The Crash, page 28
‘But not for Elliott?’
‘Of course not. He never loses. Everyone knows he has no conscience and is the most treacherous person in Britain. But when he locks on to someone, he persuades them that they are more important to him than anyone, that there’s nothing he won’t do for them. It is an extraordinary skill. That’s why they pay him the big money. I can’t imagine how much Jackson will have paid him. And truthfully he will do whatever it takes for a client, with no fingerprints and no trail back to them.’
From destroying a reputation with smears placed in a tabloid to pushing a drugged hack in a lake. ‘It’s the laundry he operates after the dirty tricks that’s perhaps most impressive,’ I say. ‘If I had gone to sleep with his ornamental koi carp, he’d have held another spectacular in memoriam party in his Notting Hill mansion.’ I can’t help wondering whether the PM would have turned up.
Jess jolts me back. ‘We need to get moving. We’ve got tons more pages to do.’
I call out the letters ‘AE’ again, when there’s a heavy knock on the front door.
‘What the hell?’ I say. ‘It’s well after midnight. Who can that be?’
‘Should we answer it? In a minute they’ll wake Amy.’
Loud male voices are instructing us to open the door.
‘Metropolitan Police,’ one shouts, while pressing the doorbell insistently.
‘Oh fuck,’ I say.
The banging stops. My mobile buzzes. It’s a text, from Kim Jansen. Please open the door. I’m here with a couple of colleagues.
I show it to Jess. ‘What does that cow want?’ she hisses.
We frantically put the diaries in my rucksack, and I run with it to Jess’s bedroom, where I try to hide it behind shoe boxes at the bottom of a wardrobe. I go into the kitchen, where Jess is putting our translations in a deep drawer, under saucepans.
‘I’ll get the door,’ she says. ‘You go back to the living room.’
Kim, in full ceremonial uniform, all silver brocade and epaulette badges, walks ahead of Jess, with two officers trailing behind.
‘Sorry for the late visit.’ She seems uncomfortable, with her gaze drifting between her regulation black shoes and the two of us. ‘I’m not going to beat about the bush,’ she continues. I spot she’s clutching an A4-size brown envelope. ‘I have a warrant to search these premises.’
‘You’re joking,’ Jess interjects. ‘This is outrageous.’ She looks at me. ‘We need to call a lawyer.’
‘Honestly, I wouldn’t waste your time,’ says Kim. ‘We have CCTV of you unlawfully entering the home of Marilyn Krol. We have reason to believe you removed property relevant to our investigation.’
I think about spluttering a denial, but it’s pointless.
Kim looks first at me, and then at Jess. ‘You would save yourself an awful lot of bother if you just give me the diaries. My colleagues will obviously take great care not to cause too much mess if you insist on them conducting a search, but it will take hours, and no one will get any sleep.’
A bleary-eyed Amy comes in, rubbing her eyes. ‘What’s going on, Mum?’ she asks. ‘Why’s the police lady here?’
‘For fuck’s sake, Kim,’ says Jess. ‘Is this really necessary?’ She scoops up Amy. ‘Back to bed, young lady. Nothing to worry about.’
Jansen and her two colleagues seem to fill all the space in the room. I have to get out. ‘Kim, I’m just going to have a private word with Jess.’
I follow Jess to Amy’s bedroom and loiter outside. When Jess emerges, she says, ‘If you are about to say we shouldn’t expose Amy to a police search, forget it. She’ll love it.’
I smile. ‘I believe you. But they are bound to find the rucksack. Let’s just hand them over.’
I interpret Jess’s silence as agreement and go to the bedroom to retrieve the diaries. Back in the living room, I give them to Kim, who instructs her colleagues to put them carefully into evidence bags.
Kim turns back to us. ‘Thank you for your cooperation.’ She fixes her gaze on me. ‘I should charge you with interfering in a police investigation. But I understand how upset you’ve been by Ms Krol’s death. I will make an exception on the basis of extenuating circumstances. But you should consider yourselves on warning. If you cross the line again, I won’t hesitate to arrest you.’
