Trail of Greed: Fighting Fraud and Corruption... A Dangerous Game

by John Dysart

  “Let’s do another check,” suggested Pierre We started upstairs but without any result. We went back into the living room. It was then that I noticed that one of the drawers in the hall table was not properly shut.

  “Pierre, look here,” I called him over. “This drawer isn’t properly shut. It needs some sanding so that it’ll close smoothly and neatly. I’ve been meaning to fix it for months but I’ve never got round to it. As it is, it needs a special technique. You have to push it closed on the left side first. It is a bit of a fiddle to do but I always do it because it looks untidy otherwise.” Pierre tried to close it without success. If you didn’t take the time to find out the technique it would remain partly open at one side. That was the giveaway. Someone had definitely been in my house. I then started to look much more carefully. There were hardly any signs. Whoever it was had been extremely professional and careful. Practically nothing had been disturbed – practically nothing, but not nothing.

  The pictures, the leaf, the drawer – and I noticed also that a wooden box that I kept papers in had been slightly displaced. There were signs in the dust that it had been moved. My cleaning lady only comes in once a week and although she’s good with a vacuum cleaner and she’s got a thing about clean windows, she’s not too hot on the dusting, bless her.

  Pierre was thoughtful as I pointed out the evidence to him.

  “If you’re right and someone has been in, why didn’t they take anything?”

  All I could think of as an answer was that there wasn’t much of value in the house anyway.

  “Could they have been looking for a document or documents? That fits with looking behind pictures.”

  “I don’t have any documents of any importance. Anything like that I keep in the safe deposit box at the bank.”

  I stopped suddenly. Documents. “Shit!” “What is it?” asked Pierre.

  “Alice’s envelope.”

  “What do you mean?” “The documents that Alice Hetherington gave me at the conference. All her papers concerning AIM – the stuff I showed you the other evening. I put the envelope down on the bureau over there and, as it is not something that’s usually here, I’ve only just realised that it is missing. I know I put it down there on Friday evening when I got back.”

  “Why would anyone think that papers in a brown envelope would have any value?” asked Pierre.

  “God knows.” We looked at each other, both coming to the realisation at the same time.

  “It can only be Purdy or someone sent by him. He saw Alice give me the envelope . . .”

  “. . . which means,” went on Pierre, “that they are important, at least to him, and he doesn’t want anybody poking his nose into one of his client’s correspondence . . .”

  “. . . which means he has something to hide . . .” “. . . which means that we’re maybe right and there definitely is something fishy about AIM,” I said, finishing off the combined train of thought.

  Chapter 9

  As it was warm and sunny we went out into the back garden and sat down on my patio. I looked ruefully at the garden which definitely needed some attention. For a start the rose beds were becoming overgrown with weeds. I hated the task. Down on your hands and knees wrestling with dandelions, chickweed and daisies, which had somehow migrated from the small patch of grass that I had. I told myself I would have to do something about it within the next few days.

  I told Pierre about my visit to Alice and how, unfortunately, she only knew of one other person who had invested in AIM. I thought I might try to contact him.

  “I wish there was some way we could get hold of the names of more people. Perhaps that would give us more information.”

  “What about Alice?” Pierre asked.

  “What do you mean?” “Can you get her to recopy her papers and send them over? We might discover what it was that Purdy found so important.”

  I was struggling with the cork of a bottle of Beaujolais when Pierre spoke again.

  “Bob, I’ve just had another thought. If these papers of Alice are so important and Purdy sees that they are copies, do you think he might try to get hold of the originals?”

  “Bloody hell. I didn’t think of that.” I finally got the cork out and poured us each glass. The wine had been in the fridge and was deliciously cool.

  “We’d better warn her.” “What about putting a guard on over there?” suggested Pierre.

  That seemed to make sense because if anyone did try to do another burglary on Alice’s house a guard might catch him in the act. We’d have a way of confirming who was behind it and something to nail him with.

  “Can you fund the cost?”

