Jigsaw Lovers (29 page)

‘I may have an idea for salvaging something out of this unholy mess.’

‘... if I report it in such a way that it seems like a genuine case of blackmail...’

‘We must work out a story between us. We’ll say you received a telephone call, threatening to expose you if you didn’t hand over another million.’

‘But what about the video?’

‘Only you and I have seen it. I’ll destroy it. We’ll pretend it never existed. All you received was the jigsaw puzzle and the card.’

‘How are we going to account for the missing money …?’

‘The Bank would rather write the money off, than face the public embarrassment …’

‘Now this is becoming more interesting by the moment.’

‘What do you make of that bit about a jigsaw and a card?’ asked Jeanne.

‘No idea, but I think it’s worth a look. Maybe there’s nothing in it, but if there is, it could be quite a story.’

Somerset picked up the telephone and dialled the number that had been on the screen at the end of the video.

‘Good morning. Does a Mr John Smith work at this branch? He does, and what’s his position? What? I see. Thank you very much.’

‘I take it from your expression that he is the assistant manager?’ asked Jeanne, although it was more a statement.

‘Yes, he is. But when I asked her what his position was she laughed and said “on his desk”. Make a copy of these disks. Send them to Edwards in Cape Town and tell him to get an appointment to see this man Smith. He should be able to tell if this is Smith’s office on the video, once he’s been to the Bank. Tell him to ask a few pertinent questions. We’ll decide what we do from there, once we hear from him.’

Three days later Edwards telephoned. He had made an appointment to see John Smith on the pretext of wishing to transfer his account to his branch, and to try and arrange a short-term loan. He said he found the man’s attitude to be condescending and unhelpful, and at times unnecessarily rude.

He was able to confirm the man’s identity and the fact that his office was the one that was featured in the video.

He had arrived at the Bank ten minutes early for his appointment. He introduced himself to the young lady at enquiries and said he had come to see Mr Smith. While he was waiting, and as the she didn’t seem particularly busy, he started to chat to her.

Now in his early forties, Edwards had been extracting information from people for over twenty years. He had developed a certain self-effacing charm that tended to put people at their ease, and before they realised it they had invariably confided in him.

‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘I’m hoping to arrange a small loan for my business. What’s Mr Smith like?’

Flattered at being informed as to the reasons for his visit, and remembering the photographs and video of Smith, she laughed. ‘Until recently we all thought he was a bit boring, if you know what I mean.’

‘A typical sort of bank manager? Not very adventurous? Is that it?’ he coaxed.

‘You might say that.’ She laughed again, finding it difficult not to tell this pleasant man all about Smith.

He looked to each side as if checking that he wouldn’t be overheard, and leaned slightly towards her. ‘I heard something about a card.’ Her expression changed.

‘We’re not meant to talk about that,’ she said quietly.

‘Talk about what?’ he asked gently, his voice low, but a conspiratorial smile on his face.

‘The blackmail plot. But, if you ask me, I don’t believe a word of it.’ He couldn’t believe his luck.

‘Can I take you for lunch?’ His expression was disarming.

A voice came from behind. It was Carol, Smith’s secretary. ‘Mr Edwards?’ He turned. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. Mr Smith will see you now.’

‘Thank you.’ He bent down to pick up his briefcase. As he did so the girl at enquiries said under her breath,

‘I’ll meet you outside Woolworth’s, just after one.’ She smiled and busied herself with some papers.

‘So basically, Mr Smith, what you’re saying is that unless I can provide you with security equal to the amount I wish to borrow, there’s no way you’ll lend me a cent. Is that right?’ Edwards was trying to clarify the discussion he had just had with Smith, who had told him in a very long-winded and round-about fashion that he could not have a loan.

‘You don’t even bank with this branch, that doesn’t help.’ Smith was at his most condescending.

‘I’ve been banking with your Johannesburg branch for almost twenty years.’

‘It’s not the same. Down here we don’t know you.’

‘How about if we got to know each other better?’ Edwards smiled coyly at Smith and slid his hand part way over the desk, looking him straight in the eye, his eyebrows raised enquiringly.

‘I don’t understand what you mean.’ Smith had become slightly edgy at Edwards’s less than veiled approach. He moved back in his chair.

‘What I mean is, will you lend me the money if I have sex with you?’

‘What did you say?’ Smith couldn’t believe his ears, but when Edwards stood up and began to unzip his trousers, he was aghast. ‘Stop that! You’re disgusting! Get out of my office. I’m calling the police.’

‘I’ll tell you what. Give me a million, cash, and you can screw me on the desk. Right here I think looks comfortable.’ He gently ran his hand over the spot where Smith and Diana had performed on the desk.

Realisation suddenly dawned on Smith. At last the blackmailers had come out into the open. They wanted more money. He had been right all along. At last he had a target to vent the frustration and anger that had been building up inside him over the last few months.

‘You’ve nothing left to blackmail me with. Everyone knows. I’ll have you arrested, and then everything will be all right.’

He leapt up and tried to grab Edwards across the desk, but it was too wide and Edwards’s reaction was too swift. Smith ended up prone on his desk.

‘I’m not here to blackmail you, Mr Smith.’ Edwards held his hands up in an attempt to calm Smith who was coming round the desk at him.

‘Don’t lie to me. How else did you know about the cash?’

‘I’m a journalist. I work for the
Herald
.’ He pulled out his press card and held it under Smith’s nose. ‘A few days ago we were sent a video, which implied you gave a woman a million rand in return for having sex with her. It was filmed in this office.’

