The Catch (21 page)

‘It was always a possibility,’ Patricia said. ‘But a solo venture posed various dangers for him.’

Gordon said, ‘We had guaranteed protection for Hank, particularly if the whole affair went public.’

‘I still have many high-level connections, both politically and in the media,’ Patricia reminded them. ‘Hank was aware that we could shield him from a firestorm.’

‘Even if that meant revealing your own part in the affair?’

She shrugged. ‘This was in the context of a total meltdown. We had no reason to believe it would come to that. But you’re right to highlight the importance of secrecy. It was – no, it
is
imperative to the success of our plan that Templeton has no inkling that we’re behind it.’

‘Understandable,’ Stemper said. ‘But it made you vulnerable. I wonder if Hank merely exchanged your protection for that of another party ...’

‘And something went badly wrong.’ Patricia nodded grimly. ‘You’re completely in tune with our thinking.’

‘So what now?’ Stemper asked. ‘Granted, you need to know why Hank died. But on the larger issue of Templeton – and the money – can you walk away from it?’

****

This was the central question of the meeting, and they all knew it.

‘The honest answer?’ Patricia said. ‘I’m not sure that we can.’

‘How much is it worth to you?’

She glanced at Gordon. ‘Templeton is in the United States at the moment. We have private detectives monitoring the negotiations in Delaware and New York. Once we received notification that the agreement was ready to sign, Hank was going to confront his boss with a weight of accumulated evidence. If Templeton didn’t pay up, that material would go to the authorities in half a dozen countries. It would obliterate the value of his company and put Templeton behind bars for a very long time.’

She hesitated, expertly building the tension. Jerry was gaping at her like some docile beast, his mouth lolling open.

‘In return for silence, our price was fifty million pounds.’

Once again Stemper didn’t flinch. But there was a noticeable gleam in his eyes, as if everything had become much clearer. Jerry closed his mouth with an audible snap. He’d never been told exactly how much was involved, and Gordon regretted that he was present to hear it now.

He said, ‘The crucial thing is to locate the paperwork. If Hank partnered with someone else, his accomplice may be preparing to use it to extort money from Templeton.’

‘Or from us,’ Patricia said. ‘It’s not inconceivable that Hank kept incriminating documents relating to our part in this.’

Stemper said, ‘Is his death likely to jeopardise the merger?’

‘We’ve had no indication of any problems.’ The thought provoked a weary sigh. ‘I dearly hope not.’

‘Hank was senior, but nowhere near business-critical,’ Gordon said. ‘And the due diligence is already complete. I suspect the Americans will never even hear of it.’

Patricia said, ‘The key point is that on Tuesday night we lost control of our own destiny, and we don’t know if that control was wrested from us deliberately or quite inadvertently.’

Stemper nodded. ‘You shouldn’t rule out a coincidence. But with fifty million at stake, that becomes rather more difficult to believe.’

‘If there’s a conspiracy, it must revolve around this woman in the pub with Hank, as well as the two men who returned to the accident site.’

Jerry stirred into life again. ‘A couple of young guys? I don’t see them cooking up something on this scale.’

‘Foot soldiers, Jerry,’ Patricia declared crisply. ‘They come in all shapes and sizes.’

Stemper agreed. ‘It’s prudent to assume the existence of an unknown adversary. Are there any obvious candidates?’

‘None we can think of. It really did seem watertight. And we’re so close – only a week or two away.’ She made a fist. Gordon saw the liver spots on her hand stretching tight over her knuckles. ‘If we can find an answer quickly, we should be able to retrieve the situation and lay our hands on what’s rightfully ours.’

****

Stemper, pragmatic as ever, said: ‘Is the house still unoccupied?’

The Blakes looked at Jerry, who said, ‘Far as I know.’

‘Good. I suggest we search it tonight.’

Gordon sensed an inward groan from Jerry. Chiding himself for enjoying it, Gordon thought he should mention what they had found on the laptop. He described the email that referred to the British film.

Intrigued, Stemper said, ‘I’d recommend getting hold of a copy on DVD, if you can.’

‘I suppose we have nothing to lose by checking it,’ Patricia said. ‘And your last hunch was certainly spot on.’

