Nick Stephenson - Paydown (Leopold Blake Series)

Mary opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by the sound of the intercom crackling into life.

“Gordon residence. Mrs. Gordon isn’t taking visitors, I’m afraid,” the disembodied voice said. “Kindly call her assistant to set up a meeting for another day.”

Leopold leaned in to the microphone. “I’m afraid it’s imperative that we speak with Mrs. Gordon today. Right now, actually. We have some important news regarding Mr. Gordon’s estate.”

Mary shot him a fierce look.

Leopold ignored her. “We need to go over the details immediately.”

There was a brief pause.

“Please wait there,” said the voice. The line went dead.

“What the hell are you doing?” said Mary. “We’re not here to talk about the estate. The minute she finds out we lied…”

“By that time, it won’t matter. I had to say something to get us inside, and if you whip out that damn badge she’s only going to be on the defensive.”

“I’m required to identify myself as a police officer. And, if you want any of the testimony from Mrs. Gordon to be worth a damn in future, you have to identify yourself as a consultant for the NYPD. Otherwise we’re wasting our time.”

“Relax. I only need a few seconds. You can tell her what you want after that.”

Mary sighed. “Fine. Just try not to get us into any trouble.”

The intercom buzzed and Leopold heard the locks disengage. The door swung inward, revealing a tall man dressed in a butler’s uniform. The man stepped to the side and waved them inside.

“Please, follow me. Mrs. Gordon will meet you in the drawing room.” The butler led them through to a spacious room toward the back of the house, complete with high ceilings and neoclassical furniture – delicate tables, cabinets, and chairs with finely crafted tapered detail and gold leaf accents. The floors were polished marble, the walls clad with bold wooden panels. The room would not have looked out of place in the Palace of Versailles. A woman, presumably Mrs. Gordon, sat attentively on the sofa. She got to her feet as Leopold and Mary were ushered through.

“Good afternoon,” she said, a weak smile forcing its way onto her lips. “Please, take a seat.” She indicated two armchairs opposite her.

Leopold settled into his seat. “I’m afraid I must confess we’re not here to talk about Mr. Gordon’s estate. We’re here to talk about who killed him.” He paused. “What can you tell me about Vincent Creed?”

Melissa Gordon flinched. “Who are you people?”

“Ma’am, we’re with the NYPD,” said Mary, holding up her ID. “I’m Detective Jordan, this is Leopold Blake. He’s a consultant.”

Mrs. Gordon took a moment to let the words sink in.

“I know this must be difficult for you, ma’am…”

“You know nothing of the sort, Detective,” she said, taking a seat. “My husband was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die. I would advise not trying to empathize with me right now.”

Mary nodded. “I understand, ma’am. We’re very sorry for your loss. Did you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”

“He was a successful man. A lot of that success came at the expense of other people. But that’s just business. I can think of dozens who would hold a grudge, but that’s no different from any other successful trader. You’ve met Mr. Creed, I assume?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled. “Then you know what I mean. He’s hardly one to give off an aura of amiability, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mary shifted in her seat. “I wouldn’t know, ma’am. Did you and Mr. Creed know each other well?”

“Oh yes,” she leaned back and folded her arms. “My husband and I actually met while we both worked at Needham, did you know that? After a few years, we started working in Creed’s division and I took time out to have children.” She paused. “As you can probably tell, that didn’t work out. I was forced out of the firm not long after. Thankfully, Teddy managed to keep things going by himself. He always was a hard worker.”

“Did any of your husband’s clients express any negative feelings toward him?” asked Mary.

“He never spoke about work; I think he felt it might upset me. He would sometimes work from home, but most of the time he was at the office. He liked to keep his personal and professional lives separate.”

“Did he keep a workspace here?” said Leopold, leaning forward.

“Yes, he had a study just down the hall.”

“May we take a look?” He stood up. “There might be something we can use to figure out whether anyone at Needham might have been involved. Mr. Creed wasn’t exactly forthcoming in that respect.”

“I’m not sure my husband’s private business is something I’m comfortable you seeing.”

Leopold sighed. “His private business is what got him killed, Mrs. Gordon. If there’s something about this case I know for sure, it’s that somebody’s not telling me everything. There’s someone at Needham working to keep a secret and I’m going to find out what that is. Do you really want to stand in the way of that?”

Melissa Gordon’s features darkened. “You dare come into my house…”

“We came into your house because your husband was murdered. Killed because he knew something he shouldn’t. And somebody at your husband’s firm is very probably involved in covering it up.”

Mrs. Gordon stood up, shaking slightly. “Fine. You win. Follow me.” She led them through to the hallway. “It’s in here.” She opened a thick wooden door to reveal a cozy room filled with bookshelves. Against the far wall a messy desk spanned most of the width of the floor, piled high with papers and old copies of the Financial Times . A slim computer monitor peeked out above the sea of clutter.

“I haven’t touched it since he was last in here,” she said. “Perhaps I’d better clear some things away.”

Leopold leaned in and located the keyboard. He tapped the space bar and the screen burst into life. “Password?” he said.

“Try ‘PLUTUS999’. All capitals.”

He typed the letters. “Thank you. Here we are.” The operating system loaded. Leopold reached up and tilted the monitor, keeping his hand on the frame. “Viewing angle is a little messed up.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I’m not sure yet.” He clicked on a few folders. “There must be thousands of spreadsheets and presentations on here.”

“That’s pretty much what an investment banker does,” said Mrs. Gordon. “Push numbers around, make pretty graphs, and hope to hell whoever came up with the formulas knew what they were doing.”

Leopold chuckled. “Sounds like a blast. Do you mind if I print a copy of this?” He brought up a text document detailing a list of historic transactions.

She squinted at the screen. “Sure, suit yourself. The printer’s there.”

“Thank you so much for your help.” He fished the printed document from the tray and folded it, slipping it into his pocket. “I think we have everything we need. We’ll be in touch soon.”

As Melissa Gordon’s butler closed the front door behind them, Leopold caught Mary’s expression.

“What?” he asked, heading for the car.

“You did something I’m not going to like, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Spill. I’ll only figure it out eventually.”

Leopold grinned, pulling an ornate Mont Blanc fountain pen from his jacket pocket. “Let’s just say this case has given me a few good ideas.” He unscrewed the nib to reveal a USB micro drive.

“You weren’t supposed to take that,” said Mary. “It’s evidence in a murder case.”

“Relax. We got all the pertinent information off it already. I was able to slip it into the port in the computer monitor. Copied over most of Teddy’s work files. I used the printout to hide the pen as I slipped it back into my jacket.” He grinned again. “We’ll be able to take a proper look without Mrs. Gordon peering over our shoulders.”