‘I’ve done what you asked.’
‘I haven’t asked you to do anything,’ I said. ‘You know that. Someone has. I want to know who it is and what they asked you to do.’
Henry looked at me, glanced over his shoulder and said, ‘OK. But let’s make it quick.’
He led me out on to the lane and after a few yards we crossed a stile into a field.
‘Someone has scared the hell out of you,’ I said. ‘Who is it?’
Henry walked in silence for a moment, considering his response. We were making our way diagonally across a field grazed by sheep towards the brow of a low hill. It was mildly strenuous and in the spring sunshine I quickly warmed up. Apart from intermittent birdsong and Henry’s heavy breathing as we climbed the hill, there was silence.
‘It started a couple of days after I told you and Guy Orchestra wouldn’t put any more money into Ninetyminutes. My wife came back from the supermarket with the kids in the car. She let them out first and they ran to the front door. They found my daughter’s ginger cat lying dead on the front doorstep. It had been... dismembered. The two kids started screaming. My wife had to clear it up and calm them down. She called me at work and I told her to report it to the police, which she did. They came round to take a statement. They didn’t seem to know anything about it: there hadn’t been any similar attacks in the area.
‘As you can imagine, the whole family was pretty upset. The next day, my wife was taking the kids somewhere when her car was rammed from behind by a large van. She had stopped at a T-junction and the impact sent her out into the road in front of on-coming traffic. Fortunately, no one hit her, but it could have been different. They could have been killed. All of them.’
Henry’s mouth was locked in a grim line. He was walking faster, it was hard to keep up.
‘What happened to the van?’
‘It reversed fast and disappeared round a bend.’
‘Did your wife see who was driving it?’
‘She only saw it in her rear-view mirror. She said it was driven by a man. Quite a big man. She didn’t really see his face.’
‘Young? Old? Dark hair? White hair?’
‘She didn’t see. She was a wreck. I came home from work early and tried to comfort her. Then, the next morning, there was a plain envelope on the mat with my name on it. I opened it and there was a note. All it said was “Give them the money. No police”.’
‘Was it handwritten?’
‘No, it was a standard computer font. I took it to work with me and thought about it. There seemed to be only one option. I was sure it referred to Ninetyminutes. I knew whoever wrote it was serious because they had nearly killed my family the day before. And I remembered what had happened to Tony Jourdan. I also knew I should report it to my partners at Orchestra and to the police, but that would increase the risk to my family and that was something I wasn’t prepared to do. After all, it’s Orchestra’s money, not mine. And it’s only a job; a good job, but I can always get another one. Not like my family.’
‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘Henry, I swear I didn’t know anything about this.’
He glanced at me. ‘I believe you. But I decided I wasn’t going to have anything more to do with Ninetyminutes. Or with you. That seemed the safest.’
‘How did you swing it within Orchestra?’
‘It was difficult. I cashed in every Brownie point I had to get them to agree to the money. And then, once they had, I said I wanted to go off the board. They didn’t understand that. But fortunately we’ve been trying to find a good company for Clare Douglas to look after. She’s very ambitious and she’s been demanding more responsibility. She worked on the initial investment in Ninetyminutes and I knew she liked the deal, so this kept her quiet. I hated doing it, though.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘If we lose the money, and I’m pretty sure we will, I’m going to find it hard to live with myself. I owe the guys at Orchestra Ventures a lot. A ten-million hole will make a real dent in their performance. But I didn’t have any choice. Did I?’
He was searching my face as we puffed uphill. This wasn’t a rhetorical question. He had taken the difficult decision alone, and he needed assurance that it had been the right one.
If I had had a wife and children, what would I have done? I didn’t know. But I couldn’t tell him that.
‘No, Henry. You had no choice.’
We stopped at the brow of the hill and looked over the village towards the Malvern Hills. It was a pretty spot. It seemed miles away from Ninetyminutes and its troubles.
‘So now you know,’ said Henry, ‘what are you going to do?’
‘Stop it,’ I said, without hesitation.
Henry glanced at me doubtfully. ‘Good luck. But please don’t tell anyone I told you about this. And whatever you do, don’t tell the police. I’ve given up ten million pounds of other people’s money to make sure my family is safe. You’d better not put them in jeopardy now.’
‘I won’t,’ I said, and meant it.
I was angry as I drove back to London. There was no doubt in my mind that it was Owen who was responsible. But I felt guilty by association. The reason Ninetyminutes had survived was because Owen had scared the wits out of a decent man’s family. If Ninetyminutes prospered I would know it was because of Owen’s brutality, not hard work from the rest of us. I had told Henry I would stop it, and stop it I would.
Of course, what I didn’t know was whether Guy had any knowledge of what Owen had done.
I drove straight to Owen’s place in Camden. I rang the bell to the first-floor flat with his name on it. No reply. I looked up; the curtains were drawn. Perhaps he was away. I recognized his black Japanese four-wheel drive parked further along the road. Abroad maybe?
I brooded for the rest of the weekend.
On Monday morning, I took the opportunity of a period of relative calm at the office to ask Guy.
‘Seen much of Owen lately?’
‘Not recently,’ said Guy. ‘He’s gone to France.’
‘France?’
‘Yeah. He’s staying at Les Sarrasins. Since Sabina’s gone back to Germany, Owen said he’d look after the place for a bit. We may well sell it, it’s not clear.’
‘So he’s there now?’
‘Yes,’ said Guy. Then a breath of suspicion brushed his face. ‘Why?’
‘I never can figure Owen out,’ I said, shaking my head as though I had asked for no other reason than curiosity about what made Owen tick.
But Guy was staring at me as I turned my attention back to the pile of papers on my desk. ‘Leave him alone, Davo,’ he said. ‘Leave him alone.’
33
I was supposed to be going to Munich the next day. Instead, I drove to Luton airport and from there caught a cheap flight to Nice. I hired a car at the airport, and drove through the city and along the coast road towards Monte Carlo, passing beneath Les Sarrasins. There was something I needed to find out before I spoke to Owen.
I parked in what seemed to be a burrow in the hill, and climbed up Monte Carlo’s cramped streets to the road where Patrick Hoyle had his office. It was in a building filled with lawyers, accountants and investment firms. Hoyle was on the fifth floor. I left the lift to be met by thick carpets, blondwood-panelled walls, and an imperious young secretary with waist-length fine hair and an aquiline nose. I hadn’t made an appointment, which drew a pout of disapproval, but once she had announced my presence I was ushered through into Hoyle’s office.
It was a large space, flooded with clear Mediterranean light from the windows overlooking the harbour. Hoyle himself was seated in a big leather swivel chair behind a massive desk. As I glanced around the office, I realized that everything was big, as though it had all been made by a tailor to fit its owner.