Powell’s sigh echoed down the phone. ‘No, Mr Murray, we have not. That would be next to impossible without major publicity. But unless you think all three of them did it together, I think we can rule Finlay out.’
‘But, you can’t. You should have seen him. I’m sure he must have killed her. Have you checked into his relationship with her?’
‘We have spoken to Felicity Wilson. It’s clear Finlay is a nasty piece of work, but there is no evidence at all that he murdered Debbie Chater. In fact there is no evidence she was murdered at all. And if she was, you were the last person seen with her before she died.’
‘You don’t think I killed her?’
‘No, Mr Murray, I don’t think you killed her either,’ said Powell, his voice long-suffering. ‘Personally, I think it was suicide, but there is precious little evidence of that either. The inquest is tomorrow and I wouldn’t be surprised if an open verdict was returned. They don’t like classifying cases as suicide unless they are sure, it causes unnecessary grief for the relatives. Now, thank you for all your help in this inquiry, Mr Murray. Good night.’
‘Good night,’ I said, and put the phone down. So somehow Joe had got himself ruled out. I didn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it one bit.
I poured myself a large whisky, and tried to get to sleep. The nursery rhyme ‘Three blind mice’ ran through my mind as I finally dozed off. I dreamed of a thin farmer’s wife running around brandishing a carving-knife.
Cash picked me up on Saturday morning. He was dressed in his Henley gear; blazer, white trousers, and a garish purple, gold and silver striped tie. He drove a grey 1960s Aston Martin. I am no expert on classic sports cars, but it looked to me to be the same model as appeared in the James Bond film. I couldn’t hide my admiration for the vehicle. I almost expected to see the controls for the machine-guns and the ejector-seat.
Cash saw my reaction and grinned. ‘Like it?’ he asked. ‘I’m a sucker for old cars. I’ve got an old Mercedes and two Jaguars back in the States. I just love to drive around in the Merc on the weekends in the summer with the roof down.’
‘Grey old London must be a bit of a change,’ I said.
‘Oh yes. But I like it here. Mind you, it takes a bit of time to get used to Europeans, especially the Brits.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When you first meet them, they all seem unfriendly. You feel like you are breaking some social taboo just by saying hallo. Once you get to know them, they are good guys. No offence meant.’
‘None taken. I think I know what you mean. People here are wary of dealing with people they don’t know.’ I could imagine the most aloof of Cash’s clients being horrified by him when they first met him, and then falling gradually under his spell.
‘You’re telling me. At first they feed you some bull about how cautious and conservative they are. They make it sound like buying a T-bill was the most adventurous thing they have ever done in their lives. But after a little coaxing they just gobble up those bonds. I’ve been over here a year now, and I have already done some sweet trades.’
We were at a traffic-light. He paused to concentrate on accelerating away from it as fast as possible, leaving the Porsche in the next lane standing. As he wove between the traffic he continued, ‘Some of these guys in London don’t know what selling bonds is about. They think if they stuff some Swiss gnome with a million dollars of some issue, they are selling bonds. They don’t know nothing. Selling bonds is about moving big blocks of money around the world. It’s about making one part of the world finance another. Know what I’m saying?’
I nodded, cowering in my seat as we sped up the wrong side of the road to get by a particularly congested stretch.
Cash seemed unconcerned by the horns blowing around him. ‘I’ll tell you something about moving money round. I once had a guy in Boston who wanted to put five hundred million dollars into the eurobond market. So we launched three new issues, and gave him half of each issue. Three months later we own five hundred million of mortgage-backed bonds we can’t get rid of. Triple sales credits on those. So, I make this guy in Boston realise he didn’t want eurobonds after all, he wanted mortgages. He sells his eurobonds, and buys our mortgage-backed bonds.
