Free to Trade

by Michael Ridpath

  I pounded on.

  Of course! The break-in last night. Someone must have entered my flat and planted the earring then. That was why nothing was stolen. Somehow, whoever it was had known that Powell was planning to search my flat today. Unless of course they had tipped Powell off themselves.

  Powell had said he would see me soon, and I had no doubt he would. A murder charge was serious. In theory, I should be happy to put my faith in the British justice system to clear an innocent man. But Powell obviously thought he had a good case against me. And he did have the air of a policeman who always got his man.

  Innocent men go to jail all the time.

  I was moving very fast now, but I was scarcely aware of any pain in my legs or lungs. I followed my usual route automatically, dodging round the walkers in the park without slowing.

  And it was all because of Rob! He must have told the police he had seen me push Debbie. Perhaps he had even planted the earring. Why? I resolved to find out.

  Rob lived in a basement flat just off the Earls Court Road. It was only a fifteen-minute walk, but I decided to wait until half past seven to be sure that he was in. I opened an iron gate and walked down some steps into a small patio. Some sad little shrubs grew in pots with weeds in them. I rang the bell.

  Rob answered the door. He was barefoot, and wearing a T-shirt and an old pair of jeans. He held a can of Stella in his left hand. He wasn’t pleased to see me. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘No.’

  I pushed my leg into the doorway. Rob shrugged and turned towards his sitting room. ‘OK, come in then,’ he said.

  He flopped into a big grey armchair pointing towards the television. The room was neat, simply furnished, unostentatious. There were already three or four empty beer cans on the floor by his chair.

  I followed him in and, unasked, sat on the sofa.

  Rob took a swig of beer from the can. He didn’t offer me any. ‘So what do you want?’

  ‘I’ll be quick,’ I said. ‘I know you were following Debbie the night she died.’

  Rob looked at me steadily, his face registering neither surprise nor denial.

  ‘And why would I do that?’

  ‘Because you were jealous of me and Debbie.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘You had an affair with her a couple of years ago.’

  ‘As you say, that was a couple of years ago.’

  He annoyed me, slouching arrogantly in that big chair. My voice rose. ‘Look, Debbie’s flatmate Felicity told me you had been bothering her just before she died. And Cathy said you told her you followed Debbie the night she was pushed into the river. So, you see I know. And I think it’s sick creeping around after women like that.’

  My last comment hit home. Rob suddenly came to life. Anger sparked in his eyes. His cheeks flushed. He waved his can at me, spilling some of the golden frothy liquid on to the carpet.

  ‘You’re a bastard,’ he spat. ‘You’re a fucking bastard. First you take Debbie from me, and now Cathy. Well, let me tell you, you can’t just steal my women like that and get away with it. You can’t!’ The last words were shouted.

  ‘I didn’t mean to take Cathy away from you,’ I said. ‘You just lost her all by yourself.’

  Rob didn’t like that. He pulled himself out of his chair, and screamed, ‘Don’t talk shit. You knew what you were doing. You have made my life hell. Complete hell. So don’t just sit there and say you didn’t mean to, you smug bastard.’

  He swayed, and collapsed back into his chair. ‘I loved Debbie. How I loved her! It was hard when we split up.’ His voice fell almost to a whisper. ‘In a way, all those other women I chased after were just a means of taking my mind off her. I did a good job of it. I buried my feelings deep.’

  He took another gulp of beer. ‘Then you came along. I could see that Debbie liked you. The way she used to flirt with you, and go off to lunch or a drink with you. I knew what was happening; I could see it right in front of my eyes, and I had to do something about it.

  ‘So, I asked Debbie to marry me. She said no, but I didn’t give up. In the end she told me to get lost. I was shattered. Then a week later, she was killed.’

  He swallowed. He pulled back his head, and rubbed his eyes. They were glistening.

  ‘I was devastated. And then along came Cathy. The one woman I had ever met who was as nice as Debbie. And so attractive. I felt confused, but she made everything much clearer. I feel right with her. Really right. And then I discover that all the while you were plotting to get your way with her as well.’

