‘Mona, if this had been just about sex, do you think I’d would have stayed with you all this time?’
She was too overwrought to be logical. ‘Of course! You couldn’t take the risk of sleeping around and you were bored with the fat‑arsed, pompous wife who couldn’t satisfy you. But, stupid me, I didn’t realise.’ She averted her face. ‘You’ve made me feel used and dirty. The truth is, John, I loved you. I bloody well still do.’
He went over to her and put his arms round her, feeling sobs shaking her whole body. ‘And I love you, Mona. But Michael is even more important to me. That’s just the way it is.’
She lifted her swollen, tear‑stained face. ‘We don’t have to finish...’
He held her against him and spoke over the top of her head. ‘I’ll always look after you financially, but maybe we shouldn’t take up where we were interrupted. I’ll phone you when I’m back in circulation.’ As soon as he had spoken these last words, he knew he’d been wrong. He should not have left her any hope at all.
‘I don’t understand what makes you tick.’ Her voice was muffled against his chest.
John was silent. He could not explain it himself. As a boy, his motivation had been the pursuit of wealth and power for their own sake. Now he had achieved them, he realised that a price remained to be paid.
‘I don’t want your money,’ Mona said, her voice suddenly hard. She pulled away from him. ‘But let’s not part as enemies. Promise you’ll phone me?’
John hesitated. He had come to finish their relationship, but here he was giving promises he knew he could not keep. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m out, but our relationship can never be the same. I can’t hurt my son anymore. I just can’t.’
She gave a small hiccuping laugh. ‘I’ve always known that if I pressurised you in any way at all, you’d vanish. I expected every visit to be the last.’ Slowly she walked to the door and opened it, standing aside to let him pass. As he got to the landing, she said, ‘I wish we’d never met, John.’
She closed the door on him, leaving him empty and alone, full of regret for a love he knew he had squandered.
* * *
Erick had not worked out any plan for persuading Andrea to relocate to Mallorca. He would not have known how to – they had always been totally honest with one another. He just had to tell it to her straight and leave the decision up to her. No way he could force her into living a life she did not want.
‘I’ve been offered a job by John, setting up a sort of investment company,’ he stated later that night. ‘I’d be paid a fortune, there’d be a house with the job, cars, servants – anything you cared to name really.’
Andrea lowered her Evening Standard and looked at him over the top of it. Showing no surprise she said, ‘An investment company?’
‘Yes.’
‘Laundering John’s dirty money, I suppose?’
Erick was silent. It was no use denying it, she was right.
‘We’d move to Mallorca, set up house there – money no object,’ he said hastily. ‘I’d be on half a million a year – more once things start to build. Oh, and John’s throwing in L’Acquisition for our exclusive use.’
Andrea looked down as she folded the paper though he had seen the flicker of interest in her pale, clear eyes.
‘Does John have enough money to finance such an investment company? He has to look after Michael, remember? Private medicine costs a fortune. The Estate costs another. And he’ll be behind bars for the next few years. Are you sure this makes sense?’
‘John has far more money than we imagined. A hundred million pounds is going into the company, very soon. Around eight hundred million over the next ten years.’
Andrea gasped. ‘He could buy the whole of Denmark for that! No one – absolutely no one – has that kind of money.’
‘John knew we would think like that, so he let me sit in for a whole day on his business meetings in a safe house. There’s no doubt he’s serious and will have the money. Or it looks that way at the moment.’
‘But he’s going to prison soon.’
‘Even so, the man’s amazing... he’s had this in mind for years. From the first day we met in fact. This company I’d set up would eventually allow him to become legitimate. Influence, power, respectability... he’d have stakes in tens of blue‑chip companies, controlling hundreds of thousands of people. He could retire and live the rest of his days in luxury. As we know his situation at home and in business is more than difficult at the moment a mess in fact but he regards this only a small hiccup and is focussed more than ever. Remarkable.’