Stemper inclined his head, modestly, and returned the compliment: ‘That was an excellent briefing. Thank you.’

Gordon could feel the glow of pleasure emanating from his wife. Stemper picked up his glass and gently swirled the water round. ‘Let’s reconvene tomorrow for a progress report.’

A handkerchief had materialised in his free hand, which he used to wipe the glass. Gordon was astonished – even more so by the fact that neither Patricia nor Jerry appeared to notice what he was doing: removing his fingerprints.

Patricia leaned forward, eager to capture Stemper’s full attention. There was an unmistakeable sheen of tears in her eyes.

‘Those funds weren’t intended to squander on the comforts of retirement. The bulk of it was earmarked for a specific project. We were going to do a lot of good with that money, and now someone –’ the sadness turned to rage as she snarled ‘– some
animal
has taken that from us.’

As she stood up, Stemper rose with her and nodded solemnly. ‘I understand.’

She took a step away from the table, moving out of Jerry’s earshot. Gordon also stood, determined to remain privy to their conversation.

In barely more than a whisper, Patricia said, ‘There are three things we have to find out. Who are they? Why did they kill Hank? What do they want now?’ A glance at Jerry, and another, less hostile, one at Gordon, and then she added: ‘And when we know that, we make them pay for what they’ve done.’

After Cate’s departure, an uneasy silence. Dan barely trusted himself to speak, so it was Robbie who gave way first.

‘I dunno why she had to get so worked up. We’re still mates, aren’t we?’

‘You changed your hairstyle and set up an alibi, but didn’t think to mention it to me. Is that what a “mate” does?’

‘Dan, you’re in the clear, remember? It’s not your workplace this cop’s gonna come sniffing round.’

‘Not yet. But if they lift the fingerprints it’ll make no sense. O’Brien’s won’t be on there. Neither will Cate’s. That’ll send DS Thomsett back to you for an explanation, and the more he looks at you the more he’ll start to wonder if you were at the pub ...’

Robbie nodded glumly. ‘I know. It’s not good.’

‘
My
fingerprints are on that envelope.’

‘Yeah, but it’s not as though they’ve got them on record, have they? Unless you’ve got a criminal record you never told me about.’

A lopsided grin. Dan made a face. ‘Funny.’

‘Look, it was a damp night. They probably won’t get anything.’

‘We’ve got to pray they don’t.’

Robbie gave him a thoughtful look. ‘You might wanna do something with your hair, though. How about a flat-top? Or a number two all over?’

He rubbed his scalp, mimicking the actions of a razor. Dan was incredulous.

‘I can’t believe you’re treating this as a joke.’

‘Ah, Dan. You need to try and relax a bit. Otherwise you’re gonna keel over from the stress.’

****

It was advice that Dan neither wanted nor needed from Robbie. He picked up his phone, hoping for an excuse to leave. But he didn’t need an excuse, did he?

‘You getting them in?’ Robbie asked as Dan stood up. Then he groaned. ‘Aw, come on. The night is young.’

Dan ignored him. He marched out, and was halfway along New Road before Robbie caught up. The street was busy with after-work drinkers and early theatregoers. The noise of the traffic from North Street was like a brass band tuning up.

Robbie grabbed his sleeve, a gesture of clumsy affection. ‘Sorry, man. I know this is really hard on you.’

‘You don’t give a toss about me. Or anyone else.’

A hollow laugh from Robbie: Dan’s temper had always amused him.

‘I’m still gonna sort out your car, I promise.’

Dan was only half listening. He reached North Street and turned left, towards the bus stop. It wasn’t until a procession of vehicles had rumbled past that he noticed the altercation taking place across the road.

A taxi had pulled up at the kerb, its front passenger door open. A group of young men were clustered around it, haranguing the driver. The pedestrians flowing past were studiously ignoring the swearing.

‘Unhappy customers,’ Robbie muttered. Then he said: ‘Hey—’ as Dan sprinted across the path of a bus.

****

He only just made it. Adrenalin pumping, Dan burst into the group, grappling with the man who had launched an angry kick at the car’s tyre.

There were shouts of alarm as the others realised what was going on; one or two lashing out at Dan with clumsy punches. He moved away, turning so they could see him clearly, but his attention remained locked on the man – the boy – he was holding.

