The big over easy

think irrespective of who or what he was, he deserves that I investigate his death to the best of my ability. So tell me, how do you describe your relationship with Spongg’s?”

Grundy smiled. A smile of respect, thought Jack. To people like Grundy, straight talking was the answer. He still wasn’t going to make it easy, though, and his dispassionate eyes bored into Jack like augers.

“Rivals. That’s no secret. We tried to buy them out six months ago but were thwarted by a new shareholder.”

“Humpty Dumpty?”

“Indeed. I wager old Randolph is kicking himself. With Mr. Dumpty dead, his shares are wrapped up in probate. They’ll go bust, and we’ll take all we want from the receivers.”

He smiled an ugly smile, and Jack shifted his weight uneasily. He didn’t like Grundy one bit.

“Sounds as though his death has benefited you, Mr. Grundy.”

“It has benefited the company, Mr. Spratt. The same as if he had fallen off a bike or died in his sleep. Corporate business is a dangerous place; I do not own this company any more than you own the Reading police force. The shareholders will view Mr. Dumpty’s demise without grief. We thought perhaps Humpty had a refinancing package for Spongg’s, but his death will have put a stop to that. In under a year, we will have added their product lines to ours. I hope I am candid, Mr. Spratt.”

“Very,” replied Jack. “What did you and Mr. Dumpty talk about at the Spongg Charity Benefit?”

Grundy laughed. “Your information is good, Inspector. He offered me his thirty-eight percent share of Spongg’s for ten million. I told him the time for deals had long passed, and he told me I wouldn’t be laughing this time next year. We’ll take what we want from the receivers. I heard his private life was fairly colorful. Why don’t you speak to some of his girlfriends? Jealousy is a powerful emotion, Mr. Spratt.”

“So is revenge, Mr. Grundy.”

Grundy guessed Jack’s inference. “You have Splotvia on your mind, Mr. Spratt?”

Jack nodded. “I understand you lost a great deal of money?”

Grundy contemplated the end of his cigar for a few moments.

“It was that damnable mineral-rights scam of his. I should never have become involved, but then again, it was business.”

“So you weren’t bitter?”

“Of course not. I was furious. You’d better know the facts. He raised that share capital and spent it, not on securing mineral rights but on arming the rebels against the military dictatorship that ran the country. I tried to have him charged with fraud, but he covered his tracks well. They even” — he laughed — “made him a colonel in the Splotvian Imperial Guard.”

“Sounds like a good motive to me, Mr. Grundy.”

“I disagree,” replied Grundy evenly. “My loss to Humpty was only two-tenths of one percent of my fortune. Consider this: Even if I generously estimated your personal net worth at four hundred thousand pounds, the comparative loss to you would be only eight hundred pounds. Two million may be more money than you’ll see in a lifetime, but I could lose that sum every week for a decade before I might consider myself ruined. Do I make myself clear?”

Jack gritted his teeth. He’d enjoy bringing this one down.

“Abundantly, Mr. Grundy. I wonder if you could tell me your movements following the Spongg Charity Benefit on Monday?”

“I returned home,” he replied, indignant that he should have to account for his actions to anyone, “with my wife. You can ask her, if you so wish, with my blessing.”

Jack stared at Grundy, who looked back at him without sentiment. Jack wanted to make him sweat, so he tried a threat.

“I’d like to interview the board of directors and read the company minutes for the past two years.”

Grundy rolled his eyes and tapped some ash into a crystal ashtray the size of a hand basin. “It’ll require a court order.”

Jack stared at him. “I thought you would be happy to assist, Mr. Grundy.”

The bluff failed.

“Of course. What you ask will require considerable expenditure of time and resources. A court order gives me peace of mind that you really need what you ask for. I won’t be given the runaround on a non-Guild NCD officer’s whim. And I’ll tell you now I don’t frighten easily. I have been investigated by the FBI, the CBI, the CID, the MCC and the FO. I have weathered four stock-market crashes and suffered monetary losses that exceed the GNP of East and West Woppistania combined. I survived all that, and I’ll certainly survive you.”

His voice had kept the same modulation, although red blotches had been breaking out on his pale face. Jack feared for any junior board member who had this to contend with. Grundy paused for a minute as his face returned to its normal pallid complexion, then spoke again: “Is there anything else?”

“Not for the moment,” said Jack as sternly as he could. He needn’t have bothered. It came out sounding weak and ineffectual, and Grundy knew it. He gave a smile and bade them good day.

The elegant assistant appeared from nowhere and escorted them back to the elevator, in which they were plunged at freefall speed back to the lobby, thanked and shown the door in under a minute.

“I’ve never been so efficiently expelled from a building before,” murmured Mary in awe as they walked back to the Allegro.

“I imagine that being fired is probably a similar experience,” said Jack, “but without the courtesy of the elevator.”

20. Press Conference

POPULAR CRIME MAG OUTLAWS TWINS

The bestselling true-crime magazine Amazing Crime Stories announced that it would be banning the “identical twins” plot device as part of tough new measures to stave off what it described as “stagnation” within the world of professional detecting. Other plot devices facing the ax are the much-loved “left- handed perpetrator” and anything to do with anagrams. The Guild of Detectives reacted angrily to the ban, complaining that they had “not been fully consulted” and would “vigorously defend the right of detectives to use whatever plot contrivances come to hand in the course of their investigations.” The ban will come into effect in August.

From The Mole, March 30, 2004

As soon as they walked into the station, they realized that something was going on. A certain buzz travels around as everyone discusses a prominent case. Friedland might have felt it all the time, as his exploits were routinely grapevined, but Jack had never experienced it before. Ashley and Gretel were waiting for them in the NCD offices.

“What’s going on, Gretel?”

“Humpty’s murder, sir. Seems like everyone has an opinion about how the investigation should be run. The Superintendent has been calling every twenty minutes wanting to know where you were.”

“Ah,” said Jack, “no surprises there. Have you found any irregularities in Humpty’s finances yet?”

“It’s very complex and very confusing,” said Gretel, “like being lost in a large forest. But I’m making headway. I’ll let you know as soon as I have anything solid.”

She turned back to her desk and dialed another number on the telephone.

“Ashley, any luck with that auburn hair?”

“Not yet, sir. I’m running through the telephone directory; there are a lot of hairdressers in Reading.”

“Keep at it. Did Tibbit get a name for the lad in the photograph?”

“No,” said Ashley, “but we did get a cross-reference match with a silver VW Polo and the Christian name of ‘Bessie.’ Her name’s Bessie Brooks, veterinarian’s assistant, age 11001. Hasn’t been seen at work since the morning Humpty was killed. The address is on your desk.”