The Best of British Crime omnibus (42 page)

‘Well that's something I can settle on the way back from having a leak. Something I've been needing to do for some time. So if you'll all excuse me,' said McFee. ‘Shan't be a jiffy.' He picked up the tape recorder from the table and, with a nod to Treasure, left the room with it.

The banker punched out a number on Larden's telephone that he had read from the notebook. ‘I'm calling Laurence Stricton at his home,' he said. ‘There's one outside possibility we haven't checked on yet. He will have. At least I hope so.' He looked down at the voice-piece. ‘Hello Laurence, Mark Treasure here. Sorry it's so late.' He paused briefly. ‘Yes, I got your message, but I'm afraid the plane was delayed. I just got in. I'm at Closter Drug. With the directors. Anything new on their— ' He stopped speaking to listen to Stricton. He was frowning a moment later when he put in: ‘Damn. It's what one guessed could be happening, of course.'

The telephone conversation lasted another two minutes and was very one-sided, Treasure making mostly monosyllabic contributions until he concluded with: ‘Look, I think we'd better meet. My house? In half an hour? I expect Bob Larden will be with me.' He looked across at Larden who nodded. ‘And you'll bring Fritzoller's letter with you? Good. See you shortly then. Goodbye.'

He put down the phone just as McFee re-entered the room with the words: ‘It's Dermot's voice on the tape all right. Sprung the lock like butter. But I'll tell you something else that's very odd, he's— ' The Scotsman stopped in mid-sentence when he saw Treasure's expression. ‘Sorry. Something's happened?' he asked, looking round at the others.

‘Yes. We've found that elusive end purpose. With a vengeance,' said the banker. ‘A takeover bid for this company has been formally in progress for roughly an hour. The bidder is Krontag Pharmaceuticals of Zürich. Earlier, between eight and nine o' clock, they bought a substantial number of Closter shares, at pretty knockdown prices. We don't know the precise number of shares yet.'

‘And that was the outside possibility you meant, Mark?' asked Bodlin.

‘Afraid so. Alters the scenario a lot, of course.'

‘But … but the stock market's been closed for hours,' protested Closter-Bennet.

‘Not in Tokyo it hasn't,' said Treasure. ‘All the orders were put through the Japanese offices of London security houses there. The deals can't be confirmed till morning, but they'll be honoured first thing.' He snapped his case shut. ‘The eight London security firms who've been making markets in Closter shares were only too pleased to unload them after hours this evening. At first, at almost any price. They were all expecting the price to go down again tomorrow.'

‘But it'll have gone up again by now?' said McFee.

‘Naturally. But the Krontag brokers made most of the killing before anyone twigged what was happening. They arranged to have the orders spread between the market makers, all of whom were operating with a caretaker staff at that time of night. Laurence is sure Krontag will have picked up more than thirty per cent of the company, and quite a bit of it at below fifty pence a share.'

‘But with thirty per cent they
had
to make a formal takeover bid for the rest. That's the regulation.' This was Closter-Bennet in a tone now combining both bewilderment and outrage.

‘They have. Mark just said so,' said Larden brusquely, bringing the knuckles of his clenched fists together.

Treasure nodded. ‘A letter to me from Doctor Willy Fritzoller, the Chairman of Krontag, was handed in at Grenwood, Phipps at nine. Much earlier, Miss Gaunt, my secretary, got what was made to sound like a routine call from a secretary at another merchant bank, saying a letter was on the way to me this evening from one of their customers. She wasn't told the subject or the name of the customer. Miss Gaunt smelled a rat and sensibly told Laurence Stricton. They both stayed on to accept the letter. The other bank was probably hoping it wouldn't be opened till the morning. Ethically, though, they'd covered themselves with the advance message.'

‘Which bank is it?' asked Larden.

‘Schenlau. They were playing a tactical game, of course. Under the regulations, Krontag had to admit they held more than five per cent of the shares once that was the case, but they weren't obliged to announce a formal takeover bid for the whole company till they owned thirty per cent. That happened probably around nine o'clock.'

‘But through deals that still can't be confirmed till morning?' This was Closter-Bennet.

