Michael Ridpath - See No Evil

‘Yes,’ said Calder. ‘She loves him very much. She’s devastated about what happened to him.’

‘She hasn’t mentioned any strains in their marriage?’

‘No. She’s a bit frustrated with where they live, I suppose, but that’s all. Why? Are you suggesting she’s responsible for the bombs?’

‘She would stand to inherit a fortune if Todd were to die.’

‘That’s absurd!’ Calder said, too loudly.

‘Possibly,’ Inspector Banks said. Calder was aware that she was looking at him closely now. ‘Are you sure that you know of nothing else that might suggest marital difficulties?’

Two scenes flashed into Calder’s mind: Donna Snyder at Todd’s bedside, and himself and Kim in his back garden. Just as quickly he tried to banish them. ‘Quite sure,’ he said slowly.

‘What about your relationship with Mrs van Zyl?’

‘I know what you are implying and I resent it,’ Calder said calmly. Inspector Banks’s hazel eyes searched his. He held them.

‘All right,’ said the detective. ‘Just one last question.’

‘Yes?’

‘Where were you on Saturday night?’

Calder frowned. ‘I don’t see what relevance that has to this.’

‘You were last seen, intoxicated, getting into a taxi to King’s Lynn station. You didn’t return home until the next morning.’

‘I don’t have to tell you where I was,’ Calder said.

Banks sighed. ‘No you don’t. But you’ve been cooperative up to now, and it seems odd to me that you refuse to answer the question. It arouses my suspicion. Makes me curious. If you don’t tell me, I will find out the answer.’

Calder looked at her. He wanted to help, and she almost certainly would find out anyway. ‘I went to see Cornelius van Zyl.’

‘Ah. I don’t think that was a good idea, Mr Calder.’

‘But I’m sure he’s responsible for this,’ Calder said.

‘If he is, and I stress if, the last thing we want you to do is go barging in accusing him. He will need to be treated carefully.’

‘Have you seen him yet?’

‘I’m going down to London early tomorrow morning, with my superintendent.’

‘Superintendent?’

‘This is an important investigation.’

‘And Cornelius van Zyl is an important man?’

‘He certainly is,’ said Banks. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Calder.’

Calder saw the two detectives to the door. He was shaken by Banks’s questioning, especially about his relationship with Kim. He really didn’t want that to come out. He was quite sure that it had no relevance to the attempt on Todd’s life: the idea that Kim was in some way responsible was absurd, no matter how much money she stood to inherit. But on the other hand he was encouraged by Banks’s persistence and perceptiveness. If she grilled Cornelius like she had grilled him she might get somewhere.

It was a fine room, Cornelius thought: a long antique board table, portraits of venerable nineteenth-century bankers and the ships that they had financed, and a partial view of the Thames between the flanks of two new City tower blocks.

They were in the boardroom of Leipziger Gurney Kroheim, the merchant bank that had been swallowed by a German leviathan but was still plying its traditional trade of advising companies how to buy and sell. On the other side of the table were three Gurney Kroheim bankers, led by a smooth Jewish man in a nice striped shirt; Peter Laxton, the deal-doing founder and chairman of Laxton Media; and Tim Rollinson, his recently appointed finance director. With Cornelius were Edwin, Benton Davis, Dower and another Bloomfield Weiss banker whose name Cornelius hadn’t registered. The Gurney Kroheim man was talking, asking for more time before accepting the Zyl News bid.

It boiled down to the classic game of chicken. Who would blink first. Zyl News had made an offer for Laxton Media shares that in accordance with Takeover Panel rules had to be open for at least twenty-one days. Peter Laxton owned only 10 per cent of the shares of the company he had founded, most of the rest were held by large investors who were sitting on significant losses and were by now fed up with the company’s management. They were waiting before tendering their shares, hoping for a higher bid to emerge. But the company’s bankers wanted their money back and they wanted it now.

Laxton Media were playing for time, trying to extend Zyl News’s deadline in the hope that they might elicit a higher bid from Evelyn Gill or one of the other potential suitors. Zyl News didn’t want to give them more time for exactly the same reason. If Cornelius refused Peter Laxton’s request for an extension, he risked Laxton rejecting the Zyl News bid. This would be fine for Laxton if another higher bid materialized, but disastrous if it didn’t. Laxton’s bankers were impatient. If Peter Laxton and his board dithered and a higher bid failed to appear, the banks could force the company to come back to Zyl News with their tails between their legs and accept any price Cornelius chose to offer them.

So, a game of bluff. Of the key players around the table, three were professionals of the first order: Cornelius himself, the Gurney Kroheim banker and Peter Laxton. One wasn’t: Tim Rollinson. He was thin, he was bald, he wore thick glasses and he was mean: he had a reputation as a hard man, a vicious cost-cutter, and he had been put in place by the banks. But he wasn’t a player. Cornelius kept his eyes on Rollinson. Rollinson noticed and shifted in his chair. He twisted the top of his Waterman pen to the left and to the right, gripping it so tightly that Cornelius feared he might break it.

When the banker had finished, there was silence, all eyes on Cornelius. Cornelius kept his on Rollinson. He let the silence drift. ‘We rather thought that you would want to do a quick deal,’ he said eventually.

‘We appreciate that,’ Laxton replied, ‘but you can understand why we might want a couple more weeks to give other interested parties time to put a bid together.’

‘I’m just thinking through what will happen if they don’t come up with a bid,’ Cornelius said, ignoring Laxton and focusing on the finance director. ‘It will be tight meeting the payments due to the banks, won’t it, Tim?’

Rollinson looked up from his papers at Cornelius. The finance director was staring through his thick lenses, Cornelius was peering over his more delicate half-moons. ‘I’m quite certain we will have plenty of time to arrange things satisfactorily with the banks,’ Rollinson said. ‘They have assured us that they will give us all the time we need to come to the very best deal for Laxton Media shareholders.’ He held Cornelius’s eyes for a second, two seconds, and then his own eyes flicked sideways towards Peter Laxton for the tiniest instant before returning to Cornelius.

The instant was enough. Rollinson was lying. Cornelius knew it, he couldn’t put into words how he knew, but he knew it. He smiled at Peter Laxton, just to let him know that he knew. ‘I’m sorry, but we can’t extend our offer. It expires in, what is it now, eleven days’ time. I’m sure your shareholders will see the sense in going with us.’

Laxton cleared his throat. ‘We’ll have to consider our position,’ he said gravely.

‘Of course you will,’ said Cornelius, smiling. ‘That’s your prerogative.’

As they left the Gurney Kroheim offices, Benton clapped Cornelius on the back. ‘You’ve hung them out to dry! There’s no way the banks will let them delay recommending our offer. You could see it in Rollinson’s eyes.’

Dower glowered. ‘We’ll have to wait to see what Laxton come back with,’ he said. ‘We can’t be sure they were bluffing.’