Trail of Greed: Fighting Fraud and Corruption... A Dangerous Game (16 page)

Pierre called me in the evening to confirm that all the transfers had gone through. He was back in pocket. Mike and I were now fifty grand better off. One thing I hadn’t thought of was how to explain that to the tax man, but I would worry about that later.

He had also had Purdy’s resignation letter delivered to AIM. I wondered how they were going to react to that. I phoned Steven and informed him that if he went round to AIM he might get a scoop.

All that was left to do was to work out how to inform all the AIM investors about the trust fund that had been set up specially to distribute some “unexpected dividends” that had accrued to them. We had all their names and addresses so it would be a question of writing a suitable letter and organising to get it mailed out. There was no real rush but I suggested to Pierre that we could work on it tomorrow morning if he came round about ten.

So the next day Pierre and I sat down to draft a circular letter to the eight hundred or so investors in the three funds of AIM. We had to come up with a policy which would be equitable to all concerned and then think up a way of explaining this bonus.

We no longer had the use of Sophie’s high-speed, highcapacity laptop so Pierre had gone off to buy a new one, which would save us a lot of time compared with trying to do the job on my old steam-driven one.

It took him no time at all to fix it up. I was astonished at the power and speed of the thing.

We started by creating three lists of all the names we had, the amount they had invested and the revenue that had accrued to them over the last three years. All the information was on the back-up discs that we had. Once we had totalled up the amount distributed and compared it to the revenue that AIM had generated we had a difference of about six million. We allowed a certain amount for a reasonable percentage to AIM for their overheads and profit and got the figure down to a little over the five million.

We had to make an arbitrary decision as to how much of the five million should go to each of the three funds. That done, we could add this to the total that had been paid out and come up with a new total, which we could express as a percentage of the invested capital. As each person had received varying dividends according to the various notes in the ‘commentary’ box, they would be allocated the difference between the new standard percentage and the one they had received.

It sounds complicated but by using a spreadsheet the job was done fairly quickly. After a couple of hours we had three lists with an amount against each name. On average it amounted to between five and six thousand pounds for each person. They were all going to get a very pleasant surprise.

Then came the drafting of the letter. “I’ll do that tomorrow,” I told Pierre because I felt we needed a break. Also I had to go round to the golf course as I knew that Keith was due to tee off at ten past two.

“Why don’t you come?” I suggested to Pierre. He was more than willing. We decided to have lunch round there.

While we were halfway through our lunch Keith and Jack came in. I invited them to join us. Not wanting to have to explain the intimate details of Dad’s past I introduced Pierre as a golfing friend over from France for a couple of weeks.

Keith was immediately interested and started to quiz Pierre about the supermarket industry in France. Pierre was able to describe to him how things had developed over the last thirty years and how they were now all over the place.

“Practically every town of any size has a Carrefour or a Leclerc or one of the others on the outskirts of town and, because of that, multiple stores have grown up around them. France has much more land than over here and the planning rules are not so strict, I don’t think.”

“I’ll bet they’re not,” said Keith. “That’s the biggest problem we have. All the bloody zone restrictions on buildable land drives me nuts. The consumers want supermarkets because we can offer cheaper prices and I’m blocked by local authorities who complain about us destroying the High Street. All I’m doing is trying to give the consumers what they want.”

“They’ve got a point though, haven’t they?” I said mildly.

“If they want to keep the wee shops in the High Street then they should give them subsidies or cut back the rates or find some other incentive. Where are the people going to park?” Keith was starting to get excited so I switched the conversation over to the upcoming Ryder Cup. I didn’t want him getting apoplectic.

Keith looked at his watch. “Tee off in fifteen minute, Jack. Would you guys like to join us?”

“Why not,” I said, “Are you up for it Pierre? It was decided and we went off to get our clubs and made our way over to the first tee.

It was sunny and warm, with just enough wind to make the game interesting. The fairways had been recently cut and the heather had not yet reached its full season’s growth. Getting out of the rough was going to be easier than it would be later on in the season.

