by Sally Rigby
‘Did you go on holidays? Did he buy expensive clothes and gifts?’
‘Donald always had a good car and his suits were made at Savile Row, because he said people wouldn’t invest in someone if they thought they didn’t have a lot of money themselves. We did go on delightful holidays, several times a year.’ She blushed.
‘Sarah, I’m not blaming you for any of this, you weren’t to know the situation.’
‘You might not blame me, but I do. Why didn’t I notice anything? You must think me so stupid, but Donald never involved me. And foolishly I didn’t ask. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.'
He rested his hand on her arm. ‘You must stop being so hard on yourself. He duped you in the same way as he did to everyone else. It isn’t your fault.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said, sighing. ‘Why don’t you spend some time going through his files now and then we’ll have lunch. Unless you have somewhere else to go?’
‘Lunch would be lovely, thank you.’
He followed Sarah back into the kitchen and down a corridor to the east wing of the house, stopping at the last room. Elsa was running close behind them.
‘Here’s Donald’s study,’ Sarah said, opening the door.
It was a large rectangular room with a floor to ceiling bookcase running along the far wall, a gigantic ornate wrought-iron fireplace on the other and in the centre, standing proud, was a magnificent mahogany antique desk with a dark green leather inlay. The desk was bare other than a laptop in the middle and, next to a brass photo frame, an antique silver dual-footed inkstand with glass inserts to one side of it. Behind the desk stood a Victorian style captain’s chair, with a burgundy leather seat. It was stunning. The large window and French doors overlooked the garden, and the sun’s rays made a beautiful dappled effect on the desk.
‘This is a lovely space,’ he commented.
‘Yes, we recently had it refurbished.’ Her voice fell away, as if she was embarrassed at spending the money.
He glanced around the room at the large paintings on the walls and the cream sofa with cushions that matched the deep red and cream striped curtains, pulled back with curtain ties. No expense had been spared.
‘Did Donald spend a lot of time in here?’
‘Too much. He’d be in here for hours, unless he was out visiting clients. Occasionally he’d even sleep on the sofa if he was too tired to make it upstairs. I’d moan sometimes, but it fell on deaf ears. I didn’t like to complain too much, though, because it was his hard work that gave us the lifestyle we enjoyed. Now we know the truth it’s made a mockery of our whole existence.’
‘Did he have regular contact with his clients?’
‘Yes, most weeks he’d be out with them, as far as I know. I couldn’t tell you who they were, but you’ll find details of meetings in his diary. He’d often travel to London as many of his clients were there, and he’d stay overnight if he was taking them out for dinner.’
‘Whereabouts did he stay in London?’
‘A small hotel in Knightsbridge. He talked about buying a small flat for when he was there, and for us to use when we went to the city, but he never got around to it. Thank goodness.’
She walked behind the desk, opened the middle drawer and took out a small black leather notebook which she handed to him.
‘This contains all of his passwords.’
‘Do you mind if I look through his files?’ Seb asked, pointing to the four-drawer dark wood cabinet situated in the corner of the room.
‘Not at all. Look at whatever you want. Nothing’s off limits. I don’t know what you’ll find, though, as I couldn’t bring myself to touch any of his work-related belongings.’ She stepped away from the desk and he sat down and opened the lid to the laptop.
‘I’ll be fine on my own, no need for you to hang around. You don’t mind Elsa being in here with me, do you?’
‘Of course not. I’ll pop back with a bowl of water for her. You can open the doors if she wants to go out in the garden. I’ll let you know when lunch is ready.’
The laptop password was written on the first page of the notebook, along with passwords for his bank accounts, his accounting software, and all sorts of other organisations. Sarah really should look into making password changes to any which related to her as well, as this lack of security made her far too vulnerable. But that was a discussion for another time. He didn’t want to overload her with too much to think about.
He opened the laptop and was impressed at how organised the documents were. Every folder and file within it were labelled using an easy-to-understand system, which made the task of going through everything a lot easier.
First of all, he opened the folder containing a list of clients, recorded in alphabetical order. Each client had their own file, which included a signed copy of their agreement, followed by a list of investments they’d made and when they were paid dividends. Some clients received theirs monthly, some quarterly, some every six months and some once a year. The agreements appeared watertight, requiring the client to invest their money for a minimum period. These investment periods mainly fell between five and ten years, with most of them falling into the latter. There was the provision for clients to withdraw their funds early, however, this incurred a hefty penalty of fifteen per cent of the initial investment. As some clients had invested up to two hundred thousand pounds, that was indeed severe.
At the time of Donald’s death, he had forty-nine active clients in the Ponzi scheme. Each client’s individual file had a note stating how often dividends were paid.
Seb was able to ascertain those clients whose money had been invested legitimately and those whose funds weren’t. The turning point was 2010. From that date onwards, Donald falsified documents to his clients when they received their interest using information he received for his legitimate clients to create them. That way, anyone who tracked their investment independently would be getting accurate information. How did he account for this on his tax returns, though? A question for another time.