Andrea looked her husband in the eye. ‘Erick, if you do this, you must take every precaution to protect your own position.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You can’t hide behind a respectable business front any longer. If you go ahead, then we must both acknowledge that you are stepping outside the law rather than living on its fringes.’
Erick smiled ruefully. He had always admired his wife’s ability to present the facts exactly as they were, uneasy listening though it sometimes might be.
‘Maybe so. Perhaps I’m tainted by association, but I’m not the same as John. I don’t intend to be. Some of the things he’s into...’
‘Don’t fool yourself, Erick. You have to accept things as they really are. You will be part of a major criminal enterprise.’
‘So you don’t think I should do it then?’ he began, images of Mallorca, sea, sun and L’Acquisition’s receding as he spoke.
Andrea gave her cat‑like smile.
‘Did I say that? Frankly, Erick, at our time of life this is a heaven‑sent opportunity. You will never get another chance like this to make real money.’
‘Well, don’t sound as though I’ve kept you in penury all these years,’ he said, annoyed.
Andrea got up and came to sit on the arm of his chair.
‘Darling, you’ve always done your best for me and the children, that goes without saying. But this is in a different league. It’s risky, certainly, we both understand that, but the rewards could be immense. I think you should go for it and to hell with the consequences. If the worst should happen, we know we’ll survive. We did before.’
Erick gazed at his wife, not for the first time amazed by her gambler’s instincts combined with ruthless clear‑sightedness.
‘You’re an amazing woman, Andrea,’ he told her huskily. ‘You know I couldn’t do any of this without you, don’t you?’
She kissed the top of his head. ‘I do, skat. I do. But fortunately you won’t have to.’
A moment later Erick phoned John. ‘It’s on,’ was all he said.
‘That’s great, Erick.’ The phone was immediately put down.
And for the first time in his dealings with John, Erick found himself wondering uneasily what the reaction would have been if he’d decided to go his own way instead of meekly falling in with John Forbes’s master plan.
* * *
Since Erick had informed John about Andrea’s and his decision, he’d realised that an accountancy company would be needed one day. Erick had tried to contact his old colleague, Jan Christensen, several times, but Jan had disappeared without trace. This was peculiar: every Danish citizen had to be registered by law with the National Folk Register.
He decided to phone Tim Larsen, who sounded genuinely pleased to hear from him. After exchanging pleasantries, Erick asked, ‘Do you know where Jan Christensen lives now?’
‘I thought he was working for you.’ Larsen was surprised. ‘He’s lived in London for about a year.’
‘He hasn’t called me,’ Erick said. ‘In fact haven’t seen him since the GIANT scandal.’
‘After his second prison sentence, he cut all ties over here and went to London. That’s the last I’ve heard of him. I’m coming to London soon. I’ll phone you if I can find out anything. He must be registered for tax, national insurance or social security. Perhaps we can have lunch together. But keep it quiet!’
>
Larsen arrived in London a couple of weeks after Erick’s phone call. They met at Simpson’s in the Strand for lunch, during which Larsen gave Erick Jan Christensen’s address.
‘Don’t tell Christensen you got it from me.’ Larsen puffed on his pipe for a few seconds. ‘He’s on social security, I’m afraid. By the way, did you know that Per Densby died last week?’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Although Densby had been responsible for his downfall in Denmark, Erick was genuinely upset to hear of his death. After all it hadn’t been for Densby, he would never have met John Forbes.
The address Larsen had given him was in a rundown area of East London. The street was full of wrecked cars. Erick could not visualize the fastidious Jan surviving in such a place. The house itself was in need of a coat of paint, its windows cracked and covered by newspaper.
Erick rang the bell. The door was opened by a slovenly elderly woman.
‘I am looking for Jan Christensen. Does he live here?’
‘Yes, love. He rents a room upstairs, but he’s not in. Can I give him a message?’
Erick gave her his business card. ‘Please ask him to phone me. It’s important.’
