Pray for the Dying

Sixty-Two

It took almost no time at all to track down the bank account of Problem Solvers, once Banjo Paterson had opened the resource site that would take him there. He keyed in the sort code and number and clicked ‘Validate’, then leaned back with a smile on his face that broke all previous office records for smugness.

‘There you are,’ he announced. ‘The account’s held in the Bank of Lincoln, in an office in Grantham. There’s no street address, only a PO box number, but there’s a phone number.’ He scribbled it in a pad and passed it to his DI.

‘Thanks,’ she said.

‘Son,’ Provan grunted, ‘you better get a safe deposit box for a’ these gold stars ye’ve been gettin’, otherwise you might find yersel’ bein’ mugged on the way home.’

Mann took the note into her small office and dialled the number. ‘Bank of Lincoln,’ a cheery female voice answered. ‘How can I be of service?’

‘You can phone me back.’

‘Pardon?’

‘This is Detective Inspector Charlotte Mann, Strathclyde CID, Glasgow. I need to speak to your manager, urgently. If you call me back through my main switchboard number which I’ll give you now,’ she read it out, ‘he’ll know I am who I say I am. When you ring back, ask for extension one forty-eight.’

‘Yes, madam. I won’t be a minute.’

She was over-optimistic, by just under ten minutes, but did have the grace to apologise. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, madam, but Mr Harrison, the branch manager, has only just become available. I’ll put you through to him now.’

Mann had time to growl a curt ‘Thank you’ before the line clicked and a man spoke.

‘Inspector, is it?’

‘Detective Inspector.’

‘I see. My name is Nigel Harrison, how can I help you?’ There was a wariness in his voice. She had heard its like often enough in her career to know that assistance was not at the top of his agenda.

‘I want to talk to you about an account that’s held at your branch.’ She recited the number. ‘We believe that it’s in the name of an entity calling itself Problem Solvers.’

‘Let me check that,’ the manager murmured. She waited, anticipating another long interlude, but he came back on the line after less than a minute. ‘Yes, I have it on screen now. Problem Solvers; it’s a charity.’

‘So it says,’ Mann retorted. ‘I’d like to know about money moving in and out recently, within the last few weeks.’

‘Ahh. I was afraid this conversation might take such a turn. I don’t think I can help you there. I took the precaution of consulting my general manager before I returned your call, and was reminded that it’s our head office policy to afford our clients confidentiality.’

‘It’s my policy,’ she retorted, ‘to get tough with people when I believe they’re obstructing my investigation.’

She was sure she heard him sniff before he replied. ‘If your questions are well founded,’ he said, ‘I’m sure the court will furnish you with the appropriate warrant.’

‘I’m in no doubt about that,’ she agreed, ‘but I was hoping you’d be more cooperative. You’re not, and that’s too bad, because my questions are now going to move up a notch. You say this client of yours is a charity, yes?’

‘Yes. We have a special account category for charities.’

‘So it will be registered with the Charities Commission, yes?’

‘Of course.’

‘Sorry, Mr Harrison; it isn’t.’

‘But Mr Cohen assured me. .’

‘This would be Mr Beram Cohen, yes? The late Mr Beram Cohen?’

‘The late. .’ the banker spluttered. ‘Oh my! What happened?’

‘He died. People do. So you see, he’s got no confidentiality left to protect.’

‘But Problem Solvers has.’

‘A bogus charity? Tell me, sir, do the words “proceeds of crime” and possibly also “money laundering”, which I’ll throw into the mix just for fun, have any meaning for you?’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying that unless you cooperate with me, my next conversation will be with my colleagues in Lincolnshire Police. No more than an hour after that, they’ll descend on you with that warrant you’re insisting on, and they won’t do it quietly. In fact, I’ll ask them to make as much noise as they can. How will that go down with head office and your general manager?’

‘Well. .’

She had been bluffing, but his hesitancy told her that she was winning. ‘I don’t want to bully you, Mr Harrison, but this is urgent, and you’ll be doing us a great service if you talk to me.’

She heard an intake of breath as he weighed up his options and made his decision. ‘All right,’ he sighed. ‘Recent traffic through the account, you said?’

‘Yes. Go back three months for starters.’

‘Can do. I have it on screen, in fact. Two months ago, the charity received a donation of three hundred thousand pounds. One month later, two money transfers of fifty thousand pounds each were made, one to a bank in New Zealand, the other to Australia. Both of these were private accounts; that means I can’t see the owner’s name. That was followed by a third, for thirty thousand pounds, to a company in Andorra called Holyhead.

‘The most recent transaction took place just under three weeks ago. Ahh,’ he exclaimed, ‘I remember that one. Mr Cohen called into the branch and made a withdrawal of fifteen thousand pounds in cash. It was potentially embarrassing, as my chief teller had let us get rather low on cash, and there had been a bit of a run that morning. We were forced to pay Mr Cohen his money in new fifties. Some customers would have been unhappy about that, but he said it was no problem.’

‘I don’t suppose you have a record of the serial numbers, do you?’ she asked.

Harrison surprised her. ‘As a matter of fact I do. Those notes were brand new; we were the first recipients. I can send that information to you.’

‘Thanks. It would let us tick some boxes.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Oh yes,’ Mann replied, ‘the most important of all. Who made the payment of three hundred thousand?’

‘That came from a bank in Jersey, from an account in the name of an investment company registered in Jersey. It’s called Pam Limited.’

Mann felt her eyebrows rise halfway up her forehead, but she said nothing.

‘Is that all?’ Harrison asked her.

‘Yes. Thank you. . eventually.’

‘Come on, Inspector. You must understand my caution.’

‘I suppose.’

‘What about the Problem Solvers account? Mr Cohen was the only contact we have with the organisation, whatever it is.’

‘I’d suggest that you freeze it,’ the DI told him. ‘I have no idea what its legal status is, although Cohen’s widow might fancy laying claim to it. Whatever, it’s not my problem. I’ll be reporting this; I’m sure someone will be in touch.’

‘Your investigation,’ Harrison ventured. ‘You didn’t say what it’s about, but am I right in guessing that it’s into Mr Cohen’s death rather than this Problem Solver business?’

‘No, you’re not; it’s into someone else’s murder. You see, Mr Harrison, Mr Cohen’s business was making people dead. Those were the sort of problems that he solved.’