Silent Truths (43 page)

Elliot listed the names he’d got from the businessman, Alan Edwards, and the handful of others that had come up as a result of the searches since. The last name he mentioned was Marcus Gatling.

‘Ah, yes, Gatling,’ Maykin responded. ‘The great British bulldog as they call him here. It would stand to reason he was involved. And no doubt his lady wife too. Did you know they’re here in the States right now?’

‘No. Where?’

‘Santa Barbara. Hal Drummond’s got a place there. You know who he is?’

‘Ohio Drummonds? Third-generation steel.’

‘And big-time donor to the Republican Party. Apparently there’s some kind of billionaire’s
convention going on at his Santa Barbara mansion right now, because Abe Kleinstein’s there, the media mogul, Hank Wingate, Texas oil, Yoroshito, the telecom giant from Japan, Hans Brunner, the Hong Kong banker you mentioned, there are a couple of mining and chemicals hotshots in from Mexico, some other media guy from Asia … Hell, there’s a dozen or more there, by all accounts.’

‘How do you know?’

‘A contact on the West Coast told me. No news in it, though; just a bunch of rich guys getting together for a party.’

‘No politicians on the guest list?’

‘Not that we know of. My guess is they get dealt with privately and individually.’

‘Of course,’ Elliot murmured, feeling curious to know what kind of dialogue, promise and coercion was used at those meetings.

‘So what about Ashby – was he a part of it?’ Maykin asked.

‘I haven’t spoken to him personally, but he’s claiming he turned the offer down.’

Maykin looked incredulous. ‘Do you believe that?’

‘Do you?’

Maykin shrugged. ‘As I understand it,’ he said, ‘we’re talking about the kind of money – and incentive, if you get my meaning – that no one turns down.’

Elliot nodded. That was the way he saw it too, and incentive was a good euphemism for the kind of intimidation they’d no doubt use as collateral on silence if anyone showed reluctance – like Ashby? ‘Is anyone here investigating them?’ he asked.

‘I could probably put you in touch with some interested parties. But as for any kind of in-depth research, I don’t know that anyone’s really got into it.’

‘Would you be prepared to?’

Maykin didn’t even hestitate. ‘Are you kidding? I want to live, man.’ Then with a grin, ‘Count me in, and I know a good lawyer if you want to make a will.’

Elliot drained his glass, then said, ‘Have you come up with any thoughts on why Ashby put me on to you?’

Maykin frowned and stared down at his beer. ‘Not really,’ he answered. ‘But I can tell you this, we go back a long way, him and me, and until now I’d have trusted him the same way I trust you. After this murder business –’ he sighed and shook his head – ‘I don’t know any more.’

‘We’re getting a lot of cross-signals from him,’ Elliot said. ‘First he won’t talk, then he tells a tale that’s got more loose ends than story and gives us virtually nothing to tie them up with. The names he’s delivered so far are proving uncontactable, with the exception of yourself, whom I already knew and would have been in touch with anyway. Would he have known that? Have you two ever discussed me?’

‘Not that I recall. Maybe in passing once or twice.’

Elliot thought of Heather Dance, whom the message had come through, then of Beth Ashby. ‘His wife’s in LA,’ he said. ‘Apparently the marriage is over, or that’s what they want us to think. There’s some confusion around one of his
mistresses too, that we’re working on. Have you ever met Beth Ashby? Do you know her at all?’

‘Not well. What’s she doing in LA?’

‘I’m told some film company’s turning her book into a feature.’

‘What book?’

‘It’s not out yet, but it’s been the subject of some interesting events during the past month or so. Someone stole a copy of the manuscript from the publisher, and it’s my guess that someone was working for Gatling.’

‘Wanting an advance look at what’s in the book,’ Maykin stated. ‘Do you know what is?’

Elliot shook his head. ‘Not yet.’

‘And now she’s in LA?’

‘With a whole new look.’

‘What’s your theory on it?’

‘I don’t have one, or not one that I can make fit. I’ve got a feeling she should be watched, though. She either knows something, or is up to something that could prove … let’s say useful. Do you have anyone out there who can check on her?’

‘Sure. No problem. I just need the name of the company making the film, we’ll track her down that way.’

‘I can do better. Ashby’s lawyer will have her address. I’ll get it from him.’

Maykin said, ‘So who’s spoken to Ashby if you haven’t?’