Four drives, reasonably straight down the middle and Keith was waddling off after his ball in his usual aggressive manner – short bandy legs, feet splayed out at ninety degrees and shoulders hunched. His relationship with a golf ball was definitely unhealthy. For him the ball was the enemy and he was going to make damn sure it behaved itself and did what he wanted it to do. It never occurred to him that it was an inanimate object and was only reacting to the way he hit it.

In spite of Keith’s battle with the ball we had a good round and Pierre and I managed to win on the eighteenth.

Back to the bar for a beer. Jack had to leave fairly quickly and Pierre excused himself at the same time.

This was my opportunity to have a word with Keith. I suggested another drink and asked him if he had ten minutes to spare – there was something I wanted to ask him.

“Sure,” he replied.”How can I help you?” “You know Gavin Reid, don’t you? Wasn’t he the guy you introduced to me here a few weeks ago?”

Keith looked at me warily. “Yes,” he said. “Lawyer from Edinburgh. I use him from time to time. What about him?”

“Is he any good?” “I’ve had no problem with him. Why? Have you heard something?”

“Oh, no. it’s just that I have a friend who needs a lawyer in Edinburgh and he asked me if I knew anyone.”

“What’s it to do with?” asked Keith. “I don’t really know the details,” I said. “Something to do with investments and finance.”

“If that’s what you want Reid’s not the right guy. He’s much more of a specialist in property deals. But I’ll ask around for you if you want. I’ve got quite a lot of contacts over there.”

“That would be great,” I said. “There’s no rush but if you can get me a recommendation it would be much appreciated.”

We finished our drinks, took leave of each other and I drove back to Letham.

I got back to the house. I parked the hired car I had taken to replace my old Rover, which was now a jumble of burnt out metal. Must get it taken away, I thought but I had to wait for the insurance people to send in their report. It was already a week late. With the insurance money and the management fee I had extracted from Purdy I suddenly realised I could treat myself to something a bit more fitting for my station in life. That’s what I would do. As soon as I got the ok from the insurance company I’d treat myself to a bright red convertible Mercedes.

With that decided I called Mike. All was in hand. They had transported a very subdued Purdy back to Edinburgh and left him outside the car park of the squash club. I wondered how he had managed to explain his absence to his wife. Well that wasn’t my problem. I hoped I’d seen the last of him. Doug and Mac were now taking turns to watch Dewar.

Dad was still smiling at me from the wall as I went through to the kitchen to fix myself a coffee. I sat down to flick through the newspapers. The usual hyped-up nonsense about the goings on of some celebrity football player was splattered across the front page. Any intelligent comments on issues of note were hard to find. There was a short article on Alex Salmond’s latest pronouncement on independence for Scotland. That brought me back to our man Dewar again who was, if I remembered correctly, now an SNP member.

Pierre and I had discussed who the man might be that Purdy had been too afraid of to mention. We had come to the tentative conclusion that the arrows seemed to be pointing Dewar’s way. I wondered what Alex Salmond would feel about one of his members being at the bottom of a murder plot. I recalled what Pierre had said. Now that the Purdy fiasco was over and if that was the source of Dewar’s extra cash, then perhaps he might back off and leave me alone.

But I wasn’t at all sure and hoped that the boys were keeping a close eye on him.

The phone rang about nine thirty the next morning. I cursed, got up and went downstairs to answer it. It was Mike.

“Guess what,” he said triumphantly. ”It was worth our while to watch Dewar.”

“What do you mean?” I asked nervously. I was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable whenever that man’s name was mentioned.

“Our friend Alan Purdy has not yet flown off to the Caribbean or wherever we hope he disappears to. After we dropped him late yesterday afternoon he didn’t go straight to his car and drive home as you might have thought he would.”

