“It’s nothing,” dismissed Bray, “at least nothing I want to discuss here. Let’s share a cab home together.”
“Sure, let me just get my things from my office.”
“For God’s sake! Let’s just get out of here!”
“Well if you can’t wait,” placated Wright.
“I can’t!”
Once inside the cab, Bray spent several minutes making sure that the communications system between the driver and his passengers was switched off. He slumped back in his seat, gruffly apologizing to Wright for his earlier outburst.
“Tough day?” inquired Wright.
“You could say that.” Bray leaned close to Wright, his voice low. “Look, I met with Ives today and now I’m on board. It’s time to set up a couple of big deals and get out of here.”
“Why the sudden change? Abandoning your precious model are you?”
“Enough with the damn model! Given time, my group could work out the glitches, but we don’t have time. Not anymore.”
“Why? What’s happened?” asked Wright
Bray raised his hands and let them fall to his lap in a gesture of resigned frustration.
“Would it kill you to take an interest in the business these days? The banks keep calling. And guess what? They want their money back. The money they lent for the trades that exploded on us. And…,” Bray trailed off.
“And what?”
“And nothing. It’s just the financing side that’s concerning me. So a couple of big trades would help us out, and then maybe we could take a break and come back when the markets are more favorable.”
“Take a break?” exclaimed Wright. “Getting out is one thing, but what’s this break idea? We just hired twenty new analysts because you were so confident that the market opportunities were endless. What do you propose? We send all the employees on an indefinite team building exercise somewhere in Wales?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care anymore. Fire them all if you want. You know you enjoy that.”
“Yes, that’s true. I do,” admitted Wright with a sly smile.
“Anyway, we don’t have to do anything for now. In fact it’s better if business appears to continue on as usual while we put everything in place.”
They drove along Victoria Embankment on the River Thames, for a few more minutes before Bray suddenly yanked open the dividing window behind the driver. He asked the cabbie to stop.
“I think I’ll walk the rest of the way,” he announced.
“Charles, don’t be ridiculous. We’re five miles away and it’s tipping down outside.”
“The fresh air might do me some good.”
The taxi was about to leave the curb when Bray knocked sharply on the rear passenger window. Wright lowered it to see the already sodden face of his colleague. Bray’s hair was plastered to his scalp, revealing thinning areas. Wright had to lean close to hear Bray’s hoarse whisper, delivered more to the elements than to his colleague.
“Simon, there’s something else I need to tell you, but not here. Not now. I had to move quickly to contain a situation – we were in danger of being compromised. It was my decision, but we’re all implicated now.”
Bray wandered off having left a portion of his burden in the unperturbed hands of Wright, who considered guilt a weak man’s trait. Whatever situation Bray had dragged the firm into, reasoned Wright, there was always a combination of contacts and money that could buy a way out.
By the following morning, Jo had still not heard from Radcliff or his secretary. Jo was reluctant to harass Becky again, but at 10.00 a.m., she could not wait any longer. Becky’s number was engaged on each of her first five attempts.
When Jo finally got through, she was immediately taken aback by the voice on the other end. Becky was in tears and almost incoherent. Jo wasn’t sure how to react, her first thoughts being that she might be interrupting the precursor to another resignation. She was not keen to get involved.
“Becky, it’s Jo, the one from yesterday. Can you put me through to Professor Radcliff please?”
Jo heard Becky take a deep breath and then cover the receiver as she blew her nose. Becky came back on the line and then sounded as if she was reading from a prepared statement.
“I’m very sorry to inform you that Professor Radcliff is no longer with us,” said Becky, her voice already cracking by the time she uttered her boss’ name.
Jo felt an icy chill permeating through her body, “What do you mean, ‘no longer with us’?”
Becky immediately broke down in a flood of words and tears, “Oh, it’s terrible, terrible. He went sailing yesterday, like I told you. Out on Grafham Water, where he keeps his dingy. Well, he hadn’t returned from the water by eight, so they sent out a search party…” There was a brief silence, during which Jo held her breath, and then Becky continued on rapidly, as if by saying the words fast made the conclusion less awful. “Well they sent out a search party and found his boat capsized, and a couple of hours later the divers recovered him.” There was another pause. “Dead,” she finished unnecessarily.
Jo’s lips and mouth were dry as she resumed her breathing.
“But how? Why?” she managed.
“They say it appears to have been a horrible accident. He must have lost control of the boat and fallen overboard and drowned,” came the sobbing answer.
Jo’s mind tried desperately to switch off from the information she had just received, to return to the safety of the moments before she had known.
She could hear herself, like a stranger, as she asked Becky, “Um, did you ever find that package Professor Radcliff asked you to send me?”
Jo’s mundane question temporarily halted Becky’s sobs, “Envelope? No, I suppose it’s still in his study. It’s a complete mess in there. Don’t you understand what I just told you?”
“Yes, sorry. Sorry I asked. And I’m sorry about Professor Radcliff. If it’s not too much trouble, please can you let me know about any college memorial service? Let me give you my number…”
Becky cut Jo off. “It’s OK,” she said dryly, “I think you left it yesterday.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jo wanted to run. Her mind was spinning and she braced herself for the wave of emotions she felt rising due to the devastating news. The knowledge that Radcliff had been an excellent sailor didn’t help her mounting disquietude.
