by Rose Edmunds
‘And Goodchild, the finance director?’
‘No—Goodchild’s still free—no evidence. He claims to have been unaware of any wrongdoing, and no one’s suggested otherwise.’
‘Bollocks,’ I said. ‘He was the one who disclaimed the tax losses.’
‘Yes, yes, but proving it is a different matter. And frankly, most people are not as hung up as you on esoteric aspects of tax law.’
Carmody had a point, but a piece of shit like Goodchild deserved to cop it, if only as an indirect blow to Smithies. And an indirect blow was probably the best I could hope for. I now supposed Smithies must be beyond reproach, despite my paranoia.
With some trepidation, I raised the subject of Impex and Carmody’s dodgy ex-colleague Darren. I was now almost sure that Carmody wasn’t himself involved, but the events of the past few weeks had shaken my sense of certainty about everything.
He explained the internecine politics with the NCA that made the inter-departmental rivalry at Pearson Malone seem good-humoured by comparison.
‘So basically, I was investigating a law enforcement sting?’
‘Yes—and astonishingly well, I might add. Mind you, even you wouldn’t have put together the whole picture if we hadn’t seen that guy Darren—he was working deep undercover.’
‘So was it coincidence we bumped into him?’
Carmody cleared his throat nervously.
‘That bugged me too. I shouldn’t say this, but I’ll level with you. I have a hunch that those bastards at NCA knew all along I’d arrested the wrong guy and let me go ahead anyway.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they were so determined to keep their covert operation on track at all costs.’
‘Now that does sound paranoid,’ I said. ‘I’m supposed to be the one with the mental problems.’
He gave a lukewarm smile.
‘I hope you’re charging Greg Kelly with my attempted murder too,’ I said.
Carmody shook his head.
‘I shouldn’t think so—it’s all a bit awkward for us—you understand…’
I understood all too well—once again he’d prioritised his own concerns above mine. Still, what did I expect? Everyone treated me like that.
‘He will be charged with conspiracy to defraud, though,’ Carmody added in a vain effort to soften the blow.
‘Well, that’s a comfort.’
He hesitated.
‘If you must know, I feel dreadful. I should have listened more carefully, not been so ready dismiss your ideas. Hard as it is for you to accept, I really do like you and I wondered…’
‘No.’
The word came out with such vehemence he must have instantly recognised that changing my mind would be impossible, at least in the short term. I felt sure we were fundamentally unsuited to each other on any level. Because I understood now the real damage my mother’s hoarding had done. It wasn’t the mess, or even the shame, but the indignity of having my feelings, opinions and desires invalidated time after time. Just as I wasn’t important enough for my mother to clear up—I was less important than Carmody’s promotion. And that wasn’t good enough.
‘Fair enough,’ he said, backing away apprehensively. ‘Maybe I’ll see you around.’
‘Maybe not,’ I replied.
After he’d gone, I opened an official looking envelope that had come in the post. It was the psychiatrist’s report to my GP. The last paragraph read as follows:
On admission she believed that she was the victim of a conspiracy involving business associates who were attempting to kill her and this included her ex-husband who she believed had spiked her drink. She had acted in response to these beliefs driving while intoxicated. At the time she believed her life was in danger so she may have a defence to the drink driving charge and I would recommend she seeks expert legal advice. By the time I assessed her several days later these delusional beliefs had resolved and she had regained full insight. She appears to have had an acute psychotic episode from which she has made a rapid recovery. She acknowledged that she has been drinking hazardous quantities of alcohol but strenuously denied recreational drug use, however her drug screen was positive for Ketamine which would be consistent with her drink having been spiked though it is not clear how reliable her account is. She has been under considerable stress at work which may be a contributory factor. I have strongly advised her to moderate her alcohol consumption and avoid recreational drug use. I have prescribed a modest dose of antipsychotic medication and on balance suggest she continues this for the present to reduce the risk of recurrence. I have arranged to review her in the clinic in two weeks and recommend she does not return to work until after the review.
Despite everything, I had to laugh.
Epilogue
I’d been eagerly anticipating my scheduled “return to work” meeting with Smithies. He didn’t know it yet, but this time I had the upper hand.
‘Amy, how are you?’
His solicitous tones confirmed that he was still playing the old game, but he would discover soon enough just how dramatically the rules had changed. In fact, everything was different. I’d never noticed how strained the grins of the water-skiing party were, particularly Smithies’ wife. It was obvious now how she gritted her teeth and feigned happiness for the sake of her fancy lifestyle.
‘I’m on top of the world,’ I informed him.
‘I suppose it’s the medication you’re on,’ he replied, no doubt searching for some rational explanation for my change in attitude.
No way would he cope with the new improved Amy. After all, how do you psych somebody out who’s invincible? Undaunted, he continued on his pre-prepared script.
‘As responsible employers we’ll fully support you in your return to work. If there’s anything we can do to assist you, please let us know.’
‘For a start, I’m not at all happy with these alleged breaches of the money laundering regulations everyone’s banging on about. Anything you can do?’
