48 Hours - A City of London Thriller (7 page)

Max’s eyes widened in horror as he listened to the words, then
he breathed his last breath, his expired body relaxing into Bob’s
arms.

Chapter 11

Atkins Garretson Palmer, College Hill, London: Thursday,
6pm.

Andrew Cuthbertson was sitting at his desk pondering his
options. He had noticed his colleagues staring at him all
afternoon. It seemed that a couple of people had addressed him and
he hadn’t answered. He hadn’t even heard them; he was absorbed in
his own thoughts. They were concerned that the usually ebullient
Andy appeared so withdrawn. He knew that in the next half hour the
place would begin to clear and he could have the floor to himself.
He needed to do something, but he didn’t know what to
do.

After the meeting with Josh that afternoon, Andrew had decided
to call the blackmailer off. Perhaps he could threaten him with
exposure if necessary, but he had to try to keep him away from
Josh, at least. Andrew had never believed the man would kill
anyone, anyway. He was wealthy in his own right, he had connections
at cabinet level, and he was well respected around the world. When
Andrew had asked him why he was doing this, there had been no
explanation in reply. He was told simply to supply the information
required or his wife and daughter, and his employers, would hear
about the girl in Bangkok. In fact, they would see the photographs
of the very young girl looking scared and bemused, not to mention
bruised, after Andy had finished with her. Andrew had been stunned
at the threat. How could anyone have found out? Why couldn’t they
have held the Partners’ conference somewhere else, somewhere where
young girls weren’t offered to you for sale as if they were a fake
Rolex?

Andrew had been so caught up in his own misery that he had not
noticed the stir in the office. The senior equity partner on the
floor was being hemmed in by staff, and eventually he gave in and
picked up the phone.

Andrew walked over to see what was happening. The senior
partner said into the phone, “It’s true then? …… All right. Thank
you. I’ll let my people know.” He replaced the receiver, clearly
shaken. Eventually he looked at the expectant faces and addressed
the office.

“
Please listen, everyone. It seems that the rumours are true.
The ‘Twittering’ is accurate, for once. Sir Max Rochester collapsed
and died at Blacksmiths Hall an hour ago.” There was an audible
gasp. Sir Max was this group’s largest client.

Andrew wandered back to his desk in a haze. “It has to be a
coincidence, it can’t be true,” he said to himself. Then he looked
at his watch. Sir Max’s forty eight hours had expired four minutes
ago.

Chapter 12

Ashburnham Mews, Greenwich, London. Thursday, 8pm.

Dee turned the laptop around so that I could see the screen.
My bank account looked healthier than ever before. I had over two
hundred and fifty two thousand pounds sitting in my current
account.

“
OK, Josh, it’s all there. Now we just wait for instructions.
I guess he’ll text something in the morning, just to make sure that
you’re going ahead with it.”

Dee was right. With sixteen hours to go we were ready, but I
doubted whether Bob would call. He seemed to want to create as much
anxiety as possible. He would probably wait until just before noon
to contact me and then make me jump through hoops to transfer the
money.

I was still considering how I would react to giving away a
quarter of a million pounds when my cell phone rang. ‘Unknown
Number’ showed up on the screen. We had placed my BlackBerry on a
small unit provided by the police which looked rather like an Ipod
charger with speakers. I pressed the button to answer, and the red
light flashed as the unit began a digital recording. I leaned over
the unit and spoke into the microphone slot.

“
Hello?” There was silence for several long seconds and I
thought that Bob was teasing me, unless he guessed somehow that the
call was being recorded.

“
Josh, I’m sorry.” Andrew Cuthbertson’s voice was cracked and
faltering. “My life is over, Josh. I’ve lost everything. Tomorrow
everything will come out and I’ll be ruined.” He was rambling, but
I said nothing.

“
I did give your details away, you were right, but I was being
blackmailed too. You have to believe me. He had me over a barrel,
Josh.” There was a pause as he sobbed; the man was on the verge of
a breakdown. “I need to see you, to tell you the whole story.
Tomorrow morning, early, before everything hits the
fan.”

