He absentmindedly ate some of his prawns, the cogs in his mind turning over slowly.
“He may be mistaken,” he said finally.
“Who might be mistaken? Gregory Black?”
Mr. Roberts looked up at me. “No,” he said. “My nephew, Benjamin.”
I was becoming more confused.
“How might your nephew be mistaken?” I asked.
“He visited the site, and he tells me there are no houses, no factory and no building work being done on it. In fact, he said it was just waste ground with a large amount of heavy-metal pollutants sitting there in stagnant pools. A local government official apparently told him that the cost of removal of the toxic waste would be far greater than the actual value of the land.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But what has this to do with Gregory Black?”
“He advised me to invest in the project.”
“What project?” I asked.
“A Bulgarian property development project,” he said. “Houses, shops and a new factory making low-energy lightbulbs.”
I vaguely remembered the project being discussed several years ago at one of Patrick’s weekly meetings, but, as far as I could recall, it had been rejected as too risky an investment for us to recommend to our clients. But that didn’t mean that Gregory hadn’t thought it a sound investment. Patrick and Gregory may have had both their names on the company notepaper, but they valued their independence, even from each other.
“Are you sure it’s on the same site that your nephew visited?”
“He says so. He says there is no mistake. The site where there should be a factory and hundreds of new homes and shops is nothing but an industrial wasteland. There is even talk of it having being used as a dump for nuclear waste during the Soviet era.”
“How much have you invested in the scheme?” I asked him.
“Not that much,” he said. “The family trust has invested about five million into the project as a whole. The factory is named the Balscott Lighting Factory after my father. I’ve seen pictures of the development. The project is designed to be a great social experiment for one of the most deprived areas of the European Union. A lot of EU money has gone into it.”
Five million may not be that much to Jolyon Roberts and his family trust, but it was a fortune to most people.
“Do these pictures show a factory and new homes?”
“Yes, they do, and they show more houses under construction,” he said. “Gregory Black showed them to me. But what am I to believe, the photos or my only nephew?”
“There must be a simple explanation,” I said. “Why don’t you go and ask Gregory about it? I am sure he will have invested your money wisely.”
“I’ve already approached him, and he just told me not to be so silly, of course the factory has been built. But Benjamin is adamant. He says that no Balscott Lighting Factory exists anywhere in Bulgaria.”
“So what do you want me to do?” I asked him.
“Find out the truth.”
“But why me?” I asked. “If you think there is a fraud being perpetrated then you should go to the police, or to the financial services regulators.”
He sat and looked at me for a moment.
“Because I trust you,” he said.
“But you hardly know me.”
“I know you much better than you might realize.” He smiled. “I’ve been watching your career every step of the way since you first rode that winner for my cousin. And I normally pride myself on being able to spot the good’uns from the bad’uns. That is why I am so concerned about this project. After all, it was me who persuaded my brother, Viscount Shenington, that the family trust should invest in something that appeared so worthwhile. I just need to know what is going on.”
“Sir,” I said. “I am under an obligation to report it if I find that there is a fraud or even if there is misrepresentation in advertising an investment.”
“Mmm, I see,” he said, stroking his chin. “My brother and I are most concerned that the good name of the Roberts family should not be dragged through the courts. He is in favor of simply writing off the investment and saying nothing. However…” He stopped.
“You feel responsible?” I asked.
“Exactly,” he said. “But I would prefer it if you could be very discreet. If this
“Especially your brother.”
He looked me in the eye and smiled. “Trustworthy, and wise.”
“But I will have to talk to Gregory about it,” I said.
“Can you not have a little look at things first without telling anybody? I am sure that someone with your keen nose for a good investment will be able to spot a rotten egg pretty quickly if there’s one to find.”
I laughed. “I think you have the wrong person. My nose isn’t that keen.”
“Oh, I think it is,” Jolyon Roberts replied. “I have a friend who’s forever telling me about all the money you’ve made for her in films and theater.”
“I’ve just been lucky,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, smiling. “You and Arnold Palmer.”
I looked at him quizzically.
“You’re too young,” he said, laughing. “Arnold Palmer the golfer.”
“What about him?” I asked.
“When a reporter once asked him why he was so lucky in golf, he famously replied, ‘It’s a funny thing, the harder I practice, the luckier I get.’”
But my luck was about to run out.
5
True to his word, Detective Chief Inspector Tomlinson sent a car to collect me from home on Thursday morning and he was waiting at Herb Kovak’s flat when I arrived and he was waiting at Herb Kovak’s flat when I arrived at eight a.m. sharp.
“Ah, good morning, Mr. Foxton,” he said, opening the front door and offering his hand. “And how is your toe today?”
“It’s fine,” I said honestly. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”
And I’d forgotten to limp.
“Nasty things, ingrown toenails,” he said. “Had one myself years ago. Hurt like hell.”
“Luckily, I’m a quick healer,” I said. “Now, how can I help?”
He stepped to the side, and I walked past him and into the hallway of Herb’s flat. I still thought of it as Herb’s flat although, I supposed, it was now technically mine, or it would be in due course.
“Are you certain Mr. Kovak was not in personal financial difficulties?” the chief inspector asked while closing the front door.
“No, I’m not certain, but I have no reason to think he was. Why do you ask?”
He waved a stack of papers towards me.
“What are they?” I asked.
“Credit card statements,” said the chief inspector.
“So?”
“Mr. Kovak appears to have had more than twenty separate credit cards, and, according to these statements, at his death, he owed nearly a hundred thousand pounds on these cards alone.”
I could hardly believe it. Not only because Herb was in so much debt but also because his debt was on credit
