After that they spent the nights together. Ann was aware that to the Elgbergs, she was merely a plaything but did not protest. For the first time in years, she felt truly desired.
The day before their return to Mallorca, Erick and Andrea asked her to join them on deck as there was something they needed to tell her. It sounded serious, and her first thought was that something had happened to Paul.
Erick put her mind at ease about that but explained that the man she had followed at the airport had been found drowned close to the Cave. She might be asked by the police to make a statement about her presence at the airport on the day he arrived as it would probably have been noted. It would be best, Erick said, if she told them she had gone there to buy the new paperback by Anita Brookner, which was being sold in the airport bookshop. He said that public interest in the drowning would soon die down, it had obviously been an unfortunate accident, but to be on the safe side there would be no work for her for a month. Her only trips from Mallorca would be to visit her husband and daughter.
At first, Ann felt relieved that the news had nothing to do with her family. But then she started to think about the poor man’s death. She was the one who had been asked to follow him in Palma airport and give the signal to Sam on the motorbike. His body had been found close to the Cave. Surely that was more than mere coincidence?
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
_________________________
Lodeve and London, Monday, 21st September 1987
As soon as he was back from his yachting holiday, Erick made arrangements to see John.
Winston barked angrily when he walked into the farm yard.
John did not hide his displeasure that Erick had arrived unannounced, but as Cecilia was there did not say anything outright.
‘We’re getting married in the local church the 11th of October,’ he told Erick.
‘That’s wonderful news.’ Erick struggled to sound enthusiastic, unwilling to be swayed from his purpose in coming here by John’s wedding announcement.
With Winston following them they walked down the orderly rows of lavender, the violet‑blue coloured flowers washing around their legs, releasing the distinct smell in waves. There was no wind and the heat was intense. It was only a few days away from harvesting.
‘I have come to get a straight answer, John,’ said Erick facing him squarely. ‘You have to level with me.’
‘Just say what it is that’s bothering you and why you’ve come all this way without benefit of an invitation.’
‘What happened to Fox? Was he killed by your men?’
John did not answer but swiped one foot idly at the lavender. Erick waited. He was determined not to ask twice.
‘What do you think?’ John asked him finally.
‘You told me on the phone that you would take care of it. I think you had him killed.’
‘If I’d had him murdered,’ John said slowly, ‘I can assure you I wouldn’t have let him be found. I would have had him shot and got rid of the body so no one could ever find it. As it is every forensic expert in Europe will study his corpse and they’ll come up with the same verdict. Accidental drowning. Which is the truth.’
‘You said your people were on the island and that I should withdraw my men. You knew he was taking photographs of Purcell, Jensen and me. You realized what that would mean for Fox’s investigation. Just the publicity would finish us all. John, don’t take me for a fool’
‘It was all under control. My men knew where he was and what he was doing. They were going to wait until he got back to his hotel then steal the camera with the films from his room – make it look like a straightforward burglary. But it never came to that. Fox didn’t show up at the hotel because he’d already drowned.’
Erick stared at John, who stared unflinchingly back.
‘You’re lying,’ said Erick at last. ‘You could at least be honest with me. To have a police officer killed is rank stupidity. It has put us all at risk as now they are not going to leave us alone. I can’t work with you any more. I’ll cover up for you but that’s all. Andrea and I will leave the Cave within a week. I can transfer all the documents to Thomas Wren, if that’s what you want. I expect you’ll send your thugs after me, but at the moment I just don’t care.’
John took him by the shoulders and shook him gently. ‘Erick, ‘ he said in a low voice. ‘Look me in the eye. You’ve hurt me badly. I did not have Fox killed. Please believe that. But if you feel that way, you can at least stay at the Cave. You don’t have to work for the Company but the house will still be yours. I would never take revenge against you. But, Erick, I want you to believe me, I had nothing to do with Fox’s death. Nothing.’
Erick shook his hands away and started walking back to the house. John followed a yard or so behind. Winston shadowing him.
‘You can meet the men who were on Mallorca,’ John offered, when they reached the yard. ‘Any time you like. They’ll tell you exactly what I’ve just did, but if it’ll make you happy...’
‘Save your breath, John, they will only say what you want them to say. I’ll call you when the Spanish police have called on me. I’m expecting them any day.’
Cecilia had come out of the house at their approach. She ran to John and circled his waist with her arm, leaning her head lovingly on his chest. It was painfully obvious to Erick that she was very much in love with him.
‘So you will come to our wedding?’ she asked, smiling at him.
‘Time will tell,’ he said stiffly. Not looking at John, he strode quickly back to his car.
* * *
‘An investigating police officer is dead.’
Chief Inspector Lawrence Sutcliffe looked sombrely first at DCI Sarah Wilson, then at Graham Higgins of the Home Office. They were sitting in the meeting room at Scotland Yard. ‘Fox was followed every minute of his stay on the island, but not by the local police as he believed. We can’t handle this as if it were just an accident.’
‘I agree with the Chief Superintendent,’ said Sarah, sitting next to him. ‘It would be a betrayal of Foxy’s memory.