“
OK, Andrew, just stay calm,” I said. “Who is this Bob,
anyway? Do you have any idea?”

“
That’s just one of his names, and none of them are his real
name. I can’t tell you over the phone. I need to see you in person,
to explain.”

“
All right, Andrew. Get a good night’s rest and we’ll see if
we can sort this out tomorrow. Where do you want to
meet?”

“
Let’s meet at the pedestrian footbridge at Butler’s Wharf,
next to the Chop House Restaurant. It should be deserted there at
seven tomorrow morning.”

“
I can do that, Andrew,” I assured him. “I’ll take one of the
riverboats, but it might be a few minutes after seven when I get
there.”

“
I understand, but try not to be too late. I’ll be waiting.
Thanks, Josh.” He hung up, leaving me wondering just what my friend
had got himself mixed up in.

Chapter 13

Butlers Wharf, Tower Bridge, London. Friday,
6:45am.

Alarmed by Andrew Cuthbertson’s phone call last night, and by
his sudden show of conscience, Bob kept watch over the former
warehouses which now housed modern apartments set around an
ornamental Japanese Garden. The sun was up and the ducks on the
pond were making a racket. Bob was amazed that people would pay
upwards of three hundred and fifty grand for a two bedroomed
apartment in an old warehouse in what used to be a rough area of
London.

The complex was security gated, entry by a key fob, and so Bob
stood out of sight of the pedestrian entrance gate in one of the
narrow passages that still led to the waterside. He was very
disappointed with Andrew. No matter how much he threatened, Andrew
refused to meet him to discuss the situation. Bob had felt sure
that another look at the photos of the pathetic pre-pubescent Thai
girl would bring the young accountant back into line. He was wrong.
Andrew had made it clear that it was too late for that, and so Bob
had been waiting outside the Cuthbertsons’ apartment for an
hour.

***

Andrew hadn’t slept a wink. He had decided to tell his wife
everything when he arrived home, so that the blackmail threats
would be useless, but as soon as he saw his perfect wife,
Charlotte, and their daughter Zoe, he knew he couldn’t do it. They
would find out soon enough, and then he would try to explain, if
they gave him the chance.

After a quick shower in the family bathroom, so as not to
disturb Charlotte, he dressed and let himself out of the ground
floor flat quietly. Not that any noise he made would be heard over
the ducks. One of the attractions of the flat, in addition to the
security, was the fact that the buildings were grouped around a
quadrangle which sported oriental gardens and small ornamental
bridges over manmade ponds. His apartment had a wooden deck beyond
the patio doors, where they could sit and eat in the warm weather.
In the winter the ducks would come and peck on the patio doors,
brazenly looking for food. Their comic antics always entertained
Zoe. Andrew imagined the scene and smiled through his
sadness.

The accountant exited the security gate and walked across the
lane to the wooden ramp that led onto the wharf. In ten minutes the
story would be told and Josh would be safe.

Andrew walked through the brick tunnel and emerged into the
bright early morning sunshine as Tower Bridge came into view. Ahead
of him stood a modern, stylised stainless steel pedestrian bridge
with steel grating walkway. It was no longer than five metres
because the only thing it spanned was an old disused unloading bay.
The small pool underneath the bridge was flooded by the Thames at
high tide, but now it was just a muddy quagmire with the occasional
wave lapping in.

A few yards away a wooden jetty ran out into the Thames to
accommodate the river taxis and tourist boats. It was still
deserted. The first boat of the morning had not yet arrived. A
light mist hovered low over the surface of the water, already
dissipating in the morning air. The scene was bathed in the golden
light of the late summer sunrise, and the few trees in the area
were already beginning to show the first hint of autumn in the
yellowing leaves, but the air was fresh and cool and the rays of
the sun cast long shadows across his path.

Andrew was entirely alone apart from a grey squirrel which was
hunting around for food, and a jogger who was moving at a pace that
could easily have been exceeded by most people walking briskly. Why
do they do it, he asked himself. Run or walk, but that slow jog is
pathetic.