“What did he do then?” I asked. “In spite of the messy state he was in he went straight into the squash club, and presumably made a phone call because half an hour later Mr Bill Dewar drove up in a rather excited state and disappeared inside. Mac was watching at the time and, as neither of them had ever seen him before, he had the sense to go in and see what might be going on. They were both in the corner of the bar having a very heated discussion. Purdy was apparently ranting and raving, trying to tell Dewar something. Mac says that Dewar looked as if he was going to blow a gasket.

“They argued for about ten minutes then Purdy got up and stormed off. Doug picked him up outside and said that he drove straight home.”

“And Dewar?”

“He stayed for another five minutes or so and then he left as well. He was not looking a happy man according to Mac.”

“Did he go home?” “Presumably. It was quite late. We don’t actually know for sure because Mac lost him. By the time Mac got back to his car Dewar had already driven off. He says he’ll pick him up tomorrow from his house. He knows where he lives.”

“OK. How’s Sophie by the way? Why don’t you both come over tomorrow afternoon? I’ve got a few things I need to tell that lady.”

“We’ll come over but you won’t tell her anything,” retorted Mike. “I’ll tell her all she needs to know.”

I sat back and thought about the news I had just heard. We hadn’t anticipated that. Purdy had seemed so scared about the man who had apparently told him to get rid of me that we thought he would stay well clear of him. That maybe wasn’t Purdy’s smartest move. I suspected that he would definitely be wise to skip the country now, as fast as he could.

Having nothing much to do for the rest of the day I resigned myself to do the bit of gardening that I had been promising to do for a couple of weeks.

I went up and changed into old trousers, a tee shirt and a shirt, stuck on a cap and went outside to spend a couple of hours weeding. I was very soon completely engrossed in my task. Whatever part of my mind that was not being used to make decisions about what was a flower and what was a weed became occupied with thoughts about the relationship between Purdy and Dewar. What was the hold Dewar had on Purdy? Or was it the other way round? I was convinced that Dewar knew either all about the scam of AIM or the fact that Purdy had a mistress. Either of the reasons would be enough to milk hush money from him and that would explain the hold that Dewar had over him.

Suddenly I remembered something. I got up and went indoors to the work that Pierre and I had done for the trust. A quick look through the files. There it was, near the top. A name, age, eighty-two, fifty thousand pounds, exminer and a comment, “No problem – one son but estranged.”

The name was David Dewar and his address was in Linlithgow.

Could this be Bill Dewar’s father? I went back out to continue my weeding.

Waking is a strange process – or I should say “returning to consciousness”.

I had thought that perhaps dreaming would become less prevalent as one aged but this is not the case.

I was being chased for some completely illogical reason in some place that was totally strange to me. I rushed into a tall building. People were looking strangely at me. I dashed for the lift and flung myself in it as soon as the door opened. I hit a button – any damn button and the lift started to move just as my attackers were running into the lobby, guns out and, for some reason, they were wearing masks.

I noticed that I had hit the button for the fourteenth floor. The lift started to accelerate, passing floor seven, eight, nine. It showed thirteen on the LED display above the door but I could feel no sense of it slowing down. It accelerated past fourteen and carried on upwards. At twenty-five it suddenly stopped and immediately proceeded to go back down again, picking up speed as it went. I started to panic as it plunged earthwards, past fourteen again. It arrived at zero and restarted its climb upwards. I was scared rigid, sweating with fear as the bloody thing went up and down several times. Nothing I could do would stop it. I hit every button I could see but it continued inexorably doing its imitation of a yoyo, getting faster and faster while I felt more and more claustrophobic.

Through the glass doors of each floor I could see faces in a kind of a blur. Faces pressed to the glass jeering. As the lift passed every floor there they were – hands, noses, chins pressed to the glass, laughing at me.

Then I woke up. I was shaking and sweating and my heart was definitely pounding, yet I had been asleep. I realised this as soon as I was aware of my real surroundings, lying on my own bed in my own house.

That had been a few weeks ago. However, on this particular occasion, the awakening was different. It was gradual. Consciousness came to me slowly. First my brain started to operate. I lay totally still because it was telling me that something was unusual. I was not lying in my own bed in my own house. I was somewhere else but I had no idea where.