‘No. I have some staff here.’
‘That’s good. You’ll have a lot to do. Listen, Karen. Please do as we planned in case of an emergency. I’d be there with you but Andrea had to have her leg amputated. Can you manage alone?’
He heard a strange sound. If this hadn’t been cool withdrawn Karen Knudsen he was talking to, he’d have sworn she was crying.
‘Of course,’ she told him shakily. ‘And, Erick... I just thank God you’re alive.’
* * *
Next morning the local police took statements from the Elgbergs. The crew and all who had escaped the yacht safely had already made theirs. The police were in no doubt as to what had happened.
As the Elgbergs had Danish passports, the police report was faxed to the Politigaarden in Copenhagen where, shortly afterwards, it arrived on Tim Larsen’s desk. He read it several times, considering the information, before dialling Detective Chief Superintendent Lawrence Sutcliffe at Scotland Yard.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
_________________________
Victoria, London, Monday, 8th July 1991
Detective Chief Superintendent Sutcliffe, DCI Sarah Wilson, Graham Higgins, the Assistant Commissioner of Police for Specialist Operations, a well known barrister and two Branch Crown Prosecutors sat around a table at Scotland Yard. It was seven o’clock in the evening.
Sutcliffe explained in detail what had happened on the yacht in Mallorca the Saturday before. He had the Spanish reports in front of him.
‘So at the moment we don’t have a prosecution witness?’ The barrister looked displeased. ‘We may not be able to rely on Dockett’s report in Court either. Maybe it will not be admissible. The information it contains is the key to your whole case against Elgberg. Surely the Spanish Police must be able to find him? Mallorca’s comparatively small.’
‘What can we charge Elgberg with?’ asked Higgins.
‘Conspiracy to murder Malcolm Fox! We have Dockett’s evidence that he knew when Fox arrived in Palma, had him followed. His appearance in the boat, must have been disastrous for Elgberg,’ Sutcliffe said, promptly and angrily. ‘Conspiracy to defraud. Laundering of money and the financing of crime. Buying shares without declaring the true owners’ identity. Insider trading. The blackmail of Randolph Purcell and Sir Conrad Jensen is a possibility. And that’s just for starters.’
Higgins busily made notes.
‘What about the Englishman in France whom Dockett mentioned?’ Sarah put in. ‘Do you believe he could be behind it all?’
‘We’ll find him,’ Sutcliffe said reassuringly. ‘We’ve asked the French Police for assistance. However, at the moment I can’t see we have anything on him.’
‘Shall we get statements from Purcell and Jensen?’ Sarah asked.
‘Soon. Let things develop. I expect they’ll be only too happy to cooperate to save their own skins once the shit starts hitting the fan.’
Higgins shuffled his papers together. ‘I’m still concerned about the stock market reaction if this story breaks.’
‘Not much we can do about that. We’ve waited too long as it is.’ The Deputy Chief Commissioner looked round at them all in turn. ‘ As soon as the CPS have confirmed the charges, we’ll arrange for the Spanish Police arrest both the Elgbergs. I suggest we bring them back from Mallorca asking for extradition. As soon as we know when they can travel, get a private plane for top security.’ He brought his gaze to bear on Sutcliffe. ‘The offices of all companies involved must be searched. That includes Hamlet Accountancy, Higginson Investments, Auto‑Trade‑Factors, Mirage, Thomas Wren’s and Elgberg’s premises on Mallorca. I don’t think we will have any more problems with the Spanish police, so let them do it, but send someone there to overlook. We want simultaneous operation on Wednesday, tenth of July. I’ll authorise the necessary manpower. And that,’ he said decisively, getting to his feet, ‘concludes this meeting.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
_________________________
Palma de Mallorca, Thursday, 11th July 1991
‘Erick Elgberg?’ Plain clothes British and Spanish policemen appeared besides Erick as he sat in a hard hospital chair next to Andrea’s bed. The British policeman flashed his ID and continued.
‘We have an arrest order for you and your wife. You’re wanted to face criminal charges in the United Kingdom. You and your wife will be flown to UK as soon as the Spanish Court has sanctioned these papers and the doctors give their permission.’
