‘How’s the family?’ she asked. Darned if she could remember his wife’s name.
‘Mary’s well, and the kids are doing fine.’
Mary. Of course. A metallurgist, they’d all hung out together at Clark’s Bar. How many kids? She was such a bad friend, incapable of keeping track of things that simply didn’t interest her. She interrupted him before he could launch into details.
‘I have a part number on a bag with a Selkie logo. Would that be enough to trace the customer?’
‘Depends if it’s from a standard seal or a special. What are the first four digits?’
‘6066.’
‘A special, then. Yes – it’s a bespoke seal, relatively easy to trace that back to the customer, to the specific order even.’
Result.
‘The full number is 6066-2157-3958-7071.’
‘Ah . . .’ The sound of air being sucked in through teeth. ‘Sorry, Jaq, I can’t give you the information you are looking for.’
‘Why not?’
‘Customer confidentiality.’
‘If I told you I’m working for Krixo, would that make a difference?’
‘Krixo? You’re working with Sophie Clark?’
‘Small world, isn’t it. How do you know her?’
‘She visited a few times in the summer, a 3D printing job.’
Odd; Sophie hadn’t struck her as the kind of person who would be interested in mechanical seal parts.
‘So, the number I gave you, was it part of a seal supplied to Krixo?’
‘I’ll need permission from Krixo before I can confirm that.’
‘I’m meeting with Sophie this afternoon. Just tell me I’m not wasting my time.’
He laughed. ‘You aren’t wasting your time.’
Good enough.
Sophie and Vikram arrived an hour late for the meeting, reeking of alcohol. The English owner of a missing Chinese factory looked remarkably unruffled. High-gloss heels, tailored skirt suit, manicured nails, pink chiffon blouse, perfect make-up, smooth, shiny hair. There was no antagonism in those amethyst eyes, just a tinge of curiosity. Amusement, even?
Vikram ushered them to the boardroom and pulled out a chair for Sophie before taking his seat at the head of the table. Jaq sat opposite Sophie. The room had changed since the last visit: gone was the mismatched furniture, replaced by a stylish beech table and chairs. There were new pictures on the walls. Had Sophie’s fee purchased all this? About time Vikram passed over the share of Sophie’s money that was due to Jaq.
‘So.’ Vikram put his hands behind his head. ‘Jaq, I think you have some explaining to do.’
Jaq took a deep breath and turned to Sophie. ‘You’ve read my report?’
‘I’d rather hear it from you,’ Sophie said. ‘From the beginning.’
Jaq outlined the first sighting of the Krixo factory, the tedious meetings with the development corporation, their refusal to acknowledge the existence of the rare earth recycling factory, her visit to the empty site and being run out of town. No point in mentioning the false alarm with Dan; he had no connection to Krixo.
Sophie looked down and fiddled with the gold clasp of her patent leather handbag. ‘Go back to when you drove past the factory. What did you see?’
Jaq described the scene as best she could. The elaborate gate, the turquoise fountain, the pink production buildings and blue warehouses, the columns, tanks and chimneys.
‘Was the factory working?’
‘I couldn’t see any people, but there was steam coming from the chimney, so I guess so.’
‘Did anyone see you?’
‘A couple of security guards as we were driving away, but we didn’t stop to speak to them.’
‘And you didn’t go back the next day?’
‘I repeatedly asked the Shingbo Investment Bureau to take me on a formal visit, but they were more interested in showing me half-constructed bridges, model workers’ flats, fridge factories, further education colleges . . .’
Sophie grimaced. ‘And the endless banquets?’
‘Alas, yes.’ Jaq sighed at the memory of raw jellyfish. ‘They denied all knowledge of a Krixo operation. I couldn’t get anyone to take me back there. When I tried to go alone, by taxi, the hotel contacted the development agency and they sent a translator to stop me.’
‘What reason did they give?’
‘They claimed it didn’t exist.’
‘Why didn’t you use the translator Vikram set up for you?’ Sophie asked.
