Geneva Connection, The (17 page)

“It’s nothing. You know what he’s like.”

“I’ll be setting off in five minutes. Do you need anything before I go?”

“No thanks. I’ll see you in the morning.” Maybe now there would be a few minutes peace to finish the newspaper. He’d started reading the same article three times.

Chapter 23

T
HE
E
LEGANT
F
OUR
-S
TORY
G
EORGIAN
T
OWNHOUSE
stood on King’s Parade, directly across from King’s College and its famous gothic chapel. The moment Henning and his wife Nora saw the property four years ago, they knew they had to buy it, whatever the price. They’d been looking for a Georgian townhouse in the center of Cambridge for two years, but they were rare finds and usually sold within days to cash buyers. They snapped it up, paying well over the asking price. They spent the next eighteen months completely renovating the property, and now it was a source of great pride for them. They had received six unsolicited offers for the house in the short time they’d lived there. After lavishing so much love and attention on their home, there was no way they’d be selling up for many years. Having bought their little bit of England, the Swedes had fast become more British than the British. They loved living in their adopted country and could not ever see themselves returning to Sweden.

The Hennings were both in their forties, and had known each other since school, but had married only seven years ago. She’d always known they would marry eventually. It was obvious to her. Henning, however, was not an impulsive man. He liked to take his time over significant decisions, weighing up the pros and cons and how others would be affected by his actions, before deciding what to do. It was one of the things Nora loved about him. She knew he was a thoroughly decent man who didn’t like to disappoint or offend anyone.

Nora taught at a senior school in the center of town. While she walked to work, Henning always cycled to CBC’s offices. He worked hard to keep fit and, like many Scandinavians, his favorite type of exercise was cycling. On the weekend, it was not unusual for him to cycle sixty miles in a morning. He was also a creature of habit. He’d carry his road bike up the basement steps of the townhouse and onto the pavement at six thirty every weekday morning, preferring to be away early to avoid the heavy Cambridge traffic. His usual route meant he’d normally arrive at the office by six fifty. By the time he’d showered, he’d be at his desk by seven fifteen.

This morning it was raining heavily when he lifted the bike to the pavement. He put on his lightweight waterproof jacket over his cycling jersey before setting off. Normally, he’d pedal slowly up King’s Parade and take in the view of the six-hundred-year-old buildings of King’s College and Chapel, but today he was preoccupied.

Henning couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation he was going to have with his friend, Lucas Stromholm. How was he going to let him know his client had already invested in CBC’s fund through Tritona? He didn’t want to breach Tritona’s or Kvarnback’s confidence, but he needed to clear the confusion. How would Lucas take the news? Would his friend be offended or embarrassed to learn he didn’t know everything about his client’s personal financial affairs? Lucas had seemed pretty clear that he dealt with all of the Kvarnback family’s investment matters. After all, it was his biggest client so he’d know the family’s business inside out, wouldn’t he? No doubt it would become clearer after his telephone conversation later in the day. He needed to work out a strategy first.

As he cycled east on Newmarket Road, past the Grafton shopping center, the rain began to pelt down. It was not a cold rain, but Henning was getting soaked, and the rain was causing his goggles to mist up badly. At Elizabeth Way, the rain began to overflow the drains and run down the street. He increased his pace and moved over into the middle of the lane to avoid the running water. There were few cars around at this time of the morning, so he felt safe to be further into the road.

When he approached the roundabout on Milton Road, Henning slowed the pace. On most days, the absence of vehicles meant he could avoid stopping altogether and ride straight onto the circle. Just as he was turning right, his mobile phone rang in his breast pocket. For a moment, he lost concentration and didn’t hear the white van racing up behind him. The vehicle smashed into his right side, throwing him twenty feet into the air. He landed against a steel lamppost. There was a loud crack as Henning’s neck snapped. He was dead by the time he hit the road. The van raced on without stopping, leaving the mangled bike lying in the middle of the street.

Chapter 24

T
ARA
C
AME
R
UNNING
into Kent’s office. “The police are in reception asking to speak with you,” she said.

“The police? And they’re asking for me?” Kent asked.

“Yes. They said it was an important matter, but wouldn’t give any details.”

“Okay. Bring them through into my office. It’s bound to be some claptrap about a neighborhood watch scheme or other.”

Kent looked at his watch. Three thirty p.m.

The squash court’s booked for four thirty
, he thought.
Can’t spend long with these people; it’s a league match
.

“Mr. John Kent?” asked the senior of the two police officers.

Kent was struck by the somber mood of the officers.
This is something serious.

“It’s not Sarah is it?”

“Who’s Sarah?” asked the officer.

“My wife.”

“No, this is not about your wife, sir.”

“Thank God. I’m sorry. Please take a seat. What can I do for you?”

“Can we first confirm that Mr. Anton Henning works at these offices?”

“Yes. He’s a partner here. What’s this about?”

“I regret to inform you, Mr. Kent, that Mr. Henning was killed earlier today in a road traffic accident.”

