Free To Trade

CHAPTER 20

The bar was cool, dark and almost empty. It was still quite early. I nursed my pint of Davy's Old Wallop, whilst I waited for Cash and Cathy to arrive.

I heard Cash before I saw him. His voice echoed round the empty cellar as he came down the stairs from the street above. 'Jesus, Cathy, it's like a morgue down here.'

I had selected somewhere quiet to meet. Perhaps that was a mistake. Cash's voice would carry much further in an empty bar than a full one. I looked round. Three sets of canoodling couples, who were also looking for quiet and darkness, and a group of men in their early twenties, swiftly getting drunk. It should be safe.

I was apprehensive about meeting Cash; he did not seem at all apprehensive about meeting me. He bustled into the bar and headed straight for me, hand outstretched, and a big smile on his face. 'Paul! Good to see you. How have you been?' He pulled up a chair. Cathy followed him a couple of steps behind. She gave me a discreet but very sweet smile as she joined us at the table. 'Boy, that was really rough what happened to you. Cathy told me all about it. I can't believe they did that to you.'

I found myself warming to him. His concern did seem genuine; it was nice to hear somebody believe me. Watch out, I warned myself, trusting Cash is a dangerous business.

'Hallo, Cash,' I said coldly, briefly shaking his hand. He looked hurt at my coolness. I relented. 'Can I get you a drink?' I said trying to be polite, if not exactly friendly.

'Sure, I'll have whatever it is you've got there,' he said, pointing to my tankard of Davy's. It took me only a minute to get it, together with a Perrier for Cathy.

There was a distinctly awkward atmosphere at the table as I returned. I didn't say anything as I set the drinks down.

Cash took a sip, grimaced, and said, 'Interesting.' He was uncomfortable with the silence, as was Cathy. I found I didn't really want to talk to Cash, and regretted agreeing to the meeting. 'You haven't missed that much these last two weeks,' Cash said to break the silence. He chattered on for five minutes about the market, with me giving him minimal help.

As this one-way conversation petered to a halt, Cathy interrupted. 'I got you two together, because I think you have a lot to say to each other. So why don't you start, Paul,' she said firmly. 'Tell Cash about the TSA investigation.'

I hesitated a moment, and then I told him. Cash listened closely all the way through. At the end he said, 'It sure seems flimsy to me. It doesn't look like they have any direct proof.'

'Were you interviewed by the TSA?' I asked.

'Yes, I was,' he said. 'That whole thing scared the life out of me. First you tell me that Bowen's on to you. Then I get grilled by Berryman. And then you get the sack for insider trading.'

Cash took a gulp of his beer. 'That really worried me. I mean, I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, but firms like Bloomfield Weiss are happy to look for fall guys if there is any dirt flying around.

'Then suddenly last week, I got called into a meeting with the head of the London office. He told me that evidence had been found that Joe Finlay had been buying large amounts of Gypsum of America stock for his personal account, based on inside information. He had also built up a sizeable position in the bonds for Bloomfield Weiss, but the authorities were now convinced that no one else in the firm was involved. I can't tell you how relieved I was.'

Cathy listened with interest to this, her brows knitted in concentration. 'What I can't understand,' she said, 'is why Paul isn't in the clear. If the TSA think Cash had nothing to do with it, then unless they think that Joe and Paul were in regular contact it should prove that there was no channel for Paul to get the information.'

'You're right,' I said.

Cash nodded. 'She is right. You should see someone about it. Either De Jong or the TSA. I'll back you up.'

I smiled, 'Thanks, Cash.' And I was thankful. Having escaped unharmed, there was probably nothing Cash would rather do less than reopen the whole question. It was good of him to offer to do so. 'I'll phone the TSA in the morning.'

I sipped my beer. 'I wonder if Joe knew Debbie was on to him?'

'What do you mean?' said Cash.

'Well, Debbie tipped Bowen at Bloomfield Weiss off that something funny was going on. If Joe found out about it he would have been quite upset.'

'You mean he might have killed her?'

