Her parents were there. There was something of Debbie in the face of each of them. Two small round figures, drawn together in their grief.
As we all made our way slowly back towards the road, I found myself walking next to a tall thin red-haired girl. She was wearing heels and got one of them caught in the paving-stones of the path. I bent down to help her free her shoe.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I hate these bloody shoes.’ Then, looking around, ‘Do you know all these people?’
‘Very few,’ I said. ‘And you?’
‘One or two. I shared a flat with Debbie, so I got to know a number of her boyfriends.’
‘A number?’ I said surprised. ‘How many are here?’
She looked around. ‘Just one or two that I knew. You weren’t one of them, were you?’ she said, her eyes teasing me.
‘No,’ I said sharply, a little shocked. ‘I worked with her.’
‘No offence meant. She usually had good taste,’ said the girl. ‘Are you going past the station?’
‘Yes, I am. Can I give you a lift?’
‘That would be very kind. My name is Felicity, by the way.’
‘Mine’s Paul.’ We walked on out of the churchyard and into the road. ‘This is it,’ I said as we came to my little Peugeot.
We got in the car and headed for the nearest station, which was three miles away.
‘I must say, I never realised Debbie had many boyfriends,’ I said. ‘She seemed to me to be the stable relationship kind.’
‘She wasn’t entirely a loose woman. But she did enjoy herself. There were different men in and out of our house all the time. Most of them were OK, but some were quite unsavoury. I think one or two may have been from work.’
‘Not the unsavoury ones, I hope?’
Felicity laughed. ‘No, I don’t think so. Although there was one who gave her a hard time very recently. I think he might have had something to do with work.’
I wondered who on earth that would be. Unable to restrain my curiosity I asked her.
‘I can’t remember his name,’ she said. ‘I last saw him a couple of years ago. He was a right pain.’
I let it drop. ‘How did you meet Debbie?’ I asked.
‘Oh, we both did articles at the same firm of solicitors, Denny Clark. I still work there, but Debbie went on to do greater things, as you know. Since we were both looking to rent accommodation in London, it seemed natural to share if we could.’ She bit her lip, ‘I shall miss her.’
‘You are not the only one,’ I said as we approached the station. I pulled up in front of the entrance.
‘Thanks very much,’ she said as she got out of the car. ‘I hope we’ll meet again on a slightly happier occasion.’ With that she disappeared into the station. As I drove back to London I tried to come to terms with the picture Felicity had given of Debbie sleeping around with a succession of men. It didn’t seem in her character. But, on the other hand, why shouldn’t she?
Debbie’s desk looked just the same. It was scattered with the debris of half-done tasks. There were notes on little yellow stickers reminding her of things to do and people to call back. The AIBD directory of bonds lay with its pages open, face-down, waiting for her to pick it up again at the page she left it. I would have preferred it to have been tidy, the desk of a life ended rather than a life interrupted.
She had a large black desk diary, which had Harrison Brothers’ logo on it. Last year’s Christmas present. I leafed through the pages. Nothing very interesting. The appointments were quite densely packed over the next week, and then thinned out as July became August. September onwards was just blank white paper.
There was one entry which caught my eye. It was a meeting with Mr De Jong. It was for the day after she died, at 10.30 a.m. It was strange that Debbie should have an appointment fixed up with him. We hardly saw him. Although he would have meetings with Hamilton occasionally, the only time I had been in his office was the day I joined. He was a nice enough fellow, but hardly what you would call approachable.
I began to put everything in order. I started by putting all Debbie’s personal belongings into an old copier-paper box. There wasn’t much; certainly nothing that would have value to anyone else. An old compact, some tights, three yoghurts, a horde of plastic spoons, a paperknife with the name of a deal she had worked on during her legal days engraved on it, some packets of tissues and a well thumbed Jilly Cooper novel. I considered throwing it all away, but couldn’t bring myself to. With the exception of the yoghurts, I packed it all into a box. I would take it round to Debbie’s flat to put with her other belongings.
