The Best of British Crime omnibus (49 page)

‘Point taken, sir. Don't want to tread on any toes without reason. Not at this stage.' The policeman's shoulders were now moving backwards and forwards at an enthusiastic pace. ‘So in your view Krontag won't be liable for anything that happened here?'

‘Not knowingly, Inspector. I think you can count on that. International drug companies do a lot to stay competitive, but that doesn't involve crimes against the person. That's strictly for TV fiction. The SAE wouldn't have altered anything either. Although Krontag is the only apparent gainer over the share dealing, I think we'll find the relationship between them and the SAE was always intended to be what in chemistry they call a casual one.'

‘You said the SAE
wouldn't
have altered anything, sir?'

‘Yes. If it had actually existed. Except it never did. If we can find out who was responsible for the kidnap, we'll know who conned us into believing in the SAE. Krontag want to know that too.'

‘Bit complicated, sir.'

‘Yes, Inspector.'

And so far as the police were concerned, Treasure hoped it would stay that way for a little while yet.

‘Proper turn-up it was,' said Bert Tanner, yawning loudly as he shuffled naked across the carpet, pulled back the sheet and got into the bed. It was eight fifteen on Thursday morning.

Bert was in urgent need of sleep, and feeling his age. Even the sight of Doris hooking up the new lacy black bra that matched her skimpy panties was quite failing to interest let alone arouse him.

Doris had been downstairs, dressed in a négligé, having breakfast when her husband had arrived home. He had been later than expected. She had warned him already that she was going to be late for the office. But she needn't have been concerned about his delaying her with amorous demands. He really preferred love-making first thing, and so far as Bert's body clock was concerned, this was the middle of the night. He'd scarcely had the energy to kiss her, let alone attempt anything bolder.

‘From when I clocked on,' he recounted, his voice slurred, eyes half closed. ‘From the first minute, it was nonstop. Not a break all shift.' He yawned loudly. ‘Tell a lie. There was a lull around three. Short one. Rest of the time you'd have thought all Chiswick was one bloody great gas leak. Whole area about to blow up.' He leaned heavily on one elbow while rearranging his pillows.

‘Real leaks were they, then?' She was wriggling into her dress.

‘No. Equipment faults mostly.' He watched her, not so much dispassionately as resigned to inaction. ‘The punters say there's leaks so you get there in a hurry. Emergency service. Don't fool nobody though.'

‘That's dishonest. To say there's a leak if there isn't. Could be dangerous too. I mean if there's a real leak somewhere and no one left to go to it.'

‘Yeah.' Bert yawned again. He wasn't affronted by the wiles of British Gas customers, just inured to them. ‘Four hours' overtime, though, altogether. Really short-handed, the Chiswick depot.' The overtime was the compensation. He didn't earn as much as Doris when he worked normal hours. It was the overtime that levelled things. He smacked his lips as he watched her close the wardrobe.

The noise made her think he was changing his mind about getting her into bed. ‘I can't— ' she began.

‘Did I say who I saw?' he interrupted without realising it. ‘From your office?' His eyes, nose and lips were tightly crunched together as he did a memory dredge. ‘What's that director's name?'

‘Mr Larden?'

‘No.' He sighed, scratched his left crutch, and wished he hadn't started telling her. ‘No,' he repeated. It seemed he had given up the effort of explaining further, until he said hoarsely: ‘It was the one I did the installing job for. Heaters in stables. For cash. In the country. Village outside Maidenhead.'

‘You mean Closter-Bennet?' She had moved to the dressing table to make up her face.

‘Expect so.' His eyes were closed again, then they opened briefly. ‘Yeah. I remember now. Same name as the company. They're the ones with all the money, you said.'

‘That's right.'

He took a long breath through his nose, swallowed, then cleared his throat, making a noise like an overcharged blow-lamp.

‘Bert, give over,' his wife exclaimed.

He made a sighing noise instead. ‘In a Chiswick cut-price supermarket, anyway. Half six on a Wednesday night. Not in the Closter-Bennet style. Slumming. That's what I thought,' he said.

