The Marketmaker

22

I felt elated as I pedalled rapidly back to Primrose Hill, leaving the Tower further and further behind me. No more worrying about Ricardo and Eduardo. I could forget money-laundering and murder. I had escaped!

By the time I reached home it was one o’clock, and I was hungry. As soon as I was through the door I checked the fridge for something for lunch. Nothing. There was a pint of milk, though, so I made myself a bowl of cornflakes. There were also a couple of cans of beer. I don’t drink during the day. I took one. It turned out that beer and cornflakes don’t go well together.

I was glad about leaving Dekker, although I felt a fool for going there in the first place. It would be a difficult mistake to unravel. I would have to go cap in hand to Russell Church at the School of Russian Studies, admit I was wrong, and ask if he knew of any jobs anywhere. I shuddered as I thought of applications, interviews, explanations of why I hadn’t any formal Russian qualifications, if I even got far enough to be allowed to explain. My father would think I was crazy.

And money. I had received one pay cheque from Dekker, which helped a lot. But I still had the mortgage on my flat. Mr K. R. bloody Norris would be on my back again in no time. And I owed Ricardo his five grand, three of which I still had in the bank. Well, that would come in useful to tide me through the next few months. One day I’d pay him back. Maybe.

Sharp hammering started up somewhere above me, followed by the muffled crash of plaster pulled away from a wall. I remembered that the old lady upstairs had warned me that she was having some work done. I was never home during the day so I hadn’t noticed before.

I finished the bowl, and prowled through to the tiny bedroom, stepping over my bag of rugby kit, which I still hadn’t had time to wash after the last match of the season. My euphoria at escaping Dekker was swiftly evaporating as I faced the realities of life without a salary. The bed beckoned and I flopped on to it. I lay face down, eyes open, thoughts rushing through my mind.

I missed Isabel. The eagerness with which my brain had tried to deal with her kidnapping, the scrambling for memories, for causes, for culprits, had been replaced by a tiring, chronic despair. The uncertainty was hard to cope with. Most of the time I told myself she was alive. But in dark moments, like now, I felt she was dead, that I would never see her again. The question was always there. If she was dead, why hadn’t they found her body? If she was alive, why hadn’t Zico called back with the proof of life? Why would he want to kill her, when he was on the edge of making a fortune out of her? Why should he keep her alive, when it looked as though the police were on his trail? I needed to know one way or the other. And yet... At least there was still hope.

The phone rang. It was Jamie. The noise and chatter of the Dekker trading room came through strongly in the background.

‘What the hell have you done?’

‘Resigned.’

‘I know you’ve resigned. But why? It’s put Ricardo in a hell of a bad mood. He rated you, you know. And why didn’t you tell me?’

I should have told Jamie, but I hadn’t. I just couldn’t face explaining it to him, and then having to explain it to Ricardo. I hadn’t seen him at all since I had returned from Brazil.

‘I’m sorry, Jamie, but you know I’ve had questions about Dekker ever since I joined. It’s not for me.’

‘Are you all right? The theory here is that you’ve lost it since Isabel’s kidnap. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

‘I’m sure. I am upset about her, but I’d planned to resign before I went out to Brazil in any case.’

‘Well, we’re busy doing a Dave on you here. Although it’s a bit easier in your case.’

‘Yeah, well. I’m not surprised.’ But I was a little hurt. I liked the other guys. I didn’t want to be erased from their consciousness.

‘You must feel awful, mate. Shall I pop round for a drink? I can’t make it this evening, but tomorrow?’

‘Yes, Jamie. That would be good.’

I had never doubted that Jamie’s friendship would survive my resignation. He had stuck his neck out for me with Ricardo, and I had made him look a fool, something Jamie never liked. But I knew he would stick with me. It would be good to see him tomorrow.

