Kingston then proceeded to recount what Jackson had told him about Wolff ’s history of personal failures and dubious business enterprises.
It appeared that Wolff ’s ascendancy in the business world of horticulture started with his acquisition of Baker-Reynolds. Jackson had been unable to find any news stories or dig up any gossip about Wolff ’s activities prior to that time. It was as though, until he purchased Baker-Reynolds, Wolff hadn’t existed. A front-page Wall Street Journal story on the B-R takeover was terse and objective. Other than the fact that the journalist in question had voiced his suspicions over the absurdly low price Wolff had paid, the story contained no overtones of improbity. Clippings from other sources supported the perception that the sale was nothing other than a straightforward transaction.
Comments and opinions from individuals within the industry, however, offered an opposing viewpoint. Among the contributors to Bob’s explosive package of information there was nearly a consensus that Wolff had indeed employed underhanded tactics to acquire the company. One industry insider wrote that it was the general opinion, within B-R’s top management at the time, that incriminating skeletons in the partnership’s family closet – some, of a highly prurient nature – led to the forced sale of the company. Another offered an opinion that to acquire the company Wolff had orchestrated a diabolical scheme – partly based on fact, partly contrived – whereby he could substantiate repeated acts of blatant insider trading, stock manipulation and other fiscal chicanery. Rumour had it that more than one board director was implicated.
Another writer recommended that a search of the records of the Washington State Attorney General’s office be undertaken for the period during and after the sale of Baker-Reynolds. He maintained that the resulting evidence would prove that the sale was hotly contested, not only by suspicious B-R shareholders but also by many other concerned people close to the company and within the industry. Despite the flood of angry complaints, no legal or government action was ever taken to investigate the case or to hold up the sale. Later, there were even rumours that Wolff had bribed several officials high in the Attorney General’s office.
The man’s personal life read like a sensational tabloid. Wolff had been married – and divorced – four times. Each wife became more costly. In addition to a two million dollar spread on Mercer Island and several luxury automobiles, his first wife, Mary Jo, had walked away from the marriage with a cool twelve million dollars. Wife number two, who filed charges accusing Wolff of extreme physical abuse as part of her lawsuit, became fifteen million dollars richer overnight. She turned around, a month later, and married the owner of one of Seattle’s most successful restaurants.
Two months later, that husband’s mutilated body was fished out of Lake Washington. The case was never solved. Wives three and four further depleted Wolff ’s bank balance by another thirty million dollars. A graphically written, one-column clipping, taken from the Tacoma News Tribune, reported Wolff ’s involvement in an altercation in a local nightspot. After a heated exchange of words Wolff had severely beaten one of the other customers, who was incensed over Wolff ’s inflammatory comments about his girlfriend. There were no clippings reporting the outcome of the case.
Kingston sighed. ‘Not a pretty picture, is it?’
Alex pushed away his empty beer mug. ‘Jesus, what a piece of work!’
‘Here’s the worst part, though.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought it could get much worse.’
‘It does. From all accounts, Wolff is in trouble right now. Short of a miracle, his company is about to go under. If it does – if it goes into bankruptcy – then a number of felony crimes perpetrated by Wolff will almost certainly be uncovered. According to Bob Jackson, Wolff could go up for a long, long time. In his words, “Wolff ’s in a corner and he’s very dangerous. He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants to save his skin.”’
‘Lawrence, if you’re trying to scare the shit out of me, you’re succeeding.’
‘I just want you to be aware of what kind of man you’re dealing with, Alex. That’s all. The man’s pathological and unstable.’
‘I won’t be dealing with him, thank God. That’s for certain.’
Before they left the Coach and Horses, Alex called home. There was no answer.
‘She’ll probably be there by the time we get back,’ Alex said, as they got into the car. Within twenty minutes they were back at The Parsonage.
As Alex stepped out of the TR4 on to the gravel drive, he could hear the faint ringing of the telephone in the hallway.
‘That’s Kate, I bet,’ he said to Kingston. He ran to the front door, unlocked it, and dashed down the hall to the phone.
‘Hello,’ he said, a little short of breath.
‘Alex Sheppard?’
A hollow feeling gripped him. It was the American man.
‘I asked you not to call again,’ Alex said.
‘That’s hardly a polite English greeting now, is it, Mr Sheppard? Not what I would call exactly friendly.’
‘I’m not feeling in a friendly mood.’
‘That’s most unfortunate – particularly since we have some business to take care of.’
‘I have no business with you. I thought I’d made that clear before. So, if you’ll excuse me–’
‘You do have business with me, Sheppard,’ the man countered. ‘You have something we want – the rose. And we have something you want.’
‘Really?’ Alex shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t think–’
‘We have your wife.’
‘You what?’ Alex screamed.
‘We have your wife. Now if you want her back–’
‘Where is she? What have you done with her?’
‘Just calm down.’
‘What – what kind of lunatic are you? You’ve actually kidnapped my wife?’ Alex’s mind was spinning uncontrollably. Everything that Kingston had just told him came rushing back.
‘Calm down and listen, Sheppard. Get a pen and paper because I want you to write this down.’
‘You go to hell! I’m not going–’
‘Do as I say, Sheppard, or it will just make it harder on your wife. Much harder.’
‘You bastard, the minute you hang up, I’m calling the police.’
‘That would be a huge mistake, believe me. You don’t seem to understand – this is not a fucking game. You don’t have any choice. Now write this down.’
Alex said nothing.
‘Wednesday, the day after tomorrow, I want you to go to the following address in Oxford. Come alone and be there at ten o’clock in the morning, sharp. A man will meet you there. He’ll have some papers for you to sign.’
‘What if I refuse to sign? What are these papers, anyway?’
‘Don’t interrupt. Just make sure you don’t screw up.’
There was a pause. ‘Here’s the address,’ the man said.
Alex listened and wrote it down.
‘I’ll repeat it,’ the man said. ‘Just to make sure.’
He waited a few seconds, then said, ‘Ten o’clock the day after tomorrow. Don’t bring anybody with you or mention this to anybody. You got that?’
‘Yes,’ Alex replied.
‘Okay, you do as I’m asking – sign those papers – and you’ll get your lovely wife back. Is that clear?’
‘Jesus.’ Alex rubbed his head. ‘You bastard! You’d better not hurt her, or–’
‘Sheppard, just answer the goddamned question.’
‘All right.’
‘Do what I’m asking and nothing will happen to your wife. She’s fine right now. One more thing. Don’t be foolish and call the police. Don’t talk to anyone about this. Do you hear me – nobody. That would be regrettable. And I mean very regrettable.’ He paused. ‘Meantime, take care of that rose! You understand?’