‘And you’d be following in the family tradition.’
Eric looked at Chris sharply. ‘You mean Cassie’s family? Wilson’s a good man. I respect him. I can learn a lot from him.’
It took a moment for Chris to realize that he was talking about his father-in-law. Eric had even named his son after Cassie’s father! But perhaps Chris was being too cynicaclass="underline" some American families did that, he supposed. Chris could see Eric felt sensitive about the whole subject.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Good luck with it. You deserve to go far.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Eric. But he didn’t smile. His tone was surprisingly serious. This was clearly more than an idle fancy. Suddenly the edge of Eric’s ambition, which he kept well hidden, but which Megan had spoken about, showed through. But what was wrong with that? They were all ambitious, Chris included. That was, after all, why they had been so enthusiastically swept up by Bloomfield Weiss.
11
Eric’s driver Terry opened the door of the limo, and Chris climbed in. It was nine o’clock: Terry had already driven Eric into Manhattan several hours earlier, and Cassie had left at eight, leaving Juanita in charge of the house and Wilson.
‘You know where we’re going, I hope,’ said Chris to the closely cropped blond hair at the back of the driver’s head.
‘Westchester,’ Terry replied. ‘Home of a Mr George Calhoun. Don’t worry. I know the way.’
‘It’s good of you to take me,’ said Chris.
‘Whatever the boss says.’
‘I didn’t know Bloomfield Weiss ran to limos for managing directors.’
Terry laughed. ‘I don’t think they do. This is more of a private arrangement. I drive for Mr Astle when I don’t have any other work.’
‘I see. And what is that work?’
‘Personal bodyguard. That’s how we met. I got Mr Astle out of a tough situation in Kazakhstan a couple years back. I’ve done quite a bit for him since then.’
This surprised and intrigued Chris. ‘I didn’t realize Eric needed a bodyguard. What happened?’
‘Attempted kidnapping. We got away.’
‘Wow. Investment banking must be getting more dangerous than in my day.’
‘Not really. I only accompany clients to particularly troublesome parts of the world. Or to meet particularly dangerous people. Even then, ninety-five per cent of my job is just watching and waiting. But occasionally I need to put my training into action. I haven’t lost a client yet.’
‘So I’ll make it to Westchester?’
Terry laughed. ‘You’ll make it to Westchester, sir.’
They pulled into the lines of traffic on the Long Island Expressway.
‘Pardon me for asking, but are you related to Stanislaw Szczypiorski?’ Terry asked.
‘I am. I’m his son. But you’re about the first person I’ve ever come across who’s heard of him. Do you play chess?’
‘Sure. And I like reading the books, going through the old matches. I have an old book on the King’s Indian Defence that features a lot of his games. They even have a variation named after him.’
‘That’s right. It was his favourite opening as black.’
‘Do you play?’
‘Not any more,’ Chris said. ‘I played a lot as a boy, but I was never going to be as good as my father.’
They chatted about chess until they reached the leafy county of Westchester. George Calhoun lived in a classic American suburban house: wooden, white-painted, with a large patch of grass in front of it running down to a mailbox and the sidewalk. Terry waited in the car, while Chris rang the doorbell.
Calhoun answered. He was greyer, balder and fatter, with a few more wrinkles. His hatchet face had become both softer and more bitter. He didn’t recognize Chris.
‘Chris Szczypiorski,’ Chris said, holding out his hand. ‘From the Bloomfield Weiss training programme.’
‘Ah, yes. I remember,’ said Calhoun. ‘I remember quite well. What do you want?’
‘I want to talk to you about Alex Lubron.’
‘Alex Lubron, eh? Another one. Well, you’d better come in.’ He led Chris into a living room. The TV was on. Adverts for laxatives or something. ‘Sit down. Have you come to tell me what really happened?’
‘No,’ said Chris. ‘I’ve come to find out what really happened.’
Calhoun snorted. ‘You were there. You ought to know. It would sure be interesting if you could let the rest of us in on it.’
‘I know what happened on the boat,’ said Chris. ‘Alex fell in and drowned. But what interests me is what happened beforehand.’
‘Beforehand?’
‘Yes. Wasn’t Alex in some kind of trouble with drugs?’
Calhoun looked at Chris suspiciously. ‘That’s all very confidential.’
Chris returned his stare. ‘I’m sure it is,’ he said, after a moment’s thought. ‘And I’m sure that after all your years of loyal service to Bloomfield Weiss the last thing you would want to do is discuss something confidential that happened ten years ago to someone who is now dead.’
It was the right thing to say. Calhoun laughed. Or at least Chris thought it was a laugh. It actually sounded more like a bark.
‘I still can’t believe it. Twenty-six years. Six months short of my fiftieth birthday, and they give me the pink slip. What chance have I of finding another job at my age?’
Chris smiled in what he hoped could be mistaken for sympathy. He enjoyed the irony. Calhoun had loved firing people. He had made it a personal business philosophy. If ever an ego needed to be downsized, it was his.
‘All right. I’ll tell you. We tested all the American trainees after the final examination. Alex Lubron was the only one who tested positive. I wanted to have him out of the firm the next day, but the head of mortgage trading, Tom Risman, wouldn’t let him go without a fight. So I thought I’d try to get him to finger whoever had supplied him. He had the weekend to think about it. I think he would have told us, too. His mother was very ill, and he had loans and big medical bills to pay off. Also, he seemed worried about what effect a public dismissal and a conviction would have on her. He asked us to keep it quiet.’ Calhoun smiled to himself. ‘Big mistake. I said I’d make it as public as I could. Press release, the works. I had him. I’m sure he would have talked.’
‘But wouldn’t that have been bad publicity for Bloomfield Weiss?’
‘No. That was the whole point. We’d gotten some PR consultants in after those salesmen were convicted for supplying drugs. They said it was vital for Bloomfield Weiss to be seen to be cleaning up its act.’
‘So who was it who was supplying Alex?’
Calhoun sighed. ‘We never found out. He died before he could tell us.’
‘Do you know if it was anyone in the firm?’
‘Not for sure. It could have been anyone from his doorman to Sidney Stahl. But somehow I think if it was his doorman he’d have been quick to tell us all about it.’
Chris nodded. ‘Did you pursue the investigation after he died?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Calhoun. ‘Once he was dead, we just wanted to hush everything up as quickly as possible. Especially once the police started getting suspicious.’
‘I remember they were asking us lots of questions.’
Calhoun smiled. ‘The thing is, they didn’t believe you. That was a problem. We had to apply pressure.’
‘How did you do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Calhoun. ‘That was done at a very high level. But one day they were asking a whole lot of questions. The next day they stopped.’