‘SEITA cancelled. Let me down at the last minute.’
Vikram interrupted. ‘Bloody annoying. They even had the cheek to send an invoice. I’m not paying a penny.’
Sophie resumed the interrogation. ‘But you managed to go back?’
‘Yes. But the factory had gone, nothing left but bare earth.’
‘I can’t believe it. You are seriously telling me that you saw the factory operating and a few days later it had vanished?’
‘I didn’t believe it either.’
‘Millions of dollars’ worth of equipment?’ Sophie shook her head. ‘It’s not possible. Maybe you went back to the wrong place.’
Jaq shook her head. ‘I collected some interesting bits and pieces.’ She fished in her bag and brought out the treasures, each one in a clear polythene bag.
‘Looks like rubbish to me,’ said Sophie.
‘These aren’t the sort of materials you’d find on a normal building site.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look at this one.’
In the bag was a black band coated in transparent plastic.
‘What is it?’
‘An O-ring.’
‘What is it for?’
‘Sealing.’
‘Ceiling?’
‘When you join two hard things together, you need something soft in the middle. To avoid leaks. The black material is Viton. But Viton swells up in contact with some solvents. So, it’s encapsulated in FEP.’
‘FEP?’
‘Fluorinated ethylene propylene. It’s expensive. You don’t use it unless you have to.’
‘What would you use it for?’
‘Joining pipes carrying solvents like acetone.’ A key solvent in the Krixo recycling process.
‘And this.’
Jaq showed her a ring of translucent white plastic.
‘I’m pretty sure this is a PVDF fitting – polyvinylidene difluoride. It’s expensive, not just the material itself but the installation. Difficult to weld and floppy, so you need more pipe supports. You’d use it if you were handling chlorine gas or strong acids.’
‘There was a chlorination plant.’
Jaq brought out the final proof. The plastic bag with the Selkie label and code. The full logo was a Celtic knot, a circle with the long flowing hair of a human swirling into the tail of a seal.
‘I spoke to Selkie. They can trace the order from this part number. I just need your permission—’
‘What?’ Sophie paled. ‘You contacted Selkie?’ She banged her small fist on the table. ‘How dare you?’
Jaq sat up straight and spread her hands, turning her palms upwards. ‘They wouldn’t tell me anything, but—’
‘Do not, on any account, speak to Selkie again.’
Vikram shot Jaq a warning look.
‘I’m so sorry, Sophie. Jaq will do nothing more without your express permission. Right, Jaq?’
‘Of course,’ Jaq said.
What had just happened there?
‘What else?’ There was a hard edge to Sophie’s voice.
‘I found this in the centre of the site.’
Jaq brought out another bag, fragments of turquoise ceramic tiles and a white chip that might be marble.
‘The fountain!’ said Sophie. ‘Oh, no.’
For Jaq the last bag held the least conclusive evidence. The plot of land had been reclaimed from the estuary, and tiny fragments of ceramic and marble could easily be found in general rubble. Unlike FEP and PV
DF. But she had guessed that Sophie would be more convinced by this, and she was right.
‘Show me the photos again,’ said Sophie, reaching to get something from her bag.
Jaq unlocked her phone and flicked through the pictures she had taken and downloaded into the report. All of them showed a barren plot of land from different angles. Some included shots of a pathetic little pile of debris, all that was left of a multimillion-dollar investment. Intent on talking through them in detail, it wasn’t until Vikram put a box of tissues on the table that Jaq noticed Sophie was crying.
Sophie wept elegantly. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but there was no snuffling or sobbing. Even the mascara seemed to stay in place, although the white paper handkerchief came away from her eyes daubed with purple.
‘All I have left of my father is a pot of ashes. It is too much to bear that his life’s work has been reduced to rubble as well.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Jaq. ‘I would not have believed it possible if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.’ They worked fast in China. A fully functional factory on Monday had completely disappeared by Friday.
