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  Nancy changed the subject and spoke about the coming Frieze Art Fair, the latest big names who would be displaying their work. Henry finally relaxed. He could not resist a few good insider tips.

  Chapter Five

  The global structured equity 7am conference call had just finished. All participants from either Asia-Pac, Europe or the US had left the call but Henry was kept behind by one of his nosier colleagues. He was keen to gather information about the ‘Albert case’ as he put it. Henry had no intention of volunteering anything meaningful but had not moved quickly enough from the room to avoid him. Despite claiming he had an urgent appointment, he was unable to shake the limpet who accompanied him for part of the way to his phantom destination.

  Morag saved the day when she spotted Henry’s attempt to extricate himself from the little man.

  “Henry,” she shouted across the floor. “Your call. Starting. Five minutes ago.”

  She walked over to them, ignoring altogether the other man. She looked annoyed at this lack of punctuality. The limpet let go, not wanting to be accused of wasting Henry Crowne’s valuable time.

  “Well done. That guy is such a moronic prick! Why do we bother keeping people like that?”

  “His father sits on the Bank’s board. He is such a leech too, always trying it on. Anyway, you had a few calls. I’ve left messages on your desk.”

  “Anything from Pam?” asked Henry

  “Nothing, but internal legal called.”

  Henry nodded and swiftly entered his office. Since the plane crash, he had spent more time there than he usually did. This was very unlike him and would not remain unnoticed on the floor for very long. As a rule, Henry liked to be among his people. He always sat at the same bank of desks as they did and was content for his office to be used for calls or meetings. The Floor could be noisy when activity flared up, to the point where no decent amount of thinking could be done. Most people who had spent time working there could cope with it. Some even claimed they could never work in any other environment such was the energy emanating from it.

  Henry sat down and flicked through his messages. Pam had not called. Did it mean anything? He would give her a couple of hours and call again. This lack of contact was more upsetting than he liked to admit.

  James Radlett knocked on the glass partitioning, Henry waved him in. It would be good to talk business, something familiar he knew he was good at.

  “Hi, do you have a minute?”

  “For you James, always,” smiled Henry.

  Out of his twenty-three strong team, Henry had chosen James as his number two. James had had a very unusual career path which made him ideal for the job. James had started in the army. He had joined the Intelligence Corps and had been deployed alongside the 2nd Rifles, but an injury during his time in Kosovo had cut his time on the field short. He had decided to change his career altogether and found himself on a ‘programme for mature students’ at GL. His training in the military had multiple advantages for his reporting line which Henry had immediately recognised. He respected the chain of command and showed Henry absolute loyalty. James could withstand pressure better than most, having had to face the prospect of death for a meagre army salary, but never spoke about his time in combat. In return, James demanded absolute transparency from Henry, which Henry gave him unreservedly.

  “So how is the deal with Google doing? Last time we spoke the strike on investors’ put options was still under discussion.”

  “Still waiting for back-test results, the Quants team is reviewing the model. I think we are close; probably a one-year and a three-year put with a 110 and 130 strike.”

  Henry arched his eyebrow. “Quite a risk for the issuer.”

  James nodded feebly in agreement, showing he was not particularly interested in pursuing the discussion on their $5billion star deal.

  “Henry …”

  Henry stopped juggling with his pen, startled to hear James call him by his full name rather than the usual ‘H’.

  “What is happening with this AA story? People are starting to gossip. Some really screwed up rumours are doing the rounds and the team is getting worried.”

  “Such as …?”

  Henry straightened himself up in his chair.

  “Well, speculation as to who would gain the most from his murder. I am sure that the guys at HXBK have put your name in the hat. Such a bloody good opportunity can’t be missed.”

  “And what do you think James?”

  His voice remained calm but his entire attention was focused. He was not prepared to take any of this fucked up crap from anyone, certainly not his own team.

  “You tell me, Henry.”

  James had remained equally calm in his response.

  “Do I understand your question correctly? Are you actually asking me whether I —” (the words stuck in Henry’s throat) “have bumped off Albert?” His hands stretched over his desk as he was speaking, his body leaning forward. One move and he could reach James.

  “Actually, yes, I am,” said James leaning forward as well. “It is direct but I have seen some bloody awful things in service.”

  “James, firstly we are not ‘in service’, secondly what do you think I am about to say? Even if I had done it, which by the way is completely ridiculous, I certainly would not tell you the truth.”

  Henry’s voice had gone up one notch, the burn of anger setting fire to his throat. But James’ time with the Intelligence Corps had taught him all about information gathering. Was he already onto something?

  “I had to ask, you know I like to get to the point,” replied James as he sat back in his chair. “By the way, I disagree with you on one point. We are at war.”

  “James, let’s take a reality check here shall we? I have worked with you for what – six years? You know me well, do you really think I could dispatch a guy just like this? OK, OK, we are talking about AA, Mr Recovery Man, I know, but still. This is a completely different ball game. I know we use some pretty shit even murderous language on the floor but it stops there! Bloody hell, you know that as well as I do.”

