I took her home then. I think at that point she was just about emotionally and physically drained. I didn’t realize it at the time - though the newspaper article had hinted at it -but it wasn’t only that Tom had disappeared, there was the financial mess he had left behind.
This only became apparent in the following week, the bills rolling in and no cash at the bank to meet them.
2
Never having been dependent on money I didn’t earn I always find it difficult to appreciate how frightened people can become when the source of their income shows signs of drying up. It was the following Tuesday before I began to realize that this was what had probably happened to Tom Halliday and by then his son Martin had been on the phone to me twice. He employed almost a dozen people at the works and their pay was five weeks in arrears, his own salary too; the rent was due, electricity, gas, rates, water, telephone, and in addition he owed several thousand for materials. He had one car ready for delivery, but that was all. He wanted money to tide him over, but I had to tell him that there wasn’t any at the moment and it would take time to sort things out. ‘But I have to have some money.’ That anguished cry from a man who all his life had lived off his father … I had told him, quite bluntly I’m afraid, that he’d better think in terms of selling up and standing on his own feet. I was more concerned with Miriam.
She had phoned me on the Monday asking me to deal with the financial problems arising from her husband’s disappearance. They had a joint account at the Lewes branch of his bank, but this was only for convenience, the account being fed from the head office branch in the City. It was the Lewes branch that had refused to cash the two cheques referred to in the newspaper report. Tom Halliday had apparently drawn out the entire balance of the account the very day he had come to see me. It seemed likely, therefore, that his disappearance was a deliberate act and not due to any accident.
This became more apparent after I had talked to his London bank. Apparently they received the profits of the mine half yearly. Sometimes his account was in balance from one half year to the next, at others it was overdrawn. The overdraft arrangements had been generous because of the regularity of the half-yearly payments. However, these had recently become less regular and Halliday had been making use of the overdraft facility. In other words, the bank had been advancing money in anticipation of the income from the mine. The latest half-yearly payment had been due almost two months ago and the manager had let the overdraft run for that length of time because his client, before leaving for Canada, had assured him he would be dealing with the matter while he was there. However, a fortnight ago he had begun to make his own inquiries. These had been complicated by the fact that the payments did not come direct from Canada. Instead, they were routed through a Swiss bank, payment being made half-yearly through their London office. He thought this was probably for tax reasons, the Zurich bank informing him that it was a numbered account and they were not in a position to divulge any information.
I tried contacting them myself. I was, after all, one of Tom Halliday’s executors, but it made no difference. They refused to discuss the matter until there was some definite news as to what had happened to Halliday, and if it did turn out that he had had an accident, or had killed himself, then it would be a matter not for his executors, but for whoever inherited -Miriam, in other words.
I had the distinct impression, however, that they were going through the motions rather than protecting an important account, and it was after talking to them that I telexed the Mines Department of the Yukon Government in Whitehorse. Two days later I received this reply: GOLD PRODUCTION ICE COLD CREEK MINE FOR PAST THREE YEARS RECORDED AS FOLLOWS: 60.136, 27.35 AND 43.574 ozs. FOR FURTHER INFORMATION REFER JON EPINARD, TAKHINI TRAILER CRT, WHITEHORSE.
It didn’t make sense. Yields of that sort couldn’t possibly have been covering even the cost of production, let alone producing the sort of half-yearly payments the English bank had referred to. It was the younger son, Brian Halliday, who first made me realize where the money might have been coming from. He phoned to ask whether an American named Wolchak had been in touch with me. And when I said he hadn’t, he asked if I had the deeds to his father’s BC property.
‘No,’ I said, ‘the bank has them. Why?’
‘Wolchak wants to buy. He’s acting as agent for an American company and says they’re willing to pay cash for an option to purchase.’ And then he asked me straight out whether the BC property had been left to him. ‘Miriam says I get the trees, that right?’
‘There’s no reason to suppose your father isn’t alive,’ I told him.
