by Iain Cameron
‘Enough of all your moans and groans,’ Henderson said, ‘let’s get on with finding the real culprits. I’m handing out to the murder team, details of eleven companies who have shown an interest in buying Markham Microprocessors.’
‘What for?’ DC Bentley asked.
‘I’m convinced the deaths of Mathew Markham and David Young are connected and were committed by someone with a grudge against the company, to remove an barrier from someone’s way or to reduce the share price, giving the people who want to buy it a cheaper price. I think the answer lies with one of these eleven companies and I want you people to find out who it is.’
‘How do we do it with this,’ DC Bentley asked, looking blankly at the paper in his hands.
‘What you all need to do is make an appointment to see a senior director. The Managing Director would be my preference but the Financial Director or Commercial Director should do, and find out what interest they have in acquiring Markham Microprocessors and how badly they want it.’
There was screech from the back of the room.
‘What’s going on over there?’ Henderson said.
‘I’ve been given California sir,’ DC Mat Thomas the youngest member of the team said. ‘I’ve never been to California.’
‘You’re still not going, Mat. What I want you and the other officers with foreign companies to do is conduct desk research. Look at their web site, business news sites and social networking sites to determine how well Markham fits in with their future plans and give them a call or send them an email to get their take.’
The more experienced members of the team who had been given a trip within the UK, kept quiet knowing they would get a break away from the office for a day or two on what, on the face of it, looked to be a routine task.
‘Remember,’ he said, ‘you’re only interested in the MD or one of the main board directors. It’s unlikely a junior officer or even a major shareholder would be involved in this, it has to be someone who would receive some benefit from killing Markham and Young and so it’s more likely be the Managing Director or the owner of the business.’
‘I don’t imagine this stage of the investigation will move too quickly,’ Henderson continued, ‘as many of these senior people will be hard to tie-down, but keep pressing and remind them this is a murder investigation and not a visit from the Monopolies Commission.’
‘It’s not likely that when we talk to them,’ DC Bentley said, ‘they’re going to admit to killing Sir Mathew, is it?’
‘You’re right Phil, but you’ll either get an impression they want to buy the company and will stop at nothing to get it, in which case we’ll investigate them further, or they might tell you about another company’s activities.’
He concluded the meeting and returned to his office, subdued by this new change in direction. Like DC Bentley, he did not believe the MD in one of the companies they visited would all of a sudden admit to murdering Sir Mathew, so this was effectively a first pass. The next stage of the investigation would take longer but he was not sure he would be allowed to see it through, as the patience of CI Harris, the Chief Constable, and the press was wearing thin as it is. To prevent this, he decided not to tell Harris and try to put off the inevitable until he could prove motive.
He woke up his dozing computer, intending to shut it down, when he noticed an email from DI Speers.
‘Hi Angus,
When we spoke earlier today, I said my guys were checking the alibis of McGovern, Ehuru, Cahill and Rooney for the night Sir Mathew Markham was killed, now I’ve got some feedback for you.
McGovern & Cahill - Betsy Naylor and Debbie Thomas confirm going to Cahill’s flat with Cahill and McGovern and neither men left the flat during this time and all were asleep before Ms Thomas at 4am. CCTV analysis proves he didn’t go out.
Ehuru - He’s a bouncer at the JayCee club in Croydon. He worked there until 3am and was given a lift home by fellow bouncer Ross Wilder at 3:30am. Wife confirmed he didn’t go back out.
Rooney – Lives with a large family at home. Brought home drunk at 11:30pm by a local taxi firm. Taxi driver confirmed. His mother says he didn't go back out.
I hope it helps,
Trevor.’
THIRTY-TWO
For the third time in a week, Suki Markham woke without a hangover. It had been four weeks since her father’s death and without doubt she had been shaken by it, but even before, she was becoming bored with her hedonistic lifestyle. It wasn’t only the drinking and the late nights, but the strange ‘friends’ who hung around her apartment in Earl’s Court and the bizarre drugs slipped into her hand when so much off her face she had no idea what she was putting in her mouth.
Jackson, who was staying with friends in Covent Garden last night, arrived at eleven.
‘Hi sis,’ he said as he breezed in.
She closed the door and followed him into the kitchen.
‘So what’s with the new clothes?’ she said. ‘Jeans and t-shirt too good for you now?’
The long, untidy hair had been cut and two-day stubble, a testament to laziness and not a desire to look sexy, was gone, leaving him looking younger and leaner than the average 24-year-old.
‘Ha,’ he said as he filled the coffee machine and switched it on. ‘The jeans I wore to work were worth more than this lot put together but I thought it was time to smarten up. You know, become a bit more responsible now I’m to care for dad’s legacy. I see the bug is catching on.’
She executed a little twirl to show off her new, toned-down look. Short skirts, boob tubes, see-through blouses, lacy stockings and all the rest would find a good home in the local charity shop, she was finished with it all and now looking forward to a brighter future which didn’t include any baggage from the past.
The electronic box close to Suki’s ear buzzed.