‘I don’t have the strength to fight any more.’ Amethyst eyes flashed. ‘I am going to dissolve the joint venture. Will you act as a witness for me?’
‘I can certainly confirm what I saw, yes.’
‘That’s all I need.’ Sophie straightened up as if a great weight had been removed from her fragile shoulders.
‘Vikram, can I have a word?’ Jaq asked.
‘Not now.’ He waved her away and attended to his client.
As Jaq waited at the station for the Eaglescliffe train, she checked her phone. Three missed calls and two voicemails. A message from Emma inviting her to spend Christmas in Coniston. Jaq smiled and shook her head. Simultaneously a very lovely and a very bad idea. A briefer message from her mother’s care home, asking her when she planned to make the next payment.
On the opposite platform, the London train pulled out of the station, heading north to Inverness. From Aberdeen it was an overnight ferry to Shetland. And as soon as Sophie released her from this bizarre contract, that was where she was headed.
She pulled the Shetland hat over her ears and wished she was already there.
On the platform opposite her, a young man stood still. The wind whipped his long hair into writhing red snakes, and he stopped to gather it into a band. As he lifted his head, the red curls now secured in a topknot, he looked directly across the tracks. He hefted his large sports bag and moved towards her like a gymnast, his movements controlled, precise, almost languid.
Beauty is a powerful tonic. You know it when you see it, and sometimes it is uplifting to soak it in. A displacement activity, watching this young Adonis with his perfect physique on his way to a date with some lucky partner, she followed his progress towards the subway and reappearing on her platform, striding towards the exit and the footbridge that led into town.
She couldn’t control her response, it was a chemical reaction: phenylalanine to tyrosine to levodopa to dopamine to norepinephrine. The neurotransmitters increasing her heart rate and blood pressure, triggering the release of glucose from energy stores.
As he drew level, striking hazel eyes found hers. He smiled and she looked away, embarrassed to have been caught staring.
What was she playing at? He was far too young for her. And students were always off limits, even now she was no longer a university lecturer.
Once he was out of sight, Jaq called Vikram to ask when she would be paid.
Teesside, England
Driving over the brow of Thorpe Hill, Frank paused to survey the container ships sailing into Teesport. A plume of smoke belched from the chimney of the moribund Redcar steelworks. He scanned the dark satanic mills, the flares and steam plumes from Wilton and Billingham until he found the prilling tower and storage spheres of the Zagrovyl factory. Frank rolled down his window, spat into the road and continued his journey, turning right into the narrow back lane that plunged into a fertile valley.
Wynyard Hall sat in acres of rolling meadow and woodland. In this secluded haven, Frank could almost forget he was in Teesside.
He parked outside the Palladian mansion which rose above a lake. This was the sort of property Frank imagined owning. Had he chosen to be a property developer instead of an industrial executive, he would have done so by now. His first house, in London, had risen in value tenfold since he bought it. He often checked house prices in the area, a painful exercise since the house was stolen from him in his first divorce settlement. He’d made a healthy profit selling his second property, a Sussex farmhouse, when he moved up north. He’d have done better to hang onto it and not work at all. The increase in value of Home Counties property in the last few years was substantially more than he had earned in all that time. He’d only rented since, waiting for an opportunity as the Northern property market remained stagnant and uninteresting. Investing some of the equity in a yacht had not been, in retrospect, the wisest move. He’d been badly advised. And now he found himself stranded without a property to return to in the south, without assets and, unless he was careful, without a job.
Plan A had always been to stick it out with Zagrovyl. After all, they’d made him move to this godforsaken hole; they owed him at least as much money as he’d lost by relocating. And given what he’d done for them, and what he knew about them, a great deal more. With Graham Dekkers’ help that strand of the plan was already nailed.
Plan B was his investment portfolio. Frank had several venture capital investments, including a direct stake in Krixo, the Chinese company set up by Charles Clark. Which aligned well with Plan C – an advantageous marriage, a neat shortcut to get him back on the property ladder without any risk.