Jo could see Charles Bray striding toward her office. She hunched down in her seat in a futile reaction. Bray was brief.
“I would like to see you. Now, please.”
Bray made his way back to his office and Jo had little choice but to follow him. Bray remained cordial in their exchange.
“Josephine, I regret to say that we shall have to suspend our tutorials for the present. There are some large transactions coming up that will require most of my time. We shall resume at a later date.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” replied Jo contritely. She was genuinely disappointed since she would have liked to hear Bray address the concerns that Radcliff had highlighted, and also because she wanted to copy the model again in case it later proved to be useful as evidence.
“Dr. Bray, would you object if perhaps I continued my study of the model on my own?”
Bray’s look was sharp and his tone premonitory as he replied “That won’t be necessary.”
As Jo was leaving, Bray escorted her to the door, his hand nonchalantly placed on her shoulder.
“You have a very inquisitive mind, Josephine. Just don’t believe what they say about the cat.” Jo looked perplexed.
“Curiosity didn’t kill it. The cat just got careless. Make sure that doesn’t happen to you, or you may find things aren’t all smooth sailing.”
The sailing reference sent a frisson of fear through Jo. She looked up to see if the threat implicit in Bray’s words was reflected in his eyes, but he had already turned away.
Seizing the moment to bolt, Jo grabbed her purse and headed straight for the exit of the building.
She was relieved to be outside, but had no plan. She felt disoriented, as if she were standing at the center of a puzzle. Most of the pieces by themselves appeared innocuous, but Jo was convinced that the finished picture was sinister.
Jo’s first impulse was to seek help. All her life she had been supported by authority figures who could be relied on for advice. Now Jo was the one with the most knowledge, and it wasn’t a responsibility she wanted to carry alone.
Her first thought was of her old professor, followed by a bitter pang of abandonment. She then considered confiding in her family, but realized that while their concern and sympathy might soothe, there was little practical help they could provide. The exception was her brother-in-law, Chris, but he had made his position patently clear.
Despondent, Jo slumped down on a step. The malevolent sky felt like a personal affront. She thought back to her first day at Butterfly. She had felt a nervous anticipation, but also a certain detachment as if the opportunity had chosen her, negating her own volition.
The first day also reminded her of Ben. She knew he could uncover a story and showed little deference in the face of potential danger. Jo wondered if he would still think that she was reading too much into things. Jo decided that the risk of another rebuttal was better than wallowing in inaction.
She called Ben.
“What’s the latest theory?” he yawned on answering. “No, don’t tell me. Butterfly Investments is really an elaborate front for an illegal high stakes casino operation. By night the trading floor transforms into black jack and poker tables while the female analysts serve cocktails to the high rollers. Wait, I kind of like that, I’m just picturing you in a cocktail waitress uniform…”
Jo cut Ben off. “This isn’t the time.”
Jo had managed to sound sufficiently scared or serious, or both. Ben switched to reporter mode.
“What’s up?”
“I don’t think there is any gambling involved in the way that Wright and Bray are making their money. Look, there’s been a death and I’m scared it wasn’t an accident, and I discovered this large unexplained fee in a file, and the model doesn’t work in current market conditions…” blurted Jo.
“Jo, calm down, you’re not making any sense.”
Jo took a deep breath and pulled it together despite her welling tears.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. Look, I called you because I still feel bad about interrupting your dinner the other week, and I have something for your story. Some insider insight.”
“Go on. I’m listening.”
“No,” said Jo, “I have to explain in person. Show you some formulas and things. Just basic stuff,” she quickly added.
“Well, you’ve caught me at a good time. The piece is due in the editing room in two days, and what I have on tape is more than dull enough to take the shine off my career. And that just wouldn’t do for Ben Faber, winner no less, of three Lorenzo Natali Journalism Prizes.”
“Ben, can you be serious for once?” snapped Jo.
“I think you spend enough time doing that for the both of us,” Ben shot back.
Jo made and effort to be conciliatorily. “Well Ben Faber, winner of three no-doubt-very-important prizes, please could you meet me in an hour at Kings Cross, by the platforms?”
“Maybe. Are we going somewhere?”
This time it was Jo who hung up the phone.
Sixty five minutes later Jo was pacing the station. The train was leaving for Cambridge in three minutes. Ben sauntered up, smoking. Jo grabbed his sleeve and they half jogged to the platform. Jo handed Ben his ticket once they were on the train.
“I’m not sure I can accept this from a source of my story. It might compromise my journalistic impartiality. And by the way, why are we on a train to Cambridge and what does this have to do with my story?”
Jo glanced out of the window to ensure the train was already moving. “Look, I promise I’ll help you with your story later, but I need to tell you some things that have happened.”
“Jo, not again,” Ben rolled his eyes. “When’s the next stop?”
“It’s the express. Cambridge is the next stop. So you’re stuck. For the next hour at least.”
