Wearing Purple

Chapter 49

I had arranged with Everett that I would meet him at midday on Monday to discuss how to protect the pay-per-view event, but before I left home, I called Greg McPhillips.

‘Hi Oz,’ he greeted me, affable as ever. ‘Have you had a chance to think rationally about taking action against the Germans? I’ll tell you now; you don’t need the money.

‘I’ve sorted out all Jan’s insurance policies: your mortgage, such as it was, is paid off automatically, there’s an additional endowment policy that pays eighty grand in the event of accidental death, a death in service arrangement as part of her pension plan, the fund value itself, and a straight life policy. There’s a lot of cash there — I’m not going to say how much over the phone — but the tax planning was done very well, so you should be exempt from estate duty.’

It went straight over my head. ‘You’re not going to give me back my wife though, are you, Greg?’

‘No, pal. That I can’t do.’

‘Well in that case you just sort everything out, pay all the funeral expenses, take your own fee, and put the balance in some sort of account. Tell me when it’s all done, ’cause right now, I don’t give a shit.

‘As for the Germans, I want another week to think about that. If I do take action against them, it won’t be about money, believe me.’

‘No, of course it won’t, Oz. I shouldn’t have said that.’

I couldn’t help but laugh at his contrition, since I’d heard it so often before. ‘Greg, my dear old friend, a list of all the things you shouldn’t have said would stretch from here to Edinburgh and back.’

I hung up and headed across the river to the GWA headquarters, where Everett was waiting for me with fresh coffee in the pot. I welcomed it; I was still cold with anger from the aftermath of my conversation with Susie, and was having trouble switching my attention to my client’s business.

He offered me a doughnut from a plate piled high before him. I took two, and left the rest for him.

‘I just checked with the networks; our advance booking figures for the pay-per-view have set a new record in Europe for any event. Counting the UK, Germany, Holland, Poland, Italy, France and Spain we have three and a half million buys.’

‘What’s that in cash?’ I asked him.

‘Seventy-two million dollars, my man, of which sum a shade over twenty-five million comes to the Global Wrestling Alliance.’

I stared at him; for all the weeks I had been working for Everett, I had no idea that his business could generate that sort of cash.

‘Taken together, the European market’s still not as big as America. Now you understand what Tony Reilly has to lose?’

For the first time, I did. ‘With that at stake,’ I said, ‘whatever it takes to protect this event, you do it.’

‘And what do you say that is, Mr Detective?’ he growled, guessing my answer in advance.

‘First, we tell the police what’s been happening. Either you agree to that or I’m out the door now. I’ve been playing hide and seek with the law on this assignment for long enough. I know a guy on the Serious Crimes Squad — Mike Dylan, Susie Gantry’s boyfriend. I’m seeing him tonight, and I want your authority to tell him what’s been happening.’

He looked at me doubtfully. ‘I mean it, Everett,’ I told him. ‘You let me tell Mike or you’re getting yourself a new announcer for Wednesday.’

He shrugged those great shoulders. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. I stood up, turned and walked to the door. I was in the act of turning the handle, when I heard him sigh behind me.

‘Yeah, okay,’ he conceded. ‘You can talk to him. But ask him to be discreet, please.’

‘Thanks. Of course I will.’ I went back to my seat, and picked up what was left of my first doughnut. ‘Next, I think you should hire a good security firm to do a complete check of the arena, before the spectators are admitted. I take it that you’ll have a full house?’

‘Hell yes! We sold out this one a month in advance. This Ingliston place ain’t the biggest arena, but it’ll look great on screen.’

‘That’s good. Third, every piece of equipment that’s going to be used on Wednesday has to be checked personally by you. No more lethal turn-buckle pads, please.’

He shook his head. ‘No, that I guarantee. I’ll go over everything with Alex Kruger, the special effects controller.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘You never seen him? He works for our television contractor; it’s his job to make sure all the whiz-bangs go off exactly on time. Our road crew install them, he fires them with remote devices.’

I frowned at him. ‘Are you sure he’s okay?’

‘Yeah, no doubt about it. He couldn’t possibly have had access to the barrier that hurt Liam, or to the turn-buckle pad. Don’t worry about him.’

‘Listen mate,’ I told him, ‘until this show’s over on Wednesday, you should worry about everyone.’