Felix Francis: Dick Francis's Gamble

“Dreadful business,” said Gregory, also shaking his head. “Not good for the firm. Not good at all.”

It wasn’t too hot for Herb either, I thought, but decided not to say so. Lyall & Black, although very small, had risen to be one of the significant players in the financial services industry solely due to the single-mindedness of both Patrick Lyall and Gregory Black. Where Lyall & Black led, others usually followed. They took an innovative approach to their clients’ investments, often recommending opportunities that more traditional advisers might classify as too risky.

All independent financial advisers are required to determine and grade their clients’ attitudes to risk. Low-risk investments, such as fixed-interest bank accounts or triple-A-rated government bonds, tended to give only a small rate of return but the capital sum was safe. Medium-risk might include stocks in major companies or unit trusts and mutual funds, where the return should be greater but there was a chance of losing some of the capital due to a drop in the stock market price. High-risk investments, including venture capital trusts and foreign currency dealings, gave the opportunity to make big returns but could also result in large losses.

Lyall & Black, however, also advised on investments for which the risk level could only be described as extreme, such as the financing of films or plays, buying shares in wine funds, in foreign property portfolios or in works of art. Returns could be vast, but so were the chances of losing everything.

It was the attitude that had first attracted me to them.

Kicking a horse hard in the belly to ask it to lengthen its stride, to make it right for a jump, was also an extreme-risk strategy that could so easily result in a crashing fall. An alternative, safer approach might be to take a pull, to ask the animal to shorten and to put in an extra stride. It may have been safer, but it was slower, much slower. A great deal better in my mind to crash to the turf trying to win than to be satisfied with second place.

“How much longer are they going to keep us waiting here?” Gregory Black demanded. “Don’t they realize we have work to do?”

No one answered.

One by one, all the other staff had turned up, and the client waiting area was now full to overflowing. For most of them, they had only heard of Herb’s demise as they had arrived, and the last thing they wanted to do was to start work. The two ladies who doubled as receptionists and admin assistants were both in tears. Herb had been popular and much loved, and not least because he’d been a change from the usual rather straitlaced, pin-stripedsuited City financier.

Herb had loved being the American abroad, turning up on the Fourth of July with gifts of candy sticks and apple pie, hosting an office Thanksgiving lunch of turkey and all the trimmings in November, and drawling “Yee-haw!” at the top of his voice like a cowboy when he’d managed to lasso a new client. Herb had been fun, and life in the office was going to be a lot less cheerful for his passing.

Finally, around nine-thirty, a middle-aged man in an ill-fitting gray suit came into the reception and addressed the waiting faces.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began formally. “I am Detective Chief Inspector Tomlinson of the Merseyside Police. Sorry for the inconvenience, but, as you will be aware, my colleagues and I are investigating the murder of Herbert Kovak at Aintree races on Saturday afternoon. I expect we will be here for some time and I ask for your patience. However, I must ask you to remain here as I will want to speak to each of you individually.”

Gregory Black didn’t look pleased. “Can’t we work in our offices while we wait?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” replied the policeman.

“And why not?” demanded Gregory.

“Because I do not want any of you,” he looked around the room, “having any access to your computers.”

“But that’s outrageous.” Gregory was building up a head of steam. “Are you accusing one of us of having something to do with Mr. Kovak’s death?”

“I’m not accusing anyone,” Chief Inspector Tomlinson replied in a more conciliatory tone. “I just need to cover every avenue. If evidence does exist on Mr. Kovak’s computer, then I am sure you will all understand that it has to be free from any possible contamination due to any of you accessing the files through the company server.”

Gregory was hardly placated. “But all our files are remotely saved and can be viewed directly as they were at any time. This is completely ridiculous.”

“Mr. Black.” The policeman turned to face him directly. “You are wasting my time, and the sooner I get back to work, the sooner you will be able to get into your office.”

I looked at Gregory Black. I suspected that no one had spoken to him like that since he was at school, if then. There was absolute silence in the room as we all waited for the explosion, but it didn’t come. He just muttered something under his breath and turned away.

But in one respect Gregory was absolutely right: the restriction on using our computers was ridiculous. Our system allowed for remote access so that certain members of the firm could access the company files from their laptops when away from the office. If any of us had wanted to “contaminate” the files since Herb’s death, we’d had most of the weekend to have done so.

“Can we go out for a coffee?” asked Jessica Winter, the firm’s Compliance Officer. The photocopy room, which also doubled as the small kitchen where we made all our hot drinks, was beyond the offices and hence currently out-of-bounds.

“Yes,” said the chief inspector, “but not all of you at once. I will be starting the interviews soon. And if you do go, please be back by ten o’clock.”

Jessica stood up quickly and made for the door. Half a dozen more made a move in the same direction, including me. Clearly none of us exactly relished the prospect of being confined in close proximity to Gregory Black for the next half hour.

Ihad to wait until after eleven before I was interviewed and, much to Gregory Black’s annoyance, I was second on the policeman’s list after Patrick Lyall.

I don’t know whether the policeman did it on purpose to further antagonize Gregory, but the interviews were carried out in his office and at his desk, with Chief Inspector Tomlinson sitting in the high-backed leather executive chair in which Gregory usually rested his ample frame. That wouldn’t go down well, I thought, especially during a certain Gregory Black’s interview.

“Now then, Mr. Foxton,” said the chief inspector while studying his papers, “I understand you were at Aintree races on Saturday afternoon and were interviewed there by one of my colleagues.”

“Yes,” I replied. “By Detective Inspector Matthews.”

He nodded. “Have you anything further you wish to add to what you said in that interview?”

“Yes, I have,” I said. “I tried to call Inspector Matthews yesterday. In fact, I left a message for him to call me back, but he didn’t. It was about this.”

I removed from my pocket the folded piece of paper I had found in Herb’s coat and spread it out on the desk, rotating it so the chief inspector could read the words. I knew them now by heart: YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE WHAT YOU WERE TOLD. YOU MAY SAY YOU REGRET IT, BUT YOU WONT BE REGRETTING IT FOR LONG.

After quite a few moments, he looked up at me. “Where did you find this?”

“In Mr. Kovak’s coat pocket. He’d left his coat in my car when we arrived at the races. I found it only yesterday.”

The chief inspector studied the paper once more but without touching it.

“Do you recognize the handwriting?” he asked.