As Jo proceeded to retell the recent events, Ben’s demeanor slowly evolved through indifference to reluctant interest to rapt attention. He took out a pocket notebook to start taking notes, but Jo asked him not to.
Ben was genuinely surprised by the news of Radcliff’s death. The Professor was a well-known academic figure in the media, and nothing had been announced to the press as yet.
“And I’m convinced Bray was warning me, or even threatening me, just before I ran out today,” concluded Jo.
She could see that she had now caught Ben’s interest, and that something was intuitively engaged in his journalistic mind.
“Look Ben, the reason I’ve dragged you along is that I need to recover some papers from Professor Radcliff’s study, and I don’t want to do it alone. But if you want to turn around when we get there and catch the next train back, I’ll understand.”
“As I said, you caught me on a good day. In other words pretty desperate for some decent input to my story. And I don’t think that either of us wants to go public with the circumstantial stuff you’ve just dished. So the legitimate inside scoop you promised me later had better be good.”
Jo felt a rush of gratitude. “Yes, it’s great,” she assured, certain that when she had recovered the copy of Bray’s model that she would be more capable of thinking of some interesting, but uncompromising material for Ben’s piece.
Jo and Ben took a taxi to Jesus College. They made straight for the office of Professor Radcliff’s secretary, the location of which he had always kept a considerable distance from his own study.
Becky was in her late thirties, ample in curves, and old fashioned in her demeanor and dress. Her rigid platinum curls and the pervasive smell of lavender gave Jo the sensation of walking onto a forties’ film set. Becky’s desk was strewn with boxes of tissues and several paperback romance novels. Becky herself was still red-eyed.
Jo introduced herself and Becky managed a limp smile and even limper handshake, before registering alarm at the sight of the recognizable figure of Ben Faber. She leaned toward Jo, whispering, while Ben pretended not to hear.
“You haven’t told the press have you? About the Professor, I mean?”
“No,” whispered Jo. “He’s here as a friend.”
Becky still looked suspicious, and continued to talk at a barely audible level. “It’s just that the college has decided not to issue a statement until the Professor’s daughter, Isabella, has been informed. They think she is staying at an ashram in India somewhere.”
Jo patted Becky’s arm, “Well Mr. Faber is not here in a professional capacity, I assure you.”
Feeling more reassured, Becky was now smoothing her hair and her flower print dress as she smiled at Ben.
“Becky,” coaxed Jo, “do you think it would be possible to visit the Professor’s study? I really need to find that envelope. You know, the one Professor Radcliff wanted to send to me?”
Becky was obviously hesitant, “Well, really it should be Isabella who is given the first opportunity to go through her father’s things. I would hate for anything to be moved around.”
Ben stepped forward, flashing a rugged smile. Jo saw Becky glance down at her desk. Following her gaze, Jo noticed that the hero on the cover of one of the books bore a striking resemblance to the reporter.
Ben leant over Becky’s desk and surreptitiously assured her that they would leave things undisturbed, as if it would be their little secret.
Becky became coy. “Well I suppose it wouldn’t really do any harm. Do you think I might get an autograph in return?”
“Of course, do you have a pen? And something you’d like me to sign?”
“What, no stash of photos with you?” mumbled Jo. Ben kicked her ankle.
His celebrity obligations fulfilled, Becky handed
some keys to Jo.
“Have the police had access?” asked Jo.
Becky looked surprised. “No. There was nothing suspicious about the Professor’s death. Just a horrible, horrible accident.” Becky reached for a tissue box and Jo and Ben made a polite but hasty exit.
They walked across the courtyards to the staircase leading to Radcliff’s study. Jo resolutely climbed the steps refusing to pause before unlocking the door at the top. But once the door was open, she hesitated on the threshold.
The scene she was surveying took on a special poignancy. Her attention was drawn to the sight of Radcliff’s reading glasses placed on an open book on his desk, and a half a cup of cold tea precariously balanced on the edge of a stack of papers.
Jo glanced at the blackboard, relieved to see that Radcliff’s explanations relating to Bray’s model had already been erased and covered with the details from a different tutorial.
Ben coughed behind Jo, making her jump. He put his hand on her shoulder and gently propelled her forward into the room with his imparted strength.
“What are we looking for?” he asked.
“An envelope addressed to me with some papers inside. And another envelope that Radcliff was going to send which Becky never found either,” answered Jo.
Ben held his hands out questioningly, waiting for more specifics.
“The papers will have lots of formulas on them. It’s a copy of Bray’s model that I have to get back since it could be linked back to me. There may be some of the Professor’s hand written notes with it…” Jo trailed off.
Both surveyed the room, every surface piled with math textbooks, papers and files. Jo realized the absurdity of asking Ben to help with the search, so she started on her own.
As Jo went through the stacks of books and papers in the study, she began to have the uneasy feeling that she was not the first to do so. Some piles ended mid-way through a research paper and others were a mix of disparate topics. Jo had spent enough time helping Radcliff in his research to have learned that there was logic to his seemingly haphazard filing system.
Ben noticed Jo sitting on the floor, her brows furrowed. “Something wrong?” he asked.
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