He stood up, and began pacing round the small room. 'Let me tell you what I know. The victim and you left the boat together. Some drunks bumped into you. You both set off towards the Embankment station. It was dark, raining hard, and visibility was poor. When you thought no one was watching, you picked up the victim and threw her into the river.'
I swallowed. Why the hell did I feel so guilty? This was ridiculous. I should be outraged. But all I could manage was a simple 'No'.
Powell moved up to me in two swift paces. He didn't touch me but put his face three inches away from mine. I could smell onions on his breath, see his shiny acne-marked skin. 'I know that's what happened, Murray, because I have a witness who saw it all.'
A witness? That was crap. Suddenly I pulled myself together. My brain cleared.
'Who was the witness?'
'I can't say.'
'Why not?'
'Look, Murray, it doesn't matter who it is, I have a sworn statement.'
'From someone who knows me?'
'I said I wouldn't tell you.'
Rob! It had to be. Cathy had mentioned that he had seen me and Debbie go to the boat together that evening. What the hell had he told the police?
'So, do we get a statement? We know you did it.' Powell was pacing again. 'It would be better for all of us if you told the truth, now. There is no point in pretending that what happened didn't. As I said, we have a witness. We have proof.'
I was damned if I was going to let Powell intimidate me any more. I nodded to Jones, who had been taking notes furiously. 'Get him to type up what I have said already and I will sign it. Until then I will not say any more without a solicitor present.'
I remained silent for the next five minutes as Powell tried various approaches to goad me into saying something. Finally he gave up. 'You're a stubborn bastard, Murray. But don't worry. I'll be seeing you again shortly.'
Powell and Jones left me alone in the interview room whilst I waited for my statement to be typed. I checked it carefully, signed it and left the police station. My knees felt weak as I spilled out into the street. I was in a very dangerous position. I knew Powell had been trying to scare me into saying something I shouldn't. I assumed he must not have gathered enough evidence yet to arrest me, but there was no doubt I was in trouble. Powell wouldn't have gone to the effort of resurrecting the case if he hadn't been convinced that he had good cause.
Powell himself worried me. I had seen that he was a man who made judgements quickly. He was tough and impatient, and I had no comfort that he would be scrupulous in the way he gathered evidence. He knew I was guilty and he was going to nail me one way or another.
And I was sure Powell usually got his way.
Murder! Insider dealing had seemed a bad enough crime to be accused of, but it was nothing compared to murder. And of Debbie as well, of all the injustices.
As soon as I got home, I called Denny. Luckily he was working late. His advice was clear. Treat Powell's suspicions seriously. However, it was unlikely that Powell had enough evidence to charge me yet. If Powell wanted to talk to me again, I should refuse unless Denny was present. Until then, all I could do was wait and see what happened.
CHAPTER 20
The bar was cool, dark and almost empty. It was still quite early. I nursed my pint of Davy's Old Wallop, whilst I waited for Cash and Cathy to arrive.
I heard Cash before I saw him. His voice echoed round the empty cellar as he came down the stairs from the street above. 'Jesus, Cathy, it's like a morgue down here.'
I had selected somewhere quiet to meet. Perhaps that was a mistake. Cash's voice would carry much further in an empty bar than a full one. I looked round. Three sets of canoodling couples, who were also looking for quiet and darkness, and a group of men in their early twenties, swiftly getting drunk. It should be safe.
I was apprehensive about meeting Cash; he did not seem at all apprehensive about meeting me. He bustled into the bar and headed straight for me, hand outstretched, and a big smile on his face. 'Paul! Good to see you. How have you been?' He pulled up a chair. Cathy followed him a couple of steps behind. She gave me a discreet but very sweet smile as she joined us at the table. 'Boy, that was really rough what happened to you. Cathy told me all about it. I can't believe they did that to you.'
I found myself warming to him. His concern did seem genuine; it was nice to hear somebody believe me. Watch out, I warned myself, trusting Cash is a dangerous business.
'Hallo, Cash,' I said coldly, briefly shaking his hand. He looked hurt at my coolness. I relented. 'Can I get you a drink?' I said trying to be polite, if not exactly friendly.
'Sure, I'll have whatever it is you've got there,' he said, pointing to my tankard of Davy's. It took me only a minute to get it, together with a Perrier for Cathy.
There was a distinctly awkward atmosphere at the table as I returned. I didn't say anything as I set the drinks down.
Cash took a sip, grimaced, and said, 'Interesting.' He was uncomfortable with the silence, as was Cathy. I found I didn't really want to talk to Cash, and regretted agreeing to the meeting. 'You haven't missed that much these last two weeks,' Cash said to break the silence. He chattered on for five minutes about the market, with me giving him minimal help.
As this one-way conversation petered to a halt, Cathy interrupted. 'I got you two together, because I think you have a lot to say to each other. So why don't you start, Paul,' she said firmly. 'Tell Cash about the TSA investigation.'
I hesitated a moment, and then I told him. Cash listened closely all the way through. At the end he said, 'It sure seems flimsy to me. It doesn't look like they have any direct proof.'
'Were you interviewed by the TSA?' I asked.
'Yes, I was,' he said. 'That whole thing scared the life out of me. First you tell me that Bowen's on to you. Then I get grilled by Berryman. And then you get the sack for insider trading.'
Cash took a gulp of his beer. 'That really worried me. I mean, I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, but firms like Bloomfield Weiss are happy to look for fall guys if there is any dirt flying around.
'Then suddenly last week, I got called into a meeting with the head of the London office. He told me that evidence had been found that Joe Finlay had been buying large amounts of Gypsum of America stock for his personal account, based on inside information. He had also built up a sizeable position in the bonds for Bloomfield Weiss, but the authorities were now convinced that no one else in the firm was involved. I can't tell you how relieved I was.'
Cathy listened with interest to this, her brows knitted in concentration. 'What I can't understand,' she said, 'is why Paul isn't in the clear. If the TSA think Cash had nothing to do with it, then unless they think that Joe and Paul were in regular contact it should prove that there was no channel for Paul to get the information.'
'You're right,' I said.
Cash nodded. 'She is right. You should see someone about it. Either De Jong or the TSA. I'll back you up.'
I smiled, 'Thanks, Cash.' And I was thankful. Having escaped unharmed, there was probably nothing Cash would rather do less than reopen the whole question. It was good of him to offer to do so. 'I'll phone the TSA in the morning.'
I sipped my beer. 'I wonder if Joe knew Debbie was on to him?'
'What do you mean?' said Cash.
'Well, Debbie tipped Bowen at Bloomfield Weiss off that something funny was going on. If Joe found out about it he would have been quite upset.'
'You mean he might have killed her?'
