Desmond Bagley - The Snow Tiger / Night of Error

Ballard took out his wallet and extracted a piece of paper. ‘I was leaving the hotel this morning when I got this.’ He passed it to McGill. ‘My grandfather’s dead!’

McGill unfolded the cablegram and read it. ‘Ian, I’m sorry; I really am.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘This Harriet – is she your mother?’

‘Yes.’

‘She wants you to go home.’

‘She would,’ said Ballard bitterly.

‘And you showed this to Rickman?’

‘Yes.’

‘And he got up on his hind legs and, by inference, demonstrated that you are a coward. Hell, Ian; he’s not representing you! He’s representing the company.’

‘Six of one and half a dozen of the other.’

McGill regarded Ballard and slowly shook his head. ‘You really believe what the Chairman of the Commission said, don’t you? That all they want is to get at the truth. Well, that may be what Harrison thinks but it’s not what the public want. Fifty-four people died, Ian, and the public want a scapegoat. The President of your company knows …’

‘Chairman.’

McGill waggled his hand. ‘To hell with semantics. The Chairman of your company knows that, too, and he’s making goddam sure the company isn’t the goat. That’s why he’s employed a sharp cookie like Rickman, and if you think Rickman is acting for you then you’re out of your mind. If the company can get out from under by sacrificing you then that’s what they’ll do.’

He thumped the table. ‘I can write the scenario right now. “Mr Ballard is new to the company. Mr Ballard is young and inexperienced. It is only to be expected that so young a man should make unfortunate mistakes. Surely such errors of judgment may be excused in one so inexperienced.”’ McGill leaned back in his chair. ‘By the time Rickman is finished with you he’ll have everyone believing you arranged the goddam avalanche – and the Petersons and that snide lawyer of theirs will fall over themselves to help him.’

Ballard smiled slightly. ‘You have great powers of imagination, Mike.’

‘Oh, what the hell!’ said McGill disgustedly. ‘Let’s have another beer.’

‘My round.’ Ballard got up and went to the bar. When he came back he said, ‘So the old boy’s dead.’ He shook his head. ‘You know, Mike, it hit me harder than I thought it would.’

McGill poured more beer. ‘Judging by the way you talked about him, I’m surprised you feel anything at all.’

‘Oh, he was a cantankerous old devil – stubborn and self-opinionated – but there was something about him …’ Ballard shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘What happens to the parent corporation … what’s it called?’

‘Ballard Holdings.’

‘What happens to Ballard Holdings now he’s dead? Is it up for grabs?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. The old man established a trust or something like that. I never really got the hang of it because I knew I wouldn’t figure in it. I imagine that things will remain pretty stable, with Uncle Bert and Uncle Steve and Uncle Ed running things pretty much as they are now. Which is to say badly.’

‘I don’t see why the shareholders put up with it.’

‘The shareholders don’t have a bloody thing to do with it. Let me tell you a fact of financial life, Mike. You don’t really need fifty-one per cent of the shares of a company to control it. Thirty per cent is enough if the other shares are fragmented into small parcels and if your lawyers and accountants are smart enough.’ Ballard shrugged. ‘In any case, the shareholders aren’t too unhappy; all the Ballard companies make profits, and the kind of people who are buying into Ballard companies these days aren’t the type to inquire too closely into how the profits are made.’

‘Yeah,’ said McGill abstractedly. This was not really of interest to him. He leaned forward and said, ‘Let’s do some strategy planning.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve been figuring how Harrison’s mind works. He’s a very logical guy and that works in our favour. I’m going to give evidence tomorrow about the meeting with the mine management. Why me?’

‘Harrison asked if you’d been present during the entire meeting – and you had. He picked you because you were already on the stand and it was quicker than calling another witness. That’s what I think, anyway.’

McGill looked pleased. ‘That’s what I think, too. Harrison said he’d take evidence in chronological order, and he’s doing just that. Now what happened after the mine meeting?’

‘We had the meeting with the town council.’

‘And what will Harrison ask me?’

‘He’ll ask if you were present during the whole of that meeting – and you’ll have to say no, because you left half way through. So?’

‘So I want to pick the next witness, and knowing how Harrison’s mind works, I think I can swing it.’

‘Who do you want for the next witness?’

‘Turi Buck,’ said McGill. ‘I want to get on record the history of Hukahoronui just to ram things home. I want to get on record the sheer stupidity of that goddam town council.’

Ballard looked broodingly into his glass. ‘I don’t like doing that to Turi. It might hurt.’

‘He wants to do it. He’s already put himself forward as a voluntary witness. He’s staying with his sister here in Christchurch; we’ll pick him up tomorrow morning.’

‘All right.’

‘Now, look, Ian. Turi is an old man and may be likely to become confused under hostile cross-examination. We’ve got to make sure that the right questions are asked in the right order. We’ve got to cover the ground so thoroughly that no one – not Lyall nor Rickman – can find a loophole.’

‘I’ll make out a list of questions for Rickman,’ said Ballard.

McGill rolled his eyes skyward. ‘Can’t you get it into your thick skull that if Rickman questions Turi it will be in a hostile manner.’

Ballard said sharply, ‘Rickman is representing me and he’ll follow my instructions.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’

‘If he doesn’t then I’ll know you’re right – and that will free me completely. We’ll see.’ He drained his glass. ‘I feel sticky; I’m going to have a shower.’

As they left the bar McGill said, ‘About that cablegram. You’re not going back, are you?’

‘You mean running home to Mamma?’ Ballard grinned. ‘Not while Harrison is Chairman of the Commission. I doubt if even my mother could win against Harrison.’

‘Your mother isn’t Jewish, is she?’ asked McGill curiously.

‘No. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, it’s just that Jewish mothers are popularly supposed to be strong-willed. But I think that your mother could give a Jewish mother points and still win.’

‘It’s not a matter of a strong will,’ said Ballard soberly. ‘It’s just straightforward moral blackmail.’

McGill and Ballard found Turi Buck waiting outside his sister’s home at nine-thirty next morning. Although it was still early the weather showed signs of becoming oppressively hot. Ballard leaned over to open the back door of the car, and said, ‘Jump in, Turi.’

‘I’m past jumping anywhere, Ian,’ said Turi wryly, ‘But I’ll endeavour to accommodate myself in this seat.’

Sometimes Turi’s phrases had an oddly old-fashioned ring about them. Ballard knew he had never been formally educated but had read a lot, and he suspected that Sir Walter Scott was responsible for some of the more courtly expressions.

‘It’s good of you to come, Turi.’

‘I had to come, Ian.’

In the Provincial Chamber, at precisely ten o’clock, Harrison tapped the top of the rostrum gently with his gavel, and said, ‘We are now prepared to resume the inquiry into the avalanche disaster at Hukahoronui. Dr McGill was giving evidence. Will you please resume your seat?’