‘It must be William. Jackson, go check the living room’s tidy will you? I’ll let him in.’
The last time she saw William Lawton was at her father’s funeral when he read a moving eulogy, summarising her father’s business achievements from the start-up of the business through to the present day, before reading tributes received from many well-known business leaders and television personalities.
‘Hello William.’
‘Hello Suki,’ he said leaning over and giving her a kiss and a warm hug. ‘How are you bearing up?’
‘I’m fine.’
She followed him into the living room where he strode forward to greet Jackson. ‘Hello Jackson,’ he said offering his hand.
It was Tuesday, a business day and it was no surprise to see William dressed in an Armani suit and pressing the flesh with his trademark smile, as if meeting contacts at an Atlanta business conference. The meeting had been requested by William, pre-empting them doing the same thing, although his hasty timing left her a little annoyed. She had never worked in a commercial business and never had any money worries, so she couldn’t understand the unseemly rush, but Jackson assured her it was normal as he would be worried about his position and the effect the continuing uncertainty might be having on customers and suppliers.
They sat around the dining table, positioned beside large bay windows and overlooking Bramham Gardens where Suki would often sit and read, although if the goings-on among the trees and bushes opposite were interesting, as they were on balmy summer evenings, it would be several minutes before she turned a page.
‘As you know Suki,’ their visitor said, ‘Mathew had been trying to sell the company before he died. At the last count fifteen companies have shown an interest and I’m sure the number would be higher, if he had framed the sale differently and publicised it better, but that’s the way he wanted to play it.’
‘He always kept Jackson and me informed.’
‘Good. Whilst it would be an exaggeration to say this tragedy has affected our day-to-day operations, because it hasn’t, as Mathew had retired from an active position over a year ago, it has left a cloud hanging over Markham House and it will n
ot move until a decision over the ownership is made. Every day, I seem to be fielding more and more questions from journalists and lawyers acting for potential buyers and in their own officious way, demanding to know what is happening.’
His focus was on her, ignoring Jackson who sat silently and unperturbed to be a lowly software engineer in the same meeting as his Managing Director.
‘What I want to know is firstly, the contents of the will and secondly, what you intend to do. I would imagine Mathew has left most of his shares to you, Suki but did he leave them in trust or did he put some qualification on how they were to be used?
She had known William Lawton for over twenty years and with an intuition inherited from her mother, she could read him like a book. He was greedy, self-serving and while he may have liked her father at one time, latterly they did not get on and he appeared to be milking their relationship for all it was worth. He couldn’t care less about the succession or whatever he was calling it, he only cared about William Lawton and the empty shell of a bitch that he had for a wife.
‘The will was read on Saturday,’ Suki said. ‘Mum received the house in Ditchling and two million pounds in cash and shares.’
William’s mouth fell open. ‘Fantastic. She deserves it. I hope she retires somewhere warm to enjoy it.’
‘Olivia received more or less what she put into the marriage, which wasn’t much, and as you can imagine, she isn’t happy with the result. She’s threatening to sue but it’ll be a waste of time.’
‘Good.’
‘Hamish was left a large sum which will be placed in a trust to provide him with an income. Only time will tell if it makes the slightest difference, but I don’t think the business needs to recruit a new packer in Burgess Hill just yet.’
Lawton said nothing, his mounting anticipation palpable.
‘My father’s holding in Markham Microprocessors.’
‘Yes?’ he said, with a little too eagerness.
‘He left it to me…’
‘My God, it’s happened. What was Mathew thinking? I thought he would set up a trust or something, I mean,’ his face creased in a wan smile, ‘what do you know about running a high-tech business, Suki?’ He stood up and paced the room. The glasses were pulled off as he emphasised a point, a characteristic developed to make him look more intelligent.
‘What do you intend to do about the sale, Suki? There are people, important people, waiting in the wings, expecting to be allowed to bid for the company and some will be more than a little annoyed if the process is held up or halted...’ He spun round and stared at her, his glasses gripped tightly in his hand. ‘The sale will still go ahead, I assume?’
‘This little charade has gone on long enough,’ Jackson said.
‘Don’t interfere Jackson,’ Lawton said as he retook his seat. ‘This is a discussion between Suki and me.’
‘What, don’t interfere, you lowly software engineer?’
‘I mean this is between Suki and me, so please allow us get on with our conversation.’
‘You didn’t let her finish. What Suki was about to say was my father’s shares were left to Suki and to me, 50/50. As you know William, Suki has no interest in running the company on a day-to-day basis and all the voting powers of her shares will be passed to me.’
‘So, what...you’re the new owner? I can’t get my head around all this.’ His face was a jumble of emotions and it took a few seconds before he spoke again. ‘Well, well congratulations are in order Jackson. Good luck to you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘So what are you planning to do? Are you going to carry on doing your current job?’
He shook his head. ‘The first thing I’m going to do is stop the sale.’
‘What? You can’t do this.’
‘Why not? You said it yourself, I’m the new owner, I can do whatever I like. It was never really a sale in any case, more an expression of interest.’