  Rob stared at me, his eyes full of hate. He wasn’t going to forgive me, I thought. I had become the focal point for all the dissatisfaction he felt with himself and his relationships with women.

  But I wanted answers. ‘So, did you see who killed Debbie?’ I asked.

  Rob relaxed. He took a swig of beer from his can, and smiled. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Did you kill her?’

  ‘Of course not,’ still smiling.

  I struggled to control my own anger. ‘You told the police that you saw me push Debbie in the river, didn’t you?’

  Rob just smiled. I wanted to hit him.

  ‘Because if you did tell them you saw me, both you and I know it was a lie. And there can be serious penalties for perjury.’

  Rob seemed unconcerned. ‘The police interviewed me, naturally. Whatever I told them will probably come out in court eventually. And I can assure you that I will stick to whatever I have told them, which is of course the truth.’

  ‘What about the earring?’

  ‘What earring?’

  ‘Debbie’s earring. The one she was wearing the night she died. The one you planted in my flat.’

  Rob looked genuinely puzzled. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about. But I should remind you that trying to intimidate witnesses is also a serious business. I will call Inspector Powell as soon as you have gone, and let him know of your visit.’

  I could see I was not going to get anywhere, except possibly into more trouble than I was already in. Rob had lied to the police, but would stick with his lie. It would be his word against mine. I didn’t stand a chance.

  I got up and left.

  A quarter of an hour later, I was home. I was tired, confused and angry. Rob hated me, Rob had lied to the police, and I would soon find myself charged with murder.

  And there was nothing I could do about it.

  Thoughts of Rob, Debbie, Waigel and Joe spun around in my head. My brain was so tired, it was on the point of giving out. Exhausted, I flopped into bed.

  21

  Despite my fatigue, I slept fitfully. When the black outside my window turned to grey, I crawled out of bed, pulled on my running things, and set off round the park. I did two circuits. On little sleep it was hard work, but it did calm me down. I got home, had a bath, some toast and some coffee, and felt a bit better. I rang Cathy at Bloomfield Weiss. She had just got in to work. I asked her and Cash to come round as soon as they could. I said it was urgent.

  They arrived about ten. I told them about Powell’s search of my flat, and about my visit to Rob’s. I also ran through all I had been thinking the previous day.

  I summed up. ‘So, we don’t know who killed Debbie. We can be sure that Waigel was involved, but he wasn’t in the country when she was killed. I suspect Rob might have something to do with it, and I also think that the Tremont Capital fraud is important. But for the life of me I can’t put it all together. In the meantime, I am in serious trouble. All it needs is for Powell to come up with one more piece of evidence, which it seems plenty of people would be happy to manufacture, and I will be arrested. Unless I can work out who killed Debbie, I will be facing a murder charge. Have either of you got any ideas, because I sure as hell haven’t?’

  Cash exhaled. ‘Jeez. This is all a bit complex for me. I don’t know.’

  Cathy didn’t say anything. She was thinking. I kept quiet, hopeful she wo
uld come up with something.

  Finally she said, ‘OK, try this. What do we know about Debbie’s murderer?’

  ‘Well, he must have been in London when Debbie was killed,’ I said.

  ‘Right. And he may well have been the man pulling the strings at Phoenix Prosperity.’

  I nodded. ‘That’s true. Jack Salmon was certainly talking to somebody. And that somebody knows the markets.’ I thought some more. That somebody had approved Jack Salmon’s proposal to buy Fairway bonds.

  I had told Hamilton I thought Fairway was a good investment.

  My thoughts were interrupted by Cathy. ‘Waigel was lucky that no one checked out the Tremont Capital guarantee. He was running a risk there.’

  ‘It was a private placement,’ I said. ‘The documents didn’t have to be filed anywhere, and there was a restricted list of customers.’

  ‘Very restricted,’ said Cathy. ‘Two, in fact. De Jong, and Harzweiger Bank.’