  “No problem.” I got on the phone to Mike, who answered with a “morning after the night before” voice.

  I told him about the break-in and the disappearance of Alice’s papers and explained our concern about a repetition on Alice’s house.

  “Have you contacted Doug and Mac yet?” I asked. “Yes. They’re up for it. I’m seeing them tomorrow to give them a rundown and send them over to Edinburgh.”

  “Good. Can you change the plan a bit? Would Mac be able to go and babysit Alice for a few days? Our idea was that we would offer to repaint the outside of her house for free and she could put Mac up for the three or four days that it would take and be bodyguard at the same time. Maybe nothing will happen but you never know. And you and Doug could do the Edinburgh side of things.”

  He agreed and promised to organise it like that. I gave him Alice’s name and address and said I would phone her straight away. He could assume all was on if he didn’t hear from me. That way I’d save the price of a phone call.

  Next, Alice. She was horrified when I told her about the break in. “Told you so. That man is definitely a crook.” I then explained how we were concerned that they might pay her a visit as well, so we planned to supply some security. I had no trouble persuading her to accept a repainting job on the outside of her house, free of charge. She was a Scot after all. And she agreed that she could put Mac up for the few days it would take, on condition that he was a non-smoker. I assured her that he was although I hadn’t a clue. I was going to have to phone back Mike after all.

  Once that was all settled Pierre and I reviewed the situation. There was not much we could do over the next few days. Mac would be guarding Alice. Mike and Doug would be investigating Purdy. And I would have a chat with Steven in a couple of days to see if he had found out anything.

  His article in the Thursday paper had been just right. A brief report of the conference with no reference to the awkwardness caused by my question. It was neutral on the issue of AIM’s results, which would not please Purdy very much. But he couldn’t complain. It was factual.

  Pierre was quiet and thoughtful as I did my little “where we’re at” speech.

  He left me in the early afternoon. As he was leaving he informed me that, as not much was likely to happen in the near future, he was going to go back to France for a few days. He would be back on Wednesday or Thursday. He didn’t tell me why. But then why should he? I simply nodded and asked him to call when he got back.

  Nothing happened over the next few days. I called Alice a couple times. She was delighted with the painting. She and Mac had agreed on an olive green for the woodwork, which she thought would brighten things up and would go well with all the shrubs and trees she had in the garden.

  I spoke to Mac who had nothing to report except that he was eating like he hadn’t done in a long time. Alice was spoiling him and was clearly enjoying having someone to cook for. His only complaint was that he had to play Scrabble every evening and she always won.

  I tried to get in touch with Steven but his assistant told me he was out of town and wouldn’t be back until the end of the week.

  I managed a round of golf. I went over on Tuesday and bumped into Keith in the clubhouse. He was about to go out with Jack and he invited me to join them. I played reasonably well. Jack was not on form with his putting and Keith thum
ped his way round the course, cursing bad shots, complaining about the greens when he missed a putt and celebrating as if he’d won the Open when anything went in from over ten feet.

  On Thursday morning I had a call from Mike who suggested that he come over and report on his and Doug’s efforts over the last three days. We agreed to a bar lunch at Fernie. He’d come over himself and leave Doug on the job.

  Just as I was about to leave the phone rang again. It was Pierre.

  “Hi,” he said. “What’s new? I’m just back and wondered if you fancied lunch.”

  I told him I was meeting Mike so his arrival was well timed. We’d see him in about half an hour.

  Mike was waiting in the bar. No sign, as yet, of Pierre, so we settled down for a debriefing on Edinburgh.

  We had hardly started when Mike glanced up and said “Here’s Pierre”.

  I looked round over my shoulder and saw Pierre wending his way through the chairs and tables towards us with a smile on his face. He was dressed in his usual tidy, elegant way – blue, cotton, neatly-ironed trousers, soft brown loafers, fresh cream shirt. His face was, if anything slightly more tanned than before. A couple of days in the sun, I thought.

