The Price Of Darkness (29 page)

‘Over here, boss.’

A door at the end accessed a small, windowless room reeking of new paint. Two desks had been installed, one against the back wall, the other at right angles. Phones and computers, said Suttle, would be up and running by midday.

Faraday was eyeing the desks. At last, he was feeling better.

‘What do you think, boss?’

‘Put them face to face. Think you can cope with looking at me all day?’

‘No problem.’ Suttle began to haul one of the desks into position. ‘My pleasure.’

For the time being, pending the arrival of a new team of civvy indexers, they moved next door to the Incident Room. At Faraday’s request, Suttle was trying to get in touch with Stephen Benskin. Up early, the young D/C had been through the rest of the bank statements and was convinced it was time to press Benskin for a full account of his recent dealings with his dead partner. There was stuff here he simply didn’t understand. Only Benskin himself would have the answers.

‘He’s en route to Southampton, boss.’ Suttle was on the line to Benskin’s secretary. ‘Apparently he’s got some meetings at a hotel over there.’

‘Bell him on the mobile, then. Pin him down to a time and place.’

Suttle redialled. Within seconds he was talking again, his back turned to Faraday, his hand reaching for a pen.

‘The Park Hotel.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘He says he’s got half an hour to spare at twelve.’

‘Twelve’s fine. We’ll meet him at the nick in the Civic Centre. Tell him to go to the front desk. And tell him he’ll need more than half an hour.’

 

Mackenzie had gone by the time Katherine Brodie phoned. Winter was sitting in front of BBC News 24 with a bowl of porridge. The death of the minister was sinking steadily down the news order, kicked into touch by the return of the bodies of 14 dead RAF personnel from Afghanistan.

Winter steadied the bowl on his lap. Brodie had indeed been talking to some media people and one of them was extremely keen on a meeting.

‘Who is he?’

‘His name’s Michael Lander. He’s a freelance producer, good track record. He’s made a bit of a name for himself with events afloat. Talk to anyone at Cowes. They all know him.’

Mention of Cowes unsettled Winter. What little he knew of the yachting fraternity told him that Bazza Mackenzie might come as a bit of a shock to someone of Michael Lander’s pedigree.

‘So what’s he after, this bloke? A bit of rough?’

‘Money.’ Brodie was laughing. ‘Like they all are.’

‘And you’re serious? He’s kosher?’

‘I’m not with you.’

‘He does what it says on the label? You’re not trying to bullshit me again?’

‘Would I?’ She was laughing again. ‘He says he’s got the inside track at Sky Sports. He does deals with them all the time and he thinks they’d really be up for something like this. What he needs now are proper costings. I’ve done some rough sums which might help. I’ll bring them down.’

‘Down?’

‘Yeah. I’ve invited him to lunch. Maybe you could run it past Mackenzie. Royal Trafalgar? Half one? Something tells me it’s Bazza’s shout.’

 

Stephen Benskin was already waiting at the police station attached to Southampton’s Civic Centre by the time Faraday and D/C Suttle arrived. An accident on the motorway had delayed them but Benskin wasn’t interested in excuses.

‘This is my solicitor.’ He grunted. ‘And her time’s as expensive as mine.’

Wendy Pallister was a small, wiry, thin-faced woman with a slightly damp handshake. Busy on her mobile, she spared Faraday barely a glance.

Faraday had already phoned ahead to make arrangements with the duty Inspector. A civilian unlocked the access door to the main body of the police station and led the party past a series of offices to the interview suite. Suttle’s one attempt at small talk with Benskin had come to nothing. Pallister was still on the phone.

The interview room had recently been redecorated. The carpet tiles on the floor looked new and the smell of emulsion lingered in the stale air. Faraday gestured at the chairs around the single table. Benskin sat down first. At the very latest, he had to be away by a quarter to one.

Faraday said he’d do his best, then began to read the caution. Pallister cut short her phone call.

‘My client has volunteered himself for interview. Are we to understand you suspect him of involvement in an offence?’

A heavy cold did nothing for her voice. Faraday glanced up.