‘People shop around these days. After something special perhaps.' Or more like Mr Closter-Bennet had forgotten something his wife had told him to pick up, she thought, so he'd had to find a late shopping store: Chiswick was a bit out of the way for him of course. Perhaps he'd been to London. They said Mrs Closter-Bennet was a tartar at home, though she'd always been pleasant enough to Doris when they'd met. ‘Anyway, Chiswick's not slumming,' Doris said aloud. ‘Look at the cost of houses there. Mr Larden's wife is always decorating places in Chiswick. She's an interior designer. Often gets work there. He told me. Chiswick or Wapping. That's the other place that's come on.' She widened her lips at the mirror as she applied her lipstick. ‘Mr Larden doesn't like her going to Wapping though. I can tell. Too far. The other side of London. Keeps her away from home too long, I expect. Of course, it used to be a terrible area, Wapping.'

She looked around as his broken breathing turned into heavy snoring.

‘Watch it, Doris Tanner,' she said to herself. ‘Your man's gone to sleep on you. Poor lamb.'

It wasn't until later that she was made to wonder more seriously what Giles Closter-Bennet could have been doing in Chiswick the night before.

It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening of the same day when Mark Treasure, showered, and changed into casual clothes, joined his wife for drinks before dinner in the first-floor drawing room of their house in Cheyne Walk. They had intended to be outside in the garden but the temperature had dropped unexpectedly and a chill wind was blowing.

‘I went to Ealing to see Rosemary Hackle this afternoon,' said Molly from an armchair near the fireplace, closing the book on her lap. She had been on the telephone when the banker had got home, then, later, in the kitchen preparing their meal. This was their first chance to talk since breakfast. ‘Rosemary's taking it all very well. Mary Ricini was there. She actually seemed more affected than Rosemary.'

‘Tearful, you mean?' Treasure was pouring himself a whisky at the trolley near the door.

‘Numb. She was going through the motions of being a help to Rosemary, but at moments it seemed to me the rôles were reversed.' Molly picked up her unsweetened tonic water laced with a token amount of gin. The drink still seemed raffish after a week on lemon juice. ‘They went together to identify the body this morning. I don't know who was supporting whom then.'

‘D'you suppose Mary was still emotionally involved with Dermot?'

‘Of course she was. You could see that the night she came here. After the Savoy dinner. She hadn't come just to be bitchy about Jane Larden.'

‘Surely she came to tell us that Dermot was making a play for Jane? That was after a lot of heart searching, as she said. She knew a liaison between those two could wreck Dermot's relations with Bob Larden, and with it the future of the company. I remember her words quite clearly. Bit ingenuous to think I could do anything about it, of course. She came here on impulse. Probably regretted it later. But I think her motives were right. Responsible too.'

‘Nonsense,' said Molly. ‘She admitted she and Dermot had just had an affair. She was obviously hoping you'd talk Dermot into letting Jane alone.'

‘So he'd go back to his wife. His long-suffering wife. Mary made it plain enough it was because of Rosemary she'd broken with Dermot herself.'

‘Also nonsense. I'm sure he broke with her. Mary simply wanted to get him back.'

‘I think you're being uncharitable.'

‘No, darling, just realistic.'

He came over with his drink, taking the chair opposite Molly, on the other side of the fireplace. ‘I gather Mary really has been a pillar of strength to Rosemary and the children since Monday morning.'

‘That's conscience probably. As for her theory about Jane, thinking back, it was perfectly obvious at dinner that night that it was Jane who was making off with Dermot, not the other way around. And that she must have been at it for some time before. I remember feeling vexed that Jane had been telling me the week before how attractive Dermot was to all the women at Closter. I wonder any of them got a look in with Jane on the prowl.'

Treasure stretched his long legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. ‘I must live a very sheltered life,' he said, eyeing his shoes blankly.

‘Just busy, I expect, darling. With no time for trivia,' said Molly tolerantly, before taking another sip of her drink. ‘So tell me about today. Were you at the Closter factory?'

‘No. At the Stock Exchange most of the time. Dealings in Closter shares have been suspended till Monday. Meantime, all transactions since last Tuesday are to be scrutinised.'