  ‘You said Waigel suggested Harzweiger, and you came up with De Jong yourself?’ I asked Cash.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘After Hamilton had indicated his interest in high-yielding triple-As.’

  ‘Well, we can be pretty sure that Dietweiler was working with Waigel; he probably stuffed the Tremont bonds in client accounts, hoping no one would notice,’ I said.

  ‘Which leaves De Jong,’ said Cathy.

  ‘Mm. It is very odd Hamilton didn’t check the guarantee, or at least get Debbie to check it,’ I said. ‘A rare mistake.’

  The inevitable conclusion was there, staring us all in the face.

  Hamilton.

  It couldn’t be true. Hamilton might have sacked me, but he was still important to me. I admired the man; he was the one person who was straightforward in this whole filthy mess. It just didn’t make sense. I wasn’t prepared to believe it.

  But, as soon as I accepted Hamilton as a possibility, things began to slip into place. In partnership with his old business school buddy Waigel, Hamilton had set the whole scheme up. He had bought the Tremont Capital private placement from Cash, knowing exactly what it was. He was responsible for Tremont’s investment in Phoenix Prosperity, and for directing Jack Salmon’s trading while he was there.

  But worst of all, he had killed Debbie.

  He had seen the appointment with Mr De Jong in Debbie’s diary. He had seen the marked-up Tremont prospectus on her desk. He knew she was going to talk to De Jong about the fake guarantee and he had to stop her.

  So he killed her.

  I felt numb. In shock. My body was physically unable to accept that conclusion.

  ‘Paul? What’s wrong?’ Cathy reached over to touch my hand.

  Stammering, I told them what I was thinking, the words coming out with difficulty.

  They both just looked at me, too stunned to say anything.

  I pulled my hand away from Cathy, and walked over to the window of my little sitting room. I looked over the little street bathed in morning sunlight.

  The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. I felt foolish and betrayed. I wanted revenge, for myself and for Debbie.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Cash. ‘Hamilton is as prim and proper as they come. He isn’t my idea of a master criminal. He’s too …’ Cash searched for the word and then found it, ‘boring.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ said Cathy. ‘I never liked him. He’s not a human being, he’s a machine. But I wonder why he did it?’

  I had an answer. I knew how Hamilton’s mind worked. ‘Hamilton thinks life is all about playing the markets, and winning. He is obsessed by making money. It’s not the money itself he likes, it’s the act of making it. And he is a risk-taker. I think he got bored with straightforward trading, he wanted something a bit more exciting. This was the perfect crime. He would steal tens of millions without ever being discovered. I bet he got a great kick out of it,’ I muttered bitterly.

  ‘Why steal it, when the suckers give it away every day of the week,’ Cash said, chuckling.

  It was true, as long as there was one born every minute, Cash would never be short of money.

  ‘So what about you?’ Cathy asked. ‘How come he let you nose around for so long?’

  ‘I suppose he didn’t have much choice,’ I said. ‘Once I was suspicious, he knew I would ask questions. He was probably better off knowing what I was doing and directing me, rather than letting me go off on my own, He did persuade me not to tell anyone what I found out, under the pretext of avoiding alerting the fraudsters before we had got the money back. I must admit I thought he would figure everything out. I suppose all that business about lawyers in the Netherlands Antilles was made up. Perhaps he didn’t even go there.’

  ‘But why didn’t he kill you like he killed Debbie?’

  I paused. ‘I don’t know why he didn’t kill me. I suppose two dead employees in one month might have looked a little careless.’ Perhaps he was too fond of me, I thought to myself. The pride of being Hamilton’s star protégé was difficult to shake. I felt a fresh wave of disgust for him wash over me. To think I ever admired a man like that!

  He had tried to stop me though, and nearly succeeded. Suddenly the Gypsum investigation slotted into place. ‘Berryman was right, Hamilton never did a deal with the TSA,’ I said.

  Cathy looked at me, puzzled.

