Gold Diggers

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘This friend is very rich and very connected. Her boyfriend owns a number of investment companies.’

  ‘Then I’d say it sounded a little suspicious,’ smiled Alistair.

  ‘Why?’ asked Chris, his heart thumping.

  ‘It could of course be entirely innocent. Maybe your friend was reminding herself to go and buy a Ginsui computer,’ he said, smiling cynically. ‘On the other hand your friend could have been tipped off to buy shares that were certain to rise in value. Maybe she’d written it in her diary to remind her to buy them.’

  ‘Insider dealing?’ asked Chris.

  ‘It’s rampant,’ said Alistair, sipping the tea. ‘Far more so than the FSA would care to admit.’

  ‘Where would somebody completely unconnected with the electronics industry get a tip-off about Ginsui?’

  ‘There can be hundreds of people who know market-sensitive information prior to a takeover. A banker, a broker, a lawyer, a financial PR. Any connected friend could have tipped her off. It could even have come via the boyfriend if he’s a big City player and he’d heard something.’

  Chris suddenly felt a cold chill. Had Adam been feeding Karin share tips? Could that have had anything to do with her getting murdered? Money was always a strong motive.

  He thanked Alistair and headed quickly back to his desk. He had to get in contact with Erin. If she hadn’t contacted Inspector Wright already he was going to do it himself. This was getting serious.

  Driving his navy-blue Ford down Knightsbridge, Michael Wright slapped the palm of his hand against the steering wheel with frustration. They had been forced to release Evan Harris twelve hours earlier and he just did not have enough evidence to arrest Molly. The forensic team working in Karin’s house hadn’t thrown up any strong leads, except that the murder weapon was a glass candlestick that had smashed on contact with Karin’s neck. Only half of the candlestick was on Karin’s floor in pieces around her body. The other half the murderer must have taken with him or her.

  He was banging his head against a brick wall with this case. It was a high-profile murder; a rich, beautiful socialite beaten to death in her own home. It had dominated the newspapers for days. The powers that be would want a successful conviction, and Michael knew they did not have a strong enough case against either of the primary suspects. He was due to speak to Summer Sinclair at the hospital in a couple of hours; he was determined to find out who the father of her child was and where she was on Monday evening, because that could put a different complexion on everything. In the meantime, he was going to return to Karin’s house and look again. Long experience told him that there was always something else, always something that had been overlooked. He had to find it. His mouth set in a thin, determined line and he stepped on the accelerator.

  Erin had spent the last two hours staring at her computer screen wondering what to do. She had tried the phone number Michael Wright had given her, but she had only reached the incident room at Scotland Yard, where an unfamiliar voice had told her that Chief Inspector Wright would not be back until later. When Erin had been asked if any of the other officers could assist her, she had quickly declined. She knew that her wine-bottle information was just a theory, and she had a feeling that only someone like DCI Wright would take it seriously.

  Adam had gone out immediately after their meeting, being unusually vague about where he was heading. She knew he had been invited to Mikhail Lebokov’s drinks party that evening, but that didn’t start for another two hours. She had a sudden thought and walked down the corridor to Marcus’s office. As she had suspected, the room was empty, but his PA Candy was sitting outside, making full use of her boss’s absence by applying a layer of topcoat to her freshly painted scarlet fingernails.

  ‘Hi honey,’ smiled Candy, ‘listen, I’m dying for a cigarette. Do you mind watching the phones for ten minutes.’

  ‘No problem. Where’s Marcus?’ asked Erin nonchalantly.

  ‘Gone for the afternoon,’ she smiled. ‘Place is like a bloody ghost town.’