If she’s expecting me to be grateful, she’s misjudged. I’m fuming. ‘There was no bloody crime,’ I say. ‘Marilyn committed suicide. So how could we be interfering with a crime scene?’
Kim dispenses with the formalities. ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid. It is a crime scene until I say it isn’t. Second, I could arrest you on a charge of theft and burglary. Thank your lucky stars I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt that your grief has damaged your judgement.’
The idea that I should feel lucky is absurd. She’s killed any chance we have of exposing the fraud and blackmail. The diaries will be consigned to an evidence storage facility, never to be seen again.
‘Are you working for Elliott too?’ I sneer.
Kim’s gaze shifts to the ceiling. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about,’ she says.
‘Once a Crookback, always a Crookback, eh?’
The officers with her exchange a glance. Kim does not want me to explain in front of them. She struggles to keep her composure.
‘I am very happy to talk about this at the station, if you prefer. But there’s a chance the tabloids would somehow get wind of your arrest. A photo of the BBC’s business editor getting out of one of our cars would make an interesting front page for the Globe.’
Jess looks at me and mouths ‘Bitch.’ She turns to Jansen: ‘We understand the legal position, assistant commissioner. But as you are aware, when a serious crime has been committed, there is a public interest defence for obtaining documents in the way we did. You can expect we will be talking to our lawyers about everything that has happened tonight.’
‘By all means do that,’ says Jansen. She turns to her uniformed colleagues. ‘Gentlemen, we should leave Mr Peck and Ms Neeskens to their beauty sleep.’
As soon as they’ve gone, I screw up my face, put my clenched fists to my forehead. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,’ is my whispered, tortured scream.
Jess comes over and puts an arm around me. ‘We’re not done. Let’s sleep, and regroup in the morning.’
‘I mustn’t stay here,’ I croak. The magnitude of what happened is sinking in. ‘I’ve put you and Amy in harm’s way. They knew we had the diaries, and they knew I would be here.’
I feel a huge weight pressing down on the top of my head. I am back in the lake.
‘Stop being a drama queen. It’s the least attractive thing about you. Now come to bed.’
By the bedroom door I say, ‘We have to get that Malmsey picture on a front page. Jansen needs to know we see her and what she’s doing.’
Jess does not argue. ‘Do you want me to handle it?’
‘No. I’ll ring Alan Scott. The Sentinel will eat it up.’ The Sentinel is a broadsheet edited and written by the same Oxbridge types that populate all the broadsheets, but their conceit is that they are left rather than right, on the side of the poor and underprivileged rather than free market. Their schtick is sanctimony rather than vindictiveness. Scott is their senior investigative reporter. I’ve done business with him in the past. He won’t dump us in it as his source.
I head to the spare room, but Jess grabs my arm.
‘Wrong room.’
Our eyes meet. ‘You sure?’
‘Oh yes. Bilbo Baggins won it for you.’
*
The alarm wakes us at seven. Before Jess has silenced it, Amy’s already at the bedroom door.
‘Mummy?’
‘Morning Amy, darling,’ says Jess.
‘Hi Amy,’ I say.
Amy clambers on the end of the bed. She starts jumping and shouting, ‘Mummy’s got a boyfriend, Mummy’s got a boyfriend.’ I suppose Mummy does have a boyfriend.
‘Uniform on, please,’ says Jess.
When Amy’s left the room, I roll in Jess’s direction and kiss her. ‘Morning.’
‘Morning.’
Amy sticks her head back in. ‘No funny business, you guys.’ She giggles and runs off.
‘Where does she get these ideas?’ I ask.
‘God knows.’
I press the full length of my body against Jess’s back and bottom. She can feel I am aroused and screws her head towards me. ‘No time for that now, lover boy,’ she says. I stick out my bottom lip in disappointment. Being in her flat, in her bed, is an escape to a new life, one I never thought would be mine. I have been a teenager since our first kiss.
‘At least we know what we’re up against.’ She is talking about the seizure of the diaries.
