Due Diligence (27 page)

‘They’re reopening the line.’

‘Who else?’

When he mentions the names of two more clearers, I take a deep breath, breathing out slowly. The pressure applied by Sir John has worked, we might get through this yet.

My father says he doesn’t think he can do any more, he has business at Westminster to attend to. ‘None of my lot should go back on their word.’ My lot, I presume, being those banks from whom he extracted promises last night. ‘If they do, call me, Raef. I’ll be back at lunchtime to see how you’re getting on. Unless you want me to stay now.’

But I decline the offer. It will be best if we maintain the illusion of normality. I can see he wants to say something else, but all he does finally is reach across and squeeze my arm, a gesture of affection and encouragement, before he goes.

At boardroom tables around the City our fate is being decided. But it’s out of my hands now. I sit here, quite alone, and wait.

2

A
ctivity: deals being done; numbers shouted. 8.30 a.m., and Henry and I stand in the Dealing Room surveying the scene. It’s not as it was two days ago, but there is life.

‘Must’ve been some arms you twisted,’ Henry remarks, and then we do a slow circuit of the Room together, stopping at various desks to chat with the dealers. There’s an almost palpable sense of relief in the air: they still have their jobs; their employer, it seems, is not going under. Owen Baxter shouts a profanity and everyone laughs, but the laughter has a strained quality - they’re trying too hard to be normal. The banks which made promises to my father have come through, and Sir John’s three clearers have reopened their lines to us. One of mine called-in-favours is already trading with us, and the other one’s reopening its line in an hour. We look like a Dealing Room; we look, for the moment, like we’re going to survive.

‘This permanent or temporary?’ Henry asks as we turn at the far end of the Room.

‘Permanent.’ I glance at him and smile. ‘In case anybody asks.’

Coming back down the second aisle, we pause by the bond desk: there are two empty chairs. Henry asks where this missing pair are, but no-one has seen them this morning. Henry doesn’t make a scene of it, he enquires about the gilts market, then strolls back with me to his own desk.

‘Those two have bolted. We’ll need replacements.’

I suggest that we should wait, that we can’t be sure they have gone.

‘I’m sure.’ Henry keep his voice low. ‘I heard they were sniffin’ around. Yesterday must’ve made up their minds. Two out of how many? After yesterday, you can’t complain, Raef.’

He is, I know, absolutely right. If all we’ve lost out of yesterday’s débacle is two bond dealers, we should be thankful.

I ask Henry to make a list of any bond dealers in the market looking for a change. He jots a note to himself. I don’t tell him right now, but I've just made my decision about Daniel’s replacement: it will be Henry. He has proved his mettle in the past twenty-four hours; at very least he deserves his chance. But this news can wait till Monday; in the meantime the job, and its responsibilities, are mine.

Out in the corridor I run into Vance. ‘Well?’ he says.

‘It looks all right. The lines are opening up, we’ll get through it.’

There is the hint of a smile. ‘Darren’s going to hate this.’

Then Vance’s face changes. I glance back over my shoulder to see what he’s looking at. Inspector Ryan. And just behind him, Hugh Morgan.

‘Mr Carlton,’ the Inspector says. ‘I presume your office is free.’

3

‘I
could charge both of you.’ Ryan points at Hugh then at me. ‘Obstructing a police inquiry. Withholding evidence.’

‘Evidence of what?’ Hugh objects. ‘We haven’t got anything.’

Hugh just had time, before we entered my office, to tell me that Inspector Ryan has discovered I’m involved in carrying out Penfield’s investigation. Hugh whispered that Ryan wasn’t best pleased. And I can see that myself now. Ryan has a tight rein on himself, he isn’t shouting, but he is extremely angry.

‘We would’ve passed it on if we’d found something concrete,’ Hugh says. ‘We knew Penfield was keeping you informed.’

‘You aren’t the police, Mr Morgan. Neither of you. And nor is Penfield.’ He glares at Hugh. ‘Didn’t it occur to you that by stampeding through Shobai you might queer the pitch for us? Us, the police?’

‘Shobai has nothing to do with this.’

‘The gentlemen at Shobai gave you their word, I suppose.’

‘Daniel Stewart’s murder isn’t connected with Shobai. That’s my professional opinion.’

‘Your professional opinion cuts no ice here, Mr Morgan. Not after this cosy little operation you’re been running.’

Chastened, Hugh looks at the floor now, so I take up the baton.

‘You saw the fraud note? What was I meant to do, sit on my hands?’