  Erin waited until the lift doors hissed shut, then stepped into Marcus’s office and pulled the door behind her. Her palms instantly felt clammy the moment she entered, but she forced herself onwards, not really knowing what to look for, but feeling certain that the answer was in here. Marcus’s office was like Adam’s, only smaller. There was a row of expensive walnut shelving containing box files and property law books, back issues of Fortune magazine, big glossy coffee-table tomes on the great architects like Gehry, Rogers and Foster and, sitting on its own, in a silver frame, a picture of Marcus and Adam somewhere hot and sunny. They looked much younger and Adam had his arm around his friend’s shoulders. She picked it up and ran a finger over the glass, thinking. Marcus had given Adam his alibi, and in the process had given himself one; what if neither of them were where they said? Feeling more bold, she moved over to the desk, looking but not touching. It was a very ordered desk. Documents in neat piles. A black fountain pen sat at right angles next to a crystal paperweight. She glanced towards the door again, her ears straining to hear. Nothing. She opened the slim drawer at the top of the desk. More papers. Letters, bills and taxi receipts. And then she saw something. A wink of colour between leaves of white. She pulled it out between her thumb and forefinger and gasped. It was a picture of Marcus and Karin together. Karin was sitting next to Marcus by the swimming pool in Como, her head thrown back, laughing, her hand on Marcus’s knee, his expression one of pride and pleasure. Erin remembered thinking at the time how inappropriate it was for Karin to be flirting with Marcus.

  What if he’d taken it the wrong way?

  At that moment, the sun came out, sending a glare against the gloss of the photographic paper. Erin could see that it was smudged with fingerprints, as if it had been handled a hundred times. What if it was Marcus who had gone round to Karin’s house with his impressive, expensive bottle of red wine? Hadn’t witnesses reported seeing a grey sports car outside Karin’s around the time she was murdered? The police had assumed it was Molly, but Erin remembered the two vehicles sitting on the gravel of The Standlings at the summer party. Molly’s dolphin-grey Maserati and Marcus’s silver Jaguar. To a casual observer they could be the same car. She shut the door and hurried out of the room with the photograph.

  69

  When Mikhail Lebokov came to London he always threw a party, and when one of the richest men in the world throws a party, everyone makes sure they drop whatever they’re doing and attends.

  Erin got out of the black cab and stood looking up at Chelsea’s exclusive new waterside development soaring into the sky. Although most super-rich Russians lived in townhouses in Belgravia, Kensington and Mayfair, Mikhail had bucked the trend by buying the most luxurious penthouse flat on London’s stretch of the Thames. Word was that it cost £50 million, also making it London’s most expensive apartment. She glanced at her watch, wondering whether there was time to try Michael Wright’s number again. She had called again only twenty minutes ago, and the officer answering the phone had assured her he was due back soon and would call her immediately. In the meantime she knew that she had to speak to Adam.

  The lobby of Mikhail’s apartment block was the size of a tennis court, lined with walnut and beginning to fill with beautiful young women and immaculately dressed older men.

  Two well-built men wearing charcoal suits and headsets stood by the chrome lift doors with clipboards, looking less like greeters and more like KGB bodyguards. Perhaps they were, thought Erin nervously.

  Luckily Adam and Karin had been sent individual invitations, which had both been delivered to the Midas Corporation in a black lacquered box, so Erin had been able to pick up Karin’s invitation from the office. She fluttered it at the security guard, trying to stop her hand trembling. Clearly the man had never heard of Karin Cavendish and nodded her through. She watched in wonder as the glass lift sped up the outside of the building, London disappearing below her as they reached the penthouse on the fifteenth floor.
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  The apartment was incredible. A huge bronze sculpture that Erin recognized as Henry Moore dominated the large hallway. Inside, it was a masculine flat, decorated in taupe and tobacco brown, with a few bursts of colour from some of the most famous artists of the modern era. Erin was no expert, but even she was impressed to see a Francis Bacon and a row of Andy Warhol’s ‘car crash’ silk-screens.

  She walked through into an enormous lounge, sparsely furnished with a big black lacquered table, a bus-sized grey sofa and a six-foot-tall plasma screen. Tonight, however, the spaces were filled by the beautiful and powerful of London, laughing, drinking and chatting. Her eyes scanned the room for Adam, but all she saw were unfamiliar faces. This was not some show-off celebrity shindig, this was an exclusive gathering for Mikhail’s closet friends and business colleagues.

  A waiter handed her a cocktail and she walked up a chrome and glass stairway clutching the ebony handrail. The crowds thinned out as she reached a mezzanine floor that led out onto a rooftop garden that echoed the Japanese theme of Mikhail’s dacha outside Moscow. Sculpted trees obscured the London skyline, koi carp swam in a black marble pool, while cherry-wood and cream linen day beds provided a place to sit. But it was too cold to linger this evening, and Erin quickly saw that she was alone up there. Cursing, she perched on a day bed, opened her mobile and dialled Adam’s number. It rang twice before he answered.

