DEAD MONEY

by TERESA HUNTER

  She looked at me again, but said nothing. It was as if she were somewhere else entirely. All this was going on around her, but she had no part in it.

  “Tell me about your husband.” I tried again, gently. “When did you meet?” It always paid to start at a good distance from the current traumatic event, at a happier time.

  She began to open up, gradually. “We were both working in an office in George St. We were married within a year. That was 25 years ago.”

  “Your husband wasn’t working for Sherlock then?”

  “No, he only joined them three years ago. I told him he was making a mistake. Been with his old firm more than two decades. But he said we needed more money. They offered him a small fortune to move.”

  “Was he happy?”

  “He never discussed work.”

  “Was he happy at home?”

  “He was never here. Work, work, work. That was all he did. Except when we were on holidays. Then he’d go back to being the old Donald, his old self.”

  “What happened the night he disappeared?”

  “Two men came to the door. He said they were policemen and he had to go with them.”

  “And he went,”

  “Of course, it seemed strange,” she shook her head, as if in disbelief. “We thought it some mistake. We’re respectable law-abiding people. But Donald said he’d go down to the station with them and sort it out. He said he wouldn’t be long.”

  “And that was the last time you saw him?”

  She nodded.

  “What do Sherlock’s say?”

  “At first they were very good. Said they would do everything to help me and the police.”

  “And then?”

  “It’s all gone very quiet. Can’t find anyone to speak to. Like they’ve all gone into hiding.”

  “And you’ve got no idea what all this could be about?”

  “None at all. I knew it was strange, that they couldn’t be policemen. One of them had a gold earring.”

  “A gold earring?”

  “Yes. It was round with a cross hanging below. I thought at the time, policemen don’t wear earrings.”

  The WPC came in with tea on a tray. I stayed a while longer. We talked about the children.

  “Thank you for coming,” Mrs Livingstone said, as I rose to leave. Her frail courtesy took the wind out of my lungs. My heart went out to the poor woman. She was decent and kind. But I sensed, before the day was out, her peace would be shattered forever.

  Chapter 30

  1 pm Thursday, November 1,

  Glasgow

  I filed the interview from the airport, and headed home. The phone rang at 9pm. It was Pitcher.

  “Strathclyde believe the body is Livingstone. DNA results have come in. Positive ID tomorrow.”

  “What took them so long?” I said, but he was gone.

  I didn’t waste time trying to get confirmation. He was a prime police source. That was good enough. I called Ludgate, and agreed to file a news story within the next 20 minutes.

  As I logged on to my computer, an email came in from the Financial Watchdog. Sherlock had gone into wind-up. The company was liquidating.

  I called Ludgate back. “Wrap it all up,” he said.

  So I did, and the paper splashed with the story of the identification of actuary Donald Livingstone, as the body pulled out of the Clyde, and the collapse of his company, Sherlock. Inside, we had the first exclusive interview with the widow.

  Strathclyde police called before I was out of bed.

  “Who gave you a positive identification?” an angry copper snarled down the line. I implied it had been a luck guess. He was far from satisfied, but the division confirmed the story with a general release an hour later.

  A congratulatory email was in my inbox, when I arrived at the office. Ludgate sounded like the cat that got the cream. We had annihilated the opposition.

  He called later that morning. “I’ve got a tedious banking dinner at the Mansion House, tonight, 7.30pm. Black tie. Someone here’s dropped out. Would you like to come with me?”

  “Sure,” it was never smart to say “No” to the boss.

  “You’ll need an invite. I’ll see you outside.”

  The next email to land was from Alexander Ross informing me he would be in London on Monday, and suggesting we meet up.

  Always supposing the flight is on time, I’ve got meetings all morning and am seeing someone for lunch. Shall I see you afterwards in our offices? You know where they are? About 3pm. Go to reception and ask for me.

  I was dying to talk to him about the latest Livingstone and Sherlock developments and replied by return, saying I’d be there, and asking him if he’d seen that morning’s Square Mile.

  He replied noncommittally, saying he was looking forward to seeing me again. I was sure he had read my copy.

  Andrew was waiting for me outside the Mansion House, looking glamorous in his penguin suit. I wore one too, of sorts. I’d never had the figure for slinky, off the shoulder evening dresses, and felt more comfortable beside the men in a white tuxedo, embossed red waistcoat and black silk three-quarter-length trousers. He waved our invites at me, but held on to them.

  We had a quick drink at the bar, swapping greetings with bankers we knew by sight. Andrew knew more than me, but I had plenty of contacts too. The bar was so squashed and noisy, it was impossible to do more than say hello.

  It was soon time, anyway, to head towards the dining room. Andrew checked the seating plan for the table. We were 34. He showed both tickets at the door.

  We made our way through the crowded, buzzing banqueting hall, stopping briefly, again, to say hello to acquaintances. We were both chatting to one such, when I spotted table 34. My heart stopped dead. Besides a metal spike displaying the number, was another with the name of the table host. KNS was printed in big red letters.

  I grabbed Ludgate on the arm, but he continued chatting to his contact. When he finished, he turned to me and raised his eyebrows.