Leaving the house, he felt he ought to check the local, the Fox and Hound’ and entered the pub on the corner, a dark and dingy place smelling of stale beer and tobacco. Peering into the gloom, he saw a figure slouched in a seat near the bar. It was Jan, looking thin, grey and unshaven. Erick bought two pints of beer and took them across to the table.
‘You’re not an easy person to find.’ He sat down in the chair opposite.
Jan lifted his head. His eyes focussed blearily through his thick spectacles. ‘Erick – Erick Elgberg himself!. Det var satans,’ he swore in Danish. ‘How on earth did you find me?’
Erick ignored the question. ‘Why haven’t you contacted me?’
‘I was going to. Wanted to get on my feet first, but I haven’t managed it yet.’
Putting his hands into his pocket, Erick brought out his wallet. ‘No arguments, Jan. Here’s a couple of hundred pounds. I’ll get another two thousand to you this afternoon. Get yourself a decent suit and a better place to live.’
Jan stared at the wad of notes. ‘I can’t accept money from you, Erick. I’m still in shock just seeing you.’
‘Don’t be so touchy. Regard it as a loan. As you very well know, inspiration often comes from desperation.’ Erick leaned closer to Jan, smelling the other man’s despair. ‘I am here because I have a proposal for you to consider.’
Jan pulled away, his eyes darting suspiciously behind the thick lenses. His hand swept the notes slowly into his pocket. ‘What is it?’
‘I’d like to set you up as an independent accountant.’
‘Thanks, but no one will employ me,’ Jan said. ‘I’ve tried everything. I’m just a nobody, struck off and all that. It seems I can’t even compete for jobs as a small time business accountant.’
‘I propose that we set you up in your own accountancy business,’ Erick continued. ‘My company is setting up an enterprise which will need to have direct control over a fair sized chartered accountancy firm. You’re the perfect man to head it. You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Actually you do not even have a choice, Jan, if I’m absolutely frank’
Jan emptied his glass in one and put the empty glass next to Erick’s. ‘I don’t know what you have in mind,’ he said roughly, ‘but as you can see, I’m in no position to argue. I would sweep the streets if someone gave me a broom! But I’m still a good accountant, Erick. Whatever you want of me, I’ll do it. No questions asked. I take it that’s the price?’
A month after this meeting, Erick gave Jan a banker’s draft, drawn on a foreign bank, to purchase an accountancy firm which was for sale. The funds had come from John Forbes, but Jan assumed they had come from Erick’s company, Mirage Consulting.
All Mirage’s accounts were transferred to Jan Christensen’s new company, which was named Hamlet Accountancy. Auto‑Trade‑Factors’ accounts were also transferred, together with some of those of Higginson Investments. Hamlet Accountancy soon employed five chartered accountants and a staff of six. It took offices in Old Queen Street, Victoria, overlooking St. James’ Park.
Erick and Jan met regularly in the park, either beside the bandstand or by Duck Island. Their meetings lasted several hours. Jan Christensen was never told of the involvement of John Forbes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
_________________________
Old Bailey, London, Tuesday, 18th January 1983
For the year he had been on bail, John had been in weekly touch with Arthur, Erick and Bertrand Boucher by public telephone, but had not received a single call or letter from Catherine. Every day he expected divorce papers to arrive and was resigned to that, but his son’s continued silence was torture to him. Through Michael’s consultant he kept himself informed on his son’s progress. Now sixteen‑and‑a‑half years old, Michael had come through three courses of chemotherapy and extensive hospital stays and was formally in remission. John prayed that it would stay that way, and that one day his son would pick up the phone.
On the eve of John’s trial, both Erick and Arthur phoned to wish him good luck. He had forbidden his two friends to come to court, as spectators would be monitored and photographed. Shaving himself on the morning of the trial, John knew that from now on he would have to get used to a battery razor. It was eight o’clock and he had to be at the Old Bailey before ten. He decided to walk from his Knightsbridge flat, knowing it would be some time before he was free to walk through London again.
