No Comebacks (32 page)

'Why not?' There was a shrill edge of anger in Mrs Armitage's tone.

'The money he deposited for all these assets …'

'What about it?'

'He withdrew it?'

'He
what...?'

'He put it in. And he took it all back out again. From a score of banks, in tranches, over a period of many weeks. But he got it out all right. In cash.'

'You can't withdrew three million pounds in cash,' said Armitage senior in disbelief.

'Oh, yes, you can,' said Pound mildly. 'Not all at once of course, but in sums up to fifty thousand pounds from major banks, with prior notice. Quite a lot of businesses operate with large floats of cash. Casinos, betting shops for example. And dealers in the second-hand market of almost anything ...'

He was cut off by the growing hubbub. Mrs Armitage was pounding the table with a plump fist; her son was on his feet waving a forefinger down the table; her husband was seeking to adopt the posture of a judge about to deliver a particularly severe sentence. They were all shouting at once.

'He couldn't get away with this ... he must have put it somewhere ... you had just better find it... you two were in this together ...'

It was the last remark that finally snapped Martin Pound's patience.

'Silence
...' he roared, and the outburst was so unexpected/that the three fell silent. Pound pointed a finger directly at young Armitage. 'You, sir, will retract that last remark immediately. Do I make myself plain?'

Armitage junior shuffled in his seat. He glanced at his parents who were glaring at him. 'Sorry,' he said.

'Now,' resumed Pound, 'this particular ploy has been used before, usually to avoid payment of taxes. I am surprised at Timothy Hanson. It seldom ever works. One may withdraw a large amount of cash, but disposing of it is entirely a different matter. He might have banked it on deposit with a foreign bank, but knowing he was going to die, this does not make sense. He had no desire to enrich already rich bankers. No, he must have put it somewhere, or bought something with it. It may take time, but the result is always the same. If it has been deposited, it will be found. If some other asset has been acquired, that too will be traced. Apart from anything else, there are capital gains tax and estate duties payable on the sales of assets and on the estate itself. So the Inland Revenue will wish to be informed.'

'What can you do personally?' asked Armitage senior at last.

'So far I have contacted every major bank and merchant bank in the United Kingdom, empowered as I am by the terms of his own will. Everything is computerized nowadays. But no deposit at all in the name of Hanson has turned up. Also I have advertised in the nation's major newspapers for information but there has been no response. I have been to visit his former chauffeur and valet, Mr Richards, now retired to South Wales, but he cannot help. No large quantities — and believe me they would have to be
very
large quantities and volumes — of notes has he seen anywhere. Now, the question is: what more would you wish me to do now?'

There was silence as the three of them pondered the issue.

Privately, Martin Pound was saddened by what his friend had evidently tried to do. How could you think to get away with it? he asked the departed spirit. Had you so little respect for the Inland Revenue? It was never these greedy, shallow people you had to fear, Timothy. It was always the tax men. They are inexorable, untiring. They never stop. They never run out of funds. However well hidden it is, they will, when we have given up and their turn comes, seek it. So long as they do not know where it is, they will
go on
and on with the hunt, and until they know, they will never, never cease. Only when they do know, even if it is outside Britain and beyond their jurisdiction, will they close the file.

'Couldn't you go on looking?' asked Armitage senior with a degree more courtesy than he had yet shown.

'For a while, yes,' agreed Pound. 'But I have done my best. I have a practice to run. I cannot devote my whole time to the search.'

'What do you advise?' asked Armitage.

'There is always the Inland Revenue,' said Pound mildly. 'Sooner or later, and probably sooner, I shall have to inform them of what has happened.'

'You think they will trace it?' asked Mrs Armitage eagerly. 'After all, they are beneficiaries too, in a sense.'

'I am sure they will,' said Pound. 'They will want their cut. And they have all the resources of the state at their disposal.'

'How long would they take?' asked Armitage.

'Ah,' said Pound, 'that's another matter. My experience is that they are usually in no hurry. Like the mills of God, they grind slowly.'

'Months?' asked Armitage junior.

'More likely years. They will never call off the hunt. But they will not hurry.' .

'We can't wait that long,' shrilled Mrs Armitage. Her social take-off was beginning to look like a cold start. 'There must be a quicker way.'

'Hey, what about a private detective?' suggested Armitage junior.

'Could you employ a private detective?' asked Mrs Armitage.

'I prefer the term private inquiry agent,' said Pound. 'So do they. Yes, it is possible. I have in the past had occasion to use a very respected such agent in tracing missing beneficiaries. Now it appears the beneficiaries are present but the estate is missing. Still …'

'Well, then get on to him,' snapped Mrs Armitage. 'Tell him to find where the damned man put all his money.'

Greed, thought Pound. If only Hanson could have guessed how greedy they would turn out to be.

'Very well. There is however the question of his fee. I have to tell you that of the five thousand pounds that was allocated for all expenses, rather little remains. The outgoings have been heavier than usual... And his services are not inexpensive. But then, he
is
the best...'

Mrs Armitage looked at her husband. 'Norman.'

Armitage senior swallowed hard. He had mental images of his car and the planned summer holiday being forfeit. He nodded. 'I'll ... er ... take care of his fees when the remaining money from the five thousand pounds is exhausted,' he said.

'Very well, then,' said Pound rising. 'I shall engage the services of Mr Eustace Miller and him alone. I have no doubt he will trace the missing fortune. He has never failed me yet.'

With that he showed them out and retired to his office to ring Eustace Miller, private inquiry agent.

For four weeks there was silence from Mr Miller, but not from the Armitages, who bombarded Martin Pound with their ceaseless clamours for a quick location of the missing fortune to which they were entitled. At last Miller reported to Martin Pound to say that he had reached a watershed in his inquiries and felt he should report his progress to date.