I drank the other can of beer, then went out to the off-licence and bought some more. I put on some of Joanna’s old CDs. I suppose I hoped that they would remind me of her, and push Isabel to the back of my mind for a moment. They didn’t. I ordered a pizza and ate it. Then I rang Luís and told him I had resigned. No news of Isabel. At some point, as the day dragged to an end, I went to sleep.

I went to sleep thinking of Isabel, and I woke up thinking of her. But I also woke up determined to pull myself together. I cleared up the debris of the day before, bought some real food from the supermarket, and made myself a proper breakfast: bacon, sausages, fried eggs, fried bread, the works. And I made a pot of fresh coffee.

Feeling fat and a little happier, I sipped my coffee and stared out of the window at my small garden. It was a mess, with weeds bursting upwards, overwhelming the few perennials that had survived the winter. The grass was looking more like a miniature hayfield than a lawn. Perhaps I would get stuck into that after breakfast.

I should call Russell Church at the School of Russian Studies. But not today. Tomorrow.

The phone rang.

‘Hallo.’ It was the first word I had said all day. It came out thick and hoarse.

‘Nick. It’s Father.’

‘Oh, hallo.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, sorry, I’m fine, Father. What’s up?’ My father never phoned me. Never. My mother rang very occasionally, on my birthday, perhaps, or when she hadn’t heard from me for a couple of months, but not my father.

‘I telephoned you at the office last week, but they said you were in Brazil on a business trip. Sounded interesting. Then when I rang this morning, a nice chap said I could find you here.’

‘Well, here I am.’

‘Listen, Nick. I thought I’d come down to London for the day next week. Catch up with a few old pals. I wondered if I could drop in and see you?’

Oh, God. Just what I needed.

‘Fine,’ I said.

‘I think I can remember where Dekker’s offices are. They haven’t moved, have they?’

‘I don’t work there any more.’

‘What?’ He sounded shocked.

‘I resigned. Yesterday.’

‘Whatever for?’

I groaned inwardly. How could I explain this?

‘The City is just not for me, Father.’

There was silence. ‘OK. I see.’ His voice blew cold down the phone line from Norfolk. ‘It was a terrific opportunity for you to make something of yourself, Nick.’

‘It’s not a good place, Father. Honestly. I’m better off out of it.’

‘Well, your mother will be most disappointed,’ he said. Actually I thought she’d be quite pleased.

‘I’d still like to see you,’ I said, almost to my surprise.

‘Um, yes, well. Maybe another time. I was hoping to see you in situ, as it were. But if you’re not working, then there’s not much point, is there?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Goodbye, then.’

‘’Bye.’

I put the phone down. Despite myself, I felt guilty and angry. Guilty that I had disappointed him, angry that he hadn’t wanted to see me.

I felt alone.

My thoughts turned back to Dekker. Jamie had said they were doing a Dave on me. I wondered what had happened to Dave. I hadn’t had time to get to know him very well, but I had liked what I had seen of him. And now I felt some kindred spirit with him. A fellow ex-Dekker non-person.

I dug out the phone list I had been given when I had joined Dekker. It listed all home numbers, Dave’s included. Dekker employees were expected to be able to deal round the clock.

He answered the phone. ‘Nick! All right, mate? That’s a blast from the past. I thought I’d never speak to another Dekker man again.’

I explained my situation, and I asked if I could come round and see him.

‘Course you can. Come round this afternoon, if you like. It’s not like I’ve got anything to do. Have you got wheels?’

‘Only two.’

‘Motor- or pushbike?’

‘Pushbike, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, never mind. Take the tube to Theydon Bois, and give me a ring from the station. I’ll pick you up.’

Dave met me in an old Ford Escort. We drove through a succession of well-kept suburban roads to a large modern house at the end of a private road. Two ‘For Sale’ signs guarded the short driveway. He fiddled with a remote control to open the doors of a huge empty garage, and then drove the Escort into the middle of it.

‘Lots of room for this little car, isn’t there?’

‘Don’t,’ said Dave. ‘I had a Porsche 911 I parked just there, and a four-wheel drive just there. And the missus had a little MR2. All gone now.’

