“By the way…”
I waited patiently.
“Mrs Pike in the post office told me, and she got it off Hilda Harris.”
“And?”
“The Pattersons are getting divorced. How strange at their time of life? Anyway, we can chatter more about all that when I see you tomorrow. And you’re bringing your young man,” she repeated.
“A colleague,” I stressed again, before putting down the phone. So, the Pattersons were getting divorced.
How interesting. And what sudden development could have brought that on?
Chapter 23
11am Saturday, October 27,
M3 near the Windsor turnoff
“A divorce?” Ross digested this snippet, as we headed down the M3 towards Upton Grey.
“According to local gossip.”
“She’s taken advice. Someone has warned her to get as much safely ring-fenced for herself while she can.”
“She’s afraid he’s going to be sued?”
“It’s a sensible precaution in the circumstances.”
Ross flicked his mobile phone to pick up a text message as he spoke.
“What would it take for a case to be successful, against Cameron, say?” I asked.
“Proving the valuations were fraudulent would be a good place to start.” With that, he began a detailed explanation of the laws governing pension valuations.
I listened as carefully as I could, while mainly keeping my eyes glued to the road. I watched him too, stealing across occasional glances. I had to admit I found him fascinating. He must have been gorgeous when he was younger, or maybe, he was one of those annoying men who became strikingly attractive with age, just as we women were falling apart at the seams.
“You see, valuations operate within a range and within that range they are legit. But, assets and liabilities can be assessed in different ways,” he explained.
“So different actuaries can come to different conclusions, and that’s fine?”
“Exactly,” he continued. “Take a loaf of bread. You might look at it and think you’ll get ten sandwiches out of it. But I might expect to get fourteen or fifteen. We might both be right.”
“Depending on how thickly, we cut the bread.”
“Then, there are the liabilities.”
“The pensions?”
“These have to be valued, and it is an even more uncertain calculation. You have to decide how long people will live and a whole range of other stuff. The pension age and discount rate can have a huge impact.”
“The discount rate?”
“It’s the rate at which future liabilities are discounted. It’s difficult to explain, but it’s like an interest rate.”
All the time he spoke, I was studying him, with one eye on the road. It was hard to put a finger on his particular charm. His eyes were like two blue shiny magnets which drew you in. His grey blond hair added a touch of glamour. His mouth was warm and honest and his bone structure intelligent. They all fitted together perfectly to make the kind of face you wanted to know better.
“And the pension age?”
“You reduce the pensions bill every time you push up the pension age.”
“I see. So what you’re saying is, the withdrawals may have been legitimate, if the valuations were within the acceptable range.”
“Most actuaries value somewhere close to the middle of the range. Patterson’s last valuation was way out there on the edge.”
“Could he have taken a backhander…damn,” I hit the brakes, as a juggernaut swung into the fast lane, before swerving back into his own lane again.
“I don’t think so,” Ross spoke slowly, like he couldn’t be sure. “He did retire soon after.”
His mobile rang and he spent the rest of the journey with it glued to his ear. Finally, I heard him wishing someone good luck, as we pulled into Upton Grey village. His voice had lost its usual edge and seemed softer.
“Laura, my daughter,” he said, by way of explanation. “It’s her piano exam this afternoon. They’re all with my mother. Ah….we’ve arrived.”
When we reached Upton Grey House, I pulled into the sweeping drive and watched him soak up its magnificence. Hilda Harris opened the door. She greeted Ross courteously, but ignored me, as if we had never met.
The entrance hall was unchanged since my last visit, but if Ross noticed the shabby neglect, he didn’t show it.
“I’d better warn you. He’s having one of his blue days,” she said leading the way through.
Patterson was sitting at the same desk in the same room, curtains flapping in the breeze of the open windows, as they had been the day Marsha and I visited. He wore the same pin-striped suit and red bow tie. The room, though, had moved on. Even more cuttings were plastered along the walls. And more equations than ever were scribbled on every surface.
If the spectacle surprised Ross, he showed no sign, but greeted Patterson courteously, one professional to another. He had brought with him a huge pile of documents.
“Thank you for seeing me at such short notice,” he said, offering Patterson his hand. “I believe you’ve already met Ms Lighthorn?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember. I used to remember everything. I was so sharp, but now, there’s nothing in my mind at all. I seem to lose everything. Quite frightening.”
“It’s nothing to be afraid of Mr Patterson. I have a few valuations I wanted to discuss with you. They relate to Kelly’s Brewery. D’you remember advising them?”
“Kelly’s Brewery, Kelly’s Brewery. It’s all anyone asks about.”
“Others have been here asking?” Ross’s voice was gentle, as if coaxing a child.
“Never leave me in peace. I have my work to get on with. I’m getting so close.” He was trembling and seemed more agitated than when I had seen him last.
“Can I see your workings?” Ross tried to calm him. Patterson pushed some papers his way, and invited him to sit, as if glad of a kindred spirit.