  Mike and I glanced at each other. Mike raised his eyebrows. We had been expecting him but we had not been expecting him to be accompanied.

  We got to our feet as he approached and shook hands and welcomed him back.

  “Hi, guys. Good to see you,” he said and then stepped back to motion forward the person who had been following closely behind.

  She was a distinctly attractive lady and looked as if she was in her early forties. She had an open and friendly expression on a face that was tanned and very appealing. She was an inch or so taller than Pierre, slender with shoulder-length black hair and was dressed neatly in a blue cotton blouse and a white denim skirt which stopped just above the knees. Bare legged. Sandals with just enough heel to tighten up the calf muscles. There was no doubt the picture was exquisite. She took a pace forward and shook us each by the hand. There was a whiff of a seriously expensive perfume in the air.

  “It’s good to meet you both,” she said, with a slight touch of a French accent. “Pierre has told me all about you.”

  Pierre pulled out a seat for her and we all sat down again, Mike taking slightly longer than the rest of us. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She seemed aware of this and smiled back at him.

  “Bob, Mike, I’d like to introduce you to Sophie Lamarre, a long-time friend of mine.”

  We nodded and smiled a welcome to her. Mike promptly got up to order drinks for the new arrivals.

  “Beer for you, Pierre? And Sophie . . .?” “A small glass of cold, dry white wine, please,” she said, her eyes following him as he went over to the bar.

  Pierre sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile on his face, as if he had made exactly the effect that he had intended. He said something in French to Sophie who laughed out loud, revealing a perfect set of teeth.

  There was a definite elegance about her, but also an indication of strength and fitness in that slim body. Someone who looked after herself or someone who enjoyed outside pursuits. The slight tan seemed to indicate the latter.

  We chatted for a few minutes as one does when a stranger suddenly arrives in your midst and you want to make them welcome. Have you been to Scotland before? What do you think of the weather? And other such comments.

  I tried my best to get the conversation going but I couldn’t bring up our Purdy adventures because I didn’t really know who she was. Was this Pierre’s partner? Could be. They certainly seemed to be very much at ease with each other.

  Meanwhile Mike, unusually for him, hardly opened his mouth.

  When I started to stall a little Pierre decided to let us off the hook. He murmured again to Sophie in French and received a nod of the head in return.

  “Listen guys, we both know what you’re thinking. We’re used to it. Let me just say straight away that Sophie and I are not, as you say it over here, an ‘item’. We are just very good old friends. Most people have the same reaction, which I take as a compliment to my sense of taste. Sometimes we let people think so because it gives Sophie some protection. But this time I have to tell you straight away. I just wanted to have a little fun.”

  “Well you certainly looked very much like a couple when you came over here,” I said. “Pierre, the well-dressed Frenchman, with his beautiful partner” – I can be a charmer when I want to be!

  “In France we dress to please the ladies,” said Pierre. Mike grinned and couldn’t stop himself from coming out with a rejoinder.

  “Over here we undress to please the ladies.” Then he realised that he’d perhaps over-stepped the mark, coloured slightly and buried his face in his beer. Sophie was clearly not bothered by this remark and joined the laughter.

  Pierre continued. “I hope you guys don’t mind but I’ve invited Sophie over here to help us in our project.”

  He then proceeded to explain to us that Sophie had worked for his company from just after she had graduated from college and she had been with them until he sold out. She had developed into a top-class IT security and hacking expert. When Pierre had sold the company she had sold the shares that she had accumulated from various bonuses and had set herself up as an independent expert.

  “Bob, when you mentioned that it would be good if we could get hold of other AIM investors, I immediately thought of Sophie. Perhaps she can hack into their systems. So I went over to discuss it with her. She has some free time at the moment and said she’d love to help.”

  “D’Artagnan,” said Mike. “I beg your pardon?” said Sophie, looking puzzled. We then had to explain to her why we had called ourselves APA Consulting. She liked the idea immediately and accepted to be D’Artagnan.