I then began the task of sorting out all her papers and files. Most of them I threw away, but I put some to one side to take to the library for filing.
I came to a pile of prospectuses. They mostly related to bonds which were issued by Netherlands Antilles companies. On top of the pile was the Tremont Capital prospectus, which Debbie had thrown on my desk. She had said it was fishy. I picked it up and flicked through it. There didn’t seem much odd about it to me. There were one or two lightly pencilled notes in the margin. None of them seemed to have any startling meaning.
I put the prospectus down on one side and worked my way down the pile. I soon came to the information memorandum for the Tahiti. I leafed through it slowly. Debbie had used a yellow highlighting pencil on it. There were only two or three passages marked. These were much more interesting. She had highlighted Irwin Piper’s name and also references to the Nevada State Gaming Commission. One statement in particular was picked out in fluorescent yellow:
‘Potential investors’ attention is drawn to the policy of the Nevada State Gaming Commission to refuse a licence to any person convicted of a criminal offence. The good character of the applicant is an important consideration in the granting of any licence.’
Cathy Lasenby had referred to this policy in our meeting as evidence that Piper was straight. Maybe her confidence was misplaced. Maybe Debbie had discovered something that suggested this was far from the case.
Maybe that was why she was dead.
I stood up and looked out of the window westwards over London. I was sure Debbie wouldn’t kill herself. An accident was possible I supposed, but I didn’t believe it. Someone had pushed her and it was almost certainly the man who had frightened her so badly as we left the boat. And if she had been killed, it must have been for a reason. There was no obvious reason why anyone should want to kill Debbie.
I sat down again and continued the job of sorting through papers. After an hour and a half I had just finished when Karen came over with a letter.
‘What shall I do with Debbie’s mail?’ she said.
I wondered how long dead people continued to receive mail. ‘Give it to me, I suppose,’ I said.
Karen handed over a white envelope with Bloomfield Weiss’s logo stamped on it. It was marked ‘Private and Confidential: To be opened by Addressee only.’ Not much chance of that, I thought, gloomily. I opened it.
Dear Ms Chater,
Thank you for your recent correspondence regarding trading in the shares of the Gypsum Company of America. We have started our own investigation into possible irregularities by employees of Bloomfield Weiss regarding this same stock. I suggest that we should meet to share information on this matter. I will ring you early next week to arrange a time.
Yours Sincerely,
Ronald Bowen
Senior Compliance Officer
I was intrigued. Gypsum’s shares certainly had moved up sharply before the takeover by DGB was announced. This letter suggested Debbie was right to be suspicious. I wondered who should deal with it at De Jong. I supposed I should really give the letter to Hamilton since we no longer had an official compliance officer. But I was curious. I was dealing with all the rest of Debbie’s work, why shouldn’t I deal with this as well?
I picked up the phone, dialled Bloomfield Weiss and asked to speak to Mr Bowen.
‘Bowen here.’ His voice was gruff and o
fficious. Large firms such as Bloomfield Weiss took compliance seriously. A scandal could cost them not only a fine of several million, but also the loss of their reputation. After the Blue Arrow affair when a compliance officer at County Natwest had been ignored and overruled, big institutions ensured that their compliance officers had teeth. They were the sort of people who did everything by the book and who could not be pushed around.
‘Good morning, Mr Bowen, this is Paul Murray from De Jong & Co.,’ I said. ‘I’m ringing regarding your recent letter to Debbie Chater, our compliance officer.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘I am afraid to say Debbie died very recently.’ Several days and many explanations after the event it was getting easier to say this bit.
‘I’m very sorry,’ said Bowen, sounding as though he didn’t care in the least.
‘I wonder if I can help you regarding the Gypsum Company of America? Debbie and I worked on that together. I read your letter to her this morning.’