He led me through a door in the garage into the house. ‘Have you met my wife, Teresa?’

She was big, like Dave, with dyed blonde hair and a wide smile. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

‘Love one.’

Dave led me through a couple of miles of corridor to a huge lounge, with picture windows overlooking a large lawn and a swimming pool. Now Dave was about my age. And this place had cost a packet.

‘Nice place, innit?’ he said, following my eyes. ‘Shame it’s not mine.’

‘Oh, you mean the building society own it?’

‘Worse. Dekker. If I can’t meet next month’s mortgage payment, which I can’t, they’ll repossess. I’m desperate to sell it before then.’

‘Don’t you have any savings?’

‘All tied up in the employee trusts, aren’t they? I can’t get hold of them if I’m dismissed for bad faith. So, you could say I’m up shit creek.’

‘Have you tried to get another job?’

‘Yeah. I tried. No chance. I don’t know how Ricardo did it, but you’d think I was Nick Leeson, the way they treat me.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

Teresa came in with two mugs of tea. ‘Thanks, love,’ said Dave, taking his. He sipped it and then answered my question. ‘Sell this place. I’ve got some old mates from my forex days who’ll back me to buy a pub. Then Teresa and I’ll run it. Quite honestly, I’m looking forward to it. I’ve had enough of the City.’

‘So have I,’ said Teresa.

‘I know what you mean,’ I said.

‘So you got the boot too?’ Dave asked.

‘Not quite. I jumped.’

‘Why?’

I told him about my reservations about Dekker, and about Isabel’s kidnapping. He was shocked.

‘She’s a nice chick. Bright, too. So, they don’t know whether she’s still alive?’

‘No.’

‘Nor who the kidnappers are?’

‘No, again. Kidnapping is an industry in Brazil. This kind of thing happens all the time.’

‘Like bankers getting topped for their wallets?’

I looked at him sharply. ‘You told IFR you were suspicious about that. Why?’

‘It was no more than that, a suspicion. But a strong one. There are all those numbered accounts at Dekker Trust, supposedly overseen by Eduardo. Ricardo says he knows where all that money comes from, but I’m not convinced he does. And you know Eduardo. He’d happily turn a blind eye.’

‘OK, so there might be some dodgy money there. But that’s not proof, really, is it?’

‘No. But there’s talk in the market.’

‘Talk?’

‘Yeah. Everyone knows Chalmet handles dodgy money, and they own twenty-nine per cent of Dekker Ward. Now they’re beginning to talk about us, too. Ricardo doesn’t hear that stuff, of course, no one would dare to say that kind of thing to his face. But I’ve heard stuff down the pub over a few pints.’

‘And you think it’s true?’

‘I wasn’t sure at first. I ignored it. But I thought it was interesting when that bloke Martin Beldecos started rooting around. He was asking difficult questions, and waiting till he got answers that made sense. Then he was conveniently murdered. And when you got yourself stabbed, it was too much of a coincidence.’

‘So you talked to someone at IFR?’

‘Yeah. Big mistake.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he wrote about “sources inside Dekker Ward”, didn’t he? Then he spoke to me on the phone here. I reckon Eduardo was tapping it somehow. That’s how they caught me.’

‘But why did you talk to him? You knew Ricardo wouldn’t like it if he found out.’

Dave sipped his tea, and glanced at Teresa. ‘I dunno. It just seemed wrong. A bloke murdered, another guy attacked, everyone wringing their hands, no one asking the right questions. I’d been thinking a lot about it, and it didn’t make sense. I’d probably have kept my trap shut but we’d had a few beers, and I thought, What the hell? It just sort of slipped out. I didn’t think it’d blow up in my face like that.’

I nodded. Maybe I should have asked more questions.

‘I went to the police, you know,’ he said.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. After they fired me. I was so pissed off I wanted to get back at them somehow.’

‘And what did the police say?’