‘All I’m saying is that the government emphatically does not want any scandal. The financial market is very vulnerable at the moment. We’ve already had the Westland problem and Guinness scandal to contend with. If it became known that Scotland Yard has, for over nine months, been investigating a covert criminal organisation which deals on the stock market in a big way, and that the police officer in charge of this investigation is now dead under suspicious circumstances, it might trigger off a serious downturn. Yes, the stock market will bounce back one day, it always does, but that could be after a long trial two years down the line. London also influences over other markets in the world, all of whom will start similar investigations. The implications are frightening.’
Sutcliffe drew on his cigar. ‘I hope you’re not asking us to disregard the probable murder of a valuable officer like Malcolm Fox? I won’t accept that.’
‘You and DCI Wilson will be receiving written orders shortly to the effect that the investigation is to continue but under no circumstances is any action to be taken which may result in bad publicity. Have I made myself clear?’
Sutcliffe nodded reluctantly. ‘Quite clear. It’s sweep the crap under the carpet time.’
‘And this conversation has never taken place.’
‘I understand.’
Higgins looked satisfied. ‘All right.. ‘For the moment we leave everything as it is. Increased security, that’s the watchword from now on. Nothing must get out. Absolutely nothing.’ He gathered up his umbrella and briefcase, too economical with his words to say goodbye.
Sutcliffe was too annoyed to tell him the final suggestion Fox had made before his death. He was still considering it.
CHAPTER SIXTY
_________________________
Ford Prison, West Sussex, Monday, 5th October 1987
It was a few minutes after nine o’clock in the evening and the nigh
t watchman had just said good night while checking the roll‑call. ‘A’ wing of Ford Open Prison was very quiet.
Paul Dockett stared at the calendar on the wall of his room. He crossed off the days religiously but still had two‑thirds of his sentence left. His release date of June 1991 looked a very long way off. He had hardly made a dent in his sentence.
A seven‑year stretch was longer than usual for an inmate of Ford. It was only because someone had pulled strings that Paul was here at all. Most prisoners stayed less than a year, which meant that he was always saying goodbye to new friends, realising he would never see them again.
Television and the news did not concern him anymore. He was no longer part of normal life so there was no need to follow it. Besides the TV rooms were filled with the smell of tobacco and loud, raucous comments from a few jokers hungry for attention..
A preference for his own company, which is quite normal in the more intelligent prisoner was creeping up on Paul. He was happier sitting alone in the cinema, watching films every morning and evening. Some nights he would stand in the tiny projection room to watch, not wanting to join the rest of the inmates. It suited him fine that he could shut his door at nine.
For reasons he did not understand, he had struck up a sort of friendship with a young man called Bradley who was in his early twenties, a rather rough and ready character but able to express himself well. The young man was interested in films and actors. Paul would let him watch with him and a sort of friendship had gradually built up over the nine months Bradley had been at Ford. He could arrange to get most things over the fence; a professional petty criminal with no intention of ever changing his life style.
When Bradley was released from Ford, Paul felt even more lonely. But kept in contact by letter and Bradley visited him once a month.
Paul got abruptly to his feet and pulled down the calendar. Crossing out the dates only made him more depressed. Tearing it up into small pieces, he tossed them into the wastepaper basket.
At this time of the evening, his thoughts often wandered back to the past. He accepted that technically he had broken the law and was responsible for the bank’s losses. The law had legitimately found him guilty. But that was no longer the point. His first remorse was being replaced by anger, an insidious rage building inside him which he did not fully understand.
It was not directed at Aaron Nicholstein, or whatever his real name was. He had probably been just another cog in the elaborate operation. Today, knowing rather more about the professional criminal community, Paul realised there had to other be people above Nicholstein who were ultimately to blame.
Paul jumped at a loud knock on his door. A man put his head round. ‘Want anything tonight?’
‘OK. Why not?’
‘I’ll put a fiver on your account with me.’ The inmate placed a small spliff of hash on Paul’s table. ‘Sweet dreams.’
Thank God Ann couldn’t see him. She would never understand why the smoking of hash was becoming a pleasant habit. It dulled his pain. Paul smoked it every second day.
* * *
The next day he was handed a visiting order. Ann never told him in advance when she was coming and this time had left a longer interval than usual between visits. Last time she’d told him she was going on a yachting holiday. That was a month ago.
When he saw her walking towards him, he was startled. She looked stunning, tanned and bare‑legged, her hair lighter and lovelier. His stomach tightened.
He forced himself to say. ‘Tell me everything about your holiday.’ Surprised by how normal his voice sounded.
‘It was quite an experience,’ Ann shrugged. ‘But there are limits to what you can do on a yacht. After a while it starts getting a bit monotonous.’
‘Who else was on board? Anyone interesting?’
‘Oh, just wealthy middle‑aged couples.’
Was she keeping something back from him? She didn’t meet his eyes but kept them fastened on her hands, folded neatly in front of her.
‘I read in the paper that someone drowned recently on Mallorca,’ Paul said. ‘An English policeman.’
‘Yes, I heard about it when I got back.’ Ann was twisting her wedding‑ring round and round. He was noticing little things like this more and more. Was it just creeping paranoia?