‘Laurie Forbes. She’s a staff writer on one of the broadsheets, but she’s kind of on the team too.’

Maykin grimaced. ‘Never heard of her.’

‘She’s new.’

Maykin shrugged. If someone new was OK with
Elliot, they were OK with him. ‘So which angle are you pursuing first?’ he said, moving on. ‘Financial or political?’

As an answer Elliot explained about the trends in exchange and interest rates that were seeing a gradual weakening of the euro and corresponding strengthening of the pound and dollar. ‘There’s also a lot of resistance from the British Government to joining the ERM that just doesn’t add up,’ he said. ‘We’ve got industry giants such as Nissan, Mitsubishi, you name it, threatening to pull out of the UK if it doesn’t happen soon, which is going to be disastrous for the economy if they do, and the right sort of questions aren’t being asked in the House. Or if they are, the askers are being fobbed off with inconsequential, and even insupportable reasons for the delay. Or they’re told the people don’t want it, which appears to be true, though polls are easily rigged. My guess is the Opposition is being manipulated too. They have to be, or there would be all hell to pay over the deliberate fudging of crucial issues; and the effects of rising interest rates make for some lethal ammunition for any opposing party. So why aren’t they using it?’

‘Some are,’ Maykin told him.

‘Of course, but they’re in a minority and it’s turning into a lot of hot air.’

‘Do you think this minority is aware of what’s happening?’

‘They’re sure to have suspicions, but frankly, all
we’ve
got is suspicions. There’s no real evidence to say we’re right about the way it’s going to go.’

Maykin gazed thoughtfully down at his beer. Then, finishing it, he signalled to the barman for
another round. ‘OK,’ he said, when their glasses had been cleared, ‘the guy you need to talk to here is Wheeler Nash. He knows everything there is to know about foreign exchange. He was with Merrill Lynch for years, ran everything from currencies to commodities. He’s at Jarret-Loring now, you know, the wet-dream hedge fund, heading up the whole shebang. If anyone can tell you where this is going, he can – unless he’s a part of it, of course. But we’re always going to be up against that, and as soon as any of them get wind of these enquiries … well, who knows, we might get invited to the party?’

‘Anyone else?’ Elliot said, jotting down the name of Nash’s company.

Maykin shook his head. ‘Not right now. Most of my regulars have been struck with a mysterious speech disorder since we first discussed this on the phone.’

‘Speech disorder?’

‘They don’t talk any more. Not about this, not about anything. Frankly, with some of them, it’s as if they stopped knowing me. Now, doesn’t that tell you something?’

Elliot’s eyebrows rose. ‘So how do I get hold of Wheeler Nash?’ he said.

Maykin took the notebook and scribbled down a couple of numbers and an address. ‘That’s his home,’ he said, tapping the pencil against the address. ‘I’ll speak to him when I leave here, tell him to expect your call. In the meantime, I say we keep watching the dollar. Look at who gains when it rises, look at who gains when it falls – then try to find who never loses.’

Elliot regarded him closely. They already had a
pretty good idea of who never lost; it was just a question of how to prove it. ‘I get a feeling a lot of this is going to turn out to be just this side of legal,’ he said.

‘Sure, they’ll know how to use the law. But there’ll be some discrepancies in there somewhere, and if we can get a handle on it, believe you me, legal or not, the whole thing’ll go sky high. Shit, how can it not? Some greedy-bastard oligarchy playing twenty-first-century Monopoly with entire nations and their economies …’ He threw out his hands to rest his case.

On returning to the apartment he kept on the Upper West Side, Elliot immediately stripped off his clothes and went to stand under a cooling shower. New York was one of his favourite cities, but not in August, when humidity curdled the air like soup. After standing under the refreshing jets for at least five minutes, he wrapped a towel round his waist, padded out to the kitchenette, and took a cold beer from the fridge. Whilst drinking it he dialled the first number Maykin had given him for Wheeler Nash. No reply. He tried the next and left a message on the voice mail, asking for a call back. Lastly he tried the main Jarret-Loring number.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Nash isn’t in the office today,’ the voice at the other end informed him. ‘Can I put you on to his assistant?’

Elliot picked up his watch. ‘No, I’ll call again,’ he said and cut the line. It was nine at night in London, he’d try Laurie next. But he got only halfway through dialling when his mobile rang.