‘It was a complete waste of time.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, a murder in Venezuela is hardly their jurisdiction, is it? And Martin Beldecos was an American citizen, technically resident in the Cayman Islands. I mean, it was a total non-starter.’

‘What about the money-laundering? Weren’t they interested in that?’

‘They was. Sort of. But Ricardo’s clever. You see, most of his activities are not really regulated by anyone.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, to start with, Dekker Ward, the stockbroker, is regulated by the Securities and Futures Authority, not the Bank of England. The SFA is less worried about money-laundering. Then Ricardo’s biz is all run from Canary Wharf, and the SFA deals mostly with head office in the City. Most emerging-markets trading is unregulated anyway, it’s not like trading on the London Stock Exchange. They keep a close eye on that. Anyway, many of Ricardo’s trades are booked through Dekker Trust in the Caymans, which is a legally unrelated company, so it’s outside the UK authorities’ control.’

‘I see.’ Ricardo had woven a compliance web that it was nobody’s job to untangle.

‘So, they keep a watching brief. As long as money isn’t being laundered in London, which it isn’t strictly speaking, there’s not much more they’ll do.’

‘And what about the police?’

‘Not much better. If I can come up with a “suspicious transaction”, they’ll bung it on a computer somewhere. Apparently they have banks reporting hundreds of dodgy transactions all the time.’

I thought all this over. ‘Last month I came across a fax for Martin Beldecos from the United Bank of Canada. It said that the US DEA are investigating Francisco Aragão and that they’d traced a payment from him to Dekker Trust. Maybe they’ll tie him in with Dekker. He is Ricardo’s brother-in-law, after all.’

‘Francisco Aragão, eh?’ Dave rubbed his chin. ‘Well, that would make sense. He sounds very dodgy.’ He sighed. ‘You could try telling them, I suppose, but don’t hold your breath.’ Dave saw my frown. ‘The best thing to do is to forget it, Nick. There’s nothing you or I can do to get back at Dekker. Look, when I get my pub, will you come in for a drink?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘If you let me know where it is.’

‘I’ll do that.’

I stood up to leave. Dave gave me a lift to the station. As I was getting out of the car, he called to me. ‘Nick?’

‘Yes.’

‘Be careful. When Dekker Ward have it in for you, they can get nasty.’

‘I will.’ I smiled grimly, shut the door, and turned into the station.

Despite Dave’s scepticism about the DEA, I thought it worth trying them. Now I had left Dekker there was nothing to lose. So, doing my best to ignore the damage it would do to my phone bill, I asked International Directory Enquiries for the number of United Bank of Canada in the Bahamas, and dialled it. I soon got through to Donald Winters.

‘Good morning. It’s Nick Elliot here, from Dekker Ward in London. I’m a colleague of Martin Beldecos’s.’

‘Oh, yes. What can I do to help you, Mr Elliot?’

Luckily, it seemed that Winters hadn’t heard about Martin’s death.

‘You sent a fax to Martin last month mentioning that you had linked a payment to our Caymans affiliate with Francisco Aragão.’

‘That’s right. That was something to do with a lawyer called Tony Hempel, wasn’t it?’

‘I think so. You said something about Francisco Aragão being under investigation by the US Drugs Enforcement Agency?’

‘Yeah. I’m not sure what became of that. We haven’t heard anything more from them. But I can give you the number of my contact there if you’re interested.’

I wrote down the name and number, thanked Winters, and hung up.

I dialled the new number. It was somewhere in the United States, but I wasn’t familiar with the city code so I didn’t know exactly where.

The phone was picked up on the first ring. ‘Donnelly.’

‘Good morning. This is Nicholas Elliot from Dekker Ward in London. Donald Winters at United Bank of Canada gave me your name.’

‘Oh, yeah.’

‘I have some information relating to Francisco Aragão, who I believe you’re investigating.’

‘Shoot.’

So I told him about Martin’s fax, Martin’s death, and my own attack. I could hear the scribbling on the other end of the line.

