Питер Джеймс - Find Them Dead

Emily Denyer, smartly dressed and looking fresh, had a sheaf of forms in front of her. ‘Mr Gready, I just need to establish with you some information about your income and expenditure.’

‘Of course.’ He blinked several times. ‘Fire away.’

‘You have a rental flat in Marbella in Spain, for which you paid £272,000 in cash, no mortgage, eight years ago. Is that correct?’

His blink rate increased, and his hands jigged. ‘Yes, from memory I believe that was the amount, yes. But we have never stayed there, it is permanently rented out.’

She shuffled through some of the papers. ‘I have here the past ten years of your company accounts, filed at Companies House — TG Law. That is your company, of which you are the owner?’

‘It is.’

She looked down at the documents. ‘After paying the salaries of your staff as well as bonuses, and yourself taking drawings of approximately £80,000 each year, you have a net retained profit of approximately £20,000 year on year. Is that correct?’

Gready hesitated and glanced at his solicitor, who looked impassive. ‘More or less — I can’t remember the exact figures.’

‘I have them here, in case you’d like to check them?’

‘No, I’m sure they are accurate.’

‘What I’m struggling with is this, Mr Gready,’ she said. ‘Out of your salary, net of tax, you are paying off the mortgage on your house in Hove, yet you and your wife were able to put all three of your children through expensive private schooling, at a cost for several years of over £95,000 a year. Where did that money come from?’

‘Our parents helped out.’

Emily Denyer nodded. ‘Good money in the greengrocery business?’

‘There was, yes, back in my father’s time. He stashed away a lot of cash.’

‘Enough to pay all those school fees and to pay for the flat in Marbella? He must have sold a lot of bananas.’

Out of the corner of her eye she caught both Kevin Hall and Nick Fox concealing their smiles.

‘It was all different back in my dad’s time,’ Gready said, defensively.

‘And in your in-laws’ time too?’ she pressed. ‘Your wife’s father was a travelling sales agent for a number of handbag manufacturers — his patch was the North of England, wasn’t it? Are you saying he salted away enough cash to let you buy the Marbella flat?’

‘He was a very canny man, investing every spare penny he earned on the stock market. He died a very wealthy man.’

‘That’s odd,’ Denyer said, shuffling through more documents. ‘I have a copy of his grant of probate, filed with the Probate Registry. It showed he left a net of £177,532, to be divided between your wife, Barbara, and four other relatives. I’m struggling at the moment, Mr Gready, to get to the £272,000 you paid for your Marbella flat.’

‘Yes, well, I’m sure you are,’ Gready said, testily. ‘I’m afraid what the will isn’t showing you is all the money he had placed, quite legitimately, abroad. He was an extremely good salesman and his customers loved him and supported him strongly. There is a lot of money to be made in handbags.’ He hesitated. ‘Look, I’m an ordinary guy, this is all hugely embarrassing. I’m struggling to keep my legal practice afloat thanks to the ridiculously low fees we get these days. So, my wife and our parents stashed away a bit of cash — good on them. You’ve also not mentioned the money my wife inherited from her mother, close to £300k. What’s your problem?’

Emily Denyer went through a number of documents and spreadsheets regarding his financial accounts and background over the next hour.

‘Have you now all the answers you need, Ms Denyer?’ Fox asked.

Gready glanced at his wrist, forgetting his watch wasn’t there — it had been taken off him for safekeeping after his arrest. He glanced at his solicitor’s watch. 4.53 p.m.

Emily Denyer produced a clear plastic exhibits bag, with an Envoseal tag securing it and a signed exhibit label. Inside was his beloved Rolex.

Sounding much more friendly, she said, ‘Nice watch! My dad’s got one very similar. Can I have a look?’

‘Yes, please do!’ he said proudly, thinking that maybe this could be the icebreaker between them.

She made a play of peering closely at it, through the plastic. ‘Am I right, it’s a Rolex Submariner?’

Gready nodded eagerly. ‘Yes.’

‘A vintage one? Looks vintage to me.’

Gready nodded again. ‘Yes, you are right. Circa 1955!’

‘Very nice, must be worth a few bob.’

‘It’s insured for £50,000.’

‘Very sensible,’ she replied. ‘I’d make sure it was well insured if it was mine.’ Then, seamlessly, before Terence Gready was even aware what she was doing, she dropped the watch into her briefcase. ‘I need to retain this.’

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘What are you doing? You can’t take it!’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll give you a receipt for it — I have one here. Your watch will be part of our investigation. If everything is fine, you’ll get it back. You will just need to prove to us that the money to purchase it came from a legitimate source — that it was honestly purchased.’

‘This is outrageous. I’m a solicitor, I bought it out of my earnings. You can’t take my watch, give it back to me, you bloody bitch!’

She smiled at him, and at the ruffled face of his solicitor. In a calm voice she said, ‘Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’ve been called a lot worse.’

When the interview with the detective and the Financial Investigator terminated, Terence Gready, only too well aware of his rights, requested that he stay on in the interview room for a private conference with his solicitor.

For many years, despite Gready’s own extensive knowledge of the law, he had always listened to Fox’s wise counsel. After the others had left, he looked up warily at the wide-angle CCTV camera. ‘Want to check that’s off, Nick?’ he said.

Fox shook his head. ‘It’ll be off — and even if it wasn’t, you know anything we discuss now would be inadmissible evidence. We’re good.’

‘I don’t feel that good. My big worry is Mickey — he loves that brother of his. Fucking dotes on him. I’ve been worried ever since he was arrested that he might try to make a deal with the prosecution — and rat me up. What do you think? One of your colleagues is acting for him, has he said anything to you?’

Gready was paying Fox’s firm to act for Mickey. But it wasn’t out of altruism, it was so he would know what Starr was thinking.

‘A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, Terry. Starr is your weak link. You’re smart to be concerned. He asked my colleague yesterday if he thought he’d get a lesser sentence by pleading guilty.’

‘Understandable. As long as he doesn’t grass me up, it’s OK.’

Fox raised a calming hand. ‘He’s got the message not to go there.’

‘And?’

‘He’s sore. He’s blaming his arrest on you.’

‘On me? If he hadn’t been so damned greedy and packed all the Ferrari’s tyres with coke — the fucking stupid idiot — we’d have been home free.’

‘That’s not what he thinks, Terry. From what he’s said, he reckons you knew your operation was under surveillance and you let him be the fall guy.’

Gready shrugged. ‘Let him be the fall guy? Does he seriously think that if I had the remotest intention of doing that, I’d have lost six million quid’s worth of cocaine in the process? It doesn’t make any sense, Nick. Shit, if I had any inkling — any at all — I’d have halted everything until the heat had blown over. Tell him that.’

‘I’ll tell him, but you need to look at it from his perspective. He’s bang to rights. Caught red-handed trying to import six million quid’s worth of cocaine. Looking at the wrong end of fifteen years, at best. Whilst you might, just might — in his mind — wriggle away free.’