Free to Trade (17 page)

'I hope you are enjoying yourself,' she said.

I mumbled something about how it was good of Bloomfield Weiss to arrange such a nice occasion.

She looked at me and laughed. 'Yes, ghastly, isn't it? I don't know why we do it. Still, I suppose there are always some people who will take any excuse to get drunk on a Saturday afternoon. But I have to be here. What drags you out?'

I hadn't seen her laugh before. It was a relaxed, genuine sound, not a bit like the drunken braying around us. I thought I had better not go into the details of Rob's pleading, so instead I said, 'Cash is very persuasive, you know.'

'I certainly do,' she said, smiling. 'I'm the one who works with him all day.'

'That must be a joy,' I said.

Cathy grimaced and then smiled at me over the lip of her champagne glass. 'No comment,' she said.

'So who is this American client Cash has a "special relationship" with? Is it the savings and loan in Arizona which bought the fifty million Swedens?'

Cathy's smile disappeared. I had overstepped a boundary. 'Now I really can't comment,' she said brusquely, the imperious saleswoman again. 'I can't discuss one client in front of another.' She had taken to heart the reprimand Cash had given her earlier. My curiosity would have to go unsatisfied.

Chastened, I was searching for a less controversial topic of conversation when Rob appeared at my elbow.

'Hallo, Paul,' he said. Then he looked hard at Cathy. 'Hallo.'

'Hallo,' she replied coldly.

'How have you been?'

'Fine.'

'Why haven't you answered my phone calls?'

'Oh, I didn't know you had rung,' she said.

'I rang four times last night, and six times the night before. Your flatmate took the messages. She must have told you. Didn't you get the note with my flowers?'

'I'm afraid she's very forgetful,' Cathy said, looking around her with an air of desperation.

'Well, what are you doing tonight? Perhaps we could get a bite to eat.'

Cathy caught the eye of someone at the other end of the tent, and then turned to Rob and me. 'I'm terribly sorry. There's a client of mine over there who I simply must see. Bye.'

With that she was off.

'You know, I think she might be trying to avoid me.' Rob looked puzzled as he said this.

I couldn't help smiling. 'Do you really think so?'

'But you don't understand. I don't understand. She's a marvellous woman. We've been out together three times. She's not like any other girl I've ever met. There is something special between us. I'm sure of it.'

'You haven't proposed to her, have you?' That was the most usual reason why Rob's girlfriends ran away from him, but I thought a proposal on the third date might be too fast going, even for Rob.

'No, we haven't got that far yet,' he replied. I could tell, though, that for his part Rob didn't have much further to go. 'But I did tell her exactly how important she was to me.'

'Rob, I've told you before, you've got to pace yourself,' I said, exasperated. 'That's the third girl you have frightened off like that.'

'Fourth,' said Rob.

Ordinarily I would have had the strength to console Rob. But I had had a lousy week, the weather was awful, and I just wanted to go.

I knew Cash wouldn't be leaving for several hours yet, and I couldn't face his
bonhomie
on the way back. So I slunk out of the tent, caught a bus to the station, and then a train home. As I stared out of the window across the rain-drenched Thames flood plain, my thoughts drifted towards Cathy. For a moment there I had thought she was almost human, and I had liked what I had seen. Perhaps Rob wasn't so daft after all.

CHAPTER 9

August is always a dead month in the eurobond markets. There are plenty of reasons for this. The Continentals are all on holiday, as are the bureaucrats who work in the government agencies that issue eurobonds. The summer heat in Bahrain and Jeddah dulls even the most hardened Arab's gambling instincts, and many of them travel to London, Paris and Monte Carlo, often to play with chips instead of bonds.

Of course many of the traders and salesmen in London are unmarried, or at least have no children. There is nothing they would like to do less in August than join the screaming families at the beach. But the month is a good time for a rest. There is an unspoken pact not to rock the boat, not to create the volatility that would require us all to spend the month thinking hard about work. The market recharges itself, everyone making plans for what they will do in the first week of September.

Normally, this seasonal pattern irritates me. But this time my mind was on other things, and so I was glad for the cover that August brought.