I raised my eyebrows. 'Maybe.'

'Jesus, maybe he did,' Cash said. 'But I am not so sure that Joe was acting completely alone in all of this.'

'Why is that?' I asked.

'Well, he had to get the information from somewhere. I mean a German company taking over an American target. How would a bond trader in London hear about that?'

'Careless talk?'

'Maybe. Maybe not.'

I thought for a second. 'What about Irwin Piper? He specialises in just that sort of thing, doesn't he? Did Joe know him?'

'I was just thinking along those lines,' said Cash. 'Yes, he did. I'm not sure how they met, but somehow or other they had gotten to know each other pretty well.'

I rubbed my chin and thought about it some more. 'It is possible. But how can we find out?'

'We may be able to work out something from his trading tickets!' said Cathy. 'They should still be around somewhere. I'll have a look tomorrow.'

'It's worth a try,' I said.

'Well, I am glad we are getting somewhere,' said Cathy. 'Now there is something else we wanted to talk to you about, Cash.'

I looked sharply at Cathy. I was prepared to believe Cash had nothing to do with the Gypsum insider trading, but that did not mean I trusted him on everything else.

'Paul, I think we should tell him,' she said. 'Trust me.'

I hesitated. I was tempted to accept Cathy's plea to trust her. I found it difficult myself to believe that Cash was the brains behind the Tremont operation. What the hell, I thought. Why not confront him with it? I had been dodging around for weeks trying to get answers from people without alerting them. I was getting impatient. I wanted to know. Now.

'OK,' I nodded my head. 'Let me get you another drink, Cash. You'll need it with what I am about to tell you.'

So I bought Cash another drink, and told him more or less everything that had happened from Debbie's death on. It was the first time I had ever seen Cash at a loss for words. His jaw literally dropped as I went through my story. When I finished it, I looked him straight in the eye, 'Well?' I said.

It took a while for Cash to collect his thoughts. 'Christ!' he said. Then, 'Jesus!'

'Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?' I asked.

'No, sure, go ahead,' said Cash absently, his mind still going over the implications of what I had just told him.

'Did you know that the Honshu Bank guarantee on the Tremont Capital bonds never existed?'

'No, I didn't,' he said. Then his eyes flared up with anger. 'You think I'm involved with this, don't you?'

Cash's response seemed genuine enough, but his ability to bend the truth was legendary. I didn't know whether he was lying now or not. 'The thought had crossed my mind,' I said.

In a moment the anger was gone. 'Yeah, I suppose it would,' he said. He paused. 'Look, you've had a rough time and I like you.' He saw my eyebrows move up at this but held up his hand, 'No, honestly I do. Some of my customers are jerks, and some of them are smart, and I rate you as one of the smartest. I'm not schmoozing you; after all, you are hardly my top client right now, are you?' I had to agree with that last statement.

'Anyway, I'd like to help you in any way I can. I wasn't involved in any of this. I know you don't believe me, but that doesn't matter for now. Between the two of us we ought to be able to figure out who is really behind all this. Until we do that, you can keep me on your list of prime suspects if you like.'

I could feel myself wanting to believe Cash. It was difficult not to. His offer certainly seemed worth a try at least.

'OK,' I said. 'Let's start with the launch of the Tremont Capital bond.'

Cash smiled. 'Good. Let me think. It was Waigel's deal through and through. He had the relationship with the issuer, and he was the only one working on it in New York. He gave me a call one day, described the deal, and asked me whether I could place it. I remember he said it had to be done quickly.'

'How did you decide who to approach?'

'Come to think of it, Waigel suggested I should try the Harzweiger Bank. De Jong seemed a natural as well. This sort of thing is right up Hamilton's alley. A little complicated, a little obscure, a nice yield if you are smart enough to get it.' I nodded, it was the kind of bond Hamilton would like to buy. 'In fact, the week before, Hamilton had asked me to look about for high-yielding triple-A deals for him. In the end the deal was easy. All placed in a morning. No need for anyone else on the sales desk to get involved. Sweet deal.'