He’d been leaving the gym when Sophie called. He ducked back into the lobby, out of the wind and rain, and called her back.
‘Can we meet?’
Plan C was looking good. ‘Just tell me where and when.’
‘Now,’ she said. ‘Wynyard Hall.’
Frank arrived at the hotel before her. He found a seat by a tall window and opened the paper.
CHINESE GANGS TERRORISE ENGLAND
Is there a link between the murder of a London auctioneer and that of a university professor?
New evidence has emerged that Professor John Tench – emeritus professor at Teesside University, who died in hospital from injuries sustained in a savage attack in his home – attended the controversial auction of ancient Chinese artefacts presided over in London by auctioneer Bernard Ashley-Cooper, who was brutally murdered at his £5 million mansion in Chelsea earlier this week.
Both men sustained multiple knife wounds and, in both cases, a domestic pet belonging to the victims was cruelly dismembered.
Dr David Woolly, a social anthropologist at the University of Salford, and expert in Triad gang activity, speculated that the manner of both attacks is the hallmark of a Chinese gang known as Lingchi. He added that the jade lovers’ cup, sold by Ashley-Cooper for £10 million, was once owned by Qianlong, the Qing dynasty emperor notorious for executing his enemies by slow slicing: death by one thousand cuts.
A neighbour, who refused to be named, reported seeing Ashley-Cooper invite a person of Asian origin into his home, shortly after 8 p.m. on the night of his murder. Police declined to comment on the witness statement but confirmed that there was no sign of forced entry.
The attack on the retired university professor, in his £250,000 home in North Yorkshire, had many similar features, including the lack of forced entry and the sadistic nature of the attack, but there were no witnesses.
The value of the auctioneer’s London property kept rising. House prices – that was the difference between the South and the North.
Frank put the paper down to see Sophie emerging from a taxi. Did she even have a car? She waved at him through the window. He stood to greet her, waiting while she detoured through the powder room.
‘I’m starving,’ she announce
d when she finally emerged.
He patted his gym-toned stomach. ‘I’m fine.’
Sophie waved at the waitress. ‘Afternoon tea.’
‘For two?’
‘Just tea for me,’ said Frank. ‘Decaffeinated.’
‘Prosecco for me,’ Sophie said. ‘Unless you have some of that English champagne?’
‘Only French champagne, madam.’
‘Prosecco, then.’
‘Tough day?’ Frank tried, not entirely successfully, to keep the sneer from his voice.
‘The Chinese factory has vanished.’
‘Vanished?’ He reared back. ‘What do you mean?’ Where did this leave Plan B, his investment in Krixo?
‘Pouf!’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Gone. Operational Monday and razed to the ground by Friday.’
Their drinks arrived. Sophie emptied her glass in one gulp and signalled for the bottle. Frank poured his tea and wished for something stronger. Bloody doctors.
‘Someone’s pulling the wool over your lovely eyes,’ he said.
‘I don’t think so.’ Sophie handed him the CCS report. ‘It was your expert who confirmed it.’
Jaqueline Silver. The interfering engineer. Perhaps it had been a mistake to recommend her to Sophie. He leafed through the report and his jaw dropped. Impossible. Unbelievable. What part had she played in this? She’d already sunk his yacht. Could Silver have spirited a factory away as well, to spite him? She was smart; he wouldn’t put anything past her. And fast.
A silver stand arrived, three tiers with sandwiches, scones and tiny cakes.
‘I don’t understand. Your investment . . .’ And Frank’s investment. ‘How could this have happened?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’ Sophie spoke with her mouth full. Her table manners left much to be desired. ‘Krixo is fully insured.’
Did such insurance exist? In his experience insurers made you pay in good times and ran away in bad. There was always a clause here, a subclause there, hidden deep in the contract. He should know: he was an expert at laying those little traps himself.
‘Have you informed the insurers?’
‘It’s not so much insurance as collateral.’
The Chemical Reaction Page 17