Free to Trade (41 page)

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.

CHAPTER 21

Despite my fatigue, I slept fitfully. When the black outside my window turned to grey, I crawled out of bed, pulled on my running things, and set off round the park. I did two circuits. On little sleep it was hard work, but it did calm me down. I got home, had a bath, some toast and some coffee, and felt a bit better. I rang Cathy at Bloomfield Weiss. She had just got in to work. I asked her and Cash to come round as soon as they could. I said it was urgent.

They arrived about ten. I told them about Powell's search of my flat, and about my visit to Rob's. I also ran through all I had been thinking the previous day.