The Fire Man (8 page)

Wagner was puzzled. He still couldn't work out why CFG had put Fairclough on the case. It didn't particularly bother him; he just couldn't fathom why CFG had not engaged a better-established, larger company. He preferred dealing with the big guys; they were easier to handle in many ways. Still, he wasn't overly concerned. He could handle Drew McRae.

The adjuster was astute enough and he even quite enjoyed dealing with the man, but he had never yet come across an adjuster with whom he couldn't negotiate – with the possible exception, he conceded, of Sam Scott in Glasgow, but then Scott was an absolute animal and a thick one to boot. No, McRae was okay, but Fairclough would be mustard-keen on this case. It was a touch out of their league, so they would be absolutely desperate to impress Consolidated, which could make things trickier.

In itself, none of this would normally matter, but Wagner's keen antennae told him that the Hellenic case was, possibly, not entirely, as it seemed.

Quite a few of the cases that found their way to Wagner and his colleagues were, for want of a better word, dubious. However, the golden rule for assessors was simply to stick to the brief, like a good defence barrister. It wasn't his concern whether the claim was legitimate or not, just so long as he didn't know anything about it. All he needed to be certain of was that the insurer would accept the claim. The most important thing right now was to make sure his own company didn't get too deeply engaged and involve themselves in too much work on a case that could ultimately fall down. For assessors, it was strictly “no win – no fee”.

There was nothing here that should cause an insuperable problem
, he thought. Yes, it was arson, but there was nothing to implicate Hellenic. Yes, the stock valuation looked excessive to say the least, but so long as Kanelos had rock-solid paperwork to support his valuation, that shouldn't be too difficult either – so what was bothering him?

He shrugged inwardly.
Let's just get on with it and try not to spend too many hours on the case. At least, until we get an interim payment,
then we should be home and dry – hopefully.

* * *

The location that Kanelos had suggested for their update meeting with Wagner was a Premier Inn, just off the M6 near Stoke. It was as anonymous a hotel as you could desire and rooms were usually available for business meetings during the day at a modest cost. On top of that it was conveniently situated, nearly midway between Walsall and Wagner's office in Manchester.

As he parked his car, Wagner spotted what he guessed to be Kanelos' Mercedes, positioned two spaces to his left. It was a reasonable wager as there was only one other car in sight, a rather nondescript grey Fiat – somehow, he couldn't see that being the chosen mode of transport for the urbane Mr Kanelos.

Entering Room 216, Wagner was greeted warmly by Kanelos, who, slightly to his surprise, was not alone. Reclining on a purple settee, which dominated the space beneath the window, was the short, scruffy, but powerful looking figure he had last seen with Kanelos at his initial site meeting ten days earlier. The man, who hadn't acknowledged Danny's entry, had a stubbly unshaven look and a bald dome above a fringe of greasy hair. He was smoking and flicking his ash into a coffee cup in flagrant disregard of the “No Smoking” sign, which was clearly evident on the top of the television set. He was also managing to conduct an animated but inaudible conversation on his mobile phone.

During the previous meeting, Kanelos hadn't introduced the fellow to Wagner. The man had departed after only fifteen minutes and as Angelous and Gallo had been present, he hadn't bothered to enquire any further. However, he now inclined his head towards the recumbent figure while staring at Kanelos inquiringly.

‘Oh, yes, sorry. This is my driver, Mike. He's got a few things to sort out for me, so I'll introduce you later,' said Kanelos.

Insolent looking sod for a chauffeur,
thought Danny, but he merely nodded and pulled out a chair before sitting down at the table. All the while, Kanelos shuffled a significant stack of invoices and spreadsheets.

‘Shall we get going?' he said.

‘Of course, but before we get too far into the numbers, Mr Kanelos, I want you to be fully aware that we are going to need quite a bit of specific information to satisfy the adjusters before we can formally request a payment on account. You do understand that?'