‘This is an outrage,’ said Andrea, fighting to sit up.
‘We’re Danish citizens!’ Erick protested. ‘We’ll have to take legal advice.’
‘Denmark very seldom extradites its own citizen. So if you return you’d be tried there, as I’m sure you know. Denmark has not asked for you and does not intend to, so you are going to London. If you object, it can be dragged out for a long time but, believe me, it will happen in the end. Ask any solicitor.’
‘What are the charges?’
‘These. Read them yourself.’ The policeman handed over a lengthy legal document.
Andrea clutched at him. ‘Tell me what it says, please, Erick?’
‘They are charging me with conspiracy to murder Malcolm Fox,’ he said in disbelief. ‘It’s completely absurd! I never even saw the man. I have a cast‑iron alibi. The rest are mainly conspiracy to defraud. You’re named as an accessory but don’t worry about it, please. It’s nothing but a try on, we all know that.’.’
‘Get a solicitor flown to here from London or Madrid,’ his wife urged him. ‘You don’t expect us to pack our things and come with you today, I take it?’ she addressed the policeman.
‘Of course not. We won’t do anything before the doctors give us permission and that won’t be for some time, apparently.’
‘Any news about Paul Dockett?’
‘No, we have called in extra men from Barcelona to help,’ the Spanish detective said.
‘Can I make some private telephone calls?’ asked Erick.
‘As many as you want, but please do not try to arrange an escape. The hospital has been surrounded by armed police and all other patients have been moved from this floor.’
* * *
Erick dialled John’s special number.
‘Get someone to represent us. We’re in no hurry to go to London. Better if it all cools down first.’
‘It’s already in hand,’ John coolly confirmed and instantly rang off. Erick knew about the need for security, but could not help feeling hurt that John had not enquired after Andrea or himself. He probably knew all there was to know. His intelligence gathering was always second to none. Maybe his people were already in the hospital or at least close by?
But the personal touch wouldn’t have gone amiss.
Erick and Andrea were astonished to see Arthur and Diana on the Friday after the disaster.
‘Did you think we would just leave you to cope alone?’ Arthur said.
Diana perched on Andrea’s bed and listened sympathetically as she described what the doctors had done and her anticipated schedule for recovery.
At the end of an hour, Arthur said, ‘Rubinstein’s waiting outside with a couple of barristers. I think you’d better talk to them.’
Erick leapt out of his chair. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’
‘We pay them, they can wait a bit.’ Arthur made him sit down again. ‘Rubinstein thinks it best if you agree to go to London to answer these charges, rather than trying to fight them. You’d never succeed and then when you did arrive in England you’d be kept on remand for years. If you both agree to go voluntarily, I will arrange someone to stand surety to the tune of a million pounds. You’ll have a good chance for bail after a while. Say six months or so. Andrea will be allowed to stay in a London hospital. Anyway, I believe a cosy English prison is better, than being forced to learn to speak Spanish here in God know what kind of conditions. Both the English and the Spanish barristers waiting outside agree.’
<
br /> ‘What a mess!’ Erick slumped in his chair and rubbed his face wearily. ‘And it’s all happened so suddenly. It will take years to repair the damage, even if we manage to scrape through this. And to think I actually believed the Company had pulled it off. We were so nearly legitimate. It must be nemesis, as we always say in Denmark.’
Arthur wandered over to the window and looked out. ‘At least you’re still alive and in the safest possible place surrounded by both Spanish and English policemen. I know that John has had moral scruples over the last few years, but it’s difficult to live on the wrong side of conventional morality, even if it’s the right side of criminality, without disaster surfacing.’
‘I wonder where that blasted Paul Dockett is?’ asked Erick, looking at the back of Arthur, still standing looking out.
‘I don’t think he’s going to surface.’ Arthur turned round, looked at Diana and Andrea who were still talking, put a finger on his lips and then made a horizontal move across his throat with the same finger.