  Henry’s voice had again flared up. James eyes rested on Henry for a little too long. He was only half convinced.

  “Fine, fine, but be aware that rumours are starting to circulate. Everybody knows that with the IRA’s arms decommissioning it is not that hard to dispatch someone, as you say.”

  A chill went down Henry’s spine. Although he had not given it much thought since he had acquired dual nationality, Henry still held his Irish passport, his nationality of origin. And of course there was Liam. Henry was about to reply but thought better of it. James stood up slowly as if to give his last remark time to sink in.

  “We will not have any further discussions about this, James. I mean, this is not only bloody ridiculous but also frankly unacceptable.”

  Henry had got up as well, James left without another word. Henry followed and shut the door. He knew he had not handled the situation as well as he could have but it was now too late to call James back in. He would let things settle a bit and go out for a good bottle of wine; anything could be settled over that. The idea reassured him somewhat. He looked at the various clocks in his office marking the time in different time zones, chose the NY one and subtracted five hours, a silly game he loved playing. It was time to chase the elusive Pam again.

  * * *

  Young Andy had now been officially appointed to the case. He had spent the last few hours with a permanent Cheshire cat grin on his face, to the annoyance of his colleagues. His first assignment was a full background check on Henry, which he had initiated with enthusiasm.

  Pole was having breakfast at his desk when Nurani entered his office.

  “I have the transcript of our interview with Albert’s merry widow. Shall I leave it with you?”

  “Please, we need more time with her. I also want to know what is in Anthony Albert’s will, including insurance policies and the like,” said Pole.

  The first task when opening
the case had been to inform the family. Pole had gone to visit Anthony Albert’s widow as soon as he could to offer support as well as collect the necessary information. When he arrived Adeila Albert had already been informed of what was considered a ‘great tragedy’ by the head of Human Resources at HXBK.

  Anthony Albert had recently moved to one of the most expensive parts of Belgravia. One of Albert’s main objectives in life must have been to become part of the establishment Pole had surmised. The purchase of a large property there was a decisive step in the right direction.

  Pole had asked Dolores Patten, the team’s psychologist, to join him. He had delivered the same dreaded message so many times and yet he still hated doing so.

  On arrival Pole pressed briefly, almost shyly, at the doorbell. The door was opened a minute later by a small woman, dressed in black. Mrs Albert had already decided to rise to the occasion by choosing the appropriate dress code. The sobriety of black was, however, undermined by the ostentatious jewellery. Two diamonds, too opulent to be fake, hung from her earlobes. The necklace of solid gold reached her waistline; the various rings she wore on her left hand dwarfed her modest wedding band.

  Pole offered his condolences as he entered the house, introducing his team in the most tactful fashion. Mrs Albert mumbled an inaudible thank you, interrupting him to ask whether they wanted some refreshments.

  “We would not want to cause you any unnecessary work,” said Pole.

  “Absolutely not. I just dashed to Harrods to buy some food when I heard you would be coming.”

  “Well, that is very kind.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen. Pole and his team looked at each other in disbelief. The wait was interminable. The team used that time to observe their surroundings in silence, noticing the collection of antiques that left the place feeling cold and heavy. Adeila Albert returned with a large silver tray, on which sat a delicate bone china tea service. Pole stood up and helped her with the tray, placing it on the low table in front of them. It was more of a high society tea party than a distraught family gathering. He patiently took his cup and waited to speak, again, at what he thought would be the appropriate moment.

  “I am sorry to be intruding at this difficult time but we will need to know more about your husband.”

  “How could he do this to us? Anthony has always been so unreliable. How am I supposed to cope with all there is to do in this house?” Adeila Albert spat angrily. She was furiously twisting her wedding band round her finger.

  Dolores Patten, the police liaison officer, softly intervened.

  “I am sure your husband was unaware of the danger he was in.”

  “And how would you know?” Adeila replied.

  “We know this is a difficult moment,” said Pole again trying to exercise patience and tact.

  “You have no idea! I have two children to look after because Anthony refused to send his beloved daughter to boarding school. That is a fatal mistake. The child needs discipline.”

  “Mrs Albert, we do need, if at all possible, to ask a few questions about your husband.”

  “Ask away, ask away,” said Adeila Albert with a small disparaging wave of the hand.

  “Are you aware of anyone who may have a serious grievance against your husband ?”

  For the first time Adeila Albert seemed to pay attention to what Pole was saying.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, certain preliminary tests have led us to believe that this plane crash may not have been accidental.”

  Pole paused to let the devastating piece of news sink in.

  “I know it is yet very early but we need to inform you of this,” he continued.

  Adeila Albert stayed silent for the first time. Pole carried on.

  “We need to establish whether there was anything troubling him? Did he confide in you? Are there any indications you can give us at this stage? Of course, you can think about it and call us later if you would like.”