Specifically, I was thinking about Debbie. And Joe.

It had seemed to me obvious that Joe had lain in wait for Debbie that night, and thrown her into the river. He was there, and he clearly had the capacity to kill. But why did he do it? Even someone like Joe didn't just wander round London murdering his old girlfriends on a whim. He must have had a reason. What could that be?

And then there was the business of the shared taxi taken by Joe and his two friends just after I had seen him leaving the boat. It was possible that his friends were covering for him, but the police believed that they were telling the truth. If the police were right, how did Debbie die?

I didn't believe she just fell into the river by mistake. And I couldn't believe that she killed herself. I refused to believe it. So who else might have wanted Debbie dead?

As I mulled over this problem, my thoughts turned to Piper. Debbie's knowledge of the Bladenham Hall case was of real concern to him. He did not sound like the most upright of citizens. If he were to lose his licence from the Gaming Commission, then his plans for the Tahiti would have to be shelved. At best, he could try to sell it; it would be difficult to recoup most of his costs. Another dangerous enemy.

Then there was also the investigation into the Gypsum company share price. Was that in some way connected to Debbie's death?

I needed to find out more.

I searched the pile of prospectuses on my desk for the information memorandum for the Tahiti. Before I came to it I uncovered the prospectus for Tremont Capital. I stopped my search and picked it up. It was thin and innocuous. No logos, certainly no pictures. I began to read it. Carefully.

Tremont Capital NV was a shell investment company set up in the Netherlands Antilles as a means for wealthy individuals to shelter their tax. The company invested in securities, about which there were no details. The company had issued a $40 million private placement of bonds through Bloomfield Weiss. De Jong & Co. had bought $20 million of these. What had made an investment in the bonds of such a flimsy offshore vehicle attractive was the guarantee from Honshu Bank Ltd. Honshu was one of the largest banks in Japan, and had the top rating of AAA assigned to it by the credit agencies. Investors didn't have to worry about the details of the structure, or what Tremont Capital invested in, as long as they had that guarantee.

But Debbie had worried about details.

I read the whole prospectus through carefully. Lots of tedious legal language, but nothing out of the ordinary that I could see. The sole shareholder of the shell company was listed as Tremont Holdings NV. That didn't tell me anything, and I guessed that under the Netherlands Antilles secrecy laws that would be the most I would ever find out about the ownership structure.

Still nothing strange.

Then I noticed a telephone number pencilled in the margin under the section entitled 'Description of the Guarantor'. I recognised the dialling code as Tokyo. It must be the number for Honshu Bank. I looked at my watch. It was late in Tokyo, but I might still catch someone. I tried the number not knowing what it was I was supposed to be asking.

After a few false starts, I was finally put through to someone who understood English.

'Hakata speaking.'

'Good afternoon, Mr Hakata. It's Paul Murray from De Jong & Co. in London speaking. I wonder if you can help me. I am inquiring about a private placement you have guaranteed for Tremont Capital.'

'I am very sorry,' said Mr Hakata.

Damn, I thought. Just when I needed someone helpful. 'I would very much appreciate some information, Mr Hakata. You see we are a major investor in this private placement.'

'I should like to help, Mr Murray, but we have no record of giving such a guarantee.'

'No, you don't understand. I have the prospectus in front of me. And someone from your bank spoke to a colleague of mine, Miss Chater, about it last week.'

'It was I who spoke to Miss Chater. And I spoke to a Mr Shoffman about it a few months ago. We are quite sure we have given no guarantee to this Tremont Capital. Indeed, we have no record of such a deal existing. If you have some information on this company, we would like to follow up. We don't like people misusing the name of our bank.'

'Thank you very much, Mr Hakata. I will send you some information if I can. Goodbye.'

This didn't make any sense. How could Honshu Bank be unaware of a guarantee they had given? Hakata had clearly checked his files quite carefully. Still, Honshu Bank was a very big bank. Perhaps the guarantee had somehow got lost. Unlikely, but just about possible, I supposed.