On their side is the Met, a former PM, a Russian gangster, huge money. ‘We can’t win,’ I say.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’ Jess gets out of bed and walks to the bathroom. She leaves the door open while she pees. ‘Everything they’re doing – getting their thugs to beat you up, drugging you, Kim taking the diaries – it’s a sign we’re worrying them.’
‘Maybe. What are they frightened of?’
She looks at me as though I’m mad. ‘That we’ll expose them. It’s what we do.’
Perhaps for the first time, I realise quite how lucky I am not to be alone, to have Jess in my life. Without her, I might have capitulated. Somehow I have to prove I am worthy of her.
‘We need more undeniable evidence,’ I say.
‘Which is why we need the Malmsey photo out there. It’s bait.’
Jess flushes, and picks up her phone, which is on the cistern behind her. She clocks the time. ‘We’ve got to get a move on. Pull your trousers on. You’re coming with us.’
We walk Amy the three streets to her primary school, Our Lady of Queen’s Park. Amy gives me a hug goodbye. The trust she shows in me is like putting on armour. For the second time today, as Jess and I walk back to her home, I feel very fortunate.
‘RC?’ I query.
‘It’s the best local school.’
‘Are you Catholic?’
‘I was brought up as one. I’m not really a believer, though when I’m stressed I find myself drawn to the ritual. I’ve been known to whisper the odd Hail Mary. It’s the best school around here by a mile. And Amy’s bright enough to make up her own mind about all the nonsense they feed her.’
‘OK.’ This connection between Marilyn and Jess, both brought up as Catholics, strikes me. Do I have a type? Do they have other things in common? The thought is unnerving.
‘I need to go to the office,’ says Jess. ‘I’ll find out if Jessica’s heard anything more about Athena, and I’ll talk to the banking team about PTBG, see if they’ve got an idea of the size of the hole in its balance sheet.’
I remember that my new BlackBerries should have arrived at Television Centre. ‘I’m interviewing Jackson this afternoon,’ I remind Jess. When I set up the interview, it was because I thought Jackson’s interests were diametrically opposed to those of Elliott, Ravel and Blackwell. And I’d begun to think Ravel was more responsible for Marilyn’s death than him. Now that I’ve read some of the diaries and seen Jackson in the Malmsey photo, I realise they’re all in the same conspiracy.
Jess pecks me on the cheek. I won’t let her get away with that. ‘Come here, you.’ We stand outside her front door and I kiss her on the mouth for a full minute.
‘What on earth will the neighbours think?’ she whispers.
*
At 2.30, Emma, Petra and I are back in Jackson’s office at the Adelphi. Before I got in the lift, I went to the men’s room, switched on my Olympus recorder and attached its mic to my lapel. Now that we’re upstairs, and the office is being rigged for a two-camera shoot, Petra gives me a radio pack and a second lapel mic, which I clip on my jacket.
Harvey swaggers in. ‘Gil. Great to see you, man. How’ve you been? Alex made a huge splash with that party, didn’t he?’
He’s baiting me. Either Elliott told him about the lake, or Jackson was in on the plan. I guess I know for sure that Jackson is not going to be an ally if I want to bring down Elliott.
He winks at me and sits down. I do the sync clap and ask the first question.
‘How disappointed are you that NewGate has been nationalised?’
He clasps his hands and leans forward. ‘I’m afraid to say that I think the prime minister has made a serious mistake.’ Bingo. Britain’s favourite businessman has attacked the prime minister for taking NewGate into public ownership. The Ten O’Clock News have their headline.
‘Could you elaborate?’
‘History shows that businesses in public ownership stagnate at best, and quite often sink. They lose their dynamism. The dead hand of Whitehall stifles all enterprise and innovation.’ Jackson then repeats the pitch he made last time, that his ambition to buy NewGate is all about community banking, returning a bank to the marvellous Geordies so he can be their servant.
‘This is not about profit.’ That again. He gives me his habitual smile of blue-eyed sincerity. ‘I have plenty of other opportunities to make money. This is about doing the right thing for a community in the north-east that has too often been neglected by those who run this country from Westminster and London. Not all banks need to be about maximising bonuses for their executives. Some are about creating jobs and opportunities in parts of the country that have been left behind. That’s why Meathead is with me. That’s why the great city of Newcastle is supporting us.’
