of coffee with a grin.
“I am surprised that none of the papers mention Henry.”
“Well, the Counterterrorist Squad is keeping a keen eye on what is being published I assume. I am also sure they do not want to advertise that they lost Henry when he was wreaking havoc at GL.”
“You have a point.”
“I do, very much so,” said Nancy and this time Pole raised his cup of coffee.
“Enough about Whitehall. How about Switzerland?” said Nancy, ready for a much-needed update.
“Albert seemed to have behaved oddly shortly before the crash,” replied Pole.
He took another sip of coffee and gave Nancy a full account.
“When will you have the results from the tapes?”
“The Swiss have a reputation for being slow but thorough, however they understand the urgency.”
“Jonathan, that is not an answer,” Nancy frowned.
“When is Henry’s preliminary hearing?”
“Two weeks.”
“That soon.”
“He has confessed, remember?” said Nancy.
“I will see what I can do.”
Pole took a sip of his coffee.
“Remember this is Geneva, jewellery shops everywhere so … there is a hell of a lot to go through.”
Nancy nodded. The next few days would be uncomfortably quiet.
* * *
To Nancy’s surprise, Pam Anderson’s PA had managed to find a slot in Pam’s overflowing diary, Nancy had braced herself for an exacting conversation. Pam had returned Nancy’s call within a few hours simply giving her the choice of a couple of dates. Pam Anderson wanted to speak, Nancy concluded.
The lobby of Chase and Case was predictably large and possibly a little old fashioned. Nancy had decided to sit in one of the armchairs that enabled her to watch the toing and froing of Chase and Case’s clientele. She was observing with interest a small podgy man who had taken over the cluster of sofas next to her. He had arrived, ordered a coffee from the staff at reception and extricated from his briefcase two BlackBerrys, a small laptop and a number of financial newspapers. He was happily conducting his business in the middle of the lobby, his voice carrying right across the space. He did not seem to care.
Nancy saw her from afar. She instantly knew it was Pam and smiled. She saw herself as she was all those years ago as a young and ambitious lawyer. She could also see that Henry would have enjoyed being with her. There was something harmonious about her presence, the slightly less severe suit and the unexpected details of a colourful brooch pinned to her jacket.
Pam extended a slight but decisive hand. She shook Nancy’s and both women walked out of the lobby.
“Let’s go to the Barbican’s cafe,” suggested Nancy.
“Agreed, it will be quiet at this time of day.”
Pam had been thinking about the meeting with Nancy and had something to say that mattered or at least mattered to her..
The cafe was empty. They chose a couple of armchairs in a secluded corner.
“Thank you for seeing me so quickly,” started Nancy.
“The least I can do. How is he?”
Pam was finding it hard to speak Henry’s name.
“Well, I would be lying to you if I said he is fine.” Nancy could not pretend.
“You know about the QC,” interrupted Pam.
“You mean Wooster QC’s sabbatical? Yes, I do.”
“I am so sorry,” continued Pam in a shaky voice. “I have kept thinking about it again and again.”
Nancy was taken aback by her tone of voice. She extended a hand and gently reached for Pam’s arm.
“Pritchard QC is a friend and a very competent man.”
“I know, but Henry was a friend. I should have done more.”
She turned her head away.
“A friend …”
It was unkind to be exploiting this sudden rush of honesty but she needed to know more.
“Any details, anything you can tell me that might help Henry.”
Pam nodded. She inhaled and sat back a little.
“That is why I wanted to speak to you.” Pam’s voice had recovered some composure. “I will say this to you in confidence.”
Pam stopped and Nancy took over.
“I understand, Henry won’t know.”
“Well, it was at the closing in Dublin. Has Henry ever told you about his best success?”
“He has, worth several billion dollars. You were there as his lawyer and so was Anthony Albert, if I remember correctly.”
Pam blushed and glanced away.
“We had an affair.” She was still looking away.
“You and Henry?”
“No.” Pam was now facing Nancy with wide open eyes. “… Anthony.”
Nancy was speechless. She let the information sink in and suddenly a million questions rushed into her mind, jealousy, passion, revenge.
“Did Henry find out?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“Nothing changed between us after the closing and Henry would never have tolerated …”
Pam could not say any more and Nancy recognised the suffering that unspoken love can cause. She could not reconcile why Pam would have an affair with Albert when it was clear that she loved Henry.
“Before you ask about me and Henry … there has never been anything.”
“Because he was your biggest client.”
Pam nodded.
“And because you’ve just been made a partner.”
Pam was surprised by the forwardness of the question but she knew there was no point denying it.
“It’s inconceivable but that night, in Dublin, maybe.” Pam said.
Nancy bent forward a little, encouraging Pam to co
nfide.
“Why then?”
“I thought it was Henry. You see they have the same voice. I mean Henry and Anthony had the same voice.”
“The same voice,” said Nancy, trying to hide her surprise.
Nancy extended her hand and rested it onto Pam’s clenched fist. She could no longer speak, the memory of her ugly affair burning in her mind. Nancy asked gently,
“Why do you think it is so material?”
“Because Anthony Albert hated Henry with such determination, I think you should know.”
Nancy nodded. Pam looked at the other woman with pleading eyes but asked nothing. She slowly stood up.
“I have to go now.”
Nancy stood up too and squeezed Pam’s hand reassuringly.
“Thank you for your honesty.”
“Just look after him.”
Pam did not wait for an answer and left the Barbican cafè without turning back.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I still have not decided whether we have been unbelievably lucky or whether it would have somehow surfaced,” said Nancy as Inspector Pole and she were walking rapidly along the corridors of Scotland Yard.
“I could reply that this was without doubt an excellent piece of police work,” retorted Pole with a grin, “but I agree with you,” he added, this time thoughtfully. “I may not have pursued it if you had not spoken to the young lady at the clinic.”
They stopped in front of one of the interrogation rooms. They both knew Henry was waiting, unaware though of the content of the document he was about to read.
“What has he been told?” asked Nancy.
“Very little, apart from the fact that a letter has been recovered from Albert’s lawyer in Geneva destined for him.”
“And the date?”
“You mean that it was destined for him in twenty years’ time rather than today.”
“Yes.”
“He knows.”
Pole opened the door. With few formalities he placed a handwritten note in front of Henry.
It read:
I nearly started this letter with Dear Henry. How conditioned can one be, even in one’s last hours? You are anything to me Henry but dear, of course but you know that and you don’t care.
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