‘That was quick.'

‘Needed to be. On balance, this part of the business is another tragedy. Sort of episode that hangs over a company for ever. But it's unavoidable. The Stock Exchange Council and the Securities and Investments Board both accepted our evidence that the directors's shares were sold under duress.'

‘So will all those sales be cancelled?'

‘Yes. On the request of any seller. Any sale that was made at below a hundred and twenty-five pence a share.'

‘That's Krontag's bid price?'

He nodded.

‘But what about the people who
bought
Closter shares?'

‘Their deals will be cancelled.'

‘So can they buy again at the Krontag bid price?'

‘At the market price on Monday morning. That's likely to be a lot higher than a hundred and twenty-five pence. Effectively, of course, there was only one buyer this week.'

‘Krontag?'

‘Yes.'

‘But other people besides Closter directors sold shares in a panic, too.'

‘They can all have the sales cancelled. It'll be on the TV news tonight, probably. In the papers tomorrow, certainly. Krontag have turned Queen's Evidence, as it were. Through their London bankers. They've shopped Lybred and Greet in the process. Krontag have disclaimed all knowledge of the kidnap, and that's being presented as fact in the news announcement.'

‘Will the disclaimer do for the police too?'

‘Depends on whether the Fraud Squad decides to investigate. It's their pidgeon, not the ordinary CID's.'

‘Even with Dermot dying?'

‘Yes. Assuming it was a natural death. And nobody's suggested otherwise. The Fraud Squad probably won't be interested. Too busy with more complex things. It's an open and shut sort of case, with all financial losses about to be made good. Criminal proceedings against Lybred and Greet would involve complicated extraditions. Helga Greet is still in a coma. Her American partner Lybred can't be found. Skipped probably.' He waved a hand dismissively. ‘Much better to forget the whole thing.'

‘Better for Closter?'

‘Especially for Closter.' He paused. ‘And in view of the dead Dermot's somewhat enigmatic rôle.'

‘Why enigmatic?'

‘Because it's not clear if he was co-operating with the kidnappers. I think he must have been, but it's only a theory. He could have been bought over by them. After they took him.'

‘You mean he wasn't a real prisoner in that flat? How d' you know that?'

‘I don't. It's pure speculation, but it bothers me, along with a few other unfounded possibilities. But since they don't bother anyone else, much better to ignore them.' He took a handful of cashew nuts from a dish on a side table. ‘In a sense it's a pity there's still life in the takeover. Krontag are surrendering claim to all the shares they've bought, except for their original holding. But they still want to take over Closter. That will almost certainly mean they'll have to increase their offer price.'

‘Is that good or bad?'

‘Depends on the price. And the attitude of a majority of the shareholders, of course. The Chairman of the Stock Exchange believes the Secretary of State was intending to refer the bid to the Monopolies Commission anyway. That's what he told me this evening.'

‘Will that stop the bid?'

‘It'll delay it certainly. For about six months. And stop it if the Monopolies Commission turns it down. That was always a possibility, of course.'

‘Because Closter is a little company that needs protecting from Big Brother?'

Treasure chuckled. ‘Not quite, but it's a nice thought. No. The Monopolies Commission would simply have to decide whether Krontag owning Closter would unduly increase Krontag's power to control a market. Krontag already have a large piece of the painkiller market, and that's also where Closter are strongest – and will be stronger still if Seromig succeeds. I'm anxious to have Stuart Bodlin's opinion on that one. Unfortunately he's gone missing. Since around four yesterday afternoon.'

‘Disappeared?'

‘Mmm. Nothing so unusual for Bodlin apparently, and nothing to get alarmed about either. Still, it's highly inconvenient after what's happened. Anyway, we need his input on the monopoly matter.'

‘Is the Government bothered because Krontag is a foreign company?' Molly asked, just as there was a long ring on the front door bell.

‘I'll get it,' said Treasure, heaving himself out of the chair. ‘Funny time to call, whoever it is,' he complained as he left the room.

When he returned, Detective Inspector Furlong was with him.