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which bought the fifty million Swedens?'

Cathy's smile disappeared. I had overstepped a boundary. 'Now I really can't comment,' she said brusquely, the imperious saleswoman again. 'I can't discuss one client in front of another.' She had taken to heart the reprimand Cash had given her earlier. My curiosity would have to go unsatisfied.

Chastened, I was searching for a less controversial topic of conversation when Rob appeared at my elbow.

'Hallo, Paul,' he said. Then he looked hard at Cathy. 'Hallo.'

'Hallo,' she replied coldly.

'How have you been?'

'Fine.'

'Why haven't you answered my phone calls?'

'Oh, I didn't know you had rung,' she said.

'I rang four times last night, and six times the night before. Your flatmate took the messages. She must have told you. Didn't you get the note with my flowers?'

'I'm afraid she's very forgetful,' Cathy said, looking around her with an air of desperation.

'Well, what are you doing tonight? Perhaps we could get a bite to eat.'

Cathy caught the eye of someone at the other end of the tent, and then turned to Rob and me. 'I'm terribly sorry. There's a client of mine over there who I simply must see. Bye.'

With that she was off.

'You know, I think she might be trying to avoid me.' Rob looked puzzled as he said this.

I couldn't help smiling. 'Do you really think so?'

'But you don't understand. I don't understand. She's a marvellous woman. We've been out together three times. She's not like any other girl I've ever met. There is something special between us. I'm sure of it.'

'You haven't proposed to her, have you?' That was the most usual reason why Rob's girlfriends ran away from him, but I thought a proposal on the third date might be too fast going, even for Rob.

'No, we haven't got that far yet,' he replied. I could tell, though, that for his part Rob didn't have much further to go. 'But I did tell her exactly how important she was to me.'

'Rob, I've told you before, you've got to pace yourself,' I said, exasperated. 'That's the third girl you have frightened off like that.'

'Fourth,' said Rob.

Ordinarily I would have had the strength to console Rob. But I had had a lousy week, the weather was awful, and I just wanted to go.

I knew Cash wouldn't be leaving for several hours yet, and I couldn't face his bonhomie on the way back. So I slunk out of the tent, caught a bus to the station, and then a train home. As I stared out of the window across the rain-drenched Thames flood plain, my thoughts drifted towards Cathy. For a moment there I had thought she was almost human, and I had liked what I had seen. Perhaps Rob wasn't so daft after all.

CHAPTER 9

August is always a dead month in the eurobond markets. There are plenty of reasons for this. The Continentals are all on holiday, as are the bureaucrats who work in the government agencies that issue eurobonds. The summer heat in Bahrain and Jeddah dulls even the most hardened Arab's gambling instincts, and many of them travel to London, Paris and Monte Carlo, often to play with chips instead of bonds.

Of course many of the traders and salesmen in London are unmarried, or at least have no children. There is nothing they would like to do less in August than join the screaming families at the beach. But the month is a good time for a rest. There is an unspoken pact not to rock the boat, not to create the volatility that would require us all to spend the month thinking hard about work. The market recharges itself, everyone making plans for what they will do in the first week of September.

Normally, this seasonal pattern irritates me. But this time my mind was on other things, and so I was glad for the cover that August brought.

Specifically, I was thinking about Debbie. And Joe.

It had seemed to me obvious that Joe had lain in wait for Debbie that night, and thrown her into the river. He was there, and he clearly had the capacity to kill. But why did he do it? Even someone like Joe didn't just wander round London murdering his old girlfriends on a whim. He must have had a reason. What could that be?

And then there was the business of the shared taxi taken by Joe and his two friends just after I had seen him leaving the boat. It was possible that his friends were covering for him, but the police believed that they were telling the truth. If the police were right, how did Debbie die?

I didn't believe she just fell into the river by mistake. And I couldn't believe that she killed herself. I refused to believe it. So who else might have wanted Debbie dead?

As I mulled over this problem, my thoughts turned to Piper. Debbie's knowledge of the Bladenham Hall case was of real concern to him. He did not sound like the most upright of citizens. If he were to lose his licence from the Gaming Commission, then his plans for the Tahiti would have to be shelved. At best, he could try to sell it; it would be difficult to recoup most of his costs. Another dangerous enemy.

Then there was also the investigation into the Gypsum company share price. Was that in some way connected to Debbie's death?

I needed to find out more.

I searched the pile of prospectuses on my desk for the information memorandum for the Tahiti. Before I came to it I uncovered the prospectus for Tremont Capital. I stopped my search and picked it up. It was thin and innocuous. No logos, certainly no pictures. I began to read it. Carefully.

Tremont Capital NV was a shell investment company set up in the Netherlands Antilles as a means for wealthy individuals to shelter their tax. The company invested in securities, about which there were no details. The company had issued a $40 million private placement of bonds through Bloomfield Weiss. De Jong & Co. had bought $20 million of these. What had made an investment in the bonds of such a flimsy offshore vehicle attractive was the guarantee from Honshu Bank Ltd. Honshu was one of the largest banks in Japan, and had the top rating of AAA assigned to it by the credit agencies. Investors didn't have to worry about the details of the structure, or what Tremont Capital invested in, as long as they had that guarantee.

But Debbie had worried about details.

I read the whole prospectus through carefully. Lots of tedious legal language, but nothing out of the ordinary that I could see. The sole shareholder of the shell company was listed as Tremont Holdings NV. That didn't tell me anything, and I guessed that under the Netherlands Antilles secrecy laws that would be the most I would ever find out about the ownership structure.

Still nothing strange.

Then I noticed a telephone number pencilled in the margin under the section entitled 'Description of the Guarantor'. I recognised the dialling code as Tokyo. It must be the number for Honshu Bank. I looked at my watch. It was late in Tokyo, but I might still catch someone. I tried the number not knowing what it was I was supposed to be asking.

After a few false starts, I was finally put through to someone who understood English.

'Hakata speaking.'

'Good afternoon, Mr Hakata. It's Paul Murray from De Jong & Co. in London speaking. I wonder if you can help me. I am inquiring about a private placement you have guaranteed for Tremont Capital.'

'I am very sorry,' said Mr Hakata.

Damn, I thought. Just when I needed someone helpful. 'I would very much appreciate some information, Mr Hakata. You see we are a major investor in this private placement.'

'I should like to help, Mr Murray, but we have no record of giving such a guarantee.'

'No, you don't understand. I have the prospectus in front of me. And someone from your bank spoke to a colleague of mine, Miss Chater, about it last week.'