  I readily agreed to the help that Sophie could bring. If she could get into their systems we’d be in an excellent position to unmask Purdy.

  Mike agreed for reasons known only to himself – but suspected by me.

  Over lunch I called the meeting to order and we reviewed the steps we needed to undertake.

  “Sophie, what do you need to be able to get into their systems?”

  “Just a simple connection to a server or access to WiFi,” she replied.

  “Well I’ve got internet at home, which is only five minutes away. Will that do? Or I’m sure they have WiFi here in the hotel.”

  “Yours would be better,” she replied. “Fine. Pierre can bring you over tomorrow. It’ll give me time to tidy up a bit and clear a space for you to work.”

  Mike then gave us a report on what he and Doug had found out in Edinburgh.

  He showed us photos of Purdy leaving his expensive-looking house in Barnton, arriving at the office, going out for lunch, the AIM building, his top of the range Lexus and then . . .

  “This is an interesting one,” he said. He pulled out another picture. It was of Purdy walking up a street somewhere in the city, not readily identifiable, with a young, shapely blonde woman on his arm. They were obviously talking to each other in a very friendly fashion.

  “Why?” we asked.

  “She’s not his wife.” He pulled out a glossy AIM brochure which had a photograph of a group of people taken at some public event and in the middle of the group was Purdy with a dark-haired lady standing next to him.

  “That’s his wife,” said Mike, pointing to her. “That’s great. Purdy has a mistress. That could be useful. Do you know who she is or where she lives?”

  “Yes. We have a name and an address. She is a divorcee and runs a hairdressing salon in the High Street. We’ve quite a few photographs of her.”

  “Fine. Keep away from her now. We don’t want to run any risk of her finding out she’s being watched. As long as we know how to get to her if we need to.”

  “Anything else?” asked Pierre. “We’ve only managed to come across two blokes who he seems to frequent. He goes to a squash club down in Leith twice a week. He always
plays with the same guy. We followed him there on Tuesday and after he’d gone I had a look at the board of court reservation and his name was up every Tuesday and Thursday with the same guy and at the same time. It’s obviously regular.”

  “Who’s the guy?” “Don’t know yet,” he replied. “We only have a name, Bill Dewar. But I’ve asked Doug to find out more . . . just in case.”

  “And the second person?”

  Mike pushed a photo over to me. “He’s lunched twice this week with this man.” I picked it up and looked at it. It was only a three-quarter view and taken through a window but the man looked distinctly familiar.

  Then I thought I had it. I pushed the picture across to Pierre.

  “Mean anything to you, Pierre?”

  He stared at it for while.

  “This man was at the conference.” “Correct. I think that’s a man called Gavin Reid who could well be AIM’s lawyer. Personally I don’t much like the look of him. Could you check him out as well, Mike?”

  We broke up around three. We agreed that Pierre would bring Sophie round the next morning and, as he hadn’t much else to do, he’d go down and play Lundin Links, which I told him was another of Dad’s favourite courses.

  Mike would be going back to Edinburgh to check up on Gavin Reid and Purdy’s squash playing friend, Bill Dewar.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning I got up early. There hadn’t been a woman in the house since Liz died, apart from my cleaning lady and Mrs Clark. There was a distinct male atmosphere to the place. There wasn’t much I could do about that but at least I could tidy up a bit.

  I opened all the windows to let the air in. Books were tidied away and the place was given a good vacuuming. Checked out the bathroom. Made sure it was presentable and clean. I definitely needed to clean the kitchen. Last night’s frying pan lying in the sink was not a good idea.

  By the time I’d done all that I was exhausted and my back was aching.

  I sat down for a minute and looked at Dad’s picture on the opposite wall. I told him a bit more about Pierre, about Mike and Heather’s reaction to him and the news that their Dad had a secret past. I told him that we didn’t mind in the least. After all, he didn’t know anything about Pierre but, “I’m sure that you’d approve of him if you’d met him”, I told him.