Erick closed his eyes.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
_________________________
Lodeve, Friday, 12th July 1991
Randolph Purcell flew to Montpellier, where John met him and drove back to the farm.
Purcell was looking jittery and had lost weight.
‘I don’t want to find myself in the middle of the firing line,’ he said. ‘That accident on the yacht and rumours about the report, that madman wrote have shaken me. It’s strange, but the police didn’t question me about the share dealings after they inspected the files months ago. Now they’ll obviously also want to hear my version of how the Jensen Purcell merger was financed.’
‘They will be knocking on your door, be sure of that,’ said John. ‘Just before you’re called as a witness, if it comes to that.’
Purcell paled. ‘I can’t afford to be involved! The whole Purcell‑Jensen group would suffer and your investment would be severely compromised. It might be too late even now. Aren’t you concerned about that?’
‘Believe me, I’m taking this very seriously. We’ll talk it through tonight. Before tomorrow we’ll have a solution worked out.’
Cecilia had a meal ready for them, and afterwards John and Purcell walked in the lavender fields.
Purcell looked around him, frowning. ‘You could build a swimming pool here. I’m sure Alina would like that.’
John smiled. ‘I am sure she would but my daughter will know only the simple life. As a boy I hungered to be rich, to buy the Cerne Estate, marry the lady of the manor and all it ever brought me was unhappiness. Besides, Cecilia hates any form of ostentation. Happiness for her is the simple life. To be married to someone she loves, to have a child, to own a house and work the land. She’s happy to let God take care of everything else.’
‘Maybe she could have a word with Dorothy some time?’ joked Purcell.
John shook his head silently. They walked on down to the river and sat down on a bench. ‘This was my son’s favourite spot. We call it Michael’s Place.’
‘A terrible loss.’
‘Yes. I still find it difficult to talk about him.’ John gazed out over the water, then shook himself. When he spoke again, his voice was businesslike. ‘I think we need help from higher sources to avoid the Purcell Jensen group’s being implicated further. There are two MPs on Purcell‑Jensen’s payroll, but I don’t know if they’ve enough clout to approach the Prime Minister about this. We must tread very carefully. Through Thomas Wren, our solicitor, we have financed I don’t know how many politicians campaign funds. Time can come to call in support from them.’
Purcell nodded.
‘But your reputation is still intact. That’s very important,’ John went on. ‘Why don’t you ask through the two who are officially involved with Purcell Jensen for a private meeting with the Home Secretary? If he refuses, then we have bigger problems, even than we thought and we can consider using the others for a meeting with the Prime Minister. However if the Home Secretary agrees I think we can take it that the government wants this case discreetly buried. It can’t be in the national interest to wreck one of the largest conglomerates in the country by dragging it and its investors through the criminal courts. They can still continue with the charges against Erick, which is another problem. This is the best card we have left to play.’
‘I’ll do it right away.’
‘And it goes without saying that my name should not come into this. Anyway, how were you to know where Erick’s finances came from?’
‘Of course.’ Purcell heaved a sigh. ‘I hope we’re doing the right thing.’
John picked up a stone and threw it into the river. Both men watched the ripples spreading in ever widening circles.
‘Time will tell.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
_________________________
Gatwick Airport, Monday, 15th July 1991
The specially chartered plane arrived at Gatwick at three o’clock in the morning. Its passengers did not disembark until Ann Dockett’s coffin had been unloaded on to a high stainless steel barrow with black rubber wheels.
A uniformed nurse carefully pushed Andrea’s wheelchair down the passenger ramp. Erick followed, surrounded by four police officers. His light overcoat disguised the fact that he was handcuffed.
At the front of the procession came the coffin, attended by two men wearing black hats and suits, followed by Andrea in the wheelchair pushed by the nurse, then Erick walking alone wearing the long black coat like a cape. Four bulky policemen followed him, then the three lawyers each carrying heavy briefcases. At the end of the cortege came Arthur and Diana.
The sombre procession was clearly visible against a gradually lightening skyline.
Just before they entered the air terminal building, a flash bulb went off.