‘There are people, many influential and powerful people who believed they are in with a chance of buying a great British company. They will be extremely disappointed not to be given the opportunity to bid. There will be repercussions and some might seek redress in the courts and others might–'
‘Let them. Perhaps I should explain. You see, a part of my father wanted to sell, to cash in his chips and wander off into the sunset but there was another part of him who believed he had put so much of himself into the business, he could never walk away. Hence he couldn’t put it up for sale and what he was looking for, was for another company to come along and take care of his baby, as well as he would.’
‘He wanted to sell, I’m sure he did.’
‘We could argue about the merits of a sale all day long, but as far as I’m concerned it’s all water under the bridge now as it’s not going to happen. But more important, another part of him distrusted his Managing Director, but he couldn’t persuade his children how a man who played football and tennis with them, let them beat him at cards, and competed as a robot on the X-Box, could in any way be crooked.’
‘What are you saying, Jackson? I’m not crooked. This is scandalous.’
‘So,’ Jackson continued, ‘he concocted the Korean bid to smoke you out, William and to show us non-believers you had no more loyalty to the Markham cause than a journeyman footballer seeking out the highest wages in the Premiership.’
‘Concocted the Korean bid? I don’t believe what I’m hearing but it’s a damned lie to say I have no loyalty. I would do anything for Mathew, for the business. You know I would.’
‘The merest whiff of the Korean offer and you rushed out to put together a consortium to acquire the company, a consortium loaded with a couple of asset strippers and several well-known criminals.’
‘You can’t go around sounding off about respectable businessmen like this. You just can’t.’
‘But there’s more. I mean there’s the small matter of the scam David Young was pulling.’
‘What? Yes, David, you’re right. The police have started an investigation, I understand. He was fiddling invoices right, left, and centre. Pocketed over eight million they said.’
‘Father knew about it months ago.’
‘What? How?’
‘Tania Jamieson.’
‘Who?’
‘Your Accounts Payable Assistant; the tall lady with the strawberry-blonde hair. She called father at home when all her attempts to bring this serious matter to your attention were ignored.’
‘I’m a very busy man.’
‘Too busy to investigate a major fraud? I don’t think so. You didn’t investigate it because,’ he said pointing a finger at Lawton’s chest, ‘you were behind it. You set it up and it was you, not David Young who benefitted from the proceeds.’
‘That’s an outrageous accusation. Don’t you know who you are talking to Jackson? I’ve known you all your life. I would never steal from the business, I wouldn’t. I understand incriminating papers were found in David Young’s house, how could it have anything to do with me?’
‘I only know that it hurts me to say these things but the documents found at Young’s house were not there because he was stealing from the company, they were there because he was investigating a theft, a theft initiated and perpetuated by you.’
Lawton’s face turned hard. ‘You can’t prove any of this.’
‘I admit you’ve covered your tracks up well, using a bogus company and moving the money to Switzerland, but I’m sure when the police are finished, they’ll come to much the same conclusion as we have and come looking for you. If this isn’t enough, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they don’t reopen the case surrounding David Young’s death. Maybe it wasn’t an accident, after all.’
THIRTY-THREE
‘Now, this is what I call impressive,’ Walters said, as she stepped from the car and stood admiring the house from the top of a long gravel driveway.
‘I reckon the gardener’s house at the entrance is twice the size of my flat. I’m in the w
rong job,’ Henderson said.
‘You never know, solve this case and you might get promoted.’
‘I still couldn’t afford the gardener’s house.’
The chemical tycoon, Danislav Shalberov operated his worldwide business empire from a large country estate in Surrey. The word ‘mansion’ was a term often overused to describe apartment blocks in smart districts of London, the pads of Essex gangsters and many new housing developments in the Home Counties. The term ‘chateau,’ was used in much the same way by the French and conjured up large, dreamy spires in the Loire, but in fact it could apply to any building with a vineyard, no matter how small, ugly, or insignificant. However, neither expression could quite capture the size and stature of this place.
To the ignorant at map-reading or those befuddled by a complicated sat-nav system who came upon this place by chance, it could easily be mistaken for an up-market conference centre, rehabilitation clinic for the boozy wealthy, or a luxury five star hotel, as it looked too large and opulent for one man, his wife and 7-year-old child.
It was one of the most expensive family houses in the south-east and boasted every extravagance a billionaire could desire, including twenty-five metre swimming pool and spa complex, heated driveway, and a purpose-built, temperature-controlled wine cellar with room enough to store fifty-thousand bottles and enough space to have a party and drink some of it.
They approached the door and before Henderson's finger reached the bell, a formally attired footman, no doubt alerted to their presence by the security man at the gate, opened it. They were shown into a bright and lightly decorated sitting room with a grand piano at one end and two floral-patterned settees at the other, arranged either side of an intricately-patterned marble fireplace. The walls were painted a light yellow colour, and in combination with high ceilings and enormous windows at both ends, the room had a warm, airy feel, even if the weather outside suggested something different.