If Honshu Bank hadn't heard of the issue, then Bloomfield Weiss certainly should have. I decided to call them. I didn't call Cash. If Debbie was right and there really was something wrong with this issue, I didn't want to alert Cash to it at this stage. So I rang the Bloomfield Weiss library, which would have complete information on every bond issue they had ever managed.

A young woman's voice answered the phone, 'Library.'

'Good-morning. It's Paul Murray from De Jong here. Can you please send me all the details you have on a private placement you led for Tremont Capital NV. It was about a year ago.'

'I'm afraid we have no details on that issue,' the librarian replied immediately. No pause to check files or cards.

'But you must have. Can't you check?'

'I have checked. Your colleague Miss Chater rang last week. We have no details on the issue. And the reason is that the issue does not exist.'

'You must have made a mistake. You can't be so sure. Please check again.'

'Mr Murray, I have checked very thoroughly.' The librarian's voice rose. She was obviously not a woman who liked her professional pride to be questioned. 'Miss Chater was just as insistent as yourself. The issue just does not exist. Either our records are wrong, or yours are. And we have spent hundreds of thousands of pounds on modern relational database retrieval systems. No mention of Tremont Capital anywhere. When you have found the correct name of the bond you own, please call. We will be delighted to help.' With that the librarian hung up, sounding anything but delighted to help.

I leaned back in my chair, stunned. How could the lead manager and guarantor have no knowledge of this bond? Did it really exist? I thought for a moment. Because it was a private placement, it didn't have to be listed on any stock exchange. But there were always lawyers involved in these sort of transactions. I grabbed the prospectus and leafed through, looking for the name of the law firm who had put the transaction together. I quickly found it. 'Van Kreef, Heerlen, Curacao.' Odd. I would have expected a London or New York firm. A few more minutes' examination of the prospectus showed me what I was looking for. 'This agreement shall be interpreted under the laws of the Netherlands Antilles.' None of the customary mention of English or New York law.

Why hadn't this been picked up before? I supposed that if everyone was busy, the documentation might not have been read as thoroughly as it should have been. After all, the Honshu Bank guarantee had probably made it seem unnecessary to check the fine print.

But there was no Honshu Bank guarantee. De Jong & Co. had lent $20 million to a shell company we knew nothing about. We didn't know who owned it. We didn't know what had been done with our money. We certainly didn't know whether we would ever get it back. The legal documentation was probably full of holes.

I made a quick phone call to administration to check to see whether we had received our first interest coupon payment. We had. At least we hadn't lost any money yet. Whoever had set up the company would probably pay at least some interest in order not to arouse suspicion. It looked very much as though we were victims of an elaborate fraud.

I couldn't ask Cash about it directly. If he were implicated in some way, it might tip him off, and I couldn't risk that. But I somehow needed to find out more about Bloomfield Weiss's involvement. I had an idea. I picked up the phone and punched out a number.

"Allo. Banque de Lausanne et Geneve.'

'Claire, it's Paul. Are you free for lunch today?'

'Oh, what a nice surprise. Of course, I should love to have lunch with you.'

'Great. I'll see you at Luc's at quarter past twelve.'

Claire had worked at Bloomfield Weiss until six months ago. She ought to be able to tell me something about Tremont Capital, and Cash's involvement with it. Besides which, it was nice to have an excuse to take her to lunch.

I got to Luc's Brasserie early and was shown to a table by the window. The restaurant was on the second floor of a building in the midst of Leadenhall Market. The sun streamed in through the open window, bringing with it the noise of the shoppers below. The restaurant was only half full; it tended to fill up around one o'clock with underwriters from nearby Lloyd's.

I had been waiting only a couple of minutes when Claire arrived. The loud clack of her high heels on the black and white floor, the tight short skirt hugging her thighs and the trace of expensive but subtle perfume following her captured the attention of every man in the room. As she came to my table, held out her hand in greeting, smiled, and sat down opposite me, I could not help feeling a touch of pride at the envious glances in my direction. Claire was not classically beautiful, but she was desperately sexy.

We ordered, and shared complaints about how quiet the market was. After a few minutes, I came to the point. 'Claire, I did actually have something specific to talk to you about. But it's very delicate, and I would be very grateful if you wouldn't mention it to anyone.'