“I can see your fascination,” Ross murmured. “It is beautiful. What a brilliant piece of work.”
“Thank you, I’m so glad you understand.”
They bent their heads over the papers for about five minutes mumbling in a language, which meant nothing to me. I stared at the cuttings. Still nothing later than 1995. The glory days of the pensions industry, with no hint at the chaos to come.
Ross slipped one of his reports onto the desk.
“Mr Patterson,” he began. “Do you remember which discount rate you used to reach this valuation?” He flicked the page over deftly.
“And on what grounds did you authorise this withdrawal?”
“The discount rate is there. It is always included. I can’t remember anything about any withdrawals.”
“And this. Do you know anything about this authorisation?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t remember, I can’t remember, I remember nothing,” he agitation was rising.
Then he started to sob. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I can’t remember, sorry… sorry… I’m so sorry.”
He sat on his chair rocking backwards and forwards, gently sobbing.
“Sorry… Sorry… sorry…”
I watched Ross gaze round the room, and saw a look I didn’t recognise, as he took in its whole absurdity. In an instant, it was gone.
“Please don’t trouble yourself, Mr, Patterson. We’ll leave you now. Thank you again for your time.”
We walked out, leaving the deranged figure rocking backwards and forwards on the chair.
“A wasted journey,” Ross said, as we pulled out of the drive.
“What did you expect?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Those equations are gibberish, by the way.”
“Completely meaningless?”
“Not completely, I suppose. He’s reworking the same sums over and over again using different assumptions each time, trying to get them to add up.”
“And they don’t any more? And he can’t face it?”
“Something like t
hat.”
“D’you think he’s really ill?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor, it seems genuine enough.”
“We’re neither of us psychiatrists.”
“No, but I am an actuary. And this is a very smart house even for a senior partner.”
Ross was no fool.
When I stopped outside Wisteria Cottage, the door opened immediately and Sally and Timmy came out to greet us. I was sure, I saw a wry look of amusement flicker momentarily in Ross’s eyes.
Before we could get inside a distant rumble quickly swelled into the deafening whirr of overhead helicopters. Timmy ran to the front door, and steadied various pots of winter pansies, rattling with the overhead vibrations.
“We complain all the time,” Sally shouted.
“Get’s us nowhere,” Timmy agreed.
“Deaf to democracy.”
“Death to democracy?” Ross repeated.
“No deaf, my dear, deaf. The people are powerless. Come in, come in.” I led the way through to the sitting room.
“This is Alexander Ross,” I introduced him.
“Call me Sandy,” he said, shaking hands with them both.
“Sandy, how delightful, short for Alexander, of course.”
A tea tray full of fancies was already laid, and Timmy brought boiling water for the pot. I watched Ross inspect the wisteria on the cup and saucer and cake plate. When he looked up, our eyes met, but he didn’t smirk, although I suspected that he wanted to.
“Was your meeting with Mr Patterson successful?” Sally addressed the question to me.
“It’s a long way to come for a wasted journey,” Timmy added.
I looked at Ross. He didn’t respond.
“You say Patterson’s had a number of visitors recently?” I asked.
“Seems to have become something of a celebrity,” Sally answered. “I’ve been stopped twice in the high street and asked to give directions to Grey House.”
“And don’t forget Mrs Pike,” Timmy reminded her.
“Yes, Mrs Pike said she’s had about three gentlemen in the post office asking for Grey House.”
“And then there’s Marjory.”
“Oh yes. Marjory. She’s one of our church cleaning volunteers. She’s a Tuesday. So it must have been last Tuesday. She was on her hands and knees behind the altar...there’d been an accident with some wine, she was trying to get it out…..when someone appeared from nowhere. Gave her quite a fright. Anyway, this gentleman wanted to know where he could find the Pattersons.”
“What was he like?” Ross asked.
“Marjory said he was wearing a suit, but didn’t look quite City.”
“Marjory’s such a snob.” Timmy couldn’t resist.
“Don’t be unkind Timmy,” his sister chided him, gently. “Then there was that chap you saw. You said he looked weird.”
“Distinctly weird. He had a ponytail. A dark ponytail.”
“And a tattoo, you said.”
“That’s right Sally, a tattoo on his forearm. He stopped me, to ask directions, and he was leaning his arm on the open car window.
“A tattoo?” Ross seemed interested.
“It was a boat…. And there was a writing, a name perhaps. It looked like the Sea Witch.”
Ross’s jaw dropped slightly, but, if he was going to say something, he was interrupted by his mobile vibrating.
“Ah,” he said reading a message. “It’s from my daughter. She’s just out of her piano exam,” he explained to our hosts. “It went well.”
“Marvellous,” Timmy congratulated him. “Do you have other children?”
“I have two daughters and two sons.”
“How wonderful,” Sally clapped, “but a handful. Does your wife work?”
I cringed, but was stunned by his next words. “I’m divorced. The children said they wanted to stay with me.”