‘The firm has solved one problem. Trouble is, we now have five hundred million eurobonds nobody wants. So I wait a week. The trader gets desperate, he can’t sell his eurobonds. Then they put the sales credits up to triple again. So then I decide to ring another friend of mine at a Californian insurance company, who has a billion dollars in cash which he wants to invest and doesn’t know what to buy. It so happens I have the ideal investment for him.’ Cash laughed as he recounted this.
‘You want to know why they call me Cash? You ever heard the saying “Cash is King”? Well, I’m the king of cash. I control it. These portfolio managers think that they control the cash in their funds. But they don’t, I do. It’s guys like me that move cash around the system, and I’m the best of them. And every time it moves, some of this cash rubs off on me. Any idea how much the commission is on a five-hundred-million-dollar trade on triple sales credit? Think about it.’
I thought about it. Different houses have different formulae, but my calculations made it just under a million dollars. I began to see how Cash could afford his expensive toys.
‘But I can see you are different from the others, kid,’ he continued. ‘You’re not afraid to take risks. You are prepared to bet big money when the opportunity is there. I think you and me are going to do some good business together.’
Here was a man who really was at the centre of the bond markets. This was the world that I had left my staid old bank to see. Certainly I could become a big player in the market. Cash and I together would make fools of the rest of the crowd.
Then I snapped out of it. Cash probably talked to all his customers like this. Not that he was making it up. Cash’s reputation preceded him. But I couldn’t help wondering whether when Cash was driving his Boston customer around in his Mercedes convertible he wouldn’t talk about his clients in London in such a disdainful way.
‘Do you still talk to any of your American customers?’
‘Only the one on a regular basis. I have what you might call a “special relationship” with him. But if I ever wanted to renew the relationship with any of the others, all I would have to do would be pick up the phone. People don’t forget me.’
We drove up the ramp on to the M4. There was a lot of traffic, but it was flowing steadily. Cash moved the Aston Martin into the outside lane, and worked his way through the cars in front, flashing his headlights to intimidate them out of the way.
‘How did you get into the business?’ I asked.
‘I met a man in a bar. He was Irish. We came from the same part of the Bronx, only I hadn’t seen him before. We got on great. We got drunk together. The only difference between us was that I was twenty and in jeans and he was fifty and in an expensive suit. He had had a bad day. I was sympathetic. He asked me what job I did. I told him I worked in a hardware store. He asked me whether I would like to work in his store for a while. So I did. I started in the mail room and worked my way up from there. It was a ball all the way.’
‘What was it like in the Bronx, then? Wasn’t it dangerous?’ I asked.
‘Sure it was dangerous, but only for people from a different neighbourhood. In your own neighbourhood you were safe. Everyone would protect you. Of course it’s all different now, now that there is crack all over the streets. Before, there was violence, but there was always a reason for it. Now there can be violence for no reason. It makes me sick.’ I looked at Cash and saw his jaw clenched and the colour beginning to rise in his cheeks. He was angry.
‘Some of the greatest people in the world live in my neighbourhood,’ Cash continued. ‘But we are all ignored by the rest of the country. I never forgot what that guy in the bar did for me. Did I tell you I bought my own bar?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Yeah. It was a great little place right
by my neighbourhood. I had to close it down a few years ago. With crack, things were getting just too wild. But I put thirty kids on Wall Street. Some of them are doing real well.’
Cash looked at me and smiled. There was no doubt that he was proud of what he had achieved, and also what he had helped others achieve. And I thought he had a right to be proud.
Henley was just as bad as I feared. It was a typical July day in England. A blustery wind, and rain showers which were more on than off. All pretence of watching the rowing was forgotten. About a hundred people, employees of Bloomfield Weiss and their clients, were crammed into the tent, gobbling down cold salmon and champagne. The air was damp and oppressive, it was difficult to breathe in the clammy atmosphere. There was a constant din of rain drumming on the roof of the tent, caterers clanking plates and fifty people talking at once, interspersed with the hysterical cackle of champagne-induced laughter. A great day out.
Over the heads of the crowd I saw the tall figure of Cathy talking to a group of Japanese. She caught my eye, extricated herself and slowly made her way through the crowd over to me. Oh God, here we go.