‘Louis! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

His brother’s mouth opened but he was too stunned to speak. His eyes wouldn’t focus properly. He reeked of booze.

There were angry cries of ‘Get off him’ and ‘Leave him alone, wanker’; and then someone muttered ‘It’s his brother’; and at that the group fell silent and abruptly resembled nothing more than schoolboys in the presence of a teacher they respected.

‘Fucking hooligans,’ the taxi driver yelled. ‘Few years in the army, that’s what they need.’

He drove away, a couple of the boys flipping him the finger. Louis shook off his brother’s grasp. He was red-faced now, his voice an octave too high when he tried to explain. ‘He wouldn’t take us to Hove. We offered him good money, but he treated us like shit—’

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Dan said. ‘This isn’t how you behave, and you know it.’

‘Our money’s good as anyone’s.’

‘You can’t afford taxis. Where were you going, anyway?’

‘Strip club!’ one of the others shouted, to guffaws. Dan gave the boy a contemptuous glance, then he realised it was Miles, who’d been friends with Louis since infant school. The Miles that Dan knew was shy and polite: a wallflower. What had got into them?

‘Louis, you need to go home.’

‘Piss off. I don’t have to obey you.’ Louis stepped away from him, swaying slightly. His eyes were dilated and his gaze wouldn’t settle on anything for more than a second or two.
This isn’t my brother
, Dan thought.
It’s an impostor
.

He turned to address the group. ‘Have you been drinking all afternoon?’

There were a few grunts of assent, with a defiant edge.

‘What else have you had, besides the alcohol?’

No one answered, but Miles betrayed them with a goofy smile. Dan became aware that Robbie was loitering nearby, staring at Louis. When he sensed Dan’s attention he looked away.

The distraction was Louis’s cue to move. ‘Come on, we’re out of here.’

‘You’re going home.’ Dan reached out but his brother chopped viciously at his arm.

‘Make me.’

There were snorts of laughter as the boys jostled past him and set off up North Street. For all their youth and bluster, Dan knew he couldn’t physically stop them; nor did he want to. He’d never in his life struck out at his brother. The thought of doing so made him feel sick.

Sidling up, Robbie said, ‘Best to let ’em go.’

‘Did you see the state they were in?’

‘You were seventeen once, remember?’

‘I didn’t go round behaving like that. They could have got arrested.’

Robbie shrugged. ‘They weren’t doing any real harm. You’ve got to realise, your brother’s a free spirit. A bit like me,’ he added.

‘I hope not,’ Dan said, making sure Robbie understood that he wasn’t joking in the slightest. ‘Anything but that.’

Stemper had pictured O’Brien’s farmhouse as an imposing period building, Grade II-listed, tile-hung in the Sussex fashion, boasting oak beams and tile floors and great open fireplaces. In fact it was a modern four-bedroom house that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a 1970s estate of executive homes. The main benefit, as far as Stemper could tell, was the seclusion offered by the extensive grounds.

A night visit was far from ideal for a thorough search, but Stemper was eager to create some momentum. This evening’s meeting had left him in no doubt as to the importance of making a swift breakthrough.

What shocked him most was that the Blakes had entrusted Jerry Conlon with the task of watching over an asset worth fifty million. Stemper wouldn’t have relied on Jerry to take his suits to the dry-cleaner’s.

****

He’d insisted that they wear latex gloves, overalls and woollen hats to minimise the trace evidence. He could tell Jerry thought this an absurd overreaction. Conlon looked like a refugee from some hideous alternative-theatre group: without the greasy mop of hair on his brow, his face resembled that of an elderly lizard.

Stemper said, ‘I understand there was talk of the alarm code being changed?’

‘Yeah, but it wasn’t.’

‘I know that. Didn’t you find out why he’d considered changing it?’

Jerry sneered. ‘You never met him, did you? Hank was always bitching about something or other.’

‘He was of vital importance to the Blakes, and your job was to protect their interests. You should have made it your business to know.’

A moment of icy silence, then Jerry sniffed and said, ‘Yeah, well, water under the bridge. Let’s get on with it, eh?’