‘Still a long time left,’ he said. ‘Will you wait for me, Ann?’
She looked up, her turn to be startled. ‘Of course! How can you say... Things will be back to normal when you get out.’
But would they? Paul wondered. He was only now becoming aware that his real problems could start on his release. During her visit he had studied Ann for any sign of sadness, despondency, but her responses had been smooth and automatic. Ann could obviously manage by herself. She had grown into someone who could handle responsibility. She had a pleasant, easy lifestyle. She was better off without him.
Back in his room, Paul sat on the bed gazing at the spot where the calendar had been.
From now on he would fill his empty days with planning what he would do when he got out.
He would find the person responsible for his downfall. It had to be possible, if he concentrated on it.
Then he would make that person pay for ruining his life.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
_________________________
South West London, 6th October 1987
Lawrence Sutcliffe parked his car down a small road opposite Southfield’s Police station, walked through the main door and went upstairs to one of the first‑floor offices.
Pinned on the wall were maps of Europe and North America, flagged with the names of shareholders and banks in various countries. On another large board were the names of various companies and how the ownership of the shares was distributed.
It seemed that over forty thousand people were working for a criminal organisation. If the profits from all these companies were reinvested, which no doubt they would be, they would grow exponentially at the rate of hundreds of millions of pounds each year. It was like a cancer, growing and spreading – and the police were helpless to prevent it.
From Randolph Purcell’s interview with Sarah Wilson and a detailed scrutiny of the share register, Sutcliffe knew that there were still months of work ahead abroad if they wanted to get closer to the real ownership of Purcell Industries. The Zurich Bank of Industry and Commerce was obviously central to the scheme, was not legally allowed to inform on its clients. And even if Erick Elgberg were proved to be behind the share dealings, they were still up against a complicated legal situation because of the many different jurisdictions involved. Freezing the ownership of the shares was impossible because of Higgins’s paranoia about secrecy. The whole thing was a nightmare.
Sutcliffe felt a new approach was needed. By offering Paul Dockett an early release, they might be able to secure his co‑operation.
Sarah Wilson came in while he was pacing the room. He smiled at her. Sarah had been unremitting in her efforts to push the investigation along since Fox’s death.
‘We received these photos today from Box 850 – MI6,’ she said, placing an envelope in his hand. Sutcliffe had seen photographs of Elgberg’s yacht once before and had given up expecting anything worthwhile. He opened the envelope reluctantly. ‘I think you’ll find these interesting.’ She smiled. ‘They certainly show a new facet to our friend Elgberg.’
He drew out a large glossy A3‑sized photograph and stared at it. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he gasped. The three naked people indulging in group sex were none other than Erick Elgberg and his wife – and Ann Dockett. ‘What time was this taken?’
‘Just before two in the morning,’ said Sarah, ‘so they weren’t trying to get a suntan. It was taken by a plane very high up using special night lenses.’
Sutcliffe beamed. ‘Excellent! Not only does it establish a link between Ann Dockett and the Elgbergs, it places her right in the middle of the action, so to speak. I wonder what our bank manager will make of this!’
?
??Shall I arrange a visit to Ford?’
‘Quick as you can. This could be just the in we need.’ Sutcliffe plonked himself heavily into a chair, still staring at the photograph. Sex, he thought wryly, was usually the key to opening most cans of worms.
* * *
Sutcliffe and Sarah Wilson had been given permission by the governor of Ford Open Prison to use his office for a couple of hours after he’d been shown a letter from the Home Office.
The administration building was on the other side of the main road, close to the shirt factory, the metal workshops and the large garden nursery, completely separate from the rest of the prison camp. Sutcliffe did not want Dockett to know that this was a police visit, as then he might refuse to see them.
Sarah Wilson had left nothing to chance. First she was going to chat to Paul informally, then she would shock him with the photographs. They had been lucky in obtaining another picture of the Elgbergs’ roof garden at the Cave, showing the same three people having dinner. In addition to the photographs, technical experts had taped voices of people who had telephoned Elgberg. Nothing relevant had been said in these calls, which led Sarah to believe another unregistered telephone existed, but there was always a chance Paul Dockett would recognise a voice on the tape.
Paul walked alone to the administration building. He knew that a summons to the governor’s office could only mean trouble and prayed that nothing had happened to Ann or his daughter, Elizabeth.
‘Please sit down.’ Sarah pointed to a chair and Paul sat, wondering who these people were and why the governor, to whom he said hello every day, wasn’t present. She continued, ‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Sarah Wilson and this is Detective Chief Superintendent Lawrence Sutcliffe of Scotland Yard. We’re here to see if we can organise your early release.’
Paul was bewildered. Prisoners usually knew about legal visits within minutes of the police’s arrival. Anyway they had nothing to do with setting a release date, Paul knew that.
‘Mr Dockett, we know you’re a decent man who got into trouble because of others,’ Sarah began while Sutcliffe smoked a cigar. ‘Mr Sutcliffe and I can help you if you will help us.’
‘You want me to turn informer? Well, you’re wasting your time. I wouldn’t be able to stay at Ford if I grassed on anyone here.’