* * *
The next morning, most of the newspapers carried the picture on their front pages, underneath the caption:
THE DEAD LOVER – WIFE – NURSE – CRIME BOSS – LAWYERS AND THE FRIENDS.
The scene it showed, as evocative as any from a Bergman film, caught the public imagination. It was reproduced on the television news, a few days later on posters and T‑shirts, and became the instantly recognisable emblem of the whole matter.
Andrea was taken to St. Ann’s Hospital in London. Erick spent the night in the security unit, specially built for terrorists, inside Brixton Prison. He was designated a category ‘A’ prisoner and told he could only exercise in the yard outside usual association hours and escorted by six officers. As soon as he began walking round, shouts came from the barred windows, gaining momentum. After a few minutes hundreds of prisoners were calling encouragement to him and hammering on the bars. Fearing further trouble, the officers cut his exercise short and escorted Erick back to his cell.
Next morning he was introduced to DCI Sarah Wilson who told him that the police on Mallorca had been unable to find Paul Dockett and he was presumed dead. For Erick’s own safety, he was to be moved to a prison outside London. The court hearing the same day would take place in a provincial magistrate’s court, where bail would be refused.
‘When is Ann’s funeral?’ he asked, knowing it was useless to argue against his transfer. ‘I’d like to attend, if possible.’
‘I’m sorry, but I can tell you now that your application will be refused. The funeral would become a media circus and we couldn’t manage the security. Let her be buried in peace.’
* * *
Erick was taken from Brixton to Cardiff in a van designed to transport only one high security prisoner. There was an escort of police cars and anonymous vehicles containing armed officers. The police knew that their prisoner had access to unlimited funds and connections in both the criminal and legitimate worlds, perhaps even among the highest ranks of the judiciary and government. Assassinating him to put a stop to this embarrassing case was a distinct possibility. Every precaution had to be taken to ensure his safety.
/> When they arrived at Cardiff Prison, Erick gazed out of the barred window in the van. He could see a railway track running close to the walls of the old Victorian building. One of the Brixton warders had called it ‘a cosy little nick’ which held only five hundred prisoners.
He was treated like any other new arrival, left to sit on the floor of a stuffy reception room with ten men all aged less than twenty, most of them heavily tattooed. They had no idea who he was. After three hours he finally went through the reception procedure. He protested when he was given a uniform as he was only on remand, but nobody took any notice. They did not even answer his questions.
It was late in the afternoon when he was taken to Wing D1, a special run of cells built into a basement, half‑underground. It was regarded as the safest place in the prison. Erick was told that everyone here was expected to work for eight hours a day. If unhappy, he could lodge a formal complaint. After dinner, on alternate evenings he was allowed to watch television until nine.
The metallic slam of the cell door was strongly reminiscent of Vestre Faengsel in Copenhagen. He started shivering, feeling dizzy and sat down on the bunk bed. The walls were covered in crude drawings of women’s genitals and the whole cell stank of prison: that well‑remembered reek of sweat, urine and cleaning materials.
When the cell door was unlocked Erick joined the rest of the inmates of D1. He realised quickly that they were mostly less than twenty‑five and all on drugs. He decided to keep himself to himself as much as possible.
Next day before nine o’clock, still in his prison uniform, he was taken to the Magistrates Court, presented before the Magistrate, who had obviously been well briefed and rushed back again after only a few minutes. In the prison once more he was allocated work in the tailor’s shop and told to sew seams on kitchen trousers. When explaining that he was a remand prisoner and did not have to work, he was told to put in a written complaint to the Home Office.
If he had learned to cope with Vestre Faengsel, he thought, he could handle this. He sewed seam after seam, all perfectly straight and neatly finished. After two days the work officer promoted him to checking the other prisoners’ work. God must have a droll sense of humour, he thought. This was Giant all over again, but now he was learning the basic.
The governor refused extra police security inside and around his prison, insisting that all supervision was to be carried out by his own staff. Presence of uniformed policemen had previously shown to antagonise the other inmates to the state of riots. Legal visits were to be conducted in the room allocated for these in the visiting hall and only during official hours.