Pitcher told me he’d been widowed.
“Which reminds me,” he said, as if to change the subject as quickly as he could. “I believe the Pattersons are getting divorced.”
“So we’re hearing,” Timmy replied.
“Well, if you hear anything more, let us know.” I said.
“And maybe keep a tab on who’s coming and going.” Ross added.
“Like private detectives?” Sally suggested.
“Eyes and ears,” Timmy said, touching first his ears and then his eyes.
After a few more polite exchanges we left.
I waited until we were pulling out of the village to speak.
“I didn’t realise you were divorced.”
“Yes,” his voice was deadpan. “My wife left me three years ago.”
I moved up a gear thinking what I wouldn’t say and do to Pitcher when we next met, for supplying me with yet another piece of dud information.
That pleasure came sooner than I expected…
Chapter 24
Midnight Sunday, October 28,
Southwark
It was midnight, when the buzzer went. I was in bed, but not asleep, listening to the midnight news. I ignored it. It went again and then a third time, loud and intrusive, so I hauled myself to the front door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me,” I recognised the voice immediately.
“Pitcher. What on earth are you doing here at this hour?”
“I got a message, saying you wanted to see me urgently.”
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow would have done. I thought you were away.”
“I was. But I flew back specially when I heard you wanted me.”
His speech was slurred. He was drunk.
“What do you want?”
“What do I want? Where shall I begin? A rich widow to die and leave me all her money. A vineyard in France. A passionate lover. But the question is, what do you want?”
My heart sank. A drunken cop on my doorstep on a Sunday night was all I needed.
“You’d better come in, before you wake the neighbourhood.” I released the lock and opened my door for him to enter.
“You’re drunk.” I greeted him.
“You are right, Lightweight. But tomorrow I will be sober. Whereas tomorrow you will still be…”
“Just don’t! “ I cut him dead. “What do you want, apart from some strong coffee?”
“It’s what you want isn’t it? I thought you wanted to talk.”
“Sit down,” I pushed him towards the settee and went into the kitchen, hoping he would be asleep by the time I returned. No such luck. He was staggering around the room, inspecting my DVD collection, having already put a CD of Tina Turner’s, Steamy Windows, on to play.
“This is madness,” I handed him a cup.
He slumped on the settee and slurped a few sips.
“What’s so urgent?” he asked.
“Look, it’s late.”
“I’m busy tomorrow. I’m in court. If you want to talk urgently, it’s now.”
Where to begin. The child, my suspicion that I was being followed, the misinformation about Ross’s marriage, the old Hannigan chestnut, the police report into paedophilia accusations, the forensic report, the body in the Clyde…..
Instead I began, “Have you seen Jack Kelly yet?”
“No, nor will I. All I’m interested in is Strathclyde police. I’ve told you a dozen times, I’m not interested in your dead money.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” He rubbed it in.
“I thought we had a deal.”
“We do have a deal.”
“Then, why didn’t you tell me about the missing child?”
“What missing child?”
“You know perfectly well which child?”
He scratched his head, as if thinking for a moment.
“Do you mean your Mr Strachan’s very special friend?”
I started counting slowly to stop me hitting him.
“Do I have to tell you about every investigation that is taking place in Br
itain?”
“Yes, if it has anything to do with this case. That was the deal.”
“And what would you’ve said, if I’d told you your precious Mr Strachan was screwing a child?”
I let it go. He was drunk. “Did you find the report? The one I asked for?”
“All good things come to those who wait,” he tried to tap the side of his nose three times, missing with each attempt.
“What about the forensic report of the Strachan deaths.”
“Now that is interesting, seems to have vanished, just like your little girlie.”
I was digesting this information, when he lurched nearer to me, an annoying smile spread across his stupid face.
“I think you fancy me…go on, say it, those three liddel words.”
“Jesus, it’s half-past midnight, and I’m having to listen to this.”
“Go on… just those three little words.”
“OK then. Here’s three little words for you. I’m being followed.”
“Strictly speaking that’s four,” he fell back on the cushions again.
“So?”
“So what?
“So, don’t you want to know by whom?”
“Do you want to tell me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, there we are then. It’s probably all in your imagination. Have you thought about seeing a shrink?”
“Is it your lot?”
He laughed, like he was enjoying himself.
“You flatter yourself, you really do.”
“What about Alexander Ross?”
“Ahh,”
“And that sob story about his wife.”
“Right…. well… yeah… I guess, Thornhorn, I’ll have to cough to that one.”
“Why did you lie to me?”
“It was for your own good. Call me a softie, but I’m just an old romantic at heart. I wanted you to like him. You two were never gonna hit it off…. both totally…..” he seemed to be searching for a word and them grimaced, like he had found it, but then thought better than to utter.
“We needed him, or your investigation, and possibly mine, was going nowhere. I wanted to oil things along……”
“You’re deranged.”
“Quite possibly. They tell me I am crazy between the sheets.”
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