Seb moved from the client files into Donald’s main business bank account where all new investors’ monies were placed. There were no outgoing payments made to any external investments, contrary to what the agreements stated. All interest payments to his clients were made via direct payment. The only withdrawals were made into Donald’s personal bank account and from there he paid for the family housekeeping and living expenses. A large monthly amount went into Sarah’s own account, more than his salary as a detective inspector with the Met.
It was quite a juggling act and, for many years, had worked very well. Donald had managed the money expertly. From what Sebastian could see, however, towards the end of the previous year, Donald’s outgoings began to exceed the amount of money he had coming in, as he was taking on fewer new clients. He missed dividend payments, but he did it in such a way as to not alert people. When a payment was missed, Donald emailed the client and explained there were issues with the bank due to the hacking of accounts and they would be paid as soon as possible, at the latest by the time the next payment was due. He made sure not to miss more than one dividend per client until it got to the time when he died. By that time, very few people were receiving their money.
He leant back in the chair and stretched out his arms. The chair wasn’t comfortable for someone of his size. He glanced at the bank account again, ensuring he’d checked every item. At the start of this year, there was a large investment of two hundred thousand pounds from Donald’s brother Edgar. Sebastian had met him, but he wasn’t at the funeral yesterday. This wasn’t the first time Edgar had invested. His initial investment had been eleven years prior, and he’d signed a ten-year agreement. Yet he put in more money.
Had he done it to help him out?
Was he aware of the fraud Donald was engaging in? And if he was, how deep did his involvement go?
Chapter 6
5 May
Sarah glanced up at the kitchen clock from where she was stan
ding at the island chopping lettuce. Seb had been in the study for two hours. He was her last hope. She’d thought about employing a proper private detective, but changed her mind. She didn’t want someone she didn’t know or trust going through everything.
It had to be Seb or no one.
Footsteps echoed down the hall, and the door opened.
‘Sorry, Sarah, I don’t know where the time went.’
‘I was about to come and fetch you for lunch. I thought we’d have a salad with the leftovers from yesterday. There’s cold chicken and cold beef, if you’re okay with that?’
‘Sounds wonderful, I’m starving. What can I do to help?’
‘Nothing, it’s almost ready. We’ll eat in here as the boys haven’t surfaced yet and it’s only the two of us. There’s no need to stand on ceremony.’
He washed his hands and headed over to the Welsh dresser. ‘Are these okay?’ He held out two white china plates.
‘Yes, they’re fine.’ She stared at him. His eyes gave nothing away. ‘Have you found anything yet?’
He took the plates over to the island, before turning to face her.
‘I have some questions regarding the business which need answering.’
She placed the knife on the work surface and stepped towards him, enveloping him in a huge hug.
‘I’m so relieved that you agreed to investigate Donald’s death. Thank you.’
Whatever he found she’d be prepared to accept because then, at least, she’d know Donald’s death had been properly investigated.
He stepped away from her, leaning against the worktop. ‘Sarah, you must remember, it’s highly unlikely that my investigation is going to make any difference to the official outcome. The suicide verdict will most likely stand, unless we have hard evidence to persuade the police and the coroner to change their decisions.’
She nodded. ‘I understand. If I’m wrong, then so be it. I just want somebody to look into it and to actually listen to me. You’re the first person who has and I can’t begin to tell you how good it feels to be heard. You’ll have to advise me how much to pay you, as I’ve never done anything like this before. What’s the going rate for private investigators these days?’
She’d looked on the internet but couldn’t find anything. Then again, she wasn’t sure if she’d looked in the right places. Donald used to call her a technophobe, and he was right … up to a point. She’d never been interested. She used her phone and would read on her tablet, but other than that she hardly went online.
‘First of all, I’m not a PI, nor have I any intention of becoming one. Second, I’m not prepared to take any money from you. I have some free time since leaving the force and this will keep me occupied.’
‘Are you sure? I do have some money set aside, as I mentioned to you. It’s not much but—’
‘And you need it to take care of yourself and the boys. I want no more said about it. This is non-negotiable.’ He wagged his finger in her direction.
Her lips turned up into a relieved smile. ‘In that case you should come and stay here with me at the house. There’s plenty of space and it would be no trouble. It’s the least I can do after you’re being so generous with your time.’
It would be nice to have someone around, especially as the boys were going back to uni tomorrow. It would force her into preparing meals and keeping the house looking nice. At the moment, those things were an effort, and often she didn’t bother.
‘Thanks for the kind offer, but I like being in walking distance to the town centre. I’ve already paid until Thursday morning and I’ll check with the owner of the property to see if I can stay a while longer.’
‘The offer’s there if you change your mind, or if the property owner can’t fit you in.’
‘Much appreciated, thank you. I’ll let you know what she says. My plan is to continue in Donald’s office after lunch, as I haven’t yet looked in his filing cabinet and then tomorrow start to investigate in earnest. I can’t stress enough, though, please don’t get your hopes up.’