‘Elliot Russell,’ he said into it, but whoever it was didn’t make a good enough connection, and after
listening to several seconds of hissing and static, he rang off. They’d call again.

Going back to the land line he redialled Laurie’s number at Andrew and Stephen’s. While listening to the ringing tone he carried his beer to the window and stared down at the small Victorian park behind his apartment block, where the locals walked their dogs, and joggers cut out of the mainstream to run through paths of colourful flowers and well-tended trees. They’d been shooting some kind of TV drama or movie down there the day he arrived, but there was no sign of the unit now.

After leaving a message on the answerphone, he tried Laurie’s mobile and waited again for a connection: another recorded message telling him the phone was either turned off or out of range. Surprised at that, he decided to give her office a go.

‘Haven’t seen her today,’ Gino told him, ‘but I’ve only just got back from Wales. Have you tried her home? She’s at Andrew and –’

‘I left a message,’ Elliot cut in. ‘Is Wilbur there?’

‘Left about five minutes ago.’

‘Has anyone seen her today?’

‘Hang on, I’ll ask.’

As he waited Elliot tried not to let his unease take hold. OK, she’d said she was going to the office today, and if Gino hadn’t been there …

‘No, no one’s seen her,’ Gino said, coming back on the line. ‘Oh, wait, here’s Wilbur. I thought he’d gone. I’ll pass you over.’

‘You’re looking for Laurie,’ Wilbur’s voice snapped down the line.

‘She said she was coming in today. Didn’t she make it?’

‘No. So what’s going on? Should I be worried?’

‘I don’t know,’ Elliot responded truthfully. ‘I’ll get back to you if you do. Meantime, if she does get in touch, tell her to call me. If you need me I’m on my mobile.’

After ringing off he called Stan. To his annoyance, and mounting concern, Stan’s mobile asked him to leave a message too, which he did, angrily, telling him to call back the instant he heard Elliot’s voice with an update on Laurie Forbes’s whereabouts. Next he tried his own office.

Gail answered.

‘Have you seen Laurie today?’ Elliot demanded.

‘No,’ Gail answered. ‘But Liam spoke to her earlier. She’s coming here in the morning for a meeting.’

‘What time did he speak to her?’

Gail relayed the question.

‘About ten thirty this morning,’ Liam’s voice called from the distance.

‘Has anyone spoken to her since?’

Again Gail relayed the question.

‘No,’ came the answer.

‘Then try to get hold of her. Or Stan,’ Elliot barked, ‘and don’t stop until you do.’

Putting down the phone, he returned to the bedroom, tugged on a fresh polo shirt and faded jeans, pocketed his mobile and went back down to the street. He was in a cab crossing Fifty-fourth on Sixth, when his phone rang again. Hoping it was Laurie he snatched it up, but it was another bad connection, until whoever it was gave up and ended the call.

At last, after dragging through dense afternoon
traffic, the cab pulled up outside the address Maykin had given him for Wheeler Nash. It was a smart neighbourhood, just off Washington Square. Telling the driver to wait, he ran up the few steps, checked the nameplates next to the bells and rang Wheeler Nash’s. After three more tries he had to accept the man wasn’t in.

‘Shit!’ he muttered, standing back to look up at the building. Where the hell was everyone today?

Returning to the cab, he told the driver to take him to the Twenty-One Club where he was due to meet another contact. Then, intending to try Laurie again, he’d just flicked open his mobile when it rang.

‘Elliot Russell,’ he barked.

‘Tom Maykin,’ the voice at the other end told him. ‘Where are you?’

‘Trying to track down your guy Nash.’

‘I thought so. You can stop wasting your time. I just got a call from the West Coast. Wheeler Nash was at the party, but apparently his car went off the freeway last night on the way back to LA airport. He didn’t make it.’

Elliot was so unprepared for that that it was a moment before he could take it in. ‘Was it an accident?’ he finally asked.

‘It certainly looked like one.’

‘What did your guy on the West Coast think?’

‘That it was an accident. Of course, if he’d been at the party, he might have another opinion. Who can tell?’

‘Is Nash the first to go like this?’ Elliot asked after a pause.

‘I can give you the names of two others, but
there’s nothing to tie them together. Or to this one.’

‘Who were they?’

‘The first was a freelancer. The second worked at the Pentagon.’

Elliot thought of the Nuclear Missile Defence programme – Son of Star Wars. ‘When?’ he asked.