  ‘He used the investigation into my Gypsum share-dealing as an excuse to fire me. Once I had resigned, it was easy for Hamilton to spread a rumour around that I had been caught insider trading, which made me unemployable in the bond markets. Then, just to make sure, he got Rob to set me up as a murder suspect, and broke into my flat to plant one of Debbie’s earrings, which had fallen off when he pushed her into the river.’

  ‘But why did Rob help him?’

  I had no answer to that one. Perhaps he just didn’t like me.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ asked Cash.

  ‘Go to the police?’ said Cathy.

  I shook my head. ‘We can’t. We don’t have any proof. As soon as Hamilton realises the police are investigating him, De Jong will never see its money again. And remember, I am still the man Powell wants behind bars. He won’t be thrown off the track that easily.’

  Cathy nodded, worried. ‘You are still on the hook for that. Powell won’t be impressed when you try to tell him that your old boss, who fired you, is really Debbie’s murderer.’

  ‘Besides,’ I said, ‘I want to nail the bastard myself.’

  ‘So, what do we do?’

  ‘We get De Jong’s money back.’

  The other two looked at me blankly.

  ‘We get De Jong’s money back,’ I repeated. ‘And in the process we expose Hamilton’s involvement in the whole affair. Powell will have to listen then.’

  ‘Well, that’s all fine and dandy,’ said Cash. ‘But how in hell’s name are we going to do that?’

  ‘I may have an idea. Let me think for a moment.’

  They were quiet as I stared out of the window.

  There was a way, I was sure.

  I outlined the germ of an idea. We discussed it and refined it over the next couple of hours, until we had quite a workable plan.

  I joined Cash and Cathy in their taxi back to Bloomfield Weiss. I waited in the reception area for an hour or so. Eventually Cathy came back with an armful of prospectuses, annual reports and computer print-outs. I took them from her and headed back to my flat.

  To work. I had information on five American companies that were currently in deep trouble. I laid the collection of annual reports, price histories going back two years, and reports from Standard and Poor’s, Moody’s, Valueline and various brokers, in five neat piles. I began to work through them. I needed to pick one company that looked just right. I had to look at each one from three different angles: what I personally thought of the company’s real prospects, what Hamilton would think, and what the market would think. I had to get the combination of these perceptions exactly right.

  I broke off at three. I nee
ded to make some phone calls. The first was to De Jong & Co. Karen answered the phone.

  ‘Hi, Karen. It’s Paul. How are you?’ I said.

  Karen sounded pleased to hear my voice. ‘I’m fine, how are you?’

  ‘Is Hamilton there?’

  Karen’s voice became much more serious. ‘I’ll just have a look.’

  I waited a few seconds, and then Hamilton’s voice came down the other end of the wire, ‘McKenzie.’

  I was not prepared for the response hearing Hamilton’s voice would arouse in me. It was a physical revulsion; the blood rang in my ears, and the hairs on my skin suddenly became very sensitive, so that I could feel my shirt rubbing against them. A feeling of sickness welled up somewhere near my diaphragm. Rationally I knew Hamilton had betrayed me. I was not aware until then how deeply I felt it emotionally.

  ‘Hallo, Hamilton. It’s Paul.’

  ‘Ah, Paul, how are you?’

  ‘Fine, I suppose. I wanted to ask you something.’

  I could almost feel Hamilton stiffen on the other end of the phone line. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I wonder if I could come in to the office to work out the rest of my notice period? I haven’t had much luck getting another job in the bond market, so I am applying for a number of banking jobs. I would very much like to brush up on my credit skills. Besides, I am getting bored sitting around at home.’

  There was a second’s pause whilst Hamilton thought this through. ‘That will be fine. You will be very welcome. I am afraid I can’t let you trade, of course, but we would be happy to have you. As a matter of fact, there are one or two analyses that need doing.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning.’

  So far so good. Next was Claire. As I expected, that was no problem, she was positively eager to help. Denny was more difficult. I knew I was asking a lot from him. He would have to do a fair amount of legal work for which he might not get paid if our plan failed. I didn’t think that what we were intending to do was actually illegal, but it was certainly close. We talked for half an hour before Denny eventually said he would help, to my intense relief.