‘As you’ll know, we’ve interviewed Mr Benskin before. Certain elements in that interview have caused us some concern. Mr Benskin is not under arrest. He can leave at any time.’

Pallister was about to protest but Benskin forestalled her. He wanted to get this thing over. He was perfectly happy to answer any of Faraday’s questions. The last thing he needed was a third bite out of his working week.

‘That OK with you, guys?’ The coal-black eyes travelled from one face to another. ‘You get this one for free. At 12.45, I’m out of here. Next time, you’ll have to arrest me.’

Faraday read the caution again. By now, Suttle had unpacked his brief case. Back at Fareham, he’d spent an hour or so amalgamating downloads from Mallinder’s laptop and financial data from his bank accounts into a detailed timeline. At a nod from Faraday, his finger found a specific date. 16th February 2006. His head came up.

‘How much did you know about Mr Mallinder’s political views?’

‘I don’t know what you’re driving at.’

‘I’m driving at nothing, Mr Benskin. I’m simply asking whether you ever, the pair of you, had any discussions about politics.’

‘You mean how Jonno voted? Is that what you’re after?’ Suttle nodded. ‘He voted New Labour. Does that make him a leftie these days? Christ knows.’

‘But would you talk about it? Would you discuss the issues?’

‘Not that I can remember, no.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because we had better things to do with our time. Or I did, anyway.’

‘Does politics interest you?’

‘Not in the slightest. In my view, most of these people are on the make. Either it’s money or … you know … advancement, their precious careers. How many of the New Labour lot have done anything practical with their lives? Very few. That’s why most of them are so clueless. ’

Suttle, poker-faced, returned to the file. The date again.

‘On the 16th February, this year, Mr Mallinder raised a sum of money in the form of a bank loan. Did you know about that?’

‘Remind me.’

‘It was a big loan.’

‘How much?’

‘You really can’t remember?’

‘I asked you how much.’

‘Two and a half million pounds.’ Suttle extracted a sheet of paper from the pile at his elbow and slipped it across the desk. ‘You were a co-signatory to that loan.’

‘That’s right. HSBC.’ Benskin had barely glanced at the letter of agreement.

‘Was this something you and Mallinder had discussed before?’

‘Obviously.’

‘So you knew what the loan was for?’

‘Yes.’

‘What was it for?’

For the first time, Benskin hesitated. He was irritated already and the solicitor’s cautionary touch on his arm seemed to sour his mood even further. His eyes returned briefly to the letter, then he leaned forward across the desk, his weight on his elbows. Watching him, Faraday understood only too well why Mallinder had handled most of the negotiations. For Benskin, intimidation had become a habit.

‘Listen …’, he began. ‘… you’re lucky I’m here. You’re lucky I agreed to come. I don’t have to go through all this shit.’

‘You haven’t answered the question, Mr Benskin. You’re free to go, of course you are, but it might be simpler and quicker if we just established the facts of the matter.’

‘The facts?’ Benskin’s laugh was savage. ‘OK, son, here are the facts. No, I didn’t know about the loan. Or about the collateral. Or about the reasons Jonno wanted to lay hands on two and a half mill. And why didn’t I know? Because he faked my signature. Easily done. More easily done than you might imagine.’

‘The money went into his private account.’

‘I expect you’re right.’

‘You didn’t know?’

‘Not then I didn’t, not in February. It certainly didn’t go into one of the business accounts, otherwise I’d have spotted it.’

‘How about your financial controller?’

‘We don’t have a financial controller. We have a woman who looks after the books, and she’s bloody good. We retain an accountant as well, of course, but only on a needs-must basis. Jonno was clever. He disguised it well.’

‘So who spotted it? In the end?’

‘The accountant. The loan was secured against a number of freeholds. A situation arose where we might have suddenly needed to liquidate a couple of those assets. The accountant discovered we couldn’t.’

‘Because they were collateral for the loan?’

‘Exactly.’

‘And when was that?’

‘Some time in May.’ Benskin nodded at Suttle’s paperwork. ‘It’ll be down in your little list somewhere.’