‘Perhaps you can. Let me just get my file.’ There was a rustle of papers down the phone line. ‘Yes, one of my colleagues in New York alerted us to the unusual movements in the Gypsum share price. Our investigation has turned up a few useful facts, but nothing we can take action on yet. We were very interested to receive Miss Chater’s letter outlining her own suspicions. You will appreciate that the whole investigation is still very confidential at this stage?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said.
‘Good. We are investigating two employees of Bloomfield Weiss, and one client of the firm. There is also someone else …’ His voice trailed off as I heard him turning the page.
‘Mr Murray, didn’t you say your name was?’ said Bowen, his voice a note lower, a note graver.
‘Yes,’ I said. I swallowed.
‘Ah, I’m sorry, I am afraid we don’t have anything more on file. Goodbye, Mr Murray.’
‘But shouldn’t we meet as you suggested?’ I asked.
‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ Bowen said firmly. ‘Goodbye.’ He rang off.
I slumped back in my chair to think. I didn’t like the sound of this investigation.
Vague thoughts of trials and prison floated round my head. Then I pulled myself together. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Debbie had said so, and she did know the law. I had no inside information. It was only natural that people would check me out, given my purchase, but I had nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.
Still, best to make sure. I rang Bloomfield Weiss again. Cathy answered the phone.
‘Is Cash there?’ I asked.
‘No, he has just popped out to fetch a cup of coffee,’ Cathy’s clear voice replied. ‘He’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Perhaps you can help,’ I said.
‘If you think I can,’ said Cathy, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
She was probably offended I had asked for Cash instead of her, I thought. Perhaps she thought I doubted her capabilities. I was about to apologise when I stopped myself. Sod it. Some people are just too touchy.
‘I was curious about all those Gypsum bonds you were buying last week,’ I said. ‘Were they for your own books?’
‘No, they were for a client.’
‘He must have done very nicely,’ I said.
‘He certainly did,’ said Cathy. ‘In fact…’
She was interrupted by Cash growling at her. ‘Hold on,’ she said, and clicked her phone on to hold. A moment later she was back. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to jump. I’ll tell Cash you were after him,’ and she hung up.
Rob walked past my desk and saw me staring gloomily into the receiver. ‘What’s up? Seen a ghost?’ His smile only lasted a second. ‘Sorry. Stupid thing to say.’
‘Life goes on,’ I said. ‘But I will miss her.’
‘So will I,’ said Rob.
‘She had a lot of boyfriends, didn’t she?’
‘Some, I suppose.’ Rob caught my glance. His cheeks reddened. ‘Some,’ he said again, and turned away.
I shrugged my shoulders and got back to work. I looked at the small box of Debbie’s possessions at my feet. I should take them back to her flat, I thought. I pulled out the phone book and rang Denny Clark. I asked to speak to Felicity. There was only one woman of that name who worked at Denny Clark, and she was in.
‘Hallo, it’s Paul Murray,’ I said. ‘We met at Debbie’s funeral.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘You are the guy she used to work with.’
‘That’s right. I’ve got some things of hers. Not much and none of it’s very important. Can I bring them round?’
‘Sure, when would you like to come?’ she said.
‘This evening OK?’
‘Fine. Come round at seven. The address is twenty-five Cavendish Road. Clapham South is the nearest tube. See youthen.’
6
Cavendish Road turned out to be part of the South Circular, one of the most clogged of London’s tired old arteries. Cars and lorries crept forward, and then as a light changed hurtled along the street for fifty yards or so, before slowing to a crawl again. The July evening air was full of dust and carbon-monoxide fumes and throbbed with the sound of revving engines.
Number twenty-five was a small terraced house similar to all the others on the street. There were two bells by the door. I pressed the one with ‘Chater’ and ‘Wilson’ written in smudged blue biro. The door buzzed to let me in.