'And very convenient for Waigel. The fewer clients and salesmen involved, the less chance of discovery.'

Cash sighed. 'I guess you are right.'

'Now, what about Phoenix Prosperity? Did you know that it was owned by Tremont Capital?'

'No. I had no idea who owned it. But something very strange was going on there. Come to think of it, it all started quite soon after we placed Tremont Capital.'

Cash took a sip of his beer. 'I had been doing great business with Jack Salmon. He would buy and sell bonds all day, taking a profit whenever he made an eighth of a point and sitting on big losses whenever he got it wrong. A salesman's dream. Big-buck commissions.

'Then, suddenly, things changed. He was still active, so I was happy, but he started to make money. He would put on these large, very risky trades. You know, junk bonds, derivatives, CMO strips, reverse floaters, all kinds of complicated stuff. Some went badly wrong, but he was certainly making more than he was losing.'

'It seems a bit odd that Jack Salmon made money out of those things,' I said.

'It certainly does,' said Cash. 'But it wasn't him. He never took any major decisions himself. Of course he pretended it was him deciding what to do, and I went along with it, but I always made sure he had time to put the phone down and consult with whoever he needed to before coming back to buy my bonds.'

'That makes sense,' I said. I told Cash how I had seen Jack consult someone before buying the Fairways.

We were silent for a bit.

'I knew Dick was a bastard, but I didn't know he was that much of a bastard,' Cash said, mostly to himself.

'You knew him when you were a kid?'

Cash sighed. 'Yeah, I did. We weren't real close. I guess I was a bit more popular than Ricky. He didn't call himself Dick until much later. He looked like a nerd, and acted a bit like one. He used to get a hard time from the other kids until…' Cash tailed off.

'Until?' I said.

'Until he started selling drugs. He teamed up with two big mean apes, and supplied all the drugs to the kids in our neighbourhood. Oh, Ricky never sold the stuff personally. He was too smart for that. But he was behind it all.

'I remember there was another kid who tried to muscle into Ricky's territory. He ended up with a knife in his kidneys. Everyone knew it was one of Ricky's guys. I guess Ricky must have been behind it.'

'But you are still a friend of his.'

'Oh yes. I mean, Ricky was smart. He realised there wasn't a great future in peddling drugs in the Bronx. So he got himself into Columbia and then Harvard Business School, and a top job in investment banking. It doesn't take just brains to do that. It takes a lot of dedication.

'I told you how I was proud of putting guys on to Wall Street. Well, Ricky was one of the most successful of us, and I guess I kind of admired him. Sure, I knew he sailed close to the wind, but you have to get things done somehow. And we did some sweet deals together, so I could overlook the odd misdemeanour. But killing Debbie Chater, and Greg Shoffman?' Cash shook his head.

'We don't know who killed Debbie,' I pointed out. 'It looks like it wasn't you, and Waigel was in America. But the police think they know.'

Cathy and Cash looked at me enquiringly.

'Inspector Powell is convinced that I killed her,' I continued. 'He says he has a witness.'

Cathy looked horrified. 'That's ridiculous. He's not serious, is he?'

'He's very serious.'

'But he hasn't got proof.'

'I don't think he has got all the evidence he needs yet. But I am afraid he might find it,' I said.

'But how could he?' Cathy asked.

'Someone could feed him some more. Or I wouldn't put it past Powell to make it up for himself.'

'So who's his witness?' asked Cash.

'I suspect it's probably Rob,' I said. 'Cathy mentioned he saw me with Debbie that evening. But why he would lie to the police is beyond me.'

'Perhaps he killed her,' said Cash.

'Perhaps he did.' It could have been him. Or it could have been Joe, or Waigel or even Piper. But Rob was in love with Debbie. Joe had denied that he had killed her. Waigel was in New York at the time. And Piper had seemed genuinely unaware of Debbie's death. We just didn't know. It could even be someone totally different, a professional hit-man hired by Waigel, who, once he had dealt with Debbie, had disappeared into the dark and rain.