  ‘It’s Erin,’ she said sharply, ‘I need to speak to you urgently. I’m at Mikhail’s party – I thought you were going to be here.’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ said Adam, sounding bemused. ‘What’s the problem? What are you doing there?’

  She paused a moment and then decided it was too late for keeping theories to herself. ‘I think I know who killed Karin, but I need to ask you a question and you have to answer honestly.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Adam cautiously.

  ‘Where were you really on Monday night?’

  It was a few moments before he spoke. ‘I went to see Summer. But when I got there, there was no reply at her apartment, so I went home alone. I had no alibi so I asked Marcus to cover for me, to stop things getting complicated with the police.’

  ‘So you didn’t see Marcus all evening?’

  ‘Summer, what are you suggesting? That Marcus did it?’ he replied, sounding incredulous. ‘What on earth would make you think such a thing?’

  ‘I’ll explain later but I think Marcus did it. And try and get in touch with Chief Inspector Wright. I’m having no luck.’

  She snapped her mobile shut, stood up and took a big swig of cocktail to calm herself.

  ‘I thought we were friends, Erin. That’s no way to go talking about friends, is it?’ said a voice behind her.

  Erin whirled around to find Marcus was standing only feet away, a thin half-smile on his face.

  ‘Marcus, what a surprise, I didn’t think you’d be here …’ she stammered.

  ‘Clearly,’ he leered. ‘I’m a guest of Mikhail’s architect. And it’s a good job I came, isn’t it? Now you and I can have a private chat about the little lies you’ve been spreading about me.’

  ‘It’s nothing, Marcus, honestly,’ she said, wondering if he had heard the whole conversation. He grabbed her arm and ushered her further into the garden, into a long seating area, shielded from the house by clipped hedges.

  Marcus pushed Erin roughly against a low wall on the edge of the roof and brought his face close to hers. ‘Now, why on earth would you think I’d do such a thing as to kill Karin?’

  Erin stood frozen, her heart hammering with fear. ‘Tell me!’ hissed Marcus, his fingers digging into her arm.

  ‘You brought the expensive wine round, didn’t you?’ whispered Erin, not knowing what to say except the truth. ‘And it was your car outside Karin’s that night,’ said Erin, so softly it was barely audible.

  ‘She was a tease. Like all women,’ growled Marcus, his face twisting as he moved closer towards her.

  ‘But what about Molly?’ said Erin, trying to think of anything that might distract him. ‘You’re in love with Molly.’

  Marcus snorted. ‘Ah, yes Molly. Sweet, greedy Molly. I thought I could fall in love with that one, until I discovered she’s exactly the same as all the other gold-digging tramps I’ve ever been out with. So she uses me and I use her. She’s a very good fuck,’ he whispered, his eyes narrow and cruel as he reached up with his other hand to stroke Erin’s face.

  ‘Let go of me!’ she cried, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he was too strong. She was helpless as he jerked her away from the wall and marched her towards a set of wrought-iron stairs that led up to an elevated extension of the building.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ shrieked Erin, terrified now.

  ‘We’re going for a chat,’ he said flatly, pushing her up the steps.

  ‘Marcus, please,’ begged Erin. ‘If it was an accident, just tell the police. We can work this out.’

  ‘Don’t think I’m going to rot away in jail when it should be Adam doing the time. You do know about that, of course,’ he snarled, pushing her on to the flat roof. ‘The insider dealing, the illegal trading? Yes, of course you do, you’re his assistant. You’re up to your neck in it.’

  Erin shook her head. ‘No! I don’t know anything, Marcus. Let me go and I won’t say anything.’

  Marcus shook her arm violently, then pulled her in close. ‘You don’t know anything? Well let me educate you, young lady,’ he sneered. ‘Adam Gold is running on empty. He’s borrowed so heavily against his own stock that one day soon – and it will be soon because the property market can’t stay buoyant forever – it’s all going to come crashing down around his ears. Karin wouldn’t have stayed with him. She wouldn’t have wanted to stay with a pauper, with a bum.’