“What? I assumed he was out at a meeting today…” Kent stopped to digest the news for a few seconds. “I’m sorry. How did it happen?”

“I’m afraid we’re unable to share any details at the moment. We found office papers in his rucksack. They pointed us to CBC. We’d like to contact any family he might have. We assume you have personal contact details for him?”

“You mean Nora doesn’t know about this?”

“Is Nora his wife?”

“Yes. I’ll get you her contact details.” Kent walked over to his door. “Tara, can you dig out Anton’s personnel file and bring it here for me right away?”

“Sure. Is everything okay? You look pale.”

“I’ll tell you in a moment.”

Two minutes later, Tara returned with the file. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“Anton’s been killed in an accident.”

“Oh my God! How? Was he on his bike?”

“I can tell you he was cycling this morning when the accident happened,” said the officer. “But we can’t release any further details until we have spoken with his wife.”

“Nora doesn’t know. The police need her contact details at work so they can get hold of her,” said Kent.

“Of course. Let me write them down for you,” said Tara. “Poor Nora. What awful news.”

“Would you like me to come with you? It might help to have someone she knows with her when you tell her,” said Kent.

“That would be very helpful, Mr. Kent, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Nora doesn’t have any family in this country. They’re both from Sweden.” Kent stood up and slipped on his suit jacket. “I still can’t believe it. We were just talking last night in this office, and now he’s dead.”

The following Sunday morning, Kent woke up early. He was exhausted and couldn’t stop thinking about the accident. He could only imagine the hell Nora was going through.

The worst point had been telling her the dreadful news of her husband’s death. Kent had tried to find the right words to comfort her, but he’d struggled. He did everything else he could to help, arranging for her sister to come over from Sweden and taking care of the formalities regarding the identification of Henning’s body. Thankfully, there were no children involved. He knew Nora would be comfortable financially, given CBC’s group life assurance cover and her husband’s vested stake in the carried interest scheme at the firm. But it was not about money or practical arrangements at that moment. She just needed emotional support. Sarah had been invaluable; she knew exactly what to say and what to do to meet Nora’s needs, leaving him to focus on the more practical issues.

Had the police released the body, he would have offered to organize the repatriation to Sweden too. But they were not ready to do so; they’d yet to complete their inquiries.

What’s taking them so long? It’s obvious how Henning died. Nora needs to organize a funeral.

He got out of bed and went downstairs to pick up the newspapers, before making himself a coffee and going through to his study. He decided not to disturb Sarah as she was still asleep.

It’s been a difficult few days for her, too
, he thought.
She needs the rest.

He searched through his newspaper for the business section, junking the sports and culture sections. As his eyes scanned the first page the words jumped out at him. “CBC Partner Killed in Hit and Run.”

Hit and run! How could someone plough into a cyclist in broad daylight and then drive off?

Suddenly he understood why the police were withholding the body and continuing their investigation.

This isn’t just an accident. It could go on for weeks
, he realized.
How’s Nora going to cope?

Chapter 25

T
HE
F
OLLOWING
M
ORNING
, Kent held a partners’ meeting and updated everyone on the events of the last few days. All of them had read the
Sunday Post
story, but there was nothing Kent could add. He’d spoken with Nora on Sunday afternoon. She’d heard from the police, but was struggling to take it all in. They told her they were looking for a white van or small truck, but didn’t go into any more detail. Kent suggested they continue to pay Henning’s salary to Nora until the firm’s life assurance paid out. He didn’t want her worrying over money. All of the partners agreed.

Kent returned to his office. He had a lot of work to catch up on; the previous week had been chaotic. He opened up the electronic diary on his PC and scanned the last couple of weeks to make sure there was nothing left unfinished.

He noticed the entry from the previous Monday where Tara had noted his meeting with Henning.

That was the last thing Henning did here.

As he replayed that last meeting with Henning in his mind, Kent remembered Henning was going to make some inquiries about Andreas Kvarnback’s prior involvement in private equity.

“Could you dig out the compliance file on Tritona for me?” he shouted to Tara.

“Sure. Is there anything I can find for you in particular?”

“No. I just need to take a look at the file.”

Tara came back with it a few minutes later. “I think what you’re doing for Nora is very kind, by the way.”

“Thanks. Anton was a friend. Still can’t believe he’s gone.”

“It makes you value what you have.”

“You’re right. Easy to forget when we’re rushing around.”

“Let me know if I can help with the file. I put it together with Kevin.”

“Thanks. Just leave it with me. I’m not sure what I’m looking for really.”

He sat on one of the sofas and started to read the file. There were the usual CBC checklists on the front setting out the various compliance checks that had been carried out and who’d completed them. All the boxes were initialed either by his compliance partner, Kevin Long, or by Tara.

They’d taken copies of the various Tritona companies’ key documents, certificates of incorporation and so on. Further back were checks on the families behind Tritona, including copies of passports for each of the key family members. Tara had initialed the boxes, which confirmed that she’d compared the copy passports to the originals. Everything seemed in order.