Predictably, Pearson Malone had been left with egg on its face. A partner of the firm was up on charges of murder and conspiracy to defraud, and questions were being asked on the quality of the JJ audit. Private Eye had run a whole series of articles highlighting the close relationship between Bailey and JJ the drug baron. And because I’d brought the scandal to the fore, I was in line for all the flak.
During my absence, emails had flown around whipping up a ferment of condemnation at my failure to make a timely money laundering report, as though this had caused the whole debacle. Smithies was the prime mover, naturally. He’d latched onto this as a much quicker and more reliable method to see me off than long term sickness due to poor mental health. The final email from Smithies stated, ominously, that “the appropriate steps” would be taken in due course.
‘Well, it’s not me,’ he said apologetically. ‘And you’re lucky no other action’s being taken. Eric Bailey found various other aspects of your unprofessional conduct most disturbing.’
‘Did he?’
‘But I’ve fought your corner and we’re down to this minor compliance breach.’
‘Technically it’s not minor at all—potentially non-compliance with the money laundering legislation carries a prison sentence…’
‘I take your point, although you don’t seem too worried.’
‘Actually, I’m pretty sure the police won’t be taking any action.’
‘Ah yes, your friend Dave Carmody—very much on your side now he realises you have the power to queer his pitch. However, our internal disciplinary procedures are an entirely separate matter…’
‘But surely you can do something…’
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible.’
‘But I’m not the only one who failed to report my suspicions, am I?’
He gave a nonchalant little smile.
‘I can’t imagine who you’re referring to.’
‘If you listen to this you’ll find out,’ I said, pulling out my laptop from my ba
g and inserting the CD Smithies’ predecessor John Venner had given me.
Smithies’ brow furrowed, but bewilderment quickly gave way to alarm as he heard the familiar whiny grating of his own voice. He listened with mounting apprehension as he calmly advised Goodchild how to conceal the fake debtors he’d discovered from the auditors.
Goodchild had fallen on his sword, resigned and forfeited his precious share options, but had wriggled out of prosecution, because nobody could prove his involvement. Significantly, neither JJ nor Greg had ratted on him. He wouldn’t be safe, though, if this recording came to light.
Cut to a later conversation—where Goodchild expressed his relief and puzzlement at the debtors having been repaid. This didn’t mean Goodchild knew about the drugs, of course, and on balance I suspected not. Most likely he’d found the false debtors and tried to hide them from JJ, while JJ had been simultaneously concealing them from him. What a pair.
Still, whatever the truth, Smithies would be mightily embarrassed if the recording became public.
‘Where did you get this?’ he asked, his face contorted with anxiety and coated in a film of sweat.
‘Not telling.’
I would never disclose that his predecessor had been so suspicious of Smithies that he’d bugged his office. Venner described it to me as a kind of insurance policy he hadn’t needed to claim on once his job offer from the client had come through. But he’d been so appalled by what he’d heard, he’d let the recording continue after he’d left. He figured it would always be useful to have the dirt on an unscrupulous bastard like Smithies. But ultimately, hearing about the mess I was in, and outraged by the rumours Smithies had started about the child-porn, he’d contacted me and handed me the evidence.
‘It can’t be genuine,’ Smithies protested lamely.
‘It is,’ I said, ‘and you know it. By the way, it gets worse.’
I honestly thought he might keel over and die as we listened to the next snippet, where Lisa coldly used the knowledge gained from Isabelle to blackmail Smithies into reinstating her promotion.
Her account of offering to be the eyes and ears of the group had always rung hollow to me. She’d simply gone to Smithies and threatened to expose his brother-in-law. It was Lisa, not Greg, who Isabelle chose to take into her confidence, and in doing so signed her own death warrant.
The final discussion was between Smithies and Greg. He mentioned how Isabelle had become a bit over-enthusiastic about the anomalies at JJ and warned Greg not to take any notice.
‘So you see,’ I said to him. ‘There were plenty other people who knew.’
‘But I had to alert Greg to these ridiculous allegations…’
‘Aha, so the conversation was genuine,’ I said triumphantly. ‘And the allegations weren’t ridiculous, were they?’
I removed the CD from the disk drive.
‘What will you do with it?’ Smithies asked, in a panicky voice.
‘Well, let’s see. I could take it to your mate Potter, or Bailey, or the BBC. Or I might even hand it into the police—they haven’t found enough evidence to arrest Goodchild yet.’
‘I was trying to help him out of a spot,’ said Smithies, as though this exonerated him. ‘Wouldn’t you do the same for your sister’s husband?’
‘No—I wouldn’t,’ I said, surprising myself at the force of my denial.
‘But it would be a tremendous own goal for you if you made this public,’ he said, still attempting to press my insecurity buttons in the old way. ‘The firm’s reputation should be paramount in your thinking.’
The buttons didn’t work anymore.
‘Why should I care? You guys are squaring up to fire me anyway.’
‘I can categorically confirm that nobody’s ever suggested firing you.’
‘Your assurances count for nothing. But there is another way…’
‘What?’ he demanded eagerly, like a drowning man snatching at a twig.
‘If you could overlook my failure to report…’
‘I do not give into blackmail threats.’
‘Oh yes you do,’ I said, raising my eyebrows a fraction.