‘Of course. But what about the trees - do they come to me or don’t they?’ He had a rather deep, soft voice, his manner on the phone slightly abrupt so that I formed the impression of a man who needed to assert himself.
There seemed no point in not telling him that the BC property would be his should his father suddenly die. ‘Subject, of course,’ I added, ‘to settlement of any outstanding debts.’
‘Meaning your fees, I suppose,’ he said rudely. And when I told him there would naturally be solicitor’s fees, he said very sharply, ‘Well, I’m not selling. Just understand that, will you. The Cascades is not for sale — not now, or ever.’
‘You’ve had an offer, have you?’ I was wondering what sort of figure Wolchak had put on the property.
‘Not me. Miriam. She told him to see you. That’s why I phoned - to warn you, and to make my position clear. He saw her this morning and she says he was in touch with her last week, wanting to see Tom and then asking when he would be back.’
‘Did he see your father after his return from Canada?’ I asked.
‘Yes. On the Monday, here at Bullswood. The Monday morning.’
And the following day Tom Halliday had come to me to change his Will. I could accept that people did get scared when the source of their income dried up, or when they had lost their money in some financial disaster. I had seen it happen to elderly people — one of my clients had committed suicide for just that reason. But Tom Halliday was still a relatively young man and he had disappeared owning a slice of land in Canada that was apparently saleable. And what was even more extraordinary, he had altered his Will so that the land went to his son instead of his wife, and his younger son at that. Either Miriam had been wrong when she had said, Tom and I are very close’, or else this stepson of hers had put quite exceptional pressure on his father.
‘If I do hear from Mr Wolchak I’ll be in touch with you,’ I told him, and I put the phone down. My secretary was back from her holiday and about an hour later it must have been she came in to say Wolchak had been on the phone to her and she had arranged an appointment for Friday afternoon at four-fifteen. ‘Ten minutes, that’s all.’ She knew I wanted to try the boat out at the weekend. ‘He says, incidentally, he appreciates your difficulties and is prepared to offer a solution.’
I had already arranged with the bank for them to take Bullswood House as security for the overdraft. Fortunately Tom hadn’t mortgaged it. He couldn’t very well without it becoming apparent he was in financial difficulties for the freehold was in his wife’s name as well as his own. But the house and its contents, that was about all there was left. They had had a 99-year lease on a big flat in Belgravia and a villa in the Algarve, but he had sold those over the past two years, and very recently he had parted with the all-cream Rolls tourer that had been the pride of his collection of old cars — ‘built for a maharajah just before Partition,’ Miriam told me, ‘door handles, headlights, all the trimmings gold-plated.’ And she had laughed. ‘Trouble is it needed mink or leopard skin, something like that, and nothing would induce me to have some poor wretched animal wrapped around me.’
With my partner on holiday the amount of work crossing my desk pushed the Halliday problem to the back of my mind, so that when I received from the bank the photocopies I had asked for of the deeds they held I had no time to do more than check that they included the deeds of the BC forest land
and that it hadn’t been mortgaged or otherwise encumbered to raise a loan.
Wolchak was late that Friday afternoon and I had to keep him waiting. ‘What’s he like?’ I asked my secretary as she came back from showing my four-thirty appointment out. She hesitated, then smiled, the corners of her mouth turned down. ‘You’ll see,’ she said, and she showed him in.
He came bustling across to my desk, hand outstretched, a short, thick body, a large, square head, and a smile that flashed like a beacon, eyes lighting up, a switched-on incandescence, and the teeth very white against a tanned skin. •Josef Wolchak,’ he said as he shook my hand. He had a slight accent that was difficult to place.
I sat him down and he said, ‘You’re busy, so’m I. I’ll be brief. It’s about this Halliday property in British Columbia. I’m acting for an American company. They want to buy it. You got the deeds here?’
‘They’re at the bank.’
‘But you’ve seen them.’