‘Oh no!’ Smith had turned white. He staggered and leant against the desk. ‘How could they film it in here?’ he asked almost to himself, not expecting an answer.

‘There was a hidden camera in the briefcase lid,’ answered Edwards.

‘So Diana did know. I was fooled all along.’

‘So you are being blackmailed? Is that right?’

‘No. I mean yes. I don’t know.’ Smith was becoming more embroiled in his own thoughts.

‘There was also a recording of you and a man called Stephanus, your superior I believe, working out a way to cover up the loss of the money.’

‘What! How do you know about that?’ There was an edge of panic in Smith’s voice.

‘Is it true?’

‘I refuse to say any more. Leave my office, go, please.’

‘I’m giving you a chance to tell your side of the story before we print it.’

‘What do you mean print it? You can’t do that. It’s not fair. Why me?’ He was shaking and tears were beginning to run down his face. He sat down on the floor, his arms hunched around his knees. He no longer seemed aware of Edwards’s presence. ‘Why me?’ he asked despairingly.

He was still asking the question, over and over as Edwards let himself out.

‘“Will you lend me the money if I have sex with you?” Well I suppose it is a pertinent question, but it wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I briefed you on this one.’ Somerset laughed. ‘What would you have done if he’d said yes?’

‘I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.’

They were sitting in Somerset’s office. Edwards had taken the early evening flight to Johannesburg, in order to brief Somerset in person about what he had discovered that afternoon, the events of which almost defied credibility.

Edwards had met the enquiries clerk, who introduced herself as Susan Cole, outside Woolworth’s just after one. They had gone to a nearby coffee shop, and over toasted sandwiches and coke she had told him a most fascinating story.

At first she had been a little reluctant to speak once she discovered he was a journalist. She feared she may lose her job if her superiors at the Bank found out that she had spoken to the press. However, he had managed to convince her that he wouldn’t use her name in any article that was printed, and any further doubts she may have had vanished when he handed over a thousand rand.

He learnt that photographs and videos of Mr Smith, in highly compromising positions with one of the Bank’s clients, had been circulating amongst the staff. The staff had been told that someone was trying to blackmail Smith into handing over money, but that he had refused and therefore the pictures had been sent.

‘I don’t believe the story myself,’ she had said as she eyed a piece of lemon meringue tart.

‘Why’s that?’

‘Miss Johnston. That’s the woman in the pictures with Smithy. She was really nice. If she was just trying to set him up with some photographs, she could have done it in one night. But Carol, that’s Smith’s secretary, reckons they were having an affair for almost three months. So she must have seen something in him, to put up with him for so long.’

‘I see. You think that Miss Johnston wouldn’t have spent so much time with Smith unless she wanted to.’ Edwards helped her along.

‘That’s right. A lot of us think they planned it together, and that they sent the pictures to make it look like blackmail. Rumour has it that he gave her a lot of money,’ she said knowingly.

‘Really, how much?’

‘A million rand, in cash. Can you imagine? It would take me ten years to earn that much. Unless of course I got lucky and found myself a rich older man.’ She giggled flirtatiously.

‘How could he do that without anyone knowing?’ he asked.

She looked at him as if he were a little simple. ‘Lots of people know. Over two days, a couple of months ago, Smith told the head cashier that he had three clients who wanted to make large cash withdrawals. He arranged for the money to be delivered to his office and said he would handle them himself.’

‘And did they?’

‘According to Carol the only people he saw during that time were ones arranging overdrafts. The only one who had any money in her account was Miss Johnston, but she withdrew it all then. It was also the last time that anyone saw her, in the flesh that is, until the photos started arriving.’ She laughed at her own joke.

‘This is an incredible story. Can I ask you a personal question? Do you actually like Mr Smith?’

‘No, to be quite honest, I don’t. In fact not many people do. He’s such a stuck up, self-important, pig. That’s why everyone had such a good laugh at the photos. They certainly put him in his place.’ She had a very sweet smile.

‘Is there any chance you could get me some of those photos?’ Edwards asked in an off-hand fashion.

‘I don’t know whether that’s possible.’ She eyed him, calculatingly.

‘I’d be prepared to pay. Five thousand?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s a bit risky.’ she looked worried.

‘Ten thousand.’

‘Meet me here after work. Cash please.’

‘Of course.’ He laughed. It had been a long time since he’d been taken by a pretty girl. He watched admiringly as she waltzed off down the street.

‘I then went back to the Bank to see whether, on the off-chance I could have a meeting with Stephanus. I was lucky. There’d been a cancellation, so I was able to see him just before closing.’

Edwards then described how he had met Stephanus and that he was the second man in the photographs, discussing the plan about the cover-up.

‘I’ll come straight to the point Mr Stephanus. I’m a journalist working for the
Herald
.’

‘One of the few decent papers around. Always read it myself. Very objective and fair reporting. So many papers these days rely on naked woman and sex scandals to sell copies,’ interrupted Stephanus.

‘Thank you. I’ll pass your comments on to our editor. The reason I’m here is I’d like to ask you some questions about the Bank.’

‘Ask away. Only too happy to help you.’ Stephanus exuded ingratiating charm.

‘The other day my office received a video that showed your assistant manager, John Smith, having sex with a customer and then handing over a million rand to her in return. Would you like to comment on that?’ Edwards’s tone was calm and matter-of-fact.

Stephanus said nothing for a while. He looked across the desk at Edwards, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, his finger tips steepled together. The video he had viewed showed nothing of money being handed over. This reporter was obviously trying to trick him into admitting something that he could only be guessing at. Eventually he spoke. His tone was ponderous; he was trying to give the impression of being helpful, as if he had nothing to hide.