‘But it’s out of my hands…’
‘OK, let’s put it this way, you may have significant influence over the matter…’
‘And if I do what you want will you destroy the CD?’
Oh dear. Was that born out of blind optimism or hopeless naivety? He didn’t seem to recognise that he no longer had the power to manipulate me.
‘No, I won’t.’
‘No deal then.’
For all his acuity, he failed to appreciate the weakness of his own negotiating position.
‘OK—no deal. This goes public. I’ll take my chances over the minor compliance issue.’
‘I need the disk.’
‘Sure, but I’m not giving it to you. I want you to sweat over it, to be looking over your shoulder, knowing I can bring you down any time I choose. Because that’s how I felt when you victimised me.’
‘It wasn’t like that, Amy. I’ve always had your best interests at heart, but you were ill and too insecure and paranoid to see it.’
‘Well,’ I breezily replied. ‘Let’s see who’s insecure and paranoid now, shall we?’
***
I had one more person to confront.
‘Are you sure they have your meds right?’ said Bailey when I handed in my resignation.
I understood his surprise. There were two ways of playing the firing game if you were on the receiving end. The first was to fight and try to prove them wrong, and act like you were desperate to hang onto your position. Only losers played it that way. Alternatively you could sit on your arse and wait for them to make the moves. The “tough guys” favoured this approach, and generally secured a bigger pay-off to go away and stop bugging everyone. Ideally method two could be combined, as in Venner’s case, with a timely and lucrative job offer.
But giving them the finger and walking away from five hundred thousand a year with no compensation and no job to go to featured nowhere in the corporate games manual. It was akin to throwing the chessboard up in the air in a fit of petulance rather than figuring out the moves in a game you knew you’d ultimately lose.
Unsurprisingly, Smithies had backtracked on the “minor compliance breach”. But they’d find something else later. Bailey wielded the ultimate power and he didn’t care for me much either.
I guess he liked me even less after I’d explained why I was leaving.
Greg had been scared to disclose what he’d discovered at JJ, so he’d ended up helping the client to conceal it, with disastrous consequences. The money laundering reporting officer wasn’t truly independent. And when I’d raised a few enquiries, I’d been pressured to stop. This was not a healthy environment for anyone, leaving aside the numerous corporate governance issues. And I told him so.
‘Fear runs through this whole firm like a cancer,’ I concluded, with a dramatic flourish. ‘Fear of making a mistake—fear of being fired because we don’t fit in—fear of telling our people the truth—fear of facing the truth ourselves. And the rot starts from the top.’
‘That’s only your perception.’
‘Ah yes, but perception is reality, isn’t it?’
‘Those meds you’re on certainly pack a mighty punch.’
I noticed for the first time what a nervous, wiry little man he was without his bully-boy henchmen to prop him up. And he was wrong about the meds—I’d stopped taking them—who needed antipsychotic pills to deal with reality?
‘You were a sensible partner before all this nonsense. But if your mind is made up…’
I understood—there was no place in Pearson Malone for someone who had the guts to speak the truth about the organisation’s weaknesses.
‘It is.’
I stood up to leave and he rose to shake my hand. Then he paused.
‘One last thing before you go, Amy. I’d value your opinion on something. I believe you’re the one person who won
’t try to bullshit me.’
‘You can count on that.’
‘It’s about Lisa Carter—you were her sponsoring partner, weren’t you?’
How quickly he’d slipped into the past tense.
‘Yes.’
‘She had her executive interview yesterday.’
Ah yes, the final hurdle in her unseemly scramble to partnership.
‘I take it she passed?’
I didn’t care either way now.
‘Not necessarily. Having Kelly as her assessing partner didn’t help her cause, but to be frank a couple of the board expressed some doubts.’
‘Doubts about what?’
‘Her judgement.’
‘Really?’
To my mind her judgement of how best to progress in the toxic cesspool of Pearson Malone had been spot on.
‘Yes, the view is she should have spotted the irregularities at JJ.’
‘Did you ask her about it?’
‘Yes—she said she’d suspected nothing.’
‘And your problem with that is?’ I asked warily, unsure of his agenda.
‘She might be lying, afraid of admitting to having suspicions and then doing nothing…’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, still apprehensive about where this might be leading.
‘But the real worry is she genuinely didn’t suspect anything. And there’s the nub of the matter. In this job we need a sixth sense to sniff out trouble. And if Lisa lacks that, she doesn’t have what it takes.’
He seemed blithely oblivious to the irony of this statement.
‘Quite,’ I agreed. ‘So fail her, if that’s how you feel.’
‘The board is split,’ explained Bailey. ‘Everyone agreed that if she failed to smell a rat, she shouldn’t be promoted, bearing in mind the concerns at the assessment centre over her risk management. But several board members suspected she might be lying to protect her own position, and they had a degree of sympathy.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I can see that they would.’
This shocking attitude only vindicated my decision to quit. I’d no desire to be part of a culture where lying might be justified but an honest failure to identify a fraud was regarded as a major weakness.
‘So you know Lisa better than anyone—and you voiced suspicions about the JJ account, so it can’t be unreasonable to expect her to have spotted something too. What do you think?’