We discussed all this for an hour without getting anywhere. Finally, we gave up. We drank up and headed upstairs into the dusk of the September evening. Cash bade Cathy and me good night as he got into a cab. His almost lascivious grin suggested that the latest development in our relationship had not escaped him. Cathy and I walked the mile or so to a romantic little Italian restaurant near Covent Garden, and had a very pleasant meal, washed down with a bottle of Chianti. Afterwards, we tossed a coin, I lost, and joined Cathy in a taxi headed for Hampstead.

I got back to my flat at eight the next morning. As soon as I walked in the doorway, I sensed something was wrong.

I shut the door carefully behind me, and stepped into the sitting room. Everything was untouched, just as I had left it the day before. A draft of air blew in from the direction of my open bedroom door. Cautiously, I looked in.

A pane of glass was broken in my bedroom window.

Bloody hell! Another break-in. I had been broken into only two months before. I didn't know why they bothered. There wasn't anything much to steal.

With a rush of panic, I looked back in the sitting room. My medal was still there. So too were the replacement TV and cheap stereo that I had bought after the last time. I opened my small drinks cupboard. Nothing seemed to have been touched there either.

I went back into my bedroom, and took another look at the window. Someone had climbed on to the roof of the shed below, broken the glass, opened the latch and crawled in. I cursed myself for leaving it unlocked, but I usually slept with it open during the summer, and it was too much of a bore to get out the key and lock it every morning.

I spent ten more minutes checking the flat again, but as far as I could make out, I hadn't lost anything. I sat down and thought about it for a moment. I couldn't for the life of me think why anyone would want to break in and not take anything.

Odd.

For a moment, but only for a moment, I considered reporting it to the police. After my recent experiences, that did not seem an appealing prospect. Besides, there was nothing really to investigate.

So, I got down to work.

The TSA was a disappointment. After following through Cathy's logic, I was convinced that they would see that if Cash was cleared of insider trading, then I had to be as well. But Berryman was having none of that. He admitted that there was no conclusive proof implicating me, but said I was still under investigation. I asked him about the deal he had made with Hamilton where the TSA had promised to call off the investigation if I was fired. He refused to comment on this, simply saying that arrangements between De Jong and myself were none of the TSA's business. He then referred darkly to 'parallel investigations'. That must be bloody Powell.

I was angry when I put the phone down. I had counted on total exoneration there and then. More fool me. I was also annoyed, but not entirely surprised, about Berryman not recognising his deal with Hamilton.

Still, it wasn't all bad. Berryman didn't have anything concrete against me, and in time I would be cleared. If Powell didn't get me first.

My brooding was disturbed by the phone. It was Cathy. She had been back through the trading tickets that Joe had written relating to his Gypsum of America position. It had taken her a couple of hours, but by working through them chronologically, she was able to piece together how Joe had built up his position, and what he had done with it. Half of it had been sold to the nominee account of a small Liechtenstein bank. Cathy had never heard of it, but Cash had. It was the bank Piper used occasionally for very sensitive trades. It was not traceable to him; only Cash, Joe, and perhaps two or three other trusted market operators knew about it. It would be difficult to prove absolutely that Piper had bought the Gypsum bonds, but it was clear enough to us that he and Joe had been working together.

I got out a pad of paper, and began scribbling short notes, and crossing them out. I felt I was so close to unravelling the tangle. Tremont, the Tahiti, Gypsum of America, Piper, Joe, Waigel and Cash all seemed to be connected. Yet the more I thought about them the more jumbled the connections became. And then there was Rob. Rob, who had threatened Debbie, had threatened me and who had threatened Cathy. Passionate, unpredictable. But not a killer, surely?

My thoughts were interrupted by the buzzer of my entryphone. I looked out of the window. It was the police again.

I let them in downstairs, and stood at the door of my flat. There were four of them: Powell, Jones and the two uniformed men.

'Can we come in?' asked Powell.

'No. Not without a warrant,' I said.

