Jonathan Taylor - Meyer-Hofmann AG

“The flight will take a little under two hours. I have a full galley on board, and can offer you a full English breakfast, a choice of cold cuts with bread and cheese, or maybe some fresh fruit salad, if you would like?”

She waited expectantly. Lisa regretted the sandwich immediately. Their plastic ham on rye bread could not possibly compete, but she was full, and the strawberries would do for her. “No, thank you,” she replied with a disappointed smile.

“I’ll take the full English,” Michael said enthusiastically.

Lisa looked at him, surprised, but he just shrugged his shoulders at her.

“I’m starving.”

The stewardess looked positively delighted to have the order.

“Lovely, I will start the moment we get into the air. Please enjoy your flight, and if there is anything you need, just press the service button in your seats.”

The plane moved gently forward, as if it had waited for their dialogue to finish. It made a left turn, and without any further delay, the roar of the Rolls-Royce engines signalled their departure from the tarmac. The aircraft moved effortlessly up to its cruising altitude, and the couple settled back for the ride. Reaching across the table, taking her hands in his, Michael squeezed them gently.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Okay? I’m delighted, Michael—look at this! Darling, I think we’ve arrived.”

“I think we have. I can’t believe this, limousines, private planes. It’s another world!”

“You deserve it, Michael; you’ve worked so hard, and they are lucky to get you—this is no more than you deserve!”

He kissed the back of her right hand and sat back in his seat, breathing in the opulence of his surroundings.

I could get used to this, he thought, listening to the clink of cutlery from the galley against the steady hum of the plane’s motors.

After landing in Munich, they taxied to a private hangar, just a short distance from the main terminal buildings of the International Airport. An identical limousine was waiting on the tarmac for them, and Heinz had miraculously appeared next to it, wearing a pair of dark glasses and holding the door open.

“I think I am having déjà vu,” Michael said to Lisa as they descended the stairs of the plane.

“Where did he come from?” she asked, bewildered.

“He was probably in with the pilot.”

“No passport control here either,” Lisa remarked as they left the airport car park, and the car made its way towards the A92 motorway.

“Meyer-Hofmann must have some clout.”

Lisa blew out a deep breath to underline the statement.

“Yes, it’s amazing what money can buy these days.”

Heinz hit the accelerator, and they were both pressed back into the soft leather seats. Lisa squealed with delight. They both liked to drive fast, but Lisa was a real speed freak.

“I can’t wait to get on these motorways.”

“I know, darling, that’s what I’m worried about.”

They smiled at one another and held hands, supporting themselves as the car sped off in the direction of the Bavarian capital. The countryside rushed past them as trees and fields dissolved in a blur of greens and browns. Michael stared at their chauffeur in the driving mirror, somewhat perplexed. When he had picked them up from home, he was sure the man’s face was unblemished. Now, though, Heinz had removed the sunglasses to reveal a nasty reddish scar across his left eye.

Captain Myles Blackburn looked up from the reports on his desk as Joe Wilson entered. It was unusual for Wilson to visit his office, unless he wanted something. Blackburn’s hackles were already rising as the detective sergeant took a seat opposite him and handed him the letter.

Probably another plea for an overdue promotion, Blackburn thought.

Wilson was without doubt one of his best detectives, but he rubbed people up the wrong way. Male people that was, it seemed females were unable to see any of his many flaws.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a letter.” Wilson smiled.

“Great, wise guy. Why are you giving it to me?”

“Captain, you remember what I told you about the Singh case, that it wasn’t so cut and dried as everyone thought?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Read.”

The captain scanned the letter before rubbing his forehead and slowly shaking his head.

“Who is this woman? Can she be trusted?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been in touch with her yet. But I need you to stop them releasing the bodies until we have had a chance to examine them again.”

“The governor won’t like it. They were going to ship them back to India this week. The guy was some Indian politician’s son. Probably how he ended up running a company like HLH Partners.”

HLH Partners had started as a branch of Lehman brothers in 1995, before becoming autonomous three years later. It was a hedge fund, but diversified into managed funds and equities. After moving its headquarters from London to New York in 2000, the company had never looked back. It managed assets in excess of twenty-six billion dollars for investors, and it had become one of the big players on Wall Street. According to the letter, Rahul Singh had become the CEO of HLH at the end of 2010, after a rapid rise through the company’s ranks. He had created two of the most profitable funds on the company’s books and was well-known in the City. HLH had itself been acquired in 2001 by a large German corporation, a holding company called Meyer-Hofmann AG. Keeping the same board and management since the takeover, there had been no noticeable change in the company’s running. Apparently, that had changed recently, when Meyer-Hofmann took a closer interest in the company and its employees. The letter said that Meyer-Hofmann had been in no way pleased to see a man of Indian origins running one of their companies. According to the letter, Meyer-Hofmann had actively tried to move Singh on, but had been blocked by the board, who had backed Singh to a man. The letter went on to talk about written evidence, which implied that Singh should be replaced by other means. Mrs Petersen had been worried that could have meant murder. She had asked to be kept out of the investigation, but by putting her name and address on the letter, she must have known that would not happen. Still, it all seemed rather insubstantial to Blackburn, who put the letter down on the table before looking up at Wilson.

“I’ll talk to the governor, but you better get me something better than this. I need hard evidence.”

Munich Airport is approximately forty kilometres from the town centre, most of which is motorway, and within twenty minutes, Michael and Lisa found themselves driving down Leopold Street. The victory gate or Siegestor marks the boundary of the Ludwig Maximillian University. Both passengers craned their necks to get a better look at the monument.

“Wow, that’s impressive; it looks just like Marble Arch,” Lisa said.

The buildings also took on a more regal air at this point, and they both found themselves looking from right to left for a better view. Ludwig Street merges directly into the Odeonsplatz and the junction with Gallery Street. Michael was just about to ask Heinz if they would be able to visit this district of Munich again when the car came to a halt, and Heinz moved around the vehicle to open their door.

Herman Reichard was standing on the pavement, waiting to greet them. Michael rushed up, hand outstretched, recognising Reichard from photographs he had seen. This was the CEO of Meyer-Hofmann. He had not expected to be interviewed by him, let alone receive a personal welcome. But Reichard ducked around him, instead taking Lisa’s hand and introducing himself. Michael experienced a small moment of self-consciousness before the man took him warmly by the hand.