Michael Ridpath - Free To Trade

Cash's response seemed genuine enough, but his ability to bend the truth was legendary. I didn't know whether he was lying now or not. 'The thought had crossed my mind,' I said.

In a moment the anger was gone. 'Yeah, I suppose it would,' he said. He paused. 'Look, you've had a rough time and I like you.' He saw my eyebrows move up at this but held up his hand, 'No, honestly I do. Some of my customers are jerks, and some of them are smart, and I rate you as one of the smartest. I'm not schmoozing you; after all, you are hardly my top client right now, are you?' I had to agree with that last statement.

'Anyway, I'd like to help you in any way I can. I wasn't involved in any of this. I know you don't believe me, but that doesn't matter for now. Between the two of us we ought to be able to figure out who is really behind all this. Until we do that, you can keep me on your list of prime suspects if you like.'

I could feel myself wanting to believe Cash. It was difficult not to. His offer certainly seemed worth a try at least.

'OK,' I said. 'Let's start with the launch of the Tremont Capital bond.'

Cash smiled. 'Good. Let me think. It was Waigel's deal through and through. He had the relationship with the issuer, and he was the only one working on it in New York. He gave me a call one day, described the deal, and asked me whether I could place it. I remember he said it had to be done quickly.'

'How did you decide who to approach?'

'Come to think of it, Waigel suggested I should try the Harzweiger Bank. De Jong seemed a natural as well. This sort of thing is right up Hamilton's alley. A little complicated, a little obscure, a nice yield if you are smart enough to get it.' I nodded, it was the kind of bond Hamilton would like to buy. 'In fact, the week before, Hamilton had asked me to look about for high-yielding triple-A deals for him. In the end the deal was easy. All placed in a morning. No need for anyone else on the sales desk to get involved. Sweet deal.'

'And very convenient for Waigel. The fewer clients and salesmen involved, the less chance of discovery.'

Cash sighed. 'I guess you are right.'

'Now, what about Phoenix Prosperity? Did you know that it was owned by Tremont Capital?'

'No. I had no idea who owned it. But something very strange was going on there. Come to think of it, it all started quite soon after we placed Tremont Capital.'

Cash took a sip of his beer. 'I had been doing great business with Jack Salmon. He would buy and sell bonds all day, taking a profit whenever he made an eighth of a point and sitting on big losses whenever he got it wrong. A salesman's dream. Big-buck commissions.

'Then, suddenly, things changed. He was still active, so I was happy, but he started to make money. He would put on these large, very risky trades. You know, junk bonds, derivatives, CMO strips, reverse floaters, all kinds of complicated stuff. Some went badly wrong, but he was certainly making more than he was losing.'

'It seems a bit odd that Jack Salmon made money out of those things,' I said.

'It certainly does,' said Cash. 'But it wasn't him. He never took any major decisions himself. Of course he pretended it was him deciding what to do, and I went along with it, but I always made sure he had time to put the phone down and consult with whoever he needed to before coming back to buy my bonds.'

'That makes sense,' I said. I told Cash how I had seen Jack consult someone before buying the Fairways.

We were silent for a bit.

'I knew Dick was a bastard, but I didn't know he was that much of a bastard,' Cash said, mostly to himself.

'You knew him when you were a kid?'

Cash sighed. 'Yeah, I did. We weren't real close. I guess I was a bit more popular than Ricky. He didn't call himself Dick until much later. He looked like a nerd, and acted a bit like one. He used to get a hard time from the other kids until…' Cash tailed off.

'Until?' I said.

'Until he started selling drugs. He teamed up with two big mean apes, and supplied all the drugs to the kids in our neighbourhood. Oh, Ricky never sold the stuff personally. He was too smart for that. But he was behind it all.

'I remember there was another kid who tried to muscle into Ricky's territory. He ended up with a knife in his kidneys. Everyone knew it was one of Ricky's guys. I guess Ricky must have been behind it.'

'But you are still a friend of his.'

'Oh yes. I mean, Ricky was smart. He realised there wasn't a great future in peddling drugs in the Bronx. So he got himself into Columbia and then Harvard Business School, and a top job in investment banking. It doesn't take just brains to do that. It takes a lot of dedication.

'I told you how I was proud of putting guys on to Wall Street. Well, Ricky was one of the most successful of us, and I guess I kind of admired him. Sure, I knew he sailed close to the wind, but you have to get things done somehow. And we did some sweet deals together, so I could overlook the odd misdemeanour. But killing Debbie Chater, and Greg Shoffman?' Cash shook his head.

'We don't know who killed Debbie,' I pointed out. 'It looks like it wasn't you, and Waigel was in America. But the police think they know.'

Cathy and Cash looked at me enquiringly.

'Inspector Powell is convinced that I killed her,' I continued. 'He says he has a witness.'

Cathy looked horrified. 'That's ridiculous. He's not serious, is he?'

'He's very serious.'

'But he hasn't got proof.'

'I don't think he has got all the evidence he needs yet. But I am afraid he might find it,' I said.

'But how could he?' Cathy asked.

'Someone could feed him some more. Or I wouldn't put it past Powell to make it up for himself.'

'So who's his witness?' asked Cash.

'I suspect it's probably Rob,' I said. 'Cathy mentioned he saw me with Debbie that evening. But why he would lie to the police is beyond me.'

'Perhaps he killed her,' said Cash.

'Perhaps he did.' It could have been him. Or it could have been Joe, or Waigel or even Piper. But Rob was in love with Debbie. Joe had denied that he had killed her. Waigel was in New York at the time. And Piper had seemed genuinely unaware of Debbie's death. We just didn't know. It could even be someone totally different, a professional hit-man hired by Waigel, who, once he had dealt with Debbie, had disappeared into the dark and rain.

We discussed all this for an hour without getting anywhere. Finally, we gave up. We drank up and headed upstairs into the dusk of the September evening. Cash bade Cathy and me good night as he got into a cab. His almost lascivious grin suggested that the latest development in our relationship had not escaped him. Cathy and I walked the mile or so to a romantic little Italian restaurant near Covent Garden, and had a very pleasant meal, washed down with a bottle of Chianti. Afterwards, we tossed a coin, I lost, and joined Cathy in a taxi headed for Hampstead.

I got back to my flat at eight the next morning. As soon as I walked in the doorway, I sensed something was wrong.

I shut the door carefully behind me, and stepped into the sitting room. Everything was untouched, just as I had left it the day before. A draft of air blew in from the direction of my open bedroom door. Cautiously, I looked in.

A pane of glass was broken in my bedroom window.

Bloody hell! Another break-in. I had been broken into only two months before. I didn't know why they bothered. There wasn't anything much to steal.

With a rush of panic, I looked back in the sitting room. My medal was still there. So too were the replacement TV and cheap stereo that I had bought after the last time. I opened my small drinks cupboard. Nothing seemed to have been touched there either.

I went back into my bedroom, and took another look at the window. Someone had climbed on to the roof of the shed below, broken the glass, opened the latch and crawled in. I cursed myself for leaving it unlocked, but I usually slept with it open during the summer, and it was too much of a bore to get out the key and lock it every morning.