‘That's true. In the circumstances that's a technicality, but one no doubt they'll quote later to emphasise the apparent rectitude of their actions. You see they stopped buying on the open market at nine, and announced their bid and the price they were offering in the letter to me. Any shares they acquired after that would need to have been bought at the Krontag formal bid price.'

‘Which is?' asked Larden and Closter-Bennet, almost in unison.

‘One pound twenty-five pence a share. That's the minimum price they could offer to comply with the Takeover Code.'

‘Being the highest price paid for our shares in the last six months,' said Closter-Bennet dolefully.

‘Or more precisely in the last seven days, since Closter only went public last week,' Treasure continued. ‘I believe— '

‘It's inconceivable!' Larden thundered suddenly, this time banging the table with his fists.

‘That a company of the eminence of Krontag should be mixed up in a kidnap?' said Treasure. ‘I agree.'

‘But what's the alternative?'

The banker sniffed. ‘Coincidence?' He picked up his case. ‘We'll have to see. You ready to leave, Bob?'

Dr Willy Fritzoller, in his middle sixties, was a courteous, stooping bear of a man. His immense head was strangely square, an impression heightened by the cut of the close-cropped, wiry grey hair which seemed to flatten the top of his skull. ‘You are alone, Mr Treasure? This is not what I had expected,' he said, as the two shook hands.

‘There's a reason.'

‘So. And you must have started very early this morning?' The voice was low and powerful, the consonants distinct.

‘By New York time, yes. I was there yesterday. Flew into London last night. But perhaps you knew that?'

The other shook his head. ‘Only that it's unfair for you to have travelled again so soon.'

‘I'm used to it. I'm only glad you were free this morning.'

The Swiss-German bowed gravely in an overly mannered way. ‘If you'd come in the middle of the night, I'd have been available, Mr Treasure. For so distinguished a visitor.' The lids over the dark eyes opened wider and lowered again in a fluid, characteristic movement before the speaker went on. ‘And how is Lord Grenwood?'

‘Berty's very well, thank you.'

‘We meet sometimes at Ascot races. Royal Ascot, yes. Also, once, I remember, at Christie's. During a sale. That was a few years ago. He's retired now, I believe?'

‘He's still titular Chairman of Grenwood, Phipps.'

‘But not active. Not since you became Chief Executive. Also I see the bank has become even more successful under your leadership. And you have time for important outside directorships.' The eyelids made their double, punctuating movement again. ‘Like the chairmanship of Closter Drug.'

‘The bank has an enduring interest in the company.'

‘Of course.' Fritzoller considered for a moment. ‘You understand the present situation is a little embarrassing for me?' He spoke slowly and with feeling. ‘More than a little.' He gave an enquiring smile, eyes searching for a reaction.

‘I can imagine it might be.'

‘Business affairs used to be more civilised.' The big hands unclasped then stayed in an abject pose. ‘Letters are now delivered at dead of night. Shares are bought through stock exchanges that never sleep. Tch! Who wants such things?' The shoulders heaved a dismissal. ‘But that's the way it is.' Both hands were now thrust deep into the side pockets of the dark, generously cut jacket. ‘But I'm forgetting my duties as a host. Some coffee perhaps? It's ready over there. Come and sit down?'

They were in Fritzoller's office on the top floor of the Krontag Tower in the industrial suburb of Glattbrugg, eight kilometres north of Zürich, but only four kilometres south of the airport.

The sixteen-storey tower was on high ground in the middle of the Krontag factory complex – something even more substantial than Treasure had expected. Though the company had remained private, it was one of the world's ten largest pharmaceutical manufacturers.

The low-ceilinged corner room, with two curtained glass walls, had been designed as a private study. External sound was excluded. The cooled air came without any suspicion of draught. Internal sounds were muted by deep carpeting and heavy wood panelling. There was a collection of well-lit paintings displayed along the two inside walls. Amongst the pictures, Treasure had identified a Pissarro, a small Corot, and what was unmistakably one of the Picasso ‘blue period' oils of circus clowns.

Willy Fritzoller was a renowned collector of fine art, an indulgence that in terms of cost, at least, fitted with his being the largest shareholder in Krontag, as well as its Chairman. The banker felt that the paintings by themselves had justified the several identity checks he had gone through from the main gates of the factory onwards. He mused also that tape recordings would certainly not be acceptable door-openers in any of the top security zones at Krontag.

