Майкл Ридпат - The Partnership Track

I moved over to her. ‘Hi,’ I said.

‘Hi.’

‘This is terrible.’

‘Yes.’

‘Poor Harald.’ I wanted to say what a great guy he was, but that seemed lame.

‘Poor Harald,’ she repeated. She looked serious, but not upset. I was torn about what to do next — whether to show I had overheard Trent the night before. It was her secret, their secret, but I couldn’t just say nothing.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, looking straight down at her with what I hoped was a genuine expression of sympathy.

She didn’t look back at me. She just stared at the police car out by the lake shore, her face set. ‘Peter?’ she said quietly.

‘Yes?’

‘You may have guessed something about me and Harald — I don’t know, you may not have. But if you have, don’t tell anyone, please. I’ll tell the police myself, once I’ve figured out how.’

So there was something going on between Harald and her. People abandoned their social life at companies like Labouchere: men and women spent long days, and nights, working together on deals; it was easier to begin a relationship inside the firm than outside it. But that kind of thing was heavily frowned upon at Labouchere Associates. I had no doubt that if Bill had found out about it, both of them would have lost any chance of partnership. But someone had been killed, for God’s sake! Would Manuela still try to salvage her partnership hopes in those circumstances?

She looked up, returning my stare. Despite her steady expression, her blue eyes were moist. ‘Please,’ she mouthed.

‘OK,’ I said.

One of the uniformed policemen approached us both with a notebook. He was young, tall, clean-cut and wrapped up well against the cold. He asked us politely for our names and addresses, confirmed that we were staying at the hotel and that we were part of the Labouchere group, and then politely requested that we wait inside to be interviewed.

I was the first up. The interviews were held in the manager’s office by the detective with the moustache and the bags under his eyes, Detective Sergeant O’Leary. He wore a brown suit, and I could see the rim of a black sweater under the collar of his white shirt, which was fair enough: it was cold out there. He asked me in precise detail about my movements that morning, about my run, whom I had seen, whom I hadn’t seen and the timings as far as I knew them. Part of me was curious: I had never been interviewed by the police before. Most of me was exhausted and confused. The reality of the murder was only now sinking into my weary, jet-lagged brain.

The detective was making careful notes. ‘OK, that pretty much covers what you were doing this morning. Now let’s move on to Harald Utnes. How long had you known him?’

‘About two years. He joined Labouchere a year after me.’

‘What was he like?’

‘A nice guy. Hard-working. Keen on his job. Good at it, mostly.’

‘Mostly?’

‘Yes. He sometimes lost track of the bigger picture. I was working on a deal with him in Vietnam last year, and he almost blew it. Our client wanted to buy an offshore licence, but the oil price was falling. Harald wasn’t happy with the client’s numbers — he thought they were too optimistic. He was trying to persuade the client to pull the deal. I had to come in and save the situation.’

‘Save the situation? How did you do that?’

‘I told Harald to shut up and reassured the client that the client’s assumptions about the oil price were correct.’

‘I don’t get it. So Harald had got it wrong about the oil price?’

‘Not necessarily,’ I said. ‘In fact, Harald might well turn out to be right about that. But we were going to lose the deal and the fee. That’s what counts.’

The police sergeant frowned. ‘I get it now. So what you’re saying is Harald was too honest?’

‘I suppose so.’ My own scruples about being prepared to tell the client what he wanted to hear in order to secure the deal had been set aside long ago.

The detective looked at me closely. I realized that I might have made an error. In portraying Harald’s honesty, I had raised questions about my own. Probably not a good idea in a murder inquiry.

‘Was Harald popular with his colleagues?’

‘Yes, I would say so. Everyone liked him, as far as I can tell. He was a likeable guy.’ I decided not to tell the policeman about Harald and Manuela. He could discover that himself from her; I was pretty sure it wasn’t common knowledge, so he need never find out that I knew.

‘Can you think of a reason anyone would want to kill him?’

It was a good question, and one I hadn’t yet asked myself. I thought. ‘No.’

‘Any unhappy clients?’

‘No. Not that I know of.’ There had been a deal in West Africa the year before, Project Assegai. Harald had been involved and something had gone wrong, something which had caused a stir throughout the firm. Some mistake with the numbers; I wasn’t sure — I had had nothing to do with it. I would leave it to Bill or one of the others who had worked on the deal to explain that.

‘What about you? His colleagues?’

I replied instantly. ‘No reason that any of us would kill him. Look, it must have been someone from outside. A passer-by.’

‘A passer-by? This place isn’t on the way to anywhere.’

‘Then a thief.’

‘His expensive watch wasn’t taken, neither was his room key. His wallet was still in his room, intact.’

‘What happened to him?’ I asked.

‘Shot in the chest. Probably a handgun, which the murderer will have tossed into the lake if he has any sense. It’s deep right around there. He was dragged into the woods, about fifty feet off the trail. The employee who found him saw the marks in the snow and checked them out.’

I hadn’t heard a gunshot, but then I wouldn’t necessarily have done so if I was back in my cabin on the other side of the lodge when Harald was shot.

‘Was the guy who found him called Jason?’

‘Yes. How do you know?’

‘I spoke to him on my way out this morning. Are there footprints? Tracks?’

‘Three sets, from what we can tell. We think they are yours, Trent Dunston’s, and Jason Turnell’s. We’ll need to examine the shoes you were wearing on your run.’

‘And Harald’s.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Harald’s footprints. Harald’s footprints must have been there too, obviously.’

‘Obviously.’ The detective’s eyes were hard. He clearly didn’t appreciate me trying to do his job for him.

‘So what are you saying? One of us killed him?’

Sergeant O’Leary didn’t answer my question. His blue eyes watched me steadily.

We were both silent. I had the impression that he was waiting for me to fill the gap. With what? Some new piece of information? A confession? This happened in negotiations too — keep quiet and wait for the other guy to concede something.

I kept my mouth shut.

‘You’re all at Lenatonka to figure out which one of you is to become partner?’ he asked eventually.

‘That’s correct.’

I could see where this conversation as going.

‘Last night, did your chairman give any indication of who among you was the most likely to make it?’

‘Yes, he did,’ I said.

‘And that was?’

‘Harald.’ I kept my voice firm. I had nothing to hide. Honest, straight answers would serve me best.

‘Did that surprise you?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘For the reasons I told you earlier. Harald was more concerned with getting the numbers right than doing the deal. When you are a partner you need to be able to do the deal.’

‘Like you?’

‘Like me.’ I couldn’t deny it.

‘Before the chairman said Harald was most likely to make partner, who do you think was favourite?’