He did not feel nervous. The prospect of prison did not worry him. He preferred it to being manipulated by self‑obsessed barristers with their antiquated costumes and theatrical posturing. John wanted the case over and done with as quickly as possible, so had stuck to his guilty plea and recommended that the other defendants follow his example.
At eight‑thirty he left the flat taking with him a small shoulder bag containing a radio, toilet articles and a battery shaver. He entered by the visitors’ door to avoid the many journalists gathered outside Court One.
The trial of John Forbes and his associates had been heralded by a blaze of publicity. The media had made the most of stories about the huge soft drugs organisation, gleefully named John Forbes, the wealthy husband of trainer Lady Catherine Carven, as the mastermind behind it. As hash was now in common use more than ever, there was no groundswell of public opinion against the defendants, who were more regarded as rather colourful characters rather than dangerous criminals.
The panelled courtroom was bulging at the seams with a dozen legal teams, each consisting of a top QC, solicitors and clerks, representing one of the defendants apiece, for whose services Rubinstein had paid. None of the team could say that the Invisible Company had not looked after them. Overworked, the prosecution fielded a team of only four.
It was twelve‑thirty before the Judge appeared. ‘I’m sorry for the delay,’ he said. ‘Another case has overrun. We’ll have to deal with this matter on Wednesday.’
All defendants were refused bail. The eleven men and one woman were taken to Brixton and Holloway respectively.
On Wednesday morning the prisoner had to make their plea in open court.
The Clerk got up and said loudly, ‘John Forbes.’ John rose, feeling embarrassed and wishing to get this performance behind him the as fast as human possible.
‘There are four counts against you on this indictment.’ The Clerk continued, but John decided not to listen.
‘Do you plead ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty’.’ John could not help himself. He started counting, one, two, three, four.... inside his head. When he reached thirty he could hear a murmur growing.
‘Guilty,’ he said with a firm voice. The judge looked relieved. The barristers smiled to each other.
After they had all pleaded guilty the prosecution outlined its case. Most of the defendants had met in Reading Prison betwee
n the years 1964 and 1965. It was therefore likely that the drugs business had been established eighteen years ago and had operated until the present day. The prosecution barrister waited until the end of his speech before mentioning John Forbes’s alias of John Spencer, under which he had served an eighteen‑month sentence. John heard this with a sinking sensation. Nervously he waited for David Kennedy’s and Duncan Grace’s names to be mentioned... However, nothing was said and the defence started as planned with the least seriously implicated members of the gang.
The defence made their speeches in mitigation over several days before the Judge could pass sentences.
‘John Forbes, you are an intelligent, professional career criminal. In sentencing you for this very serious crime I have taken into consideration your guilty plea and the time and costs you have thereby saved this court and the British taxpayer. I also find that, although the importing of any drug on to these shores is abhorrent to the ordinary man in the street, your organisation did not apparently deal in such substances as heroin and cocaine. I therefore sentence you to seven years’ imprisonment.’
John was very relieved, he had expected eight. With the time he had served on remand, plus possible parole after serving one third of this sentence, he could be out in a few months.
William Webster was given five years. The lightest sentences were given to Ray Immerman, and Ramona, who received twenty‑four months and were immediately released. Within a few months, most of the rest of the team would be freed.
* * *
Erick telephoned Catherine as soon as the outcome was known.
‘Yes, I’ll visit him,’ she said thinly, as if it was something Erick was forcing her to do, ‘When I know where he’ll be sent.’
‘Good. He’s very down, Catherine, and doesn’t look well. Losing you and Michael is tearing him apart.’
‘There’s no question of a reconciliation,’ she said shortly. ‘I’ll be going because we’re married, because he is Michael’s father and he’s in trouble. That’s all.’
After a month, Catherine asked for a Visiting Order to Maidstone Prison. John waited for her in a lather of impatience. When at last she arrived, picking her way through the crowds of visitors, chin up and eyes resolutely refusing to dwell on her prison surroundings.