‘I hope you are enjoying yourself,’ she said.
I mumbled something about how it was good of Bloomfield Weiss to arrange such a nice occasion.
She looked at me and laughed. ‘Yes, ghastly, isn’t it? I don’t know why we do it. Still, I suppose there are always some people who will take any excuse to get drunk on a Saturday afternoon. But I have to be here. What drags you out?’
I hadn’t seen her laugh before. It was a relaxed, genuine sound, not a bit like the drunken braying around us. I thought I had better not go into the details of Rob’s pleading, so instead I said, ‘Cash is very persuasive, you know.’
‘I certainly do,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m the one who works with him all day.’
‘That must be a joy,’ I said.
Cathy grimaced and then smiled at me over the lip of her champagne glass. ‘No comment,’ she said.
‘So who is this American client Cash has a “special relationship” with? Is it the savings and loan in Arizona which bought the fifty million Swedens?’
Cathy’s smile disappeared. I had overstepped a boundary. ‘Now I really can’t comment,’ she said brusquely, the imperious saleswoman again. ‘I can’t discuss one client in front of another.’ She had taken to heart the reprimand Cash had given her earlier. My curiosity would have to go unsatisfied.
Chastened, I was searching for a less controversial topic of conversation when Rob appeared at my elbow.
‘Hallo, Paul,’ he said. Then he looked hard at Cathy. ‘Hallo.’
‘Hallo,’ she replied coldly.
‘How have you been?’
‘Fine.’
‘Why haven’t you answered my phone calls?’
‘Oh, I didn’t know you had rung,’ she said.
‘I rang four times last night, and six times the night before. Your flatmate took the messages. She must have told you. Didn’t you get the note with my flowers?’
‘I’m afraid she’s very forgetful,’ Cathy said, looking around her with an air of desperation.
‘Well, what are you doing tonight? Perhaps we could get a bite to eat.’
Cathy caught the eye of someone at the other end of the tent, and then turned to Rob and me. ‘I’m terribly sorry. There’s a client of mine over there who I simply must see. Bye.’
With that she was off.
‘You know, I think she might be trying to avoid me.’ Rob looked puzzled as he said this.
I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘But you don’t understand. I don’t understand. She’s a marvellous woman. We’ve been out together three times. She’s not like any other girl I’ve ever met. There is something special between us. I’m sure of it.’
‘You haven’t proposed to her, have you?’ That was the most usual reason why Rob’s girlfriends ran away from him, but I thought a proposal on the third date might be too fast going, even for Rob.
‘No, we haven’t got that far yet,’ he replied. I could tell, though, that for his part Rob didn’t have much further to go. ‘But I did tell her exactly how important she was to me.’
‘Rob, I’ve told you before, you’ve got to pace yourself,’ I said, exasperated. ‘That’s the third girl you have frightened off like that.’
‘Fourth,’ said Rob.
Ordinarily I would have had the strength to console Rob. But I had had a lousy week, the weather was awful, and I just wanted to go.
I knew Cash wouldn’t be leaving for several hours yet, and I couldn’t face his bonhomie on the way back. So I slunk out of the tent, caught a bus to the station, and then a train home. As I stared out of the window across the rain-drenched Thames flood plain, my thoughts drifted towards Cathy. For a moment there I had thought she was almost human, and I had liked what I had seen. Perhaps Rob wasn’t so daft after all.
9
August is always a dead month in the eurobond markets. There are plenty of reasons for this. The Continentals are all on holiday, as are the bureaucrats who work in the government agencies that issue eurobonds. The summer heat in Bahrain and Jeddah dulls even the most hardened Arab’s gambling instincts, and many of them travel to London, Paris and Monte Carlo, often to play with chips instead of bonds.
