Michael Ridpath - Free To Trade

Maybe that was why she was dead.

I stood up and looked out of the window westwards over London. I was sure Debbie wouldn't kill herself. An accident was possible I supposed, but I didn't believe it. Someone had pushed her and it was almost certainly the man who had frightened her so badly as we left the boat. And if she had been killed, it must have been for a reason. There was no obvious reason why anyone should want to kill Debbie.

I sat down again and continued the job of sorting through papers. After an hour and a half I had just finished when Karen came over with a letter.

'What shall I do with Debbie's mail?' she said.

I wondered how long dead people continued to receive mail. 'Give it to me, I suppose,' I said.

Karen handed over a white envelope with Bloomfield Weiss's logo stamped on it. It was marked 'Private and Confidential: To be opened by Addressee only.' Not much chance of that, I thought, gloomily. I opened it.

Dear Ms Chater, Thank you for your recent correspondence regarding trading in the shares of the Gypsum Company of America. We have started our own investigation into possible irregularities by employees of Bloomfield Weiss regarding this same stock. I suggest that we should meet to share information on this matter. I will ring you early next week to arrange a time.

Yours Sincerely,

Ronald Bowen

Senior Compliance Officer

I was intrigued. Gypsum's shares certainly had moved up sharply before the takeover by DGB was announced. This letter suggested Debbie was right to be suspicious. I wondered who should deal with it at De Jong. I supposed I should really give the letter to Hamilton since we no longer had an official compliance officer. But I was curious. I was dealing with all the rest of Debbie's work, why shouldn't I deal with this as well?

I picked up the phone, dialled Bloomfield Weiss and asked to speak to Mr Bowen.

'Bowen here.' His voice was gruff and officious. Large firms such as Bloomfield Weiss took compliance seriously. A scandal could cost them not only a fine of several million, but also the loss of their reputation. After the Blue Arrow affair when a compliance officer at County Natwest had been ignored and overruled, big institutions ensured that their compliance officers had teeth. They were the sort of people who did everything by the book and who could not be pushed around.

'Good morning, Mr Bowen, this is Paul Murray from De Jong & Co.,' I said. 'I'm ringing regarding your recent letter to Debbie Chater, our compliance officer.'

'Oh yes.'

'I am afraid to say Debbie died very recently.' Several days and many explanations after the event it was getting easier to say this bit.

'I'm very sorry,' said Bowen, sounding as though he didn't care in the least.

'I wonder if I can help you regarding the Gypsum Company of America? Debbie and I worked on that together. I read your letter to her this morning.'

'Perhaps you can. Let me just get my file.' There was a rustle of papers down the phone line. 'Yes, one of my colleagues in New York alerted us to the unusual movements in the Gypsum share price. Our investigation has turned up a few useful facts, but nothing we can take action on yet. We were very interested to receive Miss Chater's letter outlining her own suspicions. You will appreciate that the whole investigation is still very confidential at this stage?'

'Yes, of course,' I said.

'Good. We are investigating two employees of Bloomfield Weiss, and one client of the firm. There is also someone else…' His voice trailed off as I heard him turning the page.

'Mr Murray, didn't you say your name was?' said Bowen, his voice a note lower, a note graver.

'Yes,' I said. I swallowed.

'Ah, I'm sorry, I am afraid we don't have anything more on file. Goodbye, Mr Murray.'

'But shouldn't we meet as you suggested?' I asked.

'I don't think that will be necessary,' Bowen said firmly. 'Goodbye.' He rang off.

I slumped back in my chair to think. I didn't like the sound of this investigation.

Vague thoughts of trials and prison floated round my head. Then I pulled myself together. I hadn't done anything wrong. Debbie had said so, and she did know the law. I had no inside information. It was only natural that people would check me out, given my purchase, but I had nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

Still, best to make sure. I rang Bloomfield Weiss again. Cathy answered the phone.

'Is Cash there?' I asked.

'No, he has just popped out to fetch a cup of coffee,' Cathy's clear voice replied. 'He'll be back in a minute.'

'Perhaps you can help,' I said.

'If you think I can,' said Cathy, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

She was probably offended I had asked for Cash instead of her, I thought. Perhaps she thought I doubted her capabilities. I was about to apologise when I stopped myself. Sod it. Some people are just too touchy.

'I was curious about all those Gypsum bonds you were buying last week,' I said. 'Were they for your own books?'

'No, they were for a client.'

'He must have done very nicely,' I said.

'He certainly did,' said Cathy. 'In fact…'

She was interrupted by Cash growling at her. 'Hold on,' she said, and clicked her phone on to hold. A moment later she was back. 'I'm sorry, I've got to jump. I'll tell Cash you were after him,' and she hung up.

Rob walked past my desk and saw me staring gloomily into the receiver. 'What's up? Seen a ghost?' His smile only lasted a second. 'Sorry. Stupid thing to say.'

'Life goes on,' I said. 'But I will miss her.'

'So will I,' said Rob.

'She had a lot of boyfriends, didn't she?'

'Some, I suppose.' Rob caught my glance. His cheeks reddened. 'Some,' he said again, and turned away.

I shrugged my shoulders and got back to work. I looked at the small box of Debbie's possessions at my feet. I should take them back to her flat, I thought. I pulled out the phone book and rang Denny Clark. I asked to speak to Felicity. There was only one woman of that name who worked at Denny Clark, and she was in.

'Hallo, it's Paul Murray,' I said. 'We met at Debbie's funeral.'

'Oh yes,' she said. 'You are the guy she used to work with.'

'That's right. I've got some things of hers. Not much and none of it's very important. Can I bring them round?'

'Sure, when would you like to come?' she said.

'This evening OK?'

'Fine. Come round at seven. The address is twenty-five Cavendish Road. Clapham South is the nearest tube. See you then.'

Cavendish Road turned out to be part of the South Circular, one of the most clogged of London's tired old arteries. Cars and lorries crept forward, and then as a light changed hurtled along the street for fifty yards or so, before slowing to a crawl again. The July evening air was full of dust and carbon-monoxide fumes and throbbed with the sound of revving engines.

Number twenty-five was a small terraced house similar to all the others on the street. There were two bells by the door. I pressed the one with 'Chater' and 'Wilson' written in smudged blue biro. The door buzzed to let me in.

Debbie and Felicity had the upstairs flat. It was cheaply but attractively furnished, untidy but not a mess. Felicity came to the door in tight blue jeans and a sloppy black T-shirt, her red hair falling in a tangle on to her shoulders. She showed me through to the living room. There was one sofa and a series of large cushions on the floor. Felicity motioned for me to sit on the sofa, whilst she curled up on a cushion.

'Sorry this place is a bit of a tip,' she said.

I handed her the box I had brought. 'Thank you,' she said. 'Debbie's parents will be down this weekend to collect things. Can I get you a glass of wine?'

She disappeared to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of Muscadet and two glasses.