‘Well, we haven't ever been in this position before,' replied Kanelos with a rueful grin, ‘but I guessed as much. What are you going to need?'

Over the next few minutes, Wagner outlined to Kanelos the minimum information he anticipated would be required to justify an advance payment. It was exhaustive, and included: audited prior year accounts, management accounts, sales records, purchases, advance orders, import documentation in respect of stock and a host of other data. To Danny's surprise, Kanelos appeared impressively unfazed. He decided to test the man's patience a little by listing the further information that would undoubtedly be required.

‘We're also going to need full documentation of all your initial spending on emergency measures and, last but not least, you're going to have to give me at least a clue as to how much you're likely to be looking to claim in total?'

‘Okay, well let's deal with the big picture first,' suggested Kanelos. ‘And by the way, call me Alex, eh? We're going to be talking a lot over the months ahead. No need to keep it formal, is there?'

Danny nodded.

‘We reckon we are going to need at least £12 million, plus whatever comes out on the business interruption side,' Kanelos paused and looked keenly at Wagner, who realised that the scruffy man on the settee was also scrutinising him closely.

Deciding not to show any reaction at this stage, Danny simply acknowledged the statement with a curt, ‘Right.'

Suddenly, the reclining man got to his feet, muttered something indecipherable to Kanelos and left the room, without acknowledging Danny.

What a rude bastard
, thought Danny.
I wouldn't employ him for five minutes.

Kanelos, seeming totally oblivious to the other man's departure, continued speaking in his beautiful, oh-so-refined, dark-chocolate voice. ‘Is that doable for your people, Danny?' he asked, ‘Because, if you don't think it is, you had better tell me now and we can explore other options.'

Realising that some committed response was clearly unavoidable, Wagner replied, ‘Everything is doable, Alex, but I suspect your number is right at the top end of the scale. You must realise that. The adjusters certainly aren't going to be thinking in those terms, I'm sure, so what we put to them will have to be good – very, very good.'

‘Don't worry, Danny, it will be,' the Greek responded. ‘We have great accountants, detailed invoicing, solid substantiated orders and superb records. You will have everything you need, I can promise you that.'

I'll need it,
thought Danny, before replying with an ersatz display of confidence. ‘That's great to know, Alex, because the key to success in these sorts of cases is to have rock-solid documentation. If we've got that, we should be able to get something you are happy with.'

‘I've told you,' replied Kanelos with a sudden hint of asperity, ‘you can consider it done.' Danny nodded sombrely, unable to chase from his mind the unsettling thought that there was something not quite right about the Greek's choice of words.

With Kanelos seemingly satisfied with Wagner's commitment to the cause, the two men settled into a detailed examination of the stock spreadsheets and began the laborious work of preparing the first draft of the detailed claim.

Kanelos is on the ball
, thought Danny. He was clearly an accountant by background, with a conspicuously thorough knowledge of all the company's figures, but he was more than just a number-cruncher – much more. Wagner was impressed.

As they worked, with their heads close together across the small table, the sandalwood fragrance of Kanelos' aftershave became pervasive. He glanced sideways and became aware of just how peculiarly graceful the other man's long, slim, well-manicured fingers were. His attention wandered for a second as he absorbed how unnaturally slick and sophisticated Kanelos seemed to be in every possible way. The clothes, just a shirt and designer jeans, were impeccable, stylish and unassuming, but clearly of superb quality. The watch, which occasionally peeped from his left shirt cuff, was a classic, understated, leather-strapped Blancpain, and the floppy golden hair was so clean that Danny felt an overwhelming desire to stroke it. The man was elegance personified;
how could he put up with an oaf like that driver?

By mid-afternoon, their work was done and the two men strolled to their respective cars in the bright light of a beautiful summer's day. As he climbed into his BMW, Danny observed that the car park was still empty. The grey Fiat had gone; only his car and Kanelos' immaculate silver Mercedes remained. He raised his right hand in a gesture of farewell as Kanelos climbed into the driver's seat of his car. There was no sign of the insolent Mike.

