Quintin Jardine - Deadly Business

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‘Can we prove they’re doing it?’

‘I doubt it, going by the advice I’m getting.’

‘But I don’t get it,’ the lawyer murmured. ‘Why?’

I was pretty sure that I’d got it, but I was keeping it to myself for the time being.

We were silent for most of the remainder of the journey. As we came off the motorway, Wylie asked Liam if he wanted to use his office computer to study the images he had shot, but I vetoed that. ‘It’s Greg McPhillips’ office as well, and he’s involved with the dark side. I’m not saying he’d spy on us, but let’s not put him in a situation where he might feel he had to.’

With that decided, we went back to the hotel, returned the car to the parking valet and went up to my, our, suite. I booted up my laptop and handed it to Liam. He connected his camera through a USB socket, then waited while the machine recognised its software. Initially every image on the memory stick was displayed, but he soon isolated those in which we had an interest.

He began by looking at the shots of Duncan leaving his car; yes, I could tell it was him, because that profile shot was recognisable. Another of those shots interested me. It showed him with a key in the Yale lock of the front door. He looked completely at ease and sure of his circumstances, not glancing over his shoulder, nothing furtive about him. He’d been there before, many times. Even in a still image, his body language was that of a man going home.

Liam moved on to the last two pictures that he had snatched, before he began to feel exposed and split from there. The first was blurred beyond redemption, but the other showed two figures. It was a telephoto shot, though, and their faces were indistinct. By the clothes he wore Duncan was one; by the clothes she wasn’t wearing the other was female, very obviously female. Long dark hair fell on to her shoulders, but didn’t hide any assets.

‘Tom,’ I began.

‘Forget it, Mum,’ he said. I didn’t argue, but I made a mental note to monitor his computer usage from that point on.

‘Liam,’ I asked, ‘can you make that any clearer?’

‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘It’s a high-resolution image, the sharpest the camera can do. Let me zoom it up, and make it as sharp as I can.’

He leaned over the laptop, two fingers moving gently, almost sensually, over the track pad, then when he was ready, clocking the return key with his thumb. ‘There,’ he announced, turning the computer so that Wylie and I could see what he had done.

Wylie’s mouth fell open ‘That’s …’ he gasped.

So did mine. ‘That’s Kim Coates,’ I exclaimed.

Liam chuckled. ‘You two can call her anything you like, but trust a man who never forgets a face, especially if it’s above a rack like that: that is Natalie Morgan.’

Why was I not surprised? She’d played me for a mug in Fabricant’s office, and she must have loved it.

‘I am professionally embarrassed,’ Wylie Smith said. ‘I should have known who she was, given her past history with the Gantry Group.’

‘Forget it,’ I told him. ‘You’re a man; you never got as high as her face when we met her. What I want to know is, what’s her past history with Duncan Culshaw? Do you keep company annual reports in your office?’

‘Only those of client companies,’ he replied, ‘but if Torrent has a website, you might find its reports available there. That’s if they publish them at all, beyond what they have to list with Companies House, by statute. It doesn’t have any shareholders to impress, other than Natalie herself.’

‘What does the company do?’

‘It’s always majored in office equipment. When Natalie’s uncle, James Torrent, was alive, they called him the photocopier king. When that market started to die, Natalie was smart enough to spot the symptoms early and diversified into information technology. She sells, installs and updates computer systems to companies of pretty much any size. In fact, when I think about it, I recall that Torrent provided a new set-up for us a couple of years ago. Let me call our IT manager; she may have some information about it.’

I left him to do that, and phoned Cress Oldham. ‘I’ve got the low-down on Torrent,’ I told her, then explained what I knew of the company and its owner.

‘How did Torrent get the leaked information? Do you have any idea about that?’

‘From very early on. The source was Susie Gantry’s second husband, now pretty much ecstatic widower, Duncan Culshaw. He stole it off her computer, although I’m sure he’ll argue that he had every right to do so. This is the same guy who brought the Babylon Links project to his uncle, and got him to commit fifty mil of Gantry money to the project.’

‘So why’s he feeding information to this Morgan woman?’

‘He’s feeding her more than information,’ I snorted, then had a particularly vicious brainwave. ‘I’m going to email you an image. You might be a little shocked by it. I don’t want you to do anything with it, until you hear from me, just keep it and think about where you would put it if you wanted to do the maximum damage to an individual’s reputation. I do believe I can answer your question, but I’d prefer not to, until I’ve sorted a couple of things out in my head.’

‘Okay to all of that,’ she said. ‘But help me out here. We’ve got Culshaw setting up the Babylon Links project with his uncle for Monsoon Holdings, then going to Torrent with information that’s designed to shaft it and Phil. That right?’

‘Spot on.’

‘So who’s Monsoon really?’ she asked. ‘Who’s Fabricant fronting for?’

‘Natalie Morgan, who else?’

‘I don’t get it.’

‘If I’m right, you will, very soon.’

‘It’s funny you should say that,’ Cress exclaimed. ‘I’ve just been tipped off that there’s a press briefing tomorrow morning, nine thirty, in Greentree Stanley’s office in Canary Wharf. I have a contact there and he told me I should keep an eye on it.’

‘No,’ I contradicted her. ‘It’s not funny at all. It’s the beginning of the end.’

‘Of what?’

‘Your client, Cressida; your client.’

Wylie was standing beside my chair as I ended the call. ‘My IT lady has some Torrent corporate brochures,’ he said. ‘I’ve asked her to send them here.’

‘Fine,’ I acknowledged. ‘Don’t wait for them, though. You’ve done a lot for me today. Get yourself home.’ The reports wouldn’t add anything to my knowledge base, but he was pleased with himself, so I didn’t tell him that.

After he’d gone, and after I’d attached Liam’s candid camera shot to an email to Cress, I called Audrey. ‘What news?’ I asked.

‘The French police have released Susie’s body,’ she told me. ‘The cause of death was a massive cerebral haemorrhage. The pathologist agreed with you, and with the consultant in Arizona. She should never have flown that far.’

‘What about the funeral?’

‘I don’t know, Primavera.’ She sighed. ‘Like him or not, Duncan’s her husband. I can’t do anything until he gets back, and that won’t be until tomorrow afternoon. He called Conrad to tell him that, and to say that he’s got about a week to find a new job. He didn’t say where he was though.’

‘He’s in Scotland,’ I told her. ‘He got in quick to check on Susie’s will.’

‘Where does it put him?’

‘In the driving seat, from the looks of things. I’m going to try to set up the children’s trust that Susie wanted, but even if I can, it’ll probably be too late.’

‘You sound really down, Primavera,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t; however this turns out, nobody could have done more than you.’

‘Oz would have,’ I sighed. ‘He’d have killed that fucker Duncan by now.’ It slipped out. I looked around for Tom, but he wasn’t there. He must have gone back to his own room while I was on the phone to Cress. ‘Don’t tell Conrad I said that, please.’

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