Suttle nodded, then sat back in his chair. So far, thought Faraday, he hasn’t put a foot wrong.

‘Two and a half million pounds constitutes a serious fraud, doesn’t it Mr Benskin?’

‘It’s a lot of money, sure.’

‘So how did you feel when you found out?’

‘I was extremely pissed off. We had a conversation. Then he paid the money back. Plus interest.’

‘Did he tell you why he wanted the money in the first place?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what was the reason?’

‘First he said it was a loan to the New Labour lot. Then he changed that into a donation. There was going to be a school involved. Either way, he said it was going to help us get the inside track on the Tipner thing, you know, the dump. And once that happened, and we laid hands on acres and acres of extra land, right down by the water, then we’d make squillions of quid.’

‘How would that work?’

‘It wouldn’t. I told him straight off. I said he was out of his mind. He seemed to think a whack of money into their war chest would buy him some civil servant in the Ministry of Defence. In fact to him it wasn’t a donation at all. More like a business investment.’ He studied his nails a moment, then shook his head. ‘He could be naive sometimes, Jonno. His own worst bloody enemy, to tell you the truth.’

There was a long silence, broken at length by Faraday.

‘So Mallinder, your partner, lied to you.’

‘Obviously.’

‘To the tune of two and a half million quid.’

‘Yes. And you know why? Because there was no bloody way I’d ever have agreed that kind of loan in the first place. Bunging a bunch of politicians? You have to be joking. Jonno thought different. He genuinely expected to make on the deal. Big time. I don’t doubt that for a moment.’

‘But his judgement … ?

‘… was crap.’

‘And his honesty?’

‘That shocked me. I can’t pretend it didn’t. I knew he could be …’ he frowned. ‘… inventive when it suited us, like in a negotiation for instance. But this was the first time he’d tried it on me.’

‘What does inventive mean?’

‘It means … oh, come on, you know what it bloody means.’

‘Tell me.’

The solicitor, this time, was firmer. She blew her nose then said that this line of questioning, in her view, was oppressive. Not simply that but potentially prejudicial. Benskin, once again, ignored her.

‘It means he sometimes lied. Small lies. White lies. Evasions. Untruths. Whatever. Anything to put us in the driving seat. It mattered to Jonno that we won. It was going to be the same with the Tipner deal. He’d raised the cash. He’d made the investment. And sometime soon we’d buy the whole lot off the current developers, cash in the favour with New Labour, the MoD, whatever, access all that extra land, and walk away laughing. By then I’d probably have discovered about the bank loan but that didn’t matter because by that time we’d both be seriously rich. It was bonkers but he believed it.’

‘Unlike you.’

‘Too bloody right.’

‘So how did that affect the partnership afterwards?’

Benskin thought hard about the question. Faraday could see he knew exactly where it would lead. At length, he shrugged.

‘I was pissed off. Anyone would be.’

‘So what did you do about it?’

‘I told him I wanted the money back. Plus I said we had to tighten up. I meant in terms of accounting procedures. No way was that going to happen again.’

‘And how did he react?’

‘He agreed. Not that he had any choice in the matter. You’re right. Technically, he’d committed fraud.’

Faraday permitted himself a smile. He could imagine the conversation only too well. No wonder, in the aftermath, Mallinder began to build himself a solo career.

Suttle wanted to know more about the collateral. Just what kind of freeholds secured a loan of this size?

‘They were properties we’d acquired a while back. They belonged to a chain of hardware stores. Gullifant’s.’

‘Is this the same place as in Farnham?’ Faraday remembered mention of an ironmonger’s the first time he and Tracy Barber had talked to Benskin.

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re saying there was a chain of them?’

‘Yes.’

‘How many?’

‘Thirteen.’

‘And you bought the lot?’

‘We bought the firm, yes.’

‘And whose idea was that?’

‘Jonno’s.’

Mallinder, he said, had spent the best part of a fortnight driving across the south, visiting each store. All the premises were freehold, wholly owned by the Gullifant family. At least half of them had potential value in the event of major town-centre redevelopment, a fact seemingly lost on the company’s management.

‘So you bought the company?’