Jon Cleary - The Easy Sin

Malone couldn’t believe his luck; he shook hands warmly with Smithy. ‘Yes, it’s about Mr Magee.’

‘Well, basically, he’s a bastard.’ Cragg couldn’t have been more than thirty, but he looked as if his last ten years had been flattened and stretched like strudel dough. His eyes were tired and disillusioned, they had none of the spark of the New Economy. ‘Have you caught him yet?’

‘Caught him?’

‘Well, he’s basically done a bunk, hasn’t he? He knew who was coming in today. Mr Smith is from Ballantine, Ballantine and Kowinsky. The receivers.’

Smith was middle-aged in every way: dress, looks, demeanour. He made Cragg in his dark blue shirt with button-down collar and no tie, his off-white cargo pants and his trainers look like an over-the-hill teenager. But he was good-humoured, as if he had decided that was the only way to combat the depression of throwing businesses out on the street.

‘My men are down in the finance department,’ he said. ‘When we came in this morning all Mr Cragg’s staff just up and left, as if we’d come to fumigate the place. No offence, Mr Cragg. It’s the way we’re always greeted.’ He smiled as if to show it was water off a platypus’ back. ‘One gets used to it.’

‘It’s a regular business, receivership?’ said Malone.

‘Like cremation,’ said Smith and smiled again.

‘Who ordered the cremation?’

Smith hesitated, but Malone’s look told him: don’t hedge, mate. ‘The Kunishima Bank. They’re Japanese, from Osaka.’

‘And what have you found?’

‘It’s too early to say,’ said Smith, hedging. ‘But the losses are considerable, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.’

Malone looked back at Cragg. ‘What do you think happened to Magee?’

Cragg ran a pondering hand over his head. His hair was cut to such a short stubble that it looked like dust; Malone waited for him to look at his hand to see if any had come off. He, too, was hedging. ‘Well, basically, from what I read in the papers, the joke on the computers about a ransom for Kylie –’ He nodded at her as if she were no more than a prize doll on a sideshow stall.

Malone wondered who had told the media about the messages on the computers. ‘You don’t want to believe everything you read in the newspapers. So you think he killed the maid on his way out, just as an afterthought?’

‘No!’ Kylie up till now had remained silent in the background. ‘Errol wouldn’t hurt a fly –’

‘He’s hurt three hundred workers,’ said Cragg. ‘All of them downsized without, basically, any redundancy pay. He’s a bastard,’ he repeated.

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ said Malone. ‘You think he killed the maid?’

‘Well, no-o …’ Cragg all at once looked lost: not just for words, but as if the scene he looked out on, the rows of work-stations, had abruptly turned into a landscape he didn’t recognize. ‘No, I know it doesn’t sound like him – basically –’

‘Of course it doesn’t!’

Malone motioned for Kylie to keep quiet. ‘Could he have been kidnapped?’

‘Why? Why would anyone want to kidnap him and ask for a ransom?’ Cragg frowned. ‘Jesus, everyone’s known for the past week we’re broke –’

‘Maybe one of your staff, or several of them, thought there was some money hidden that would pay for him?’ Sheryl had picked up a nod from Malone. Two interrogators were always better than one. It was Malone’s old cricket strategy, different-type bowlers from opposite ends. ‘Is there any money missing?’

The last question was directed at Smith; he shook his head. ‘Too early to tell.’ Then he added undiplomatically, ‘There often is.’

‘Where would it be?’ Kylie had lapsed back into sullen silence, but now her nose pointed to the scent of money.

Smith shrugged. ‘Anywhere in the world. I’m not saying there is any, but if there is our clients have first call on it. They are the major debtors.’

Malone gave Cragg a hard stare, taking over the bowling again. ‘Did you know the state of affairs?’

Cragg spread his hands, like a man pushing away cards he had been dealt that had no value. ‘I’m not a money man. I came in here two years after Errol had got it off the ground – he wanted my technical experience. I worked in Silicon Valley for two years – I came back here and I could take my pick of jobs. Errol made the best offer.’

‘You’ve got options?’ said Sheryl and again after a slight hesitation Cragg nodded. He seemed off-balance with the two-pronged attack. ‘On paper you’d have been wealthy. Did you sell when you saw the share price going down?’

‘What business is it of yours?’ He was growing angry.

‘We cover every angle,’ said Malone and waited.

Cragg hesitated again, looked at Smith, then back again at Malone and Sheryl. ‘Well, basically, yes –’

Then Malone saw the woman come in the door at the far end of the long room and pause by the reception desk. He was long-sighted, but it was a moment before he recognized Caroline Magee. She stared down towards the group, then turned and was about to disappear when Malone called out, almost a shout, ‘Mrs Magee!’

‘Mrs Magee?’ said Cragg. ‘Who’s that, his mum?’

‘He doesn’t have a mum,’ said Kylie. ‘It’s his bloody wife!’

‘His wife?’ Cragg looked at Kylie as if she had suddenly become an unwanted refugee. ‘He has a wife ?’

‘I wonder if she controls any of his assets?’ said Smith and looked like a prospector who had just come on an unexpected reef. Then he saw Malone look at him and he smiled yet again. ‘Sorry. Just a thought.’

Caroline Magee came leisurely down through the desert of work-stations. She has style , thought Malone; the sort of style Kylie Doolan would never achieve. She was dressed in a dark-green suit with a cream silk shirt under it; a heavy gold bracelet on her wrist and a thin gold chain round her neck were the only decoration. The dark auburn hair was sleek on her head and the large hazel eyes were cautious but confident. She smiled at Malone, ignoring the others.

‘Hello, Inspector. What do we have – good news or bad news?’

‘No news so far.’ Malone introduced her to Sheryl, Cragg and Smith. Kylie had stepped back a pace or two, as if into a frigid zone. ‘Has he contacted you?’

‘Not a word.’ Then she turned to Cragg. ‘Errol mentioned you, Mr Cragg. Said you held the company together.’

Smith laughed; he was the most jovial accountant Malone had ever met. Cragg gave him a sour look, then said, ‘I think Errol was kidding, Mrs Magee. While I was holding it together, he was basically pulling it apart.’

Caroline nodded agreeably. ‘That would be Errol. Wouldn’t it, Miss Doolan?’

Kylie thawed, but only a degree. ‘He always treated me okay.’

‘One can see that,’ said Caroline, spraying freezer. Then she turned to Smith. ‘Will there be any debt?’

‘Oh, I should think so.’ Christ, thought Malone, I bet he goes to cemeteries and dances on graves. Perhaps you could spare me half an hour for a talk?’

She returned his smile. ‘Forget it, Mr Smith. There’s nothing in my name nor with my signature on it. Did he have you sign anything?’ She drew Kylie in again from Antarctica.

Kylie suddenly looked pinched, even sick. ‘Only for credit cards.’

‘Jesus!’ Cragg ran his hand over his head. ‘He’s left us all holding the can!’

‘Not me,’ said Caroline.

Then Sheryl, who had been silent up till now, said, ‘Did he ever talk with you about places he’d like to go to, to live in retirement?’

‘Like Majorca? It’s a little crowded there, isn’t it? But then, it’s easier to get lost in a crowd, isn’t it?’