‘I have photocopies.’
‘And there’s nothing in them to preclude a sale - a mortgage, anything like that?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Good, good. It’s the trees, Mr Redfern, not the land. My clients don’t necessarily want the land. It’s the trees they’re interested in.’ He took a wallet from the pocket of his jacket, produced a card and passed it across the desk to me. That’s the company. You’ll find they’re an old-established timber and saw-milling outfit. Been in existence more than half a century. Anybody in Seattle will tell you.’ The card simply gave the name of the company - SVL Timber and Milling Inc. - and the address in Seattle. ‘It’s north along the waterfront, out on the Everett road,’ he said. ‘They’ve already been in touch with lawyers in Vancouver who’ve had dealings with Mr Halliday. But now that he’s reported missing…’ He gave an expansive shrug. ‘I was advised I should contact you.’
‘Who by?’ I don’t know why but I was sure from the way he had made such a point of informing me about the company that there had to be an individual involved. ‘Who are you really acting for?’
There was a fractional hesitation, then he said, ‘Bert Mandola. He has interests in a number of companies, Chicago and out west.’
I wrote it down on the back of the company card, just in case, at the same time pointing out to him that I was in no position to dispose of any part of my client’s property. And I added, ‘You will appreciate that Mr Halliday may turn up any moment.’
‘Yes, of course. But suppose he doesn’t, eh?’ He had already talked to ‘young Halliday’. And he added, ‘There’s a problem there, but if the man’s dead and the estate’s in debt, and it will be, your English tax boys will see to that…’
‘I’m sure Mr Halliday’s alive and in good health,’ I said, not liking the way he was trying to rush me.
‘Yes, yes, but as I was saying, if he’s dead and the estate is in debt, or there are financial difficulties …’ He wasn’t smiling now, his small mouth a thin, hard line. ‘You’ve been out there to see the Cascades, Mr Redfern?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, I have,’ he said. ‘Mr Mandola and I took a look at it a while back. Quite a nice looking place, but very remote - about eighteen and a half square miles, that’s counting the mountain tops and the waterfalls that give it its name. There are some timber extraction roads in poor condition, the remains of an old logging camp at the head of the Halliday Arm, an A-frame drilling truck that looks like it dates back to the Red River oilfield days, and a lot of mosquitoes. There’s nothing much there of any value except the timber in the bottom.’
‘So why’s your client interested in it?’ I was still trying to make up my mind what all this was about. Wolchak himself, I thought, probably belonged to one of those ethnic groups that stem from America’s flood of refugees. There was an accent but, as Brian Halliday had said on the phone, it was more an undercurrent, difficult to place. He could be Irish, I thought, or equally from one of the Mediterranean countries; there was a quickness about him, and the tanned face, the nose, the dark eyes. But definitely a man who had lived quite a bit of his time in America, fortyish and well fleshed, the face a little leathery from the sun. California perhaps. But that was only a guess. I’d never been to California — or anywhere very much for that matter.
‘It’s the timber in the bottom. All the rest of the property has been cut over, nothing good left, but down by the river and round the lake expansions there’s a stand of real good timber, and all of it western red cedar. SVL Timber specializes in western red cedar, either putting the logs through their sawmill or trucking them to other outfits in the States. It’s just that bottom stuff, otherwise the property’s ripped out and not worth a damn. So we’re talking about a square mile or so of top-grade timber.’ He glanced at his watch and got to his feet. ‘I’ve kept you long enough.’ That smile beaconed out. ‘Think it over. Have a talk with Brian Halliday - that’s if he comes into it, as I understand he does.’
‘Did he tell you that?’ I asked.