Usual bollocks,
thought McRae.

The interim payment request from Adelstein and Brooks had duly arrived. It contained a request for an immediate payment of £1.5 million to enable Hellenic to meet
urgent emergency expenditure
on temporary offices, demolition and debris removal.

He was reading the submission prior to the case review meeting, which was scheduled for twenty minutes' time. It was quite clear that Wagner couldn't possibly justify more than a fraction, based upon the costs incurred to date, but it never stopped them trying.

What had fascinated him more was the policy file he been studying for most of the morning. It contained, apart from the policy wordings, the history of changes in addresses, endorsements, premiums and, most interestingly, the sums insured.

Although CFG had insured Hellenic for nearly five years, some details had changed substantially over the last six months. For the first four years, there had been a combined total sum insured for buildings, machinery and stock of only £3.5 million. Then, firstly in November 2006, the building had increased from £750,000 to £2.5 million and Hellenics' “interest” had been formerly amended from lessees to owners. Remarkably, two months later, the stock had skyrocketed from £2 million to £8 million. Finally, the plant and machinery sums insured had been lifted from £750,000 to £2 million in March 2007.

There had been no claims during the first four years apart from minor water damage incidents, and none at all for the last six months.
What had changed six months ago? Why had they suddenly acquiring the lease, after renting for years? What about the new (well, second-hand he suspected) machinery? Or the huge increase in stock value? Everything suggested a set of massive new business orders, but why? Definitely worth asking Wagner for an explanation.

The scheduled meeting started a few minutes late. Despite misgivings, McRae had decided to bring Karen back into the equation and had also invited Dave Jenson and Kevin to join them.

Kevin was reluctantly allotted the task of examining the corporate structure, checking the returns to Companies House and highlighting any interesting developments. The boy was bright enough and he had the time, but he could be careless, so he would need watching. Out of the corner of his eye, McRae could see Kevin looking both surprised and pleased to be assigned an important task, particularly, he guessed, as this time it didn't involve ploughing through shit in a shattered ruin.
Let's hope he appreciates it
, thought McRae.

Dave was the chalk to Kevin's cheese. A totally unambitious, square-faced man – the acknowledged office comedian – he was experienced and sound, but unquestionably a plodder. When you wanted something done properly and had plenty of time, Dave was the go-to man. The only problem here was time; there wasn't any. Nevertheless, Dave was handed the tedious, but necessary, job of tracking down DI Tina Forsyth at West Midlands CID.

McRae recognised that the police angle was probably a waste of time, but it was important to be aware of the police view, even though it was well known that commercial fraud investigation was invariably a low priority for Britain's police. Too complicated, too technical and not enough brownie points for anyone – except the City of London Fraud Squad – to be interested. This wasn't London.

‘You can get her number from Steve Balfour,' said McRae. ‘Oh, and while you're at it, chase him up for the final forensic report, will you?'

McRae himself undertook the task of drafting the interim payment submission, but also to analyse Hellenic's customer base and the order history from the records supplied. Grim, meanwhile, looked into the equipment register.

Lastly, but by no means least, McRae turned again to Karen to do some more digging on the garments. He had developed a hunch that the manufacturers in Greece could be worth following up and asked Karen to liaise with an ex-pat adjuster called Simmons, based in Athens, to check that Viktor Kaloudis, the company whose name had appeared on the freight cartons, was legitimate.

While they had been talking, Grim had been fingering a small Dido-labelled, baby-pink, V-necked top that he had picked up from the small pile of Hellenic stock samples. He was screwing up his eyes and had his nose close to the fabric. This led to some tasteless ribbing from Karen, which he had studiously ignored. Eventually, when McRae had finished speaking, he threw the top onto the table.

‘Just have a close look at that label. Notice anything?'

Karen was the first to spot what Grim was referring to; a small row of tiny holes in the fabric, just below and behind the label.

‘The label's been changed?'

