Grantchester Grind

22

Edgar Hartang wasn't interested in intellect, pure or otherwise, but he was adamant that something be done about Kudzuvine He had been in consultation with his legal team for hours and nothing that Schnabel, Feuchtwangler or Bolsover had told him had been to his liking. 'You telling me because that fucking Kudzuvine goes apeshit in this fucking Porterhouse I got to spit out twenty million pounds you got to be as crazy as he is,' had been his first reaction.

'We are merely speaking in terms of the legal consequences of this action,' Schnabel had told him. And if the facts as laid out by the solicitors acting for the College are as they state them to be liability certainly lies with Transworld. That is the unfortunate fact of the matter and our unavoidable conclusion.'

Two days later the facts of the matter had worsened and Skundler, who had lost a stone in weight through having to live in the presence of a man who made it abundantly clear he intended to have him killed very painfully, had been ordered to get some independent operatives to find Kudzuvine.

'No, not from Chicago, not yet,' Hartang had shouted at him. 'Locals. And on the phone, Skundler. You're, not leaving this room.'

The operatives' report that Kudzuvine was almost certainly still in Porterhouse, and a further communication from Waxthorne, Libbott and Chaine that they had even more damaging though unspecified evidence, had sent Hartang into a paroxysm of rage. 'You mean the fucker's squealed?' he screamed at the legal team. 'I'll…I'll crucify that…that…' Words failed him.

'Apparently he's given an affidavit of some sort,' Bolsover told him. 'Like it's a sworn statement, a confession-'

'I know what an affifuckingdavit is,' Hartang bawled. 'Whadda they mean by our ancillary activities for shit-sake? That's what I want to know.'

'One can only suppose…' Feuchtwangler hazarded to take some of the heat off Bolsover. He preferred to leave the supposition unsaid.

'Suppose? I knows. I know what…' He turned to Skundler. 'What does Kudzuvine have in that head of his? Like details, you dummy, not fucking neurons. What he's got to have spilt to these fucking shysters?'

Skundler took a desperate gamble. 'As a V-P he's got details, sir. Got a lousy mind…'

'That I'm learning. Tell me the new.'

'He's got a photographic memory, Mr Hartang sir. Filing cabinet full of account numbers and times of consignments and fund flows and…'

'Jesus Christ,' said Edgar Hartang, and wiped the sweat from his face. There was a long and terrible silence. Finally he spoke. 'Get me some independents Stateside…' he began, but this time Schnabel stepped in with remarkable courage.

'I…we would strongly advise against any action that might make the situation worse,' he said.

'Worse? Just how much worse can it get you don't think this is worst? I got to take this shit; do nothing about it?'

'I did not say that. I just want you to know that there is nothing in this communication from the solicitors to indicate that they intend to move from civil action and initiate criminal proceedings. That's our reading of it.' Beside him his two partners nodded their agreement.

Hartang gnawed a knuckle. 'You mean they're into fucking blackmail? You saying that?' he asked.

'We wouldn't put it in precisely those terms,' said Bolsover. 'Like they're negotiating.'

'You can call it what you like. I call it blackmail.'

'And another thing we'd have to say is that they'll have Kudzuvine under wraps some place we're never going to find him. Any action that might…'

'Don't say make the situation worse. I'm there already,' said Hartang. 'What you're telling me is pay twenty million plus.'

'Negotiate is all,' said Feuchtwangler. 'We don't see any other way.'

'I've been taken. I've been taken by a motherfucking cuntlapper in a suit I wouldn't be seen dead in. And all because I wanted to help out with their finances. Twenty million is some helping out, and what do I get for it? Zilch. Zero and out.' ('You don't get prison,' the lawyers thought simultaneously, but they kept the thought to themselves.)

'Okay, negotiate. But afterwards…'

'Just one other thing, Mr Hartang, we'd like Ross Skundler to come with us.'

'What? To negotiate? Skundler stays here with me. We've got appointments to keep,' said Hartang lividly.

'Not to negotiate,' said Schnabel. 'We need him to tell us everything Kudzuvine knows could harm our case. As Assessmentation Officer he's in a position to make things a lot easier for us in our negotiating posture.'