Pound was by this time almost as curious as the Armitages so he arranged a meeting at his office.

If the Armitage family had expected to confront a figure in the mould of Philip Marlowe or any other popular conception of a tough private eye, they were doomed to disappointment. Eustace Miller was short, round and benign, with tufts of white hair round an otherwise bald head, and half-moon glasses. He wore a sober suit with a gold watch chain across the waistcoat, and he rose to his not very great height to present his report.

'I began this inquiry,' he said, surveying them all in turn over the top of His half-moons, 'with three assumptions in mind. One was that the late Mr Hanson had gone through his extraordinary performance in the months before he died with complete deliberation and a firm purpose. Secondly, I believed, and still do, that Mr Hanson's purpose was to deny his apparent inheritors and the Commissioners of Inland Revenue any access to his fortune after his death.

'The old bastard,' snapped Armitage junior.

'He need not have left it to you in the first place,' interposed Pound mildly. 'Do proceed, Mr Miller.'

'Thank you. Thirdly, I presumed that Mr Hanson had neither burned the money nor undertaken the considerable risks of trying to smuggle it abroad, bearing in mind the enormous volume that such a large sum would occupy in cash form. In short, I came to the view that he had bought something with it.'

'Gold? Diamonds?' asked Armitage senior.

'No, I examined all these possibilities and after intensive inquiries ruled them out. Then I found myself thinking of another kind of commodity of great value but relatively small bulk. I consulted the firm of Johnson Matthey, dealers in precious metals. And I found it.'

'The money?' chorused the three Armitages together.

'The answer,' said Miller. Enjoying his moment he drew from his attache case a wad of pieces of paper. 'These constitute sales documents for the purchase by Mr Hanson from Johnson Matthey of two hundred and fifty fifty-ounce ingots of high-grade 99.95 per cent pure platinum.'

There was a stunned silence round the table.

'It was not, frankly, a very clever ruse,' said Mr Miller with some regret. 'The buyer may have destroyed all record of his purchases, but obviously the vendor would not destroy
his
records of the sales. And here they are.'

'Why platinum?' queried Pound faintly.

'That's interesting. Under the present Labour government you need a licence to purchase and hold gold. Diamonds are instantly identifiable within the trade and not nearly as easy to dispose of as one would gather from some ill-informed thriller fiction. Platinum does not need a licence, is presently about the same value as gold, and apart from rhodium is one of the most valuable metals in the world. When he bought the metal he paid the free market price of five hundred American dollars per fine ounce.'

'How much did he spend?' asked Mrs Armitage.

'Nigh on the whole three million pounds he had secured for all his worldly goods,' said Miller. 'In US dollars — and his market is always calculated in US dollars — six and a quarter million dollars; twelve and a half thousand ounces in all. Or, as I said, two hundred and fifty ingots each of fifty fine ounces weight.'

'Where did he take them all?' Armitage senior demanded.

'To his manor in Kent,' said Miller. He was enjoying his moment and was aware with anticipatory pleasure that he had more to reveal.

'But I have been there,' protested Pound.

'With a lawyer's eye. Mine is that of an investigator,' said Miller. 'And I knew what I was looking for. So I did not start with the house, but with the outbuildings. Are you aware that Mr Hanson had an extremely well-equipped carpentry workshop in a former barn behind the stables?'

'Certainly,' said Pound. 'It was his hobby.'

'Precisely,' said Miller. 'And it was here I concentrated my efforts. The place had been scrupulously cleaned; vacuum-cleaned.'

'Possibly by Richards, the chauffeur/handyman,' said Pound.

'Possibly, but probably not. Despite the cleaning, I observed stains on the floorboards and had some splinters analysed. Diesel fuel. Pursuing a hunch, I thought of some kind of machine, an engine perhaps. It's small enough market and I found the answer within a week. Last May Mr Hanson bought a powerful diesel-fuelled electric generator and installed it in his workshop. He disposed of it for scrap just before he died.'

'To operate his power tools, no doubt,' said Pound.

'No, the ring main was strong enough for that. To operate something else. Something that needed enormous power. In another week I had traced that too. A small, modern and very efficient furnace. It too is long gone, and I have no doubt the ladles, asbestos gloves and tongs have been dumped at the bottom of some lake or river. But, I think I may say I was a little more thorough than Mr Hanson. Between two floorboards, jammed out of sight and covered by compacted sawdust, no doubt just where it had fallen during his operations, I discovered this.'

It was his
piece de resistance
and he drew out the moment. From his case he took a white tissue and slowly unwrapped it. From inside he held up a thin sliver of congealed metal that glittered in the light, the sort of sliver that must have dribbled down the side of a ladle, coagulated and dropped off. Miller waited while all stared at it.

'I have had it analysed of course. It is high-grade 99.95 per cent pure platinum.'

'You have traced the rest?' whispered Mrs Armitage.

'Not yet, madam, but I shall. Have no fear. You see Mr Hanson made one great mistake in selecting platinum. It has one property that he must have underestimated and yet which is quite unique. Its weight. Now at least we know what we are looking for. A wooden crate of some kind, apparently innocent to look at, but — and this is the point — weighing just under half a ton ..

Mrs Armitage threw back her head and uttered a strange raucous cry like the howl of a wounded animal. Miller jumped a foot. Mr Armitage dropped his head forward into his hands. Tarquin Armitage rose to his feet, his spotty complexion brick red with rage, and screamed, 'That bloody bastard.'

Martin Pound stared unbelievingly at the startled private investigator. 'Good Lord,' he said. 'Oh, my goodness me. He actually took it with him.'