‘That's what it looks like.'

McRae studied the fabric more closely. ‘Have you looked at the others?'

‘No, I've literally just noticed it. Shall we have a look?'

They shared a selection of skirts, blouses and dresses between them. In almost two thirds of the clothes, the same distinctive pattern of pinprick holes was apparent. It looked as if a marginally larger label had been removed and replaced. The difference was virtually undetectable. The washing instructions and country of manufacture labels appeared to be original.

So what did it mean? Was it even relevant?
Opinions were divided. Whatever it indicated, McRae decided it would be a damned good idea to ask Balfour to give the garments a microscopic examination, so he asked Jenson to take it up with Balfour when he spoke to him. One thing was blindingly obvious; the origins of the stock needed close examination and substantiation.

As they wrapped things up, McRae concluded it had been a pretty good meeting, but, unfortunately, the more they looked at the claim, the more questions arose.
We're going sodding backwards,'
he thought to himself as he descended the stairs of the office, walking just behind Grim – who was bounding ahead in his eagerness to get onto the pavement for a cigarette.

Soon after, cupping their hands to protect their respective lighters from the breeze, the two men sheltered, contrary to the building owner's strict rules, in the lee of the main entrance as they lit their cigarettes. They were on their way to have a quick meeting with Steve Wagner over a coffee at the nearest Costa. If they played it right, they would fit in another cigarette before they arrived.

* * *

Wagner was already inside when they reached the coffee shop. He was paying for a latte and Grim took great pleasure in adding their orders to his own. ‘Don't worry, you'll get it back on your expenses, mate,' he joked.

Once the coffees had been consumed, the serious debate began, but negotiations didn't take long to come to a crunch. After comprehensively shooting down Wagner's expectations, a figure of £400,000 was quickly agreed as a notional compromise figure.

Wagner pretended to be disgusted at the penny-pinching attitude of the Fairclough adjusters, but both parties knew that, in truth, his main concern was achieving some early payment, regardless of amount. Any payment would be tantamount to a de facto admission that the claim was valid.

The assessor was considerably less relaxed when McRae told him the paperwork he would need to see before he could submit a positive recommendation.

‘Drew, that's a bit fucking unreasonable,' he remarked, frowning deeply. ‘Hellenic need a payment now. If you seriously insist on a full list of suppliers, customers and stock movements over the past three years, I'll have no problem getting it, but it'll take time. Then you'll want to look at it and before we know it a month will go by, and that just isn't on!'

‘Come off it, Danny, responded McRae. ‘That info shouldn't take more than half an hour to produce and you know it.'

‘If the bloody place hadn't burned down, you might be right – but it has, so you'll have to be realistic,' was the reply.

The friendly but serious debate continued fruitlessly before a compromise was eventually reached. Danny would produce whatever he could get within the next three days and, if they were satisfied, Fairclough would approve a payment no later than ten days later.

Following some further scurrilous chat – football, the erotic potential of the supposedly “fit” new female adjuster at Egerton-Walker and general market gossip – the meeting drew to a close and the parties went their separate ways.

* * *

Wagner wasted no time. The documents requested were in Fairclough's possession within three days.

Towering quantities of seemingly authentic manufacturer's invoices had been produced, almost all emanating from the Kaloudis outfit in Greece, together with lists of orders from customers in Britain and the Republic of Ireland. All in all, quite a lot had happened: Kevin had been busy on his research, showing real application for a change, Dave had managed to catch up with the police and they had even had a rapid initial response from Balfour.

The revelation was Kevin. He had done a highly competent job that had yielded some interesting material. They now had a full timeline covering Hellenics' recent history: directors' addresses, changes of directors, shareholders and, best of all, a partial schedule of directors' other interests. Kevin had even tracked down some particulars relating to the sale of the lease on the Walsall premises and he had had the intelligence to obtain a rough working guide to the potential market value of the site at the time of the transfer.

