Michael Ridpath - Free To Trade

I spent ten more minutes checking the flat again, but as far as I could make out, I hadn't lost anything. I sat down and thought about it for a moment. I couldn't for the life of me think why anyone would want to break in and not take anything.

Odd.

For a moment, but only for a moment, I considered reporting it to the police. After my recent experiences, that did not seem an appealing prospect. Besides, there was nothing really to investigate.

So, I got down to work.

The TSA was a disappointment. After following through Cathy's logic, I was convinced that they would see that if Cash was cleared of insider trading, then I had to be as well. But Berryman was having none of that. He admitted that there was no conclusive proof implicating me, but said I was still under investigation. I asked him about the deal he had made with Hamilton where the TSA had promised to call off the investigation if I was fired. He refused to comment on this, simply saying that arrangements between De Jong and myself were none of the TSA's business. He then referred darkly to 'parallel investigations'. That must be bloody Powell.

I was angry when I put the phone down. I had counted on total exoneration there and then. More fool me. I was also annoyed, but not entirely surprised, about Berryman not recognising his deal with Hamilton.

Still, it wasn't all bad. Berryman didn't have anything concrete against me, and in time I would be cleared. If Powell didn't get me first.

My brooding was disturbed by the phone. It was Cathy. She had been back through the trading tickets that Joe had written relating to his Gypsum of America position. It had taken her a couple of hours, but by working through them chronologically, she was able to piece together how Joe had built up his position, and what he had done with it. Half of it had been sold to the nominee account of a small Liechtenstein bank. Cathy had never heard of it, but Cash had. It was the bank Piper used occasionally for very sensitive trades. It was not traceable to him; only Cash, Joe, and perhaps two or three other trusted market operators knew about it. It would be difficult to prove absolutely that Piper had bought the Gypsum bonds, but it was clear enough to us that he and Joe had been working together.

I got out a pad of paper, and began scribbling short notes, and crossing them out. I felt I was so close to unravelling the tangle. Tremont, the Tahiti, Gypsum of America, Piper, Joe, Waigel and Cash all seemed to be connected. Yet the more I thought about them the more jumbled the connections became. And then there was Rob. Rob, who had threatened Debbie, had threatened me and who had threatened Cathy. Passionate, unpredictable. But not a killer, surely?

My thoughts were interrupted by the buzzer of my entryphone. I looked out of the window. It was the police again.

I let them in downstairs, and stood at the door of my flat. There were four of them: Powell, Jones and the two uniformed men.

'Can we come in?' asked Powell.

'No. Not without a warrant,' I said.

Powell smiled, and handed me some papers. 'Which I happen to have just here,' he said. He barged past me into the flat. 'Come on, lads.'

The flat looked even smaller with four large policemen and me in it. There was nothing I could do. 'What are you looking for?' I asked.

'Let's start with the records of all your share dealings, shall we?'

Reluctantly, I showed him where my share contract notes, all four of them, were kept. I was not one of the stockmarket's most active traders. Powell pounced on them, and quickly pulled out the Gypsum of America contract.

'We'll keep this, thank you,' he said.

The other three policemen were standing at his shoulder, waiting for instructions.

He turned to them. 'OK boys, take it apart.'

They systematically did as they were told. They searched without much enthusiasm, very aware of Powell watching them. I tried to keep my eyes on everything they touched, especially Powell. I might have been paranoid, but I didn't want Powell 'finding' something that I had never seen before. But I couldn't watch all four at once.

There was a cry from my bedroom. 'Sir! Look at this!'

Powell and I rushed through. One of the policemen was holding an earring. It was cheap, but bright, a long red droplet hanging down from a gold coupling.

'Well done, lad,' said Powell, grabbing the earring from the young policeman. He held it in front of me. 'Do you recognise this?'

I did recognise it. I felt cold. I nodded. 'It's Debbie's,' I said, my voice hoarse.

'It certainly is,' said Powell triumphantly. 'She was wearing one just like it when we found her body. And only one.'

His eyes never left my face, watching for every reaction.

'Where did you find it?' I asked.

The policeman pointed to a half-drawer in the chest by my bed. 'Right in the back of there.' The drawer was pulled fully out, my socks strewn all over the rug by my bed.

'You know exactly where it was,' said Powell grinning.

I felt a rush of anger. I had been right to be suspicious of Powell. 'You planted that,' I muttered.

Powell just laughed. 'They all say that. Every time. You could have thought of something more original, a bright boy like you. Come on, lads.'

With that he left the flat, clasping the earring and my share contract notes, the three policemen trooping after him.

As he passed me by the door, he leered. 'Just you wait, boy,' he said. 'We're nearly there. A couple more days and we will be having some very long talks. See you soon.'

I tidied up the mess, and went for a run. I pushed myself harder today, driven on by my anger. As I sped round the park, my determination grew. Cathy was dead right. I had wallowed for far too long. I was in a mess, but I would fight my way out of it. I wasn't quite sure how but I was determined to find a way.

Powell was really beginning to worry me. I had no idea how the earring had got into my flat. He must have planted it.

I pounded on.

Of course! The break-in last night. Someone must have entered my flat and planted the earring then. That was why nothing was stolen. Somehow, whoever it was had known that Powell was planning to search my flat today. Unless of course they had tipped Powell off themselves.

Powell had said he would see me soon, and I had no doubt he would. A murder charge was serious. In theory, I should be happy to put my faith in the British justice system to clear an innocent man. But Powell obviously thought he had a good case against me. And he did have the air of a policeman who always got his man.

Innocent men go to jail all the time.

I was moving very fast now, but I was scarcely aware of any pain in my legs or lungs. I followed my usual route automatically, dodging round the walkers in the park without slowing.

And it was all because of Rob! He must have told the police he had seen me push Debbie. Perhaps he had even planted the earring. Why? I resolved to find out.

Rob lived in a basement flat just off the Earls Court Road. It was only a fifteen-minute walk, but I decided to wait until half past seven to be sure that he was in. I opened an iron gate and walked down some steps into a small patio. Some sad little shrubs grew in pots with weeds in them. I rang the bell.

Rob answered the door. He was barefoot, and wearing a T-shirt and an old pair of jeans. He held a can of Stella in his left hand. He wasn't pleased to see me. 'What do you want?'

'Can I come in?'

'No.'

I pushed my leg into the doorway. Rob shrugged and turned towards his sitting room. 'OK, come in then,' he said.

He flopped into a big grey armchair pointing towards the television. The room was neat, simply furnished, unostentatious. There were already three or four empty beer cans on the floor by his chair.