But before Ryan can answer, Hugh speaks again. ‘Anyway why didn’t the Met follow it up straight off? You got me in for the Shobai suicide, why not for Stewart?’

‘For what it’s worth,’ Ryan says grimly, ‘we thought we had the fraud angle covered. Penfield assured me he had his own investigation underway. I received a daily report.’ Ryan looks at me. ‘Only Penfield’s report on Shobai arrived at the same time as I was taking a call from Shobai’s Treasurer about Mr Morgan here’s visit. I asked the Treasurer if any other investigator had been around. Apparently not.’

I take a moment with this. Then I ask Ryan if Penfield mentioned Carltons' other problems.

He nods. ‘You seem to be in the fortunate habit of receiving the benefit of the doubt, Mr Carlton. That isn’t something I’d rely on much longer.’ When I turn toward my chair he says, ‘I wouldn’t bother. We’re going out shortly.’

The significance of this remark eludes me.

‘Listen,’ says Hugh. ‘We’re as far along with this thing as anyone would’ve been. Whatever we’ve found, you’ve got. Penfield’s given us till tomorrow night, so what’s to stop us working this together? I mean, if this fraud thing's connected with Stewart’s murder, and we figure out the fraud, that must help you, no?’

‘You thought we might work together.’ Ryan’s tone is ironic.

‘We crack one, we crack them both,’ Hugh says. ‘If we pool what we have, we’d both stand a better chance. That's all I’m saying.’

Hugh doesn't seem so much like a trader now, more a corporate banker, wheedling an advantage. Ryan sniffs, but he sees that what Hugh is proposing makes sense.

‘My investigation isn’t a bargaining chip,’ he decides. ‘If you have information that might help me, you’re obliged to hand it over. So. Beyond what I’ve seen from Penfield, what do you have?’

‘Not much,’ Hugh says.

‘How much?’

‘Nothing,’ I cut in.

Ryan studies me a moment, then he turns to Hugh. ‘You can go now, Mr Morgan.’

Taken aback, Hugh asks if he can continue with his investigation of the fraud.

‘Your arrangement with Penfield still applies,’ Ryan tells him. ‘But from now on, you keep me directly informed.’

Ryan nods toward the door. Hugh has no choice now, and with an apologetic shrug to me, he departs. Ryan crosses to the window and looks out. ‘Morgan knows nothing about your daughter, I suppose?’

‘No.’

He continues to stare out, perhaps waiting for an explanation of why I, a suspect in Daniel’s murder, have chosen to become so deeply involved in an investigation of my own. At last he faces me again. ‘There’s something I’d like you to see.’

4

W
e take Ryan’s car, and after driving through the City streets we emerge by the river and continue a short way before he slows, mounts the pavement, and parks. He flips over a small sign on the dashboard: Metropolitan Police. Then we get out.

Walking by the river wall, he asks me, ‘You know where we are?’

I do. We’re approaching St Paul’s Walk, where Daniel was murdered. There’s a constant hum of traffic, and a cold breeze coming off the river.

‘Two people,’ Ryan says. ‘Early hours of the morning. Not much traffic — it’s drizzling anyway, so the drivers are all concentrating on the road. It’s dark. Who’s going to notice us?’ He leads me down the steps to the pedestrian underpass beneath Blackfriars. There are a few cardboard cartons along the wall, where the tramps sleep. ‘According to forensics, the muzzle was within inches of the point of entry when it was fired.’ A short way along he stops and rests against the river wall.

‘I’ve got a bank to run.’

‘I’m sure they can spare you awhile.’

This must be where it happened, where Daniel died. When I shiver, Ryan asks if I’m cold.

‘What’s your point, Inspector?’

‘Let’s say I'm just sharing some information. What you wanted, isn’t it?’ When I make no comment, he goes on in that matter-of-fact tone. ‘The bullet entered at the base of the skull. Stewart died instantly.’

A sound escapes me, I cannot help it.

‘He slumped against this wall and slid down,’ Ryan says, and then I follow his gaze down. Beneath our feet, we’re actually standing on it, there is a dark stain on the pavement, and I instinctively step back.

‘Considerable bleeding,’ Ryan remarks, and now I feel bile rises in my throat. Swallowing, I take another step back. Then turning, I breathe in the cool air from the river. Ryan watches me. I can’t do or say anything for almost a minute, the brutal fact of the murder seems finally to have pierced. And that bloodstain. A part of Daniel. Ryan stands very still. At last I face him.