‘He didn’t deny it.’ He produced his own card and flipped it onto my desk. ‘I’m staying with friends in Brighton over the weekend, back at my London hotel Monday. Get in touch with me when you’ve made up your mind.’ He held out his hand. ‘I take it you’ll be contacting the lawyers in Vancouver and arranging for a firm of forestry consultants to make an independent valuation. If so, kindly put it in hand right away, then as soon as you have it we can start talking figures. Option money ten per cent of agreed total, management in the SVL Company’s hands from date of signature.’ The smile flashed out again. ‘When you get the valuation you’ll be pleasantly surprised, I think. That bottom stand should see you out of any difficulties with a good margin.’
‘Supposing the worst has happened and Mr Halliday is dead,’ I said. ‘I think the executors might well decide to put the property up for auction.’
He looked at me sharply. ‘Timber is an up-and-down business. It’s down at the moment, so there aren’t many buyers around over the other side and this Cascades place is up north so it’s a long haul down to the markets. Also, auctions aren’t sure money, and they don’t produce cash on the nail for an option. If Halliday is dead, then I guess you’ll be needing cash very badly, and that’s what I’m offering you.’ He nodded and was about to walk out when he looked back at me. ‘I’m in this for the commission, you understand.’ His eyes, sharp and grey, were fixed on mine. ‘I’m sure you and I can come to a sensible arrangement.’ He nodded, smiling confidently, as though bribing lawyers was all part of the day’s work. ‘Just so long as the deal goes through. And don’t be too long making up your mind, Mr Redfern.’ His eyes flicked wide in a stare, and then he was gone, a broad, neatly suited man of uncertain age with something near to a bounce in his walk.
Three hours later I was on board my boat and getting ready to make Littlehampton and back over the weekend. It being new and everything to be checked out by trial and error, my mind was so concentrated on the business of sailing that I thought of nothing else until I walked into my office on the Monday morning and found Brian Halliday sitting in the little waiting room that was really a part of the old entrance hall when the house had been a private residence. He had no appointment, but that I presumed was typical. I wasn’t at all pleased as I was due to appear in court in Brighton that morning for a client who was up on a drink-driving charge.
He was short and dark, a long face with a long beak of a nose and big ears, high cheekbones — not exactly ugly, but definitely an odd appearance, his hair black and somewhat lank. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with Greenpeace on it, canvas shoes on his feet. He seemed very agitated and I thought at first it was because Miriam had gone. He blurted this out almost as soon as we were into my office and I thought at first it was why he had come to see me. With feminine practicality she had apparently gathered up some of the more portable valuables in the house, silver chiefly, also the gold cigarette box I had seen on the dinner table and the sil
ver-gilt chamber pot that had been the centrepiece. She had taken them off in her car on Saturday — ‘presumably to flog them to a dealer for some ready cash. Have you seen her?’ he asked me.
‘No.’
‘She hasn’t been here, then?’
I shook my head, and at that moment my secretary came in and handed me a typewritten slip. ‘It was on the phone tape. I thought you’d like to see it right away.’
It was a message from Miriam. She had phoned on the Sunday morning to say she was flying to Canada that day and would be away a week, maybe ten days. I’ll be staying part of the time at the Bayshore, Vancouver. Very extravagant of me. But what the hell! And she had added, I’ll be in touch with you if I have any news of Tom.
I showed it to Brian Halliday and he said, ‘Do you think she’s going out there to sell the Cascades? You saw Wolchak, did you?’ And when I nodded, he added, ‘I haven’t had a word from him since I phoned you. Do you think that’s what Miriam’s up to?’
‘She can’t sell it,’ I told him.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then what’s she going to Vancouver for? It’s just across the Juan de Fuca Strait from Seattle with a daily ferry service and Wolchak said he was acting for a timber company in Seattle. If Miriam can bugger off with the silver like that…’
‘You shouldn’t jump to conclusions.’ I could see the makings of a vicious family row and, noting the almost wild light in the very dark brown eyes staring at me across the desk, I added quickly, ‘You seem to forget your father is reported missing, nothing more. And in any case, a slice of timber land in British Columbia is a very different matter to a few items of household silver.’
High Stand Page 3