I had a miserable evening. Worries about Cathy gnawed away at the edges of my mind, and forced themselves further towards the fore. I could feel everything getting out of proportion; I had lost the ability to think clearly.
I ordered a steak and a bottle of Zinfandel from room service, ate the meat, drank the wine and went to bed. I lay awake for what may have been many hours or perhaps was just one. Finally, deadened by the alcohol and battered by confused thoughts and fears, my brain stopped churning and I drifted to sleep.
CHAPTER 17
The sun shone down on the grey concrete and glass buildings of Gracechurch Street as I joined the familiar throng of office workers on the way to their desks. The street was packed indeed, since it was five to nine, much later than normal for me. I had granted myself a lie-in to get over the jet lag and the fatigue of the long journey.
I had flown to Los Angeles from Las Vegas, and from there direct to London. Twelve hours in aeroplanes, and four more at Los Angeles International Airport, had been a strain. And not just physically. Cash, Cathy and Rob had all been on the same plane, although since Rob was paying for his own ticket, he was flying in the back. The whole thing was very uncomfortable. There had been an intensely unpleasant two-minute period when we were queueing to board the plane. Rob and I were just ten feet away from each other. He just stared at me, mouth clenched, eyes lit with anger. I turned away from him, but I could still feel his stare piercing my back. It hurt.
Once on the plane, Cathy was polite but cool towards me. I accepted this and was polite but cool back. Rob avoided both of us and kept himself to himself. The most distressed by all this was Cash. He tried to lavish his bonhomie on all three of us, but no one responded. Eventually Cash gave up, mumbling something to himself about 'tight-assed Brits'. He finally cheered up when he discovered he was seated next to an old rival from Harrison Brothers. My sleep on the plane was interrupted by ever more far-fetched tales of past trades, as each good-humouredly tried to outdo the other.
But, as I made my way up Bishopsgate towards De Jong & Co., I couldn't help smiling. I was pretty pleased with the way I had got to the bottom of the Tremont Capital scam. Now it was just up to Hamilton to get the money back.
The smile was still there as I entered the trading room and nodded a welcome to everybody. The markets were busy; everyone was working the phones. I got to my desk and scowled at the two-week pile of research waiting for me. I checked the screens and the position sheets, to see how my old positions had fared and what new ones had been put on in my absence. With Hamilton, myself and Rob out, not much had changed, although Gordon and Jeff had been quite busy.
I had only been at my desk for a couple of minutes when Hamilton came over.
'Hi, Hamilton,' I said. 'How did you get on? We have a lot to talk about.'
I was taken aback by the grave expression on Hamilton's face. 'We certainly do,' he said. 'Let's go into the conference room.' Uneasily I followed him into the small room just off the trading floor.
'What's up?' I asked.
Hamilton didn't reply. 'Tell me about your trip first,' he said.
I ran through what I had discovered. Hamilton listened intently and took notes. When I had finished, he leaned back in his chair. 'Well done, Paul, that's excellent. It corroborates a lot of what I have discovered.'
There was silence. Hamilton frowned deeply. I wanted to ask him what he had discovered, but I couldn't. There was something else hovering in the air. Something momentous. Something bad.
'Paul,' Hamilton began, 'tell me about Gypsum.'
I didn't understand this. I thought we had discussed the position I had taken and why I had taken it. Besides, it looked as if the bond price had gone up even further since I had been away.
'The bonds looked good value,' I started, but Hamilton held up his hand.
'Not the bonds, the shares,' he said. 'You bought the shares of Gypsum Company of America days before it was taken over.'
Alarm bells started ringing. Why would he ask me about that? He's talking about insider trading, I thought. But I hadn't done anything wrong. I was sure I hadn't. Well, pretty sure.
'Yes, that's correct. But I didn't have any information that the company was going to be taken over. I was just lucky, that's all. And so was Debbie,' I said before I could stop myself. Exactly how lucky had she been?
'Well there are some people who think you did have inside information.'
'That's absolutely not the case,' I said.
Hamilton looked at me for a few seconds. I held the gaze of his piercing blue eyes. I was telling the truth and I wanted him to know it. Finally, he nodded. 'Well, I'm sure you are right. But it's not me you have to convince. There are two men here from the TSA who would like to ask you a few questions. Would you like me to be present?'
This was extraordinary! Ridiculous. Crazy. I didn't yet feel scared. Shocked, yes. And bewildered. But I was glad the men were here to interview me. With luck, I would be able to sort it out, there and then.
'Yes, please,' I said quietly.
Hamilton left the room to collect the two men from reception. I looked around the conference room. It was a lonely room. All internal walls, no windows. Expensive-looking but characterless reproduction furniture. Idiotic clippers sailing nowhere across the walls. White crisp note-pads and sharp yellow pencils on the table. Yes, it would serve as an interrogation room.
Hamilton returned, followed by the two officials. I supposed they must have been waiting there when I came in, but I hadn't noticed them. Although it was early September and it hadn't rained for days, they both carried fawn raincoats over their arms. They unburdened themselves of these, and their briefcases, took out their own pads of paper and sat down opposite me. Hamilton sat at the head of the table between us. I wished he had positioned himself right next to me. The three feet between us seemed a long way.
One of the men began to talk. He was mostly bald, the dark hair that remained was cropped close to his skull. He had a prominent nose and chin, but there was very little distance between the two features, giving his face an unpleasant squashed look. He wore black-rimmed glasses with very thick frames. He must be almost blind, I thought. The corners of his thin mouth turned up as he introduced himself. 'Good morning, Mr Murray. My name is David Berryman, I work for the Securities Association. This is my colleague Rodney Short.' The other man, grey-haired and timorous, nodded. That was the closest I would get to communicating with him. He was there to keep quiet and write everything down.
I knew all about the Securities Association, commonly known as the TSA; I had recently sat an examination to become a member. It was one of a number of self-regulatory organisations that had been set up following 'Big Bang', to police the City. It promulgated dozens of rules and had its own staff to ensure that they were complied with. It had the power to fine or expel members. In cases where criminal charges could be brought, then the TSA would hand over its investigation to the Fraud Squad or the Serious Fraud Office.
'Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?' Berryman began.
'No,' I said, my voice suddenly hoarse. Berryman strained to hear. Pull yourself together, I said to myself. I mustn't look nervous, after all, I had done nothing wrong. 'No,' I repeated loudly, too loudly to be natural.
There was a pause as Berryman looked at me through those big lenses. I smiled a helpful, friendly smile. 'I will tell you anything you like.' My smile was not returned as Berryman fumbled through his notes. His sidekick, Short, was already writing furiously. What, I had no idea.
The questions began. 'Your name?'
'Paul Murray.'
'Are you employed by De Jong & Co.?'
'Yes.'
'For how long have you been in their employ?'
'Nearly a year.'