‘Do you have a copy of this fax?’ Donnelly asked.

‘No, but you can get the information from Donald Winters if you need it.’

‘OK.’ More scribbling. ‘Have you reported your suspicions about this Martin Beldecos’s murder, or the assault on you?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure who to talk to about it.’

‘I understand. Well, thank you very much for the information Mr, ah, Elliot. Can you give me a number where I can reach you?’

I gave him my home number. But I didn’t want him to disappear without telling me what he was going to do.

‘Are you going to investigate this?’ I asked.

There was a moment’s pause, a pause of impatience.

‘This may be useful intelligence, Mr Elliot. We are pursuing a number of investigations at the present time, and this might help us.’

‘But will you investigate Dekker?’ I asked, unable to keep the exasperation from my voice.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t disclose who or what we’re investigating. But thank you for the information, Mr Elliot, and we know where we can reach you. Now, goodbye.’

I put down the phone. I was disappointed. I supposed I had hoped that squads of agents would fly out to London immediately to question Ricardo and Eduardo. But that obviously wasn’t going to happen.

I tried to think of it from the DEA’s point of view. They probably had a target in mind. Perhaps it was Francisco Aragão. Presumably they would use any information they could to help them nail that target, but they wouldn’t necessarily allow themselves to be sidetracked by suspicions that were, I had to admit, unsubstantiated.

In some ways I felt better, though. I had done my duty, I had reported what I knew to the proper authority. Maybe now I could forget Dekker.

But I couldn’t forget Isabel.

‘Well, you have caused a stir, haven’t you?’

We were in my local, the Pembroke Castle. Jamie had dropped by for a quick pint, as he had promised.

‘Tell me.’

‘There’s the story in the Rio papers. But you know about that, presumably.’

‘I knew it was coming. What did it say?’

‘It said that last month’s finance scandal involving Humberto Alves and narco-traffickers in the favelas was entirely fabricated by Dekker Ward. That Oswaldo Bocci agreed to publish the story in return for finance to expand his empire.’

‘Sounds accurate to me,’ I said.

‘Well, it certainly touched a nerve. Ricardo is disturbed. Seriously disturbed. And Eduardo is positively raving. He’s not a happy bunny.’

I smiled. I liked the idea of niggling Eduardo.

‘You’ve got to watch it, Nick,’ Jamie went on. ‘These are powerful enemies you’re making.’

‘I don’t care,’ I said. ‘The way Ricardo torpedoed the favela deal was outrageous, you know that. All Luís is doing is setting the record straight.’

‘Well, Ricardo holds you responsible.’

‘That’s absurd.’

‘You tell him that.’

I sipped my pint. ‘I saw Dave today,’ I said.

‘How is he?’

‘Pissed off. Ricardo has dumped on him. He hasn’t been able to get another job in the City.’

‘So what’s he going to do?’

‘He’s got some mates of his to buy a pub somewhere. He plans to manage it with Teresa.’

‘Not a bad job for him.’

‘Yes.’ I paused a moment. ‘You know, he thinks there’s something going on at Dekker. That Martin Beldecos was murdered because he stumbled across something at Dekker Trust.’

‘Does he have any proof?’ asked Jamie.

‘No. He spoke to the police, but they weren’t interested. And I spoke to the DEA in America today.’

‘You did?’

‘Yeah. They took down the details, but they didn’t seem that interested either.’

‘Ricardo doesn’t know you’ve been talking to Dave and the DEA, does he?’

I shook my head. Then I thought about Dave’s suspicion that Eduardo was tapping his phone. Oh, no.

‘Well, make sure he doesn’t find out,’ Jamie said. ‘I don’t know whether there is anything in this money-laundering stuff. And I don’t want to know. But I do know that Ricardo is angrier than I’ve ever seen him. It’s scary.’

‘Can you keep your eye out for anything suspicious?’

‘No, Nick, I can not. I will keep my head well down on this one. Here, let me get you another beer.’