  The very top of the building was flat and empty except for an air-conditioning unit, a large satellite dish and a low brick perimeter wall, the only barrier from a hundred-metre drop. Erin’s hair whipped around her face in the wind and hot tears run down her cheeks.

  ‘Marcus, please. It’s dangerous up here.’

  ‘No one is going to believe you, Erin. No one is going to listen to the rantings of Adam’s lovesick little PA. Because you were in love with him, Erin, weren’t you? The whole floor used to laugh about the way you hung on his every word. And when they find you, they’ll say you couldn’t stand the way he loved Karin – and you jumped.’

  ‘Marcus! NO!’

  The cry came from behind them on the iron stairs. Marcus spun round to see Adam coming towards them. Erin jerked away and Marcus stumbled over a cable, going down on one knee. It gave Erin just enough time to push past him and run to Adam. He pushed her behind him.

  ‘Erin, go and tell Mikhail what is going on up here. Get him to send his men,’ Adam whispered quickly.

  ‘Don’t you go anywhere, Erin,’ said Marcus, taking slow, considered steps towards the perimeter wall, ‘or I’ll jump,’ he shouted, his voice carried in the wind as he climbed onto the wall.

  ‘Get down, Marcus. Please,’ said Adam as calmly as he could, extending a hand towards him. For a moment, all they could hear was the whistle of the wind a hundred metres above the Thames, then Marcus began to make a choking sound, and Erin could see his face crumble.

  ‘I didn’t mean it!’ he screamed. ‘I didn’t mean it because I loved her! And she loved me!’

  ‘It was an accident Marcus, I know,’ said Adam coolly, inching towards his friend.

  ‘She toyed with me, Adam, likes she toys with everyone. She flirted with me in Como, but when I went round to see her she treated me like a stranger. She said I’d got the wrong idea,’ he shouted, his baritone voice wobbling. ‘How could she say that after all the looks, after all the signals she was giving me? But she said she loved you. You. There was a glass candlestick on the table. I picked it up …’

  He was sobbing now, a deep choking coming from his throat like a car refusing to start.

  ‘I didn’t mean to kill
her. The candlestick smashed. The end of it cut into her neck. There was so much blood,’ he said between sobs. Marcus’s feet shuffled closer to the edge.

  Erin clenched her fists. ‘No!’ she screamed.

  Adam lunged forward and grabbed Marcus’s wrist, just as his feet slipped off the wall. Adam was pulled forward, jamming his feet against the wall, holding onto Marcus who was hanging over the edge of the building. Erin ran forward to help him, watching Marcus’s watery eyes full of hate and fear.

  ‘You always had everything I wanted,’ he said softly, looking directly at Adam.

  ‘I’m not letting you go,’ snarled Adam through gritted teeth, reaching another arm over the edge to grab Marcus’s body more firmly and, with Erin’s help, slowly began to hoist him back onto the roof.

  The two men stumbled back onto the concrete floor as Erin turned to see Chief Inspector Wright and Chris running up the iron stairs to the roof.

  ‘Chris!’ shouted Erin, running into his arms.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he whispered, pulling her tight. ‘It’s over now.’

  70

  News of Marcus’s arrest was all over the media by the next morning. Summer sat up in her hospital bed, watching a lunchtime bulletin on the small television screen beside her bed, still trying to make sense of it all. Molly had phoned her the night before, sobbing hysterically, still refusing to believe that Marcus had killed Karin. And while Summer had to take her mother’s grief at face value – who wouldn’t be distraught to find out their partner had been in love with somebody else and then murdered them? – she knew Molly was also mourning the end of life at The Standlings. It looked like her old rival Karin had finally got one over on Molly, even from beyond the grave.

  ‘I think you can go home this afternoon,’ smiled a nurse, putting a tray of food on Summer’s table. ‘We’ve just got to wait for the consultant to do his rounds.’ She hovered at the door, eyes flickering to the TV screen, hoping that Summer would volunteer some information about the case. Summer’s connection to Karin Cavendish’s murder was no secret around the ward: they had been forced to field phone calls and visits from insistent reporters, all wanting a quote from Summer. But she was a nice kid, thought the nurse, shutting the door and letting her watch the news in peace. On top of the life-threatening ordeal she had just gone through, she didn’t deserve to be hassled.