McRae whistled quietly as he saw that the estimated guide price for the sale of the twenty-two years of the lease had remained as little as £210,000. The Foundry Estate was hardly Mayfair, but he was still shocked at how humble the valuation was – particularly in light of the estimated £1.6 million repair cost and the £2.5 million sum insured.

Of course, the sum insured represented the cost of replacement or reinstatement of the building, rather than its market value, but it was food for thought nevertheless.

Turning to the directors and their shareholdings, he was interested to note that Alex Kanelos had only become a director in August 2006 – less than a year previously. At the same time, Spiros Angelous had joined the board, and two other gentlemen with Greek names had stepped down.

What intrigued him further was the shareholding division. Kanelos seemingly owned 40% of the shares, Angelous had 9% and another company under the name of OCV Ltd owned the balance. If the information was correct, Hellenic had changed ownership completely. Consolidated may have insured the company uneventfully for years, but over the last six months it had quietly, effectively become another beast entirely.

To his credit, Kevin had also attempted to run a search on OCV but had established that it was a company registered in the Irish Republic. There would eventually be information available on OCV, but he hadn't got it yet. Kevin also pointed out that there was little information on Kanelos himself. It seemed unlikely that his only interest was Hellenic. After all, according to his address, the man lived in Kensington and showed all the signs of being pretty wealthy – or “a rich bastard” as Kevin had succinctly put it. What's more, he hadn't popped up on any Google searches, apart from a single listing as a former pupil at Westminster School.

McRae's interest was heightened at this. Westminster School, Britain's third most influential public school, alma mater of umpteen Prime Ministers, was not a school for nonentities. Kanelos must surely have a wealthy background and he absolutely must have other business interests.
How the hell did he come to be involved in a provincial rag trade operation like Hellenic for God's sake?
Curiouser and curiouser.

Dave's report was less interesting. He had tracked down Detective Inspector Tina Forsyth and had even managed to meet her for a chat. As expected, the police were simply treating the fire as ‘deliberately started by persons unknown' and, reading between the lines, were not inclined to pursue the matter much further unless someone gave them very good reason. However, Forsyth hadn't totally ruled out police involvement and had shown a little more interest than most, but the message was clear: unless Fairclough could come up with something solid, they were too busy to take an interest.

At least Dave had enjoyed the meeting with Forsyth. “Best looking copper I've ever seen,' he joked. ‘You ought to get yourself round there, Drew! Anyway, she might call you. I gave her your card in case anything turns up.'

‘Gee, thanks, Dave,' McRae replied drily.

The Balfour report was useful though. Attached to it were a series of detailed, magnified photographs, showing quite clearly the formerly microscopic sewing machine holes. Balfour had also been able to confirm that labels had originally been attached to the garments.

Every single aspect of the claim was turning out to be unsatisfactory. Nothing was straightforward. The problem was that every question simply led to another question. They were no nearer to a resolution, yet were more and more certain that the claim was fraudulent – or were they?

McRae repeatedly questioned himself.
Am I obsessed with getting a result here, or should I just get on with wrapping up a fast settlement and keeping my nose clean?
He knew the answer; he should sort the claim out nicely, stick in a bloody big fee and hope that CFG were happy. Frank Jackson would be delighted, Wagner would be rich and Hellenic would be over the moon – sometimes there were no prizes for rocking the boat.

He knew what he needed: one of those nerdish, geeky, foul-smelling, basement-dwelling teenage geniuses so beloved by fiction writers. Someone who could effortlessly hack their way into Kanelos's email account, his bank account, mobile phone, the Pentagon and anything else useful – like that girl, (or was it a bloke?) in
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. God, that would be handy.

Unfortunately, the only geek he knew was Fairclough's very own in-house IT man, a balding alcoholic whose answer to every technical problem was limited to a reboot with the on/off switch. He strongly suspected that the kind of miracle hacker he was looking for would most likely already be in custody awaiting extradition to the States for penetrating the CIA database. Another solution would clearly be necessary.