Hartang thought for a moment. In fact he was heartily sick of the sight of the cowering Skundler. 'Yeah, makes kinda sense to me,' he said. 'Just don't let him out the building. I don't need no more defectors to this Porterhouse.'

They went out into the elevator and, as it shot up and down floors, Ross Skundler thanked them. 'I owe you,' he said. 'I really owe you.'

'Just don't want more bloodshed, is all,' said Schnabel. 'It's not in our line of business. And that old bastard is going to have to watch his back a lot closer with Kudzuvine over the wall. Could be piggy-chops time coming up. I heard Dos Passos is in town.'

'Jesus,' said Skundler. 'I really do owe you.'

'I'll tell you something for nothing,' said Bolsover. 'Someone else in the company owes twenty million plus, plus costs. With what do we negotiate? These guys Waxthorne, Libbott and Chaine have got him by the balls.'

'You reckon he's going to snuff them some time?7 asked Feuchtwangler.

Bolsover smiled. 'Going to want to but they're hard to find. Made enquiries. Like they've been dead over thirty years already.'

The elevator shot down from floor ten to zero. Skundler followed them out into the street. His only hope lay with the lawyers.

In Cambridge General Sir Cathcart D'Eath's Range Rover was parked in the driveway of the Master's Lodge There was a horsebox behind it and the doors were open towards the front door.

'It's all right, sir,' said Arthur. 'Streets is empty. No one there. You can bring him out now.'

'Giddy up, Yank,' said the General and Kudzuvine shot into the horsebox. The General's Japanese attendant shut the doors and locked them and presently the Range Rover was on its way to Coft Castle. From a window on the ground floor Skullion watched it go with some regret. He'd enjoyed gobbledygooking the American.

In the offices of Waxthorne, Libbott and Chaine, Solicitors, the Praelector read through Kudzuvine's sworn statement with increasing amazement.

'I must admit I do not understand many of the terms used,' he said, 'but my overall impression is that he has fingered-I believe that is the colloquial expression-he has fingered Edgar Hartang as a banker for a number of drug cartels. Am I right?'

Mr Retter nodded. 'Of course the accusation is unsubstantiated,' he said. And for that reason we have taken the precaution of drawing up two affidavits. In the first there is the full admission of Transworld Television Productions' responsibility for the damage to the Chapel and the general fabric of the College, together with the harm done to the mental and physical well-being of over four hundred undergraduates studying for their examinations at very possibly the most crucial moment in their lives, namely just before the Tripos.'

The Praelector considered the word 'crucial' and found it inappropriate. 'I rather doubt that,' he said. 'Half of them would get Thirds or what were once called Specials.'

'Aren't you being overly pessimistic?' asked Mr Wyve, but the Praelector wouldn't have it.

'The College has never been noted for its academic excellence. I have always liked to think on the other hand that we exert a civilizing influence.'

'No doubt about that. However, since there is no way of knowing what the examination results might have been had this shocking event not taken place, I think we are entitled to assume they would have been excellent. Then again there is the mental suffering caused to the research graduates and the academic staff. We can fairly assert that scientific discoveries of considerable importance have been put in jeopardy.'

'One can assert it,' said the Praelector, 'but I cannot conceive that anyone would find the statement in the least credible.'

'Again, no one can tell. What cannot be denied or quantified is the physical damage done to one of the oldest architectural monuments of Cambridge.'

The Praelector had no argument with this. Porterhouse might lack academic reputation but there could be no doubting the unique qualities of its ancient buildings. And how do you rate our chances of getting Hartang to settle out of court?' he asked. 'It would save a great deal of time and money.'

Mr Retter exchanged a significant look with his partner. It was Mr Wyve who replied. 'That is more difficult to say. These things do tend to drag on for months and even years, you know. We can only hope that Transworld will see the justice of our case and not prolong the proceedings.'

'I should have thought this second affidavit would speed things up,' said the Praelector.

'Quite so,' said Mr Retter and took the document from him. 'Let us just say that it will be better to keep it in reserve. I don't think I need say any more. I'm sure you understand.'

The Praelector did. He had revised his opinion of Mr Retter and Mr Wyve. The law might be an ass, but these lawyers weren't.