Powell smiled, and handed me some papers. 'Which I happen to have just here,' he said. He barged past me into the flat. 'Come on, lads.'

The flat looked even smaller with four large policemen and me in it. There was nothing I could do. 'What are you looking for?' I asked.

'Let's start with the records of all your share dealings, shall we?'

Reluctantly, I showed him where my share contract notes, all four of them, were kept. I was not one of the stockmarket's most active traders. Powell pounced on them, and quickly pulled out the Gypsum of America contract.

'We'll keep this, thank you,' he said.

The other three policemen were standing at his shoulder, waiting for instructions.

He turned to them. 'OK boys, take it apart.'

They systematically did as they were told. They searched without much enthusiasm, very aware of Powell watching them. I tried to keep my eyes on everything they touched, especially Powell. I might have been paranoid, but I didn't want Powell 'finding' something that I had never seen before. But I couldn't watch all four at once.

There was a cry from my bedroom. 'Sir! Look at this!'

Powell and I rushed through. One of the policemen was holding an earring. It was cheap, but bright, a long red droplet hanging down from a gold coupling.

'Well done, lad,' said Powell, grabbing the earring from the young policeman. He held it in front of me. 'Do you recognise this?'

I did recognise it. I felt cold. I nodded. 'It's Debbie's,' I said, my voice hoarse.

'It certainly is,' said Powell triumphantly. 'She was wearing one just like it when we found her body. And only one.'

His eyes never left my face, watching for every reaction.

'Where did you find it?' I asked.

The policeman pointed to a half-drawer in the chest by my bed. 'Right in the back of there.' The drawer was pulled fully out, my socks strewn all over the rug by my bed.

'You know exactly where it was,' said Powell grinning.

I felt a rush of anger. I had been right to be suspicious of Powell. 'You planted that,' I muttered.

Powell just laughed. 'They all say that. Every time. You could have thought of something more original, a bright boy like you. Come on, lads.'

With that he left the flat, clasping the earring and my share contract notes, the three policemen trooping after him.

As he passed me by the door, he leered. 'Just you wait, boy,' he said. 'We're nearly there. A couple more days and we will be having some very long talks. See you soon.'

I tidied up the mess, and went for a run. I pushed myself harder today, driven on by my anger. As I sped round the park, my determination grew. Cathy was dead right. I had wallowed for far too long. I was in a mess, but I would fight my way out of it. I wasn't quite sure how but I was determined to find a way.

Powell was really beginning to worry me. I had no idea how the earring had got into my flat. He must have planted it.

I pounded on.

Of course! The break-in last night. Someone must have entered my flat and planted the earring then. That was why nothing was stolen. Somehow, whoever it was had known that Powell was planning to search my flat today. Unless of course they had tipped Powell off themselves.

Powell had said he would see me soon, and I had no doubt he would. A murder charge was serious. In theory, I should be happy to put my faith in the British justice system to clear an innocent man. But Powell obviously thought he had a good case against me. And he did have the air of a policeman who always got his man.

Innocent men go to jail all the time.

I was moving very fast now, but I was scarcely aware of any pain in my legs or lungs. I followed my usual route automatically, dodging round the walkers in the park without slowing.

And it was all because of Rob! He must have told the police he had seen me push Debbie. Perhaps he had even planted the earring. Why? I resolved to find out.

Rob lived in a basement flat just off the Earls Court Road. It was only a fifteen-minute walk, but I decided to wait until half past seven to be sure that he was in. I opened an iron gate and walked down some steps into a small patio. Some sad little shrubs grew in pots with weeds in them. I rang the bell.

Rob answered the door. He was barefoot, and wearing a T-shirt and an old pair of jeans. He held a can of Stella in his left hand. He wasn't pleased to see me. 'What do you want?'

'Can I come in?'

'No.'

I pushed my leg into the doorway. Rob shrugged and turned towards his sitting room. 'OK, come in then,' he said.

He flopped into a big grey armchair pointing towards the television. The room was neat, simply furnished, unostentatious. There were already three or four empty beer cans on the floor by his chair.