  “It’s Kane’s table, we’re sitting on Kane’s table.”

  “I know, don’t worry, he won’t be there.”

  “I can’t. The case…”

  “You have to break the ice sometime, Julia. You can’t run away for ever. We all get complaints and legal problems. Don’t take it so personally. It’s part of the job.”

  “I’m not running away, it’s just…”

  “Look…they’re a big bank. Like it or not, we have to work with them.”

  “I can’t. It’s so embarrassing.”

  “Yes, you can,” he got behind me and gave me a hard shove in the direction of the table.

  “My lawyer will have a fit.”

  “Whenever did you worry about giving a lawyer a heart attack?” he whispered in my ear, as we arrived at the table.

  The host, John Westwood, from the investment side of the bank, greeted Ludgate warmly, if formally, and extended similar courtesy to me. He introduced us to the rest of the table. I had Guy Peters from foreign exchange on one side, and William Crowther, from credit insurance, on the other. Westwood worked his way around the table with introductions, until he reached David Black. My heart skipped a beat. So this was David Black, Jack Kelly’s banker?

  Things got worse. When the top table arrived, Victor Kane was third to walk in and take his seat. Victor Kane, the man who had cost my job. I shot a look to Ludgate, who smiled back. He had set me up.

  The meal passed uneventfully, although the food could have been better. A watery tomato soup was followed by leathery chicken. I kept the conversation going as best I could with the two men on either side, who were courteous and attentive. When I could, I stole a glance at Black.

  He had the kind of face, in other circumstances, I would have warmed to. Dark-haired, even features, he seemed to smile a great deal. For a banker, he had a lot of charm.

  I also spent time studying Kane. I found myself comparing him with Kelly. Physically, Jack Kelly was a giant of a man. Though Kane
was tall, he didn’t have his bulk. In real life, he also wore round spectacles, he must discard for television. These made him look strangely vulnerable. But then, so did half the German high command in the last war, I couldn’t help reminding myself.

  After pudding, before coffee and speeches, guests were invited to take a break and leave the table, so some began milling round, while others went out for a smoke. I took the chance to escape to the ladies.

  When I returned, I found Andrew engrossed in conversation with another man. Both their backs were to me, so I slipped unobtrusively back into my seat. There was a cigarette burning red in the hand of the man Ludgate was talking to. Smoking was strictly prohibited in the banqueting hall.

  “Julia, you’re back,” I heard Andrew’s voice. “Can I introduce you to Victor Kane?”

  I couldn’t move. It was if I was paralysed.

  “Victor, this is Julia Lighthorn,” I heard his voice again and couldn’t believe Andrew was doing this to me.

  “Good to meet you, Ms Lighthorn,” I struggled to my feet as Kane turned towards me. He spoke softly, with little trace of a Scottish accent. I wondered if he was as embarrassed as I was.

  “Julia is our new pensions guru, she’s concentrating on the Kelly case for us,” Andrew wasn’t giving up.

  “Ah, the Kelly case. Bad business.”

  “You’re Kelly’s bankers, aren’t you?” I found my voice at last.

  “I can’t discuss individual clients, as you know.” He had brown eyes, but the whites were fading with age.

  “Wasn’t there anything you could have done to save the business or the pension fund?”

  “Ms Lighthorn, I’m not my brother’s keeper. I’m a banker. I pay my clients’ cheques. I don’t run their businesses.”

  At that point, the master of ceremonies called the guests back to their seats. The speeches were about to begin. The first speech was tedious, so I decided to call it a night. The exchange with Kane had shaken me. I made my excuses to our host, Westwood, then said farewell to Andrew, who was getting stuck into the port.

  David Black also rose, I thought to visit the boys room. But he followed me out to the entrance lobby.

  “Ms Lighthorn, I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. I’m David Black. I was Kelly’s banker.”

  “Was?”

  “The relationship’s been terminated, although that’s strictly off the record. I’m aware of your interest and I wanted to give you my card.”

  He handed me his details. I turned the card over in my fingers.

  “It’s difficult. There’s not much I can say to you. Client confidentiality and all that. But, if at some stage, you need someone to...” he paused, “to bounce ideas off. Call me.”

  “We know money went out. What we don’t know is where it went… and whose pocket it ultimately ended up in.”

  “I can’t give you that information,” he said. “It’s strictly confidential. But we both have an interest in...” he trailed off, reluctant to be specific about precisely what Kane’s interest was.

  “Thank you, it’s very generous of you. I’ll be in touch,” I said, slipping the card into my tuxedo pocket.

  “Good,” and with that he turned and went back to the dinner, leaving me to wondering why a valuable new source of information had just opened up for me.

  Chapter 31

  10.45pm Friday, November 2,

  London

  In the taxi home, I called Omar, despite the late hour, and was relieved when he picked up. He was dining with some lawyer friends in the West End, and left the table to find a quiet spot. I told him about the dinner, the exchange with Kane, and Black’s offer at the end.

  “So, you spent the evening schmoozing with KNS? D’you think that wise?”