  “There is the takeover of course, Anthony was very busy, and, well, concerned about it.” Adeila Albert’s voice sounded less confident. “He had mentioned some other person who wanted him out. Anthony is not the most courageous of men you understand, Inspector, but he sounded more scared than usual.”

  “Did he mention any names?”

  “Some Irish person. I don’t really remember. Henry – Brown – no, Crowne?”

  “Anything else?”

  “I have given you a name. Is that not enough? Anyway, Anthony was working in the City.”

  “So, there was no one else, in your view, either in the City or outside?”

  “No.”

  Adeila Albert brushed her hand through her hair in a seductive fashion.

  “More tea?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she poured tea into the half-drunk cups.

  “We should probably leave Mrs Albert, Inspector,” said Dolores Patten softly. Pole nodded.

  “If you need any assistance please call me, this is my card,” added Dolores.

  “I can cope perfectly well on my own,” said Adeila, ignoring the card.

  “And this is mine,” said Pole, leaving his card on the table in a determined gesture.

  Adeila rose and walked her guests to the door. The interview was over.

  * * *

  Henry had left the door of his office closed.

  Time to call the elusive Pam.?

  He could not stay annoyed with her for long. She was, after all, a ‘very busy girl’ as she liked to put it. The scent of Chanel No5 floated out of nowhere in his room. Henry’s pulse jumped a beat. He had not seen Pam for a few weeks. Time always gave her a more intimate presence. Something he had learned to tame but felt hard to control today.

  Pam’s PA answered. She recognised Henry instantly and apologised profusely. She would nudge Pam again. She knew it was urgent. Henry grumbled a vague thank you and frowned. What the hell was Pam playing at? He needed her now. He grabbed a large deal tombstone lying on his desk and read the text inscribed on it. Their first deal together. He looked at his watch. He would call her mobile in thirty minutes.

  * * *

  Pole was rearranging his tallest pile of documents, fishing for a file he knew was near the bottom whilst Nurani updated him on progress.

  “Meeting this afternoon with the IAFA at 2pm,” said Pole.

  “Background check on Albert in good shape. Started on his wife and family, will have more late afternoon. I have prepared a request for the court to grant us permission to hold and question Crowne plus remand in custody if necessary.”

  Pole tugged on his goatee but said nothing.

  “I have updated the list of people who saw Albert a few days before the crash. We have a few more to see but he seemed to have very much kept himself to himself, at least in the past few months.”

  “I’ve also made a list of people close to Crowne, team, colleagues, friends and foes. Will call on them as well.”

  “Good, what else?” said Pole finishing a cup of coffee that was precariously resting on the side of a notepad.

  “Nearly finished the background checks on the pilot. Nothing coming up. As you rightly predicted, Jon.”

  Pole shook his head, flattery would never get anybody, including Nurani, very far with him.

  “When are we going to have the pleasure of interviewing Mrs Albert again? Can’t wait,” carried on Nurani, carefully wiping a crumb off Pole’s desk.

  “I have left a message on her answer phone. No reply yet. We may have to invite ourselves for tea again,” replied Pole. “Block out some time in both our diaries. I want to have a good stretch to go through all the info with you after this afternoon’s meeting.”

  “Will do Jon.”

  Nurani paused.

  “Anything on your mind, Inspector Shah,” asked Pole leaning towards her with an over-serious face.

  “Not yet Inspector Pole,” she retorted, leaning forward towards her boss, mimicking his gesture. She could not hold it f
or very long and started laughing.

  “I’ll tell you later. Suspense is key.”

  Chapter Six

  Henry finally got an answer from Pam. She had placed a heavy caveat on her choice but had at last given him a name. The barrister was a certain Harold Wooster QC, a specialist in Corporate Criminal Law. Even Henry had heard of him. He had been material in successfully defending a couple of investment bankers in a notorious insider dealing case. Market manipulation of share price had occurred on a large scale, resulting in a quoted company on the LSE declaring itself bankrupt. The trail led the regulator straight back to the door of the well-known institution and yet Wooster had demonstrated that the evidence gathered was not beyond reasonable doubt. The traders had walked free. Holding Wooster’s address had pacified Henry somehow, and yet the conversation he had had with James lingered.

  What evidence could have pushed James to suspect he could commit murder? Yes, it was true that the City was a cruel and unforgiving place and thinking of ‘murder’ could indeed take place in many forms. It happened every day, battles for positions, battles for transactions. James was right, in a sense they were constantly at war. He remembered one of his colleges saying arrogantly, “My mind is my sword, my will my armour”, as if to introduce some semblance of chivalry into his attitude to work. What a lot of bullshit. Maybe fifteen, twenty years ago the ethics still meant something to people in the City but the increased domination of the trading floors where the stakes were unimaginably high had put an end to this.

  He, Henry Crowne, had done what he had to do. First to survive, then to grow and finally to reach the position he so desired. He admitted he was ambitious, in fact fiercely so, but he never saw anything wrong with it. His childhood in Northern Ireland had not been easy, then again it had not been disastrous either.