God he can be smug and self-righteous. ‘You say it’s not about profit. But I’m hearing you are sitting on huge subprime losses, that you made a spectacularly unwise bet on CDOs.’
There’s a pause, longer than would look natural if this were live television. His lightly tanned forehead furrows. I can see the cogs whirring.
Less naturally and more deliberately than usual, he says: ‘I have no idea where you heard that? I assume it’s the normal nonsense from the City rumour mill. Sadly we’re used to our jealous competitors spreading misinformation. I can categorically assure you it’s untrue. MHH is in great shape. And as I said, we’re always looking at a spread of acquisitions to become even stronger, so that we can generate the income that will lift more people out of poverty in Africa.’
He gives me another opening that he may regret. ‘You say MHH is looking at plenty of opportunities. I hear you are in talks to acquire the advanced defence systems manufacturer, Athena Tech?’
‘Where did you hear that?’
‘You’re not denying it.’
‘I’m not confirming it either. As I said, at any given moment we are assessing a significant number of value-enhancing deals. But today we’re here to talk about NewGate. You shouldn’t read anything into my reticence.’
Obviously I’ll read a world into his reticence.
‘Back to NewGate then. Is the Russian billionaire Petr Primakov supporting your bid?’
Jackson is struggling to retain his habitual and jovial equanimity. ‘A lot of people want to invest with MHH, because they know they’ll make great returns. Obviously I can’t comment on individual partners and clients. That would be to breach confidentiality.’
‘But you’d acknowledge that a Russian oligarch trying to buy a stake in a British bank would be controversial.’
Jackson manufactures a laugh. ‘Gil, Gil, you need to get out of your Cold War bunker. We’re not in the 1980s anymore. The Berlin Wall has gone. Russia is modernising fast under Vladimir Putin. These are our friends and allies.’
I change tack. ‘You’ve always presented yourself as an outsider, shaking up the stuffy world of British business.’
‘I’m a disruptor.’ He has relaxed, but not much. He shifts in his chair, unsure whether I am laying a trap. ‘All my career I’ve come up against vested interests who don’t welcome our pioneering way of operating.’
‘Really? Aren’t you as much part of the establishment as all the other bankers and private equity investors? Since university, you’ve been in the same society as prominent politicians, bankers, top civil servants and so on. In fact, at university you were a member of a notorious club filled with the privileged people you now claim to be challenging.’
His eyes move from mine, looking for an aide who can give him a clue how and whether to terminate the interview. But there’s no one in sight. He draws breath, puts on a rigid smile and leans back. ‘I always say, don’t judge a man by his friends. Judge him by the people who stand against him.’
*
When we finish, Jackson leads me to a small adjacent meeting room, while my team packs up our kit. ‘What were you doing in there?’ he hisses. ‘You asked for an interview about NewGate. What was all that stuff about our alleged losses and Athena Tech? Someone set you up.’
I stay calm. I need to normalise the conversation. ‘Relax. I’m just asking the questions that have to be asked. Athena’s an important business, and someone I trust tells me you are close to buying it.’
‘Who?’
‘I never reveal sources.’ I wait a beat, then deliver the prepared lie. ‘But you and I are friends, so I think it’s OK to tell you Elliott suggested the question. He said Athena was playing hard to get, and that if we outed them there’d be pressure from the shareholders to sell.’
Has Jackson bought the line? His blue eyes are calculating. ‘Alex didn’t mention it.’
I shrug. ‘Odd. But I assume it’s true, about the takeover.’
Jackson’s guard is down. ‘Between you and me, and totally off the record, yes we’d love to own it. The politics aren’t easy, though.’
‘Fixable?’
‘Johnny thinks so.’
Of course Johnny Todd thinks so.
‘But if you’re doing Athena, how on earth would you finance a second bite at NewGate?’
‘Still off the record, right?’