  “Not schmoozing. I couldn’t help it. Ludgate didn’t give me any choice.”

  He was quiet again for a few seconds.

  “It may not be such a bad thing...Ludgate knows his business.”

  “This offer from Black?”

  “I shouldn’t get too excited. Banks may bend every rule in the book, except the holy of holies.”

  “Client confidentiality?”

  “They would be finished if they were found to breach that, and to a journalist, too. No, more likely he wants to pick your brains, see what you know. You’ve been ahead of the pack on this story all along.”

  It was meant as a compliment, but his words left me slightly deflated.

  I spent Saturday morning cleaning the flat, followed by a visit to the dry cleaners. My cleaning bill was astronomic, but there was no way round it. All the time, I thought about Sherlock and the liquidation. There was nothing to stop directors winding up a company voluntarily, if there was enough money to pay all debts. From the looks of it, there must have been.

  Naturally, that wouldn’t have been the case if a claim had been lodged in respect of Kelly’s Brewery. But no claim had been lodged.

  Still, I decided to spend Monday tracking down someone to speak to either at the company or its liquidators. I crossed the river on foot and caught a tube down to the office. Then, as I approached our door, beside the entrance to the Bangladeshi supermarket, I saw her again; the woman in the trench coat. I hadn’t seen her for a few days now, but she was there, as if waiting for me; browsing a few stalls down. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

  I thought of approaching her, challenging her, but what if I were wrong?

  “Ignore her,” a little voice said. So I leapt up the stairs to the office, and began the day’s work. Not that I got very far. It was as if all the executive and non-executive officers of Sherlock had etherised, and the liquidators were saying nothing.

  I consoled myself with the thought that I would see Ross again, soon, in just a few hours. He might have picked up some industry gossip about Sherlock. His office was near the Tower, so I decided to leave early, and enjoy a sandwich and walk through the castle gardens. The tube flashed through dark tunnels at unusually high speed. Dazzling winter sunshine burst on me when I emerged from Tower Hill station. The air was crisp, the sky a brilliant blue and the river glistened silver.

  There was a spring in my step, as I marched along the embankment. The tower, the river and the gardens never failed to lift my spirits. A group of school children were feeding a colony of pigeons. Beefeaters chatted to strollers meandering by. It took me back to my own childhood and walking through these same gardens with Mum, Dad and Peter. What a happy time that had been. I did miss them, especially Dad. But, after all that had happened, I was better off with them living on the other side of the world. They would have suffocated me with their love and kindness.

  A tug boat glided past, sending waves rippling to the shore. I looked at my watch. Still a little time. The river was as busy as ever. Big boats, small boats, boats of all shapes and colours crested the waves faster than looked possible. Vessels of various dimensions transported goods, commuters, party-goers and trippers along its channels. If there was some kind of highway code, I couldn’t fathom it, but crashes were rare, so there must be some rules of engagement.

  Three entertainment boats sailed by. A firework was dispatched from one. Of course, it was November the 5th. Disco music boomed out from it, while scantily-clad young women jived on deck, oblivious to the season or the time of day.

  The next had a small chamber orchestra playing on deck, while diners in black ties sat at formal tables.

  The third looked like a business lunch boat. Passengers were moving away from their tables, as it prepared to dock at the jetty of a hotel, up-river.

  And then I saw them. Alexander Ross stood on deck, with a woman, their heads bent together in conversation. I recognised her immediately. My shadow – in that grey trench coat. So this was his lunch.

  The vessel lurched and he placed an arm round her to steady her, as they disembarked. I stepped behind a pillar, not wanting to be seen. The colony of pigeons took to the air in fright at my abrupt movement, but the frantic flapping of
their wings hardly registered. My thoughts were locked on the scene I had witnessed. What the hell was going on here? Don’t tell me, he’d been the one tailing me.

  I looked at my watch, 2.45pm. I waited another five minutes, then headed for his office and arrived at the dot of three, determined to get answers. I was shown quickly to his office.

  “Julia,” he smiled warmly, an unmistakeable post-lunch glow about him. “How’s the big investigation going?”

  “I thought you’re the one who’s supposed to be carrying out an investigation.”

  “I do my best...so you found us, OK?”

  I nodded. “How was lunch?”

  An unmistakable spark lit his eyes.

  “It was fine.”

  I was sure he was trying to stifle a smirk.

  “I saw you getting off the boat. That woman you were with….know her well?”

  He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but closed it again. He sat, waiting for me to go on.

  “I’ve seen her several times recently,” I continued. “She’s been hanging round outside my office, and flat. In fact, would you think I was crazy, if I said, I think she’s been following me?”

  “Ah…”

  “Know who she is?”

  “Well…”

  “Do you?”

  “She’s a private detective.”

  I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.

  “You hired her to follow me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Then what was the lunch all about? I don’t believe you.”

  “Please yourself.”

  “If not you, then who?”

  “How should I know? She contacted me.”

  “To question you, about me?”

  “And other things.”

  “What other things?”

  He raised his eyes to heaven.

  “What makes you think you’re the only one interested in what’s been going on?”