‘Why am I here?’

‘To see.’

‘So I’ve seen. Can we go now?’

‘It's not like a balance sheet is it, Mr Carlton? Not something that a bit of fooling with the profit and loss account can put right. He’s dead. Last Wednesday night someone stood here, put a gun against the back of his head and pulled the trigger. Can you picture that?’

He sees by my look that I can.

‘Good,’ he says, and when I go to step by him he grips my arm. ‘We haven’t finished yet.’

‘I've finished.’

‘No,’ he says. ‘Not yet.’ Releasing my arm he asks, ‘Have I been fair with you? About your wife and Stewart? Your daughter? Do you see the journalists pounding on your door?’

‘I know.’

‘Do you?’

‘All right, I appreciate it. Is that what you want? I appreciate it.’

‘It’s not your appreciation I’m after, Mr Carlton.’ I can’t hold his gaze. He won't use what he knows about Annie against me, I see that now. He desperately wants to discover who killed Daniel, and why; but unlike nearly everyone I deal with each day, he won’t break the bonds of decency to achieve what he wants. He won’t sacrifice two innocents — Theresa and Annie — just to get there. Could I say the same? And if I was, as he is, a decent man, would Theresa ever have sought solace with Daniel? And would I be standing here, as I am now, on the very spot where Daniel was murdered, yet thinking of how soon I can get back to the bank? In the midst of my life, perhaps more than half of it over, it occurs to me that I’m not at all like the man I intended to be. And this man who probably doesn’t even own a dinner jacket — he is.

‘You knew Stewart better than anyone. And you know what’s been going on at Carltons better than anyone. I’m asking for your help,’ Ryan says. The traffic hurries by, someone beeps a horn. ‘You’re in the habit of keeping things to yourself. That really isn’t much use to me.’

‘What do you need?’

‘Cooperation.’

I glance down at the bloodstain. I tell him that I will try.

‘How far do you think we are from your office?’

‘Why mine?’

‘From the bank.’ He looks pained. ‘It’s not a trick question. How far are we from Carltons? On foot.’

‘Fifteen minutes?’

‘My sergeant did it in a little less.

Now I see what he's getting at. Shaking my head, I tell him that he has Vance wrong. ‘If Stephen says he was working, he was working. Believe me, I know him.’

‘You thought you knew Stewart.’

That one stops me.

‘Anyway,’ he says, ‘Vance wasn’t the only one working late at the office.’

‘The nightdesk?’

‘I’ve spoken with Baxter. No, I was thinking of someone else.’ He gestures to the pavement. ‘This is where Stewart was found. Does anything strike you as curious?’ He sees that I am lost, and so he continues. ‘Why wasn’t the body dropped in the river? Sensible precaution. It might not turn up for days, Thames Barrier or somewhere. Put yourself in the murderer’s shoes. You’ve fired the shot, what now?’

‘He’d have to get away.’

‘You’d have to get away from the body. In the shadow here, no traffic passing, what’s to stop you from heaving Stewart over the wall?’

I suggest that a man who has just committed a murder isn’t likely to be thinking straight.

‘If he was a professional he would be. Or if he’d planned it.’ Ryan pauses. ‘And there’s a third possibility. It’s possible he wanted to, but couldn’t. Stewart was what, about your size?’

Yes, I tell Ryan, give or take a few pounds: around thirteen stone.

‘What can you tell me about the bank's chef?’

My head comes up in amazement. ‘Win?’

‘We’ll talk in the car.’ Ryan glances at his watch. ‘I think we’ve seen enough here. Don’t you?’

It takes me less than five minutes to give Ryan everything I know on Win Doi: the Vietnamese background, his escape in a boat after his parents were killed, his time in a refugee camp in Hong Kong. I learnt none of this from Win, it all came secondhand, from the friend of Mary Needham who recommended him to me. Ryan looks mildly surprised.

‘You hired him yourself?’

I explain how it happened. How Mary Needham’s friend works with a refugee resettlement charity, that she specializes in browbeating acquaintances into offering employment to those in the charity’s care. My turn came with Win. I had no idea what he was going to do. And then, when I met him, he mentioned with a nervous smile that he hoped one day to do in England what his family had done before the war in Saigon: run a restaurant. Problem solved. I took him on as a kitchen-hand at Carltons and forgot all about him. Four years ago that was, and his hard work has done the rest. Now I’m not looking forward to the day when he tells me he’s leaving to start a restaurant of his own.