Of course many of the traders and salesmen in London are unmarried, or at least have no children. There is nothing they would like to do less in August than join the screaming families at the beach. But the month is a good time for a rest. There is an unspoken pact not to rock the boat, not to create the volatility that would require us all to spend the month thinking hard about work. The market recharges itself, everyone making plans for what they will do in the first week of September.
Normally, this seasonal pattern irritates me. But this time my mind was on other things, and so I was glad for the cover that August brought.
Specifically, I was thinking about Debbie. And Joe.
It had seemed to me obvious that Joe had lain in wait for Debbie that night, and thrown her into the river. He was there, and he clearly had the capacity to kill. But why did he do it? Even someone like Joe didn’t just wander round London murdering his old girlfriends on a whim. He must have had a reason. What could that be?
And then there was the business of the shared taxi taken by Joe and his two friends just after I had seen him leaving the boat. It was possible that his friends were covering for him, but the police believed that they were telling the truth. If the police were right, how did Debbie die?
I didn’t believe she just fell into the river by mistake. And I couldn’t believe that she killed herself. I refused to believe it. So who else might have wanted Debbie dead?
As I mulled over this problem, my thoughts turned to Piper. Debbie’s knowledge of the Bladenham Hall case was of real concern to him. He did not sound like the most upright of citizens. If he were to lose his licence from the Gaming Commission, then his plans for the Tahiti would have to be shelved. At best, he could try to sell it; it would be difficult to recoup most of his costs. Another dangerous enemy.
Then there was also the investigation into the Gypsum company share price. Was that in some way connected to Debbie’s death?
I needed to find out more.
I searched the pile of prospectuses on my desk for the information memorandum for the Tahiti. Before I came to it I uncovered the prospectus for Tremont Capital. I stopped my search and picked it up. It was thin and innocuous. No logos, certainly no pictures. I began to read it. Carefully.
Tremont Capital NV was a shell investment company set up in the Netherlands Antilles as a means for wealthy individuals to shelter their tax. The company invested in securities, about which there were no details. The company had issued a $40 million private placement of bonds through Bloomfield Weiss. De Jong & Co. had bought $20 million of these. What had made an investment in the bonds of such a flimsy offshore vehicle attractive was the
guarantee from Honshu Bank Ltd. Honshu was one of the largest banks in Japan, and had the top rating of AAA assigned to it by the credit agencies. Investors didn’t have to worry about the details of the structure, or what Tremont Capital invested in, as long as they had that guarantee.
But Debbie had worried about details.
I read the whole prospectus through carefully. Lots of tedious legal language, but nothing out of the ordinary that I could see. The sole shareholder of the shell company was listed as Tremont Holdings NV. That didn’t tell me anything, and I guessed that under the Netherlands Antilles secrecy laws that would be the most I would ever find out about the ownership structure.
Still nothing strange.
Then I noticed a telephone number pencilled in the margin under the section entitled ‘Description of the Guarantor’. I recognised the dialling code as Tokyo. It must be the number for Honshu Bank. I looked at my watch. It was late in Tokyo, but I might still catch someone. I tried the number not knowing what it was I was supposed to be asking.
After a few false starts, I was finally put through to someone who understood English.
‘Hakata speaking.’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Hakata. It’s Paul Murray from De Jong & Co. in London speaking. I wonder if you can help me. I am inquiring about a private placement you have guaranteed for Tremont Capital.’
‘I am very sorry,’ said Mr Hakata.
Damn, I thought. Just when I needed someone helpful. ‘I would very much appreciate some information, Mr Hakata. You see we are a major investor in this private placement.’
‘I should like to help, Mr Murray, but we have no record of giving such a guarantee.’
‘No, you don’t understand. I have the prospectus in front of me. And someone from your bank spoke to a colleague of mine, Miss Chater, about it last week.’
‘It was I who spoke to Miss Chater. And I spoke to a Mr Shoffman about it a few months ago. We are quite sure we have given no guarantee to this Tremont Capital. Indeed, we have no record of such a deal existing. If you have some information on this company, we would like to follow up. We don’t like people misusing the name of our bank.’
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