I followed him in and, unasked, sat on the sofa.

Rob took a swig of beer from the can. He didn't offer me any. 'So what do you want?'

'I'll be quick,' I said. 'I know you were following Debbie the night she died.'

Rob looked at me steadily, his face registering neither surprise nor denial.

'And why would I do that?'

'Because you were jealous of me and Debbie.'

'That's ridiculous.'

'You had an affair with her a couple of years ago.'

'As you say, that was a couple of years ago.'

He annoyed me, slouching arrogantly in that big chair. My voice rose. 'Look, Debbie's flatmate Felicity told me you had been bothering her just before she died. And Cathy said you told her you followed Debbie the night she was pushed into the river. So, you see I know. And I think it's sick creeping around after women like that.'

My last comment hit home. Rob suddenly came to life. Anger sparked in his eyes. His cheeks flushed. He waved his can at me, spilling some of the golden frothy liquid on to the carpet.

'You're a bastard,' he spat. 'You're a fucking bastard. First you take Debbie from me, and now Cathy. Well, let me tell you, you can't just steal my women like that and get away with it. You can't!' The last words were shouted.

'I didn't mean to take Cathy away from you,' I said. 'You just lost her all by yourself.'

Rob didn't like that. He pulled himself out of his chair, and screamed, 'Don't talk shit. You knew what you were doing. You have made my life hell. Complete hell. So don't just sit there and say you didn't mean to, you smug bastard.'

He swayed, and collapsed back into his chair. 'I loved Debbie. How I loved her! It was hard when we split up.' His voice fell almost to a whisper. 'In a way, all those other women I chased after were just a means of taking my mind off her. I did a good job of it. I buried my feelings deep.'

He took another gulp of beer. 'Then you came along. I could see that Debbie liked you. The way she used to flirt with you, and go off to lunch or a drink with you. I knew what was happening; I could see it right in front of my eyes, and I had to do something about it.

'So, I asked Debbie to marry me. She said no, but I didn't give up. In the end she told me to get lost. I was shattered. Then a week later, she was killed.'

He swallowed. He pulled back his head, and rubbed his eyes. They were glistening.

'I was devastated. And then along came Cathy. The one woman I had ever met who was as nice as Debbie. And so attractive. I felt confused, but she made everything much clearer. I feel right with her. Really right. And then I discover that all the while you were plotting to get your way with her as well.'

Rob stared at me, his eyes full of hate. He wasn't going to forgive me, I thought. I had become the focal point for all the dissatisfaction he felt with himself and his relationships with women.

But I wanted answers. 'So, did you see who killed Debbie?' I asked.

Rob relaxed. He took a swig of beer from his can, and smiled. 'Maybe.'

'Did you kill her?'

'Of course not,' still smiling.

I struggled to control my own anger. 'You told the police that you saw me push Debbie in the river, didn't you?'

Rob just smiled. I wanted to hit him.

'Because if you did tell them you saw me, both you and I know it was a lie. And there can be serious penalties for perjury.'

Rob seemed unconcerned. 'The police interviewed me, naturally. Whatever I told them will probably come out in court eventually. And I can assure you that I will stick to whatever I have told them, which is of course the truth.'

'What about the earring?'

'What earring?'

'Debbie's earring. The one she was wearing the night she died. The one you planted in my flat.'

Rob looked genuinely puzzled. 'I don't know what you are talking about. But I should remind you that trying to intimidate witnesses is also a serious business. I will call Inspector Powell as soon as you have gone, and let him know of your visit.'

I could see I was not going to get anywhere, except possibly into more trouble than I was already in. Rob had lied to the police, but would stick with his lie. It would be his word against mine. I didn't stand a chance.

I got up and left.

A quarter of an hour later, I was home. I was tired, confused and angry. Rob hated me, Rob had lied to the police, and I would soon find myself charged with murder.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

Thoughts of Rob, Debbie, Waigel and Joe spun around in my head. My brain was so tired, it was on the point of giving out. Exhausted, I flopped into bed.