The part of the room to which the two men now took themselves was away from the ornate, antique partner's desk where Fritzoller had been seated on the visitor's arrival. Here there were winged armchairs, in soft leather, grouped in a semicircle to offer panoramic outside views. To the east was the Zürichberg range of mountains, shrouded now in a green-blue haze. To the south, beyond the city skyline in the middle distance, there were glimpses of the Lake of Zürich, sparkling in the mid-morning sunlight.

A silver coffee service was arranged on a circular marble table, together with an inviting selection of Swiss pâtisserie.

‘Please help yourself, Mr Treasure,' said Fritzoller as they settled in adjacent chairs. ‘It would be appropriate, I think, to invite Mr Grubber, our International President, to join us, yes?' He reached for the telephone on the table.

‘Better not, if you don't mind. What I came to talk about concerns only the two of us.' Treasure was pouring coffee as he spoke.

The older man was surprised and showed it. ‘This is really so, Mr Treasure?' he said, taking his hand off the phone. ‘As Chairman of the Krontag holding company, you understand I'm not so familiar with the details of our foreign … er … merger intentions. Not so that I'd wish to conduct negotiations without the presence of the executives involved. We have many such projects.'

‘Naturally. But your takeover bid for Closter Drug isn't the purpose of my being here.'

‘It's not?' There was even more surprise than before.

‘Not in any sense I believe you'd expect. You wrote to me yesterday, in my rôle as Chairman of Closter. You gave notice that Krontag was making a formal bid for the company. A formal acknowledgement of that notice, with my initial reaction, will be sent to you shortly.'

‘But not given to me verbally today? Informally perhaps?'

‘Oh, informally I can tell you the bid will be fiercely opposed because it's inadequate. Woefully inadequate, as you must be aware. But I repeat, I haven't come to discuss that.'

‘You haven't come to ask us to withdraw the bid?' asked Fritzoller carefully.

‘Not today certainly.'

‘Good. It's not likely we could do that, Mr Treasure. We're very familiar with Closter. We wanted to buy the company before it went public. A year ago Mr Grubber had informal discussions with your Mr Larden, Doctor Bodlin and Mr … er …'

‘Closter-Bennet. Yes, the discussions were reported to the whole board.'

‘But our approach came to nothing. The present offer is a much bigger one than anything contemplated then. It reflects the progress made since that time by Closter. We hope it will be more attractive to the now many more shareholders in Closter. Who knows?' The eyelids provided emphasis.

‘Indeed. Meantime, I'm here to tell you in confidence about a related but different subject.'

Fritzoller scowled. ‘In confidence? Not to be shared with anyone else? That's correct behaviour? In the circumstances?'

‘Yes it is. A man's life may depend on it.'

‘A man's life?' The other leaned forward in his seat. ‘You're serious, Mr Treasure?'

‘Perfectly serious. Let me explain. Yesterday the working directors of Closter sold all their shares in the company. This amounted to a very substantial holding. As a result, the price of the shares dropped by more than half. In the course of last evening Krontag, or Krontag nominees, started buying. By nine o'clock your letter was delivered to my office. It said that you owned just short of thirty per cent of Closter. That meant you had to make a formal bid immediately, of course, which you did in the letter. I assume you signed the letter much earlier and sent it to your London bankers some time in advance. So it was ready when needed. In other words you signed it some time before you actually owned the shares?'

The big man shifted slightly in his chair. ‘It was a formality only. It was to be delivered when we had the maximum number of shares permitted. Not before. Because it wasn't necessary before.' He gave a quick and slightly mischievous smile. ‘But immediately after, of course. So as to satisfy your Takeover Code.'

‘It's been suggested to me that you may have controlled over fourteen per cent of Closter shares before yesterday – in fact since the flotation last week – and not just below five per cent as you'd already reported. The extra shares are said to have been those we knew were held in the names of two Swiss banks, but which we now understand were for turning over to you at the appropriate time. With the twenty-five per cent of Closter shares you acquired last night, that would make up your holding in the company to just over thirty-nine per cent. Only twelve per cent short of control.'