breathing again, but it seems his heart is now the problem.”
Just like his brother.
“And the doctor is also saying that even if he does survive, his brain is likely to have been permanently damaged due to being starved of oxygen for so long.”
Shame, I thought. Not!
“You say that you simply rugby-tackled him and you didn’t see that his nose and mouth were lying in the water?”
“That’s right,” I said. “I just thought he was winded by the fall. Only after I’d checked that Claudia was all right did I discover he was facedown in a puddle. Then, of course, I rolled him over onto his back.”
“Did you not then think of applying artificial respiration?” he asked.
I just looked at him.
“No,” he said. “I can see the problem.”
“Exactly,” I said. “The man had come there to kill me. Why would I try and save him? So that he could have another go?”
“Some people might argue that you were negligent.”
“Let them,” I said. “Whatever happened to Shenington was his own fault. You saw the gun. He wasn’t there making a social call.”
He looked up at the clock on the wall. It showed that it was well after midnight.
“We’ll have to continue this in the morning,” he said, yawning.
“I have to be at the Paddington Green Police Station by eleven,” I said.
“So do I,” Flight replied. “We can talk on the way.”
The meeting at Paddington Green lasted for more than two hours. In addition to me, there were four senior police officers present: Detective Chief Inspectors Tomlinson and Flight; a detective inspector from the City of London Police Economic Crime Department-the Fraud Squad; and Superintendent Yering, who chaired the meeting by virtue of his superior rank.
At his request, I started slowly from the beginning, outlining the events in chronological order, from the day Herb Kovak had been gunned down at Aintree right through to the previous evening at Cheltenham racetrack and at my mother’s cottage in Woodmancote. However, I decided not to include the finer details of how I had forced Shenington’s head down into the puddle on the gravel driveway.
“Viscount Shenington,” I said, “seems to have been desperate for money due to his gambling losses and clearly provided the five million pounds from the Roberts Family Trust in order to trigger the grants from the European Union. It appears that he even gave his brother the impression that he had needed to be convinced to make the investment.”
“Perhaps he did, to start with,” said DCI Flight, “until he discovered the availability of the grants.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I think it’s far more likely that the idea for stealing the EU grants came first and Shenington was simply brought in as the necessary provider of the priming money.”
“So he wasn’t the only one involved?” Tomlinson said.
“Not at all,” I said. “I’ve seen e-mails between a Uri Joram in the office of the European Commission in Brussels and a Dimitar Petrov in Bulgaria-”
“How did you see them?” Tomlinson interrupted.
“On Gregory Black’s computer,” I said. “He was copied on their correspondence.”
“And who is Gregory Black?” asked the detective inspector from the Fraud Squad.
“He’s one of the senior partners at Lyall and Black, the firm of financial advisers where I work.” Or where I used to work.
“And what do you think he has to do with this?” he asked.
“I’m only guessing, but I believe that Gregory Black probably found Shenington for Joram and Petrov. They would have needed someone with five million pounds to invest to trigger the much larger sum from the EU. Shenington was a client of Gregory’s, and who could be better, a man who controlled a wealthy family trust but was himself broke and in dire need of lots of ready money to pay his gambling debts. And Gregory would have known that. Financial advisers are aware of all their clients’ most intimate financial secrets.”
“But what has all this to do with the death of Herbert Kovak?” asked DCI Tomlinson. That was
“Herb Kovak had accessed the file with the e-mails between Joram and Petrov just a few days before he was killed. And Gregory Black would have known he had because Herb’s name appeared on the recently accessed list. I saw it there. Perhaps Herb had asked some difficult questions about the project, questions that got him killed.”
I could see that I was losing them.
“Remember,” I said, “we are talking about a huge amount of money here. A hundred million euros. Even split four ways, it’s a handsome sum, and worth a bit of protecting.”
I could see them doing the simple math in their heads.
“And,” I went on, “in the last week or so, every time Gregory Black knew where I was, someone tried to kill me there. I now think that Shenington only changed his mind about wanting to talk to me, then asked me to the races, because I hadn’t been turning up at my office. He as good as admitted it yesterday. He said I was a difficult man to kill because I usually didn’t turn up when I was expected. Well, I was expected at a meeting with Gregory Black on Monday morning and I’m now certain that I would have been killed if I’d gone to it. I probably wouldn’t have even reached the office front door. I’d have been shot down in the street. Murdered in a public place, just like Herb Kovak was at Aintree.”
“I think it’s time I spoke again to Mr. Gregory Black,” said DCI Tomlinson. “I remember him from my previous encounter.”
Yes, I thought, and I bet he remembers you.
There followed a brief discussion as to who had the proper jurisdiction to arrest and on suspicion of what charges. Finally, it was agreed that the honor would fall to DI Batten, the detective inspector from the Fraud Squad. After all, the City of London was his patch. However, we all wanted to be present, and a total of three police cars made the trip across London to 64 Lombard Street, where we were joined by a fourth from the uniformed branch.
It was quarter past two by the time we arrived at my office. Gregory should be just back from his usual substantial lunch at the restaurant on the corner. I hoped he’d made the most of it. There would be no more
“Can I help you?” Mrs. McDowd asked as the policemen entered. Then she saw me with them. “Oh, Mr. Nicholas, are these men with you?”
DI Batten ignored her. “Can you tell me where I might find Mr. Gregory Black?” he said rather grandly.
“I’ll call him,” she said nervously, clearly slightly troubled by the mass of people crowding into her reception area.
“No,” said DI Batten, “just tell me where he is.”
At that point Gregory walked down the corridor.
“There he is,” said Mrs. McDowd, pointing.
The detective inspector wasted no time.
“Gregory Black,” he said, taking hold of Gregory by the arm, “I arrest you on suspicion of conspiracy to defraud and also on suspicion of conspiracy to murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Gregory was stunned. “But that’s ridiculous,” he said. “I’ve done nothing of the sort.”
Then he saw me.
“Is this your doing?” he demanded, thrusting his face belligerently towards mine. “Some kind of sick joke?”
“Murder is never a joke,” said DI Batten. “Take him away.”
Two uniformed officers moved forward and handcuffed Gregory, who was still loudly protesting his innocence. The policemen ignored his pleas and led him out of the glass door and onto the lift.