Debbie and Felicity had the upstairs flat. It was cheaply but attractively furnished, untidy but not a mess. Felicity came to the door in tight blue jeans and a sloppy black T-shirt, her red hair falling in a tangle on to her shoulders. She showed me through to the living room. There was one sofa and a series of large cushions on the floor. Felicity motioned for me to sit on the sofa, whilst she curled up on a cushion.
‘Sorry this place is a bit of a tip,’ she said.
I handed her the box I had brought. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Debbie’s parents will be down this weekend to collect things. Can I get you a glass of wine?’
She disappeared to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of Muscadet and two glasses.
‘So, you have lived here with Debbie since you both came to London?’ I asked.
‘Oh no,’ answered Felicity. ‘When we first moved down here, we rented a flat in Earls Court. Well, it really wasn’t much more than one bedroom. But a couple of years ago, we bought this place jointly. It’s a bit noisy, but you get used to it.’
‘You and Debbie must have been very close,’ I said.
‘I suppose we were,’ said Felicity. ‘She was a very easy person to live with and we had some good laughs together. But in a way she was a very private person. So am I, come to think of it. I think that’s why we got on together. We liked living with each other, but respected each other’s privacy.’
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking this,’ I said, ‘but I think I met someone the other day who might have been a boyfriend of Debbie’s. He was thin, mid-thirties, blue eyes, dark hair?’
Felicity thought for a moment. ‘Yes, there was one who fits that description. She had an affair with him last year some time. It didn’t last long. I really didn’t like him at all. I remember the way he used to look at me.’ She shuddered.
That must have been the man on the boat. ‘What was his name?’ I asked.
Felicity screwed up her face in an effort to remember. ‘No. Sorry. I know she met him through work somehow or other. He was a nasty piece of work. Charming at first. But very soon he was ordering Debbie about. At breakfast it was embarrassing to watch. And Debbie did everything he asked! It was very odd. You know Debbie, she was hardly your average meek house slave. This man did exude a sort of violent power. Debbie found it fascinating. It scared me.
‘Then one evening I came home at about ten o’clock to find Debbie in a terrible state. She had a big bruise on her forehead and her eye was puffed up. She was sobbing quietly, as though she had been crying for a while.
‘I asked her wha
t had happened. She said that – oh, I wish I could remember his name. Anyway – whoever the bastard was had beaten her up. She had found out he was married and had confronted him with it. He had hit her and walked out.
‘Over the next few days this man would telephone or come round in person. Debbie never talked to him or let him in. She nearly gave in once or twice, but in the end she had too much common sense. We were both scared. I certainly didn’t want to have anything to do with him and we were both frightened in case he was waiting outside our flat to follow us when we went out. I think he did once follow Debbie, but she screamed and he slunk off. After a week or so, he gave up calling and we didn’t see any more of him.’
Until the other night on the boat, I thought. It seemed to me more likely than ever that this was the man who had pushed Debbie into the river. I wondered how I could find out who he was. ‘You can’t remember anything more about him. Where he lived, what he did, who he worked for?’
‘I’m sorry. That was one of the main areas in which we respected each other’s privacy. I would occasionally bump into Debbie’s boyfriends, but she rarely talked about them. And I did my best to avoid him.’
‘It wasn’t the same man you mentioned at the funeral? The one who was bothering her lately.’
‘No, no. It wasn’t him. He wasn’t quite so scary. Although he was a bit weird perhaps. Oh, I’ve remembered his name, by the way. It was Rob.’
Rob! Incredible! I had never noticed anything between him and Debbie. They seemed to treat each other perfectly naturally. Still, if you thought about it, it wasn’t so surprising. In a way, it was inevitable that Rob would make a play for Debbie at some time.
Felicity had noticed my initial surprise. ‘Of course, you must know him. You obviously didn’t know about it.’
I shook my head.
‘Well, they went out together just after Debbie joined De Jong & Co. It only lasted a couple of months or so, and then Debbie called it off. She said it was getting a bit heavy. Rob took it badly for a bit, but after a while Debbie said they could treat each other normally at work.’
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