‘I understand, and promise not to. Will you be giving me regular updates on how the investigation is going or do I have to wait until you’ve completed it?’ She bit down on her bottom lip.
‘I’ll keep you informed of my progress as I go.’ His stomach rumbled. ‘Excuse me.’
‘Come on, let’s eat.’
She took the plates of meat and bowl of salad over to the table and brought out some warm crusty rolls from the oven.
After they’d eaten, he placed his napkin on the table. ‘I’ll go back to the office now. Do you mind if I take Donald’s laptop away with me, and anything I find in the filing cabinet which might be of use?’
‘Help yourself to whatever you’d like to take. I know it’s in safe hands.’
What would Donald have thought, if he’d known that everything he’d done while in business was being put under scrutiny? Her husband had been well liked, prior to it all imploding, and it was something he’d worked hard at. He would’ve known that once his fraud had been found out everyone would turn their back on him. It would have destroyed him.
But was that enough for him to take his own life?
Seb returned to the study and opened the French doors, letting Elsa out into the garden. ‘Go and have a run, you’ve been a very good girl.’ His dog didn’t need telling more than once and she charged outside, into the garden, sniffing everything she came across. He left the door open, letting in the warmth of the sun.
It was kind of Sarah to offer he stayed at the house, but that wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t investigate with her knowing his every move all the time, however much she tried to keep out of his way. He needed to keep some distance between them, especially if he was led down a path that put Donald in an even worse light. If that was possible.
Thanks to his super memory as his mother referred to it, he already knew every electronic bank statement and client record belonging to Donald. His next job was the filing cabinet. He began his search in the top drawer. It contained personal documents relating to the family and the house. After a quick flick through, he left them alone. It was Donald’s business he was concerned with initially.
The second and third drawers contained hard copies of the signed agreements Donald had in place with his investors. That was either very brave or stupid. A paper trail showing all the dealings he’d made over the years would have been ample evidence if he’d ever been found out. Seb assumed he’d done it in case his laptop broke, or was compromised, and he hadn’t trusted the cloud.
Elsa came bounding in, holding a chewed tennis ball in her mouth. She wagged her tail proudly, dropping it at his feet.
‘You do know this isn’t yours, don’t you? What’s Sarah going to say when she discovers you’ve ruined her ball?’
Elsa continued wagging her tail, totally oblivious to his fake reprimand.
‘Come on, I’ve seen enough. Time to go.’ He picked up the laptop and left the study.
Sarah was sitting at the kitchen table when he walked into the room, her hands wrapped around a mug, staring into space.
‘Are you okay?’ he said.
She started. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. My mind was on other things, in particular whether I should look for a job. The problem is I’m not qualified for anything. After Donald and I got married I stayed at home and took care of the children and house. Not the modern way, I know. But it was different in my day.’
‘You could go back to working in an art gallery, like you did before you settled down,’ Seb suggested.
‘You remembered that,’ she said, jerking her head back. ‘Of course you did,’ she added before he had time to answer. ‘I forgot about your memory. There aren’t many galleries around here, but it’s something to consider. Have you finished in Donald’s study already?’
‘Yes, I’ve seen as much as I need to for the moment. Can you remember the name of the person at the FCA who you dealt with?’
‘FCA
?’ she frowned.
‘The Financial Conduct Authority,’ he reminded her.
‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t recognise the acronym. Yes, it was a nice woman called Linda Stallion. I’ve got her card somewhere.’ Sarah went over to one of the kitchen drawers and rummaged through. ‘Here it is.’ She passed it to him and he placed it in his pocket.
‘Thanks. One last question. Do you, by any chance, have Donald’s phone? I’d like to check it his text messages and any apps he used.’
‘His phone?’ She bit down on her bottom lip. ‘He had it on the day when he ... he … It might be in the bag of things the police gave to me after the post-mortem. I put it in his bedroom, because I couldn’t bring myself to open it. I haven’t been in there since he died. The cleaner dusts every week, but other than that it’s as it was when he left home that day. Do you want to check? His room’s up the stairs and off to the left. It’s the second door on the right.’
Seb went upstairs and found the room. He pushed open the door. Anyone who didn’t know would believe that someone still slept in there. On top of the large antique chest of drawers was a black plastic bag. He opened it and the smell of dried blood and dirt wafted out. He felt inside, but it wasn’t there.
He returned to the kitchen, where Sarah was still seated. ‘I couldn’t find it. Let me know if it turns up. You need to dispose of the bag and its contents as it didn’t smell good. But not until I’ve completed my investigation in case, we need it for evidence if something untoward did happen to Donald.’
‘You mean … murder.’ She looked at him. ‘Of course you do. If it isn’t suicide, then what else could it be.’
‘Let’s take it one step at a time. There’s no point in second-guessing what I’m going to discover.’
‘You’re right. I’ll see you out.’
She went with him to his car, and he gave her a kiss on the cheek before leaving.
First thing in the morning, he’d contact the police and ask to see their report. He’d also like to view the coroner’s report if they could access it for him.