The jogger was dressed in a grey fleece training suit, his
hood up against the cool river breeze. He stopped a few yards away
from Andrew and did some hamstring and calf stretches, using the
railings for support. Andrew leaned against the handrail to make
room for the jogger on the narrow bridge. The jogger reached the
small bridge and the accountant felt it move with the extra weight
of the new occupant. The jogger was moving towards him, fists
shadow boxing the air.

“
Loony,” thought Andrew, and looked away to avoid eye contact.
The jogger stopped directly behind him. Andy could feel his
presence and turned around to tell him to clear off. When he saw
the face beneath the hood, he froze.

***

Bob saw the shock on Andrew’s face and took his opportunity. A
leather sap, or cosh, filled with lead pellets swung up and caught
the young accountant directly under the chin. Bob saw the young
man’s eyes roll back into his head and his body go limp. He knew he
didn’t have long. Having scoured the wharf for signs of life a
minute earlier as he’d feigned stretching, he knew they were alone.
Taking the weight of Andrew’s body, he leaned him against the
railing and tipped him over.

The young accountant toppled face down into the muddy quagmire
as Bob looked on. After a few seconds Andrew shuddered and began to
come round. Thrashing wildly, he could do no more than pull himself
deeper into the mud; his manic efforts to save himself did not last
long, and after a few moments one had to look hard to see a body at
all.

Bob looked up as a maritime horn sounded. The first Thames
Clipper of the day was approaching. He turned his back and walked
away in the direction he had come from, as though nothing at all
had happened.

Chapter 14

Butlers Wharf, Tower Bridge, London. 7:05am.

We picked up the Thames Clipper at Greenwich at five minutes
to seven, and the high speed catamaran skimmed along the Thames at
the speed limit for less than ten minutes before we reached our
destination. On those occasions when I took the glass sided
Clippers, with their spectacular views of the bridges and the city,
I always promised myself that I would use them more often and
abandon the overcrowded Tube. On a morning like this, with a clear
blue sky and just a light breeze, it seemed especially
appealing.

We alighted at Tower Bridge and I looked around in the early
morning sunshine, searching for Andrew.

Dee hadn’t been to this area of London before and was
surprised at how upmarket it had all become. Two of London’s most
popular restaurants were within a stone’s throw of where we stood.
We walked along the South Bank in the direction of Butler’s Wharf
and the stylish post-modern pedestrian bridge. There was no sign of
Andrew, but it was only just after seven, so we agreed to give him
until seven fifteen before calling him.

We stood on the bridge for a while, taking in the fresh air
and just talking. I explained how the Shad Thames area had turned
from a derelict warehouse district into a thriving community
occupied by aspirational professionals. As I looked around, I
noticed that many of the businesses and buildings which we could
see housed companies which were in our company insurance
portfolio.

Dee was becoming concerned, and suggested that we call Andrew.
By now it was almost seven fifteen. I called Andrew’s number up on
my list of most recently called numbers and pressed the green
telephone symbol.

Almost immediately I heard a sound like an old fashioned
telephone bell. Assuming that Andy must be somewhere close by, I
looked around for him but couldn’t see him. Dee looked around, too,
clearly as puzzled as I was. The ringing stopped and my call went
to voice mail. It was definitely his phone which we had heard
ringing.

I rang the number again and we listened carefully. The tone
seemed to be coming from underneath the bridge. Dee looked through
the steel grating that formed the walkway and saw the phone
lighting up with each ring. She caught her breath and pointed at
it. I rang off and, kneeling down, I looked more closely. The phone
was lying on debris at the bridge parapet, just inches away from
the muddy water which was splashing around down there. Dee held my
jacket as I climbed over the guard rails and stood on the exposed
muddy bank. I had to hold onto the bridge to avoid slipping into
the quicksand-like mud in the basin. I picked up the mobile phone
from amongst the stones. It was dirty but it appeared largely
undamaged. I was checking that it was still working when another
Thames Clipper passed about fifteen metres away and the wash pushed
river water into the basin, washing over my feet and soaking my
socks and shoes. I swore loudly. Then I thought I saw something in
the muddy morass.