Skin in the Game, page 6
They were both plainclothes cops. But the woman was anything but plain. Loose beige top, open collar exposing neck and upper chest, black jacket and dark-red beads hanging down to her ribcage. The tops of her tall tan leather boots almost reached the hem of a soft brown skirt leading to a petite waistline. Her movement was cool and languid, nothing stiff. She was wearing something anyone could have worn, but only she, with the curves in all the right places and none more than necessary, could have pulled it off like that. He realized he was staring.
Watt and McLeod introduced themselves and went straight into question-and-answer mode. Abrupt, he thought, as he tried to shake off his hangover.
“Mr. Hawkins, when was the last time you were in touch with your brother Sam?” asked Watt.
As she moved to his side, she rearranged her dark-brown hair behind her shoulders.
“Sam and I haven’t been in touch for a few months. I was planning to meet up with him, but haven’t had time to set up anything since I arrived in England.”
Green eyes.
“Has he tried to contact you?”
“Yes, yesterday. Well, I just noticed yesterday. I received an email from him. And a voicemail.”
“Did he say anything about his whereabouts?” she asked.
“He said he was going to try to meet me in Oxford.”
“Did he say anything else?” asked McLeod, a little quick off the mark, and too loud.
“No.”
The rest made no sense to Joe, and he couldn’t see how it was any of their business.
“And you’ve had no other contact with him?”
“No. Look, I’m still not sure what all of this is about. Why are you looking for Sam?”
Watt approached closer. She was stunning. No make-up, her complexion fresh and alive.
“Density Capital contacted us yesterday. Sam had a business meeting scheduled in Dubai. His assistant booked a flight leaving Saturday. He didn’t show up for the meeting, and he wasn’t on the flight. They haven’t been able to contact him. And he didn’t show up for work yesterday.”
As Watt explained her investigation into Density, Joe felt himself slouching in his seat. At some point in the middle of it all, his hearing faculty was all but turned off. Words flew over him. He filtered them out, leaving only her magnetic energy. Finally, he heard her say his brother’s name, and he came back to the conversation. He straightened, feeling the urge to say something.
“And you or Density think my brother’s absence has something to do with the case you were working on?”
“Sam’s colleague, Ahmad Ghazali, was killed in Dubai on Friday,” she said. “We believe the incident was terrorist-related. Your brother and Ghazali worked closely together with clients in the Gulf region. We are investigating the possibility that Ghazali’s death and your brother’s disappearance are somehow linked.”
“Linked in what way?”
“We can’t rule anything out at this point,” said McLeod.
“I still don’t see why this has anything to do with ECC or Special Operations.”
“We’ll come to that.”
McLeod leaned on the table and crossed his arms.
“Mr. Hawkins, how well do you understand Sam’s role at Density?” Sofi asked.
“Sam does investor sales and marketing. I understand he is quite good at it. As I mentioned, Sam and I haven’t been in touch as often as we might have been. Why do you ask?”
“Your brother is a key employee at Density. He has raised a significant amount of capital for the firm, particularly in the Middle East. He has a lot of say at Density, and he’s one of the primary contacts in my investigation.”
“You seem to know a lot about my brother. Still, I—”
“New information has come to light, Mr. Hawkins,” said McLeod. “We have reason to believe your brother may be involved in some suspicious transactions that have taken place at Density.”
“What kind of transactions?”
Joe wiped his palms against his thighs. McLeod stepped toward him.
“It seems that Sam requested that a number of trading accounts be set up for certain clients, some privately run charities and closely held companies. The entities are linked to individuals or organizations that are officially designated as terrorist.”
“Terrorists? Sam would never—”
“Terrorists with connections to Islamic fundamentalist groups.”
“Sam wouldn’t get involved in anything like that. He certainly has no strong religious views. More importantly, he wouldn’t get mixed up in something as wrong as all that.”
“You just said you hadn’t been in touch,” said McLeod, leaning in, “Exactly what sort of wrong activities might Sam get involved in, in your view, Mr. Hawkins?”
“You know that’s not what—”
“Mr. Hawkins, it seems your brother may have manipulated the compliance process at Density, so as to clear the way for these accounts to be set up.”
Watt leaned against the table.
“Density’s compliance team has given us full access to their records,” she said.
“So, you think Sam was laundering money for terrorists? I find that—”
“Mr. Hawkins, large sums of money were placed into these accounts, and your brother took certain actions to see they were used to make a number of investments at his instruction. In all cases, forty per cent of the money was set aside and credited to another account set up by your brother.”
A wave of heat rushed over Joe’s head. He looked over to the door. What the fuck is this all about, Sam?
“Mr. Hawkins, can you please remind us of the nature your stay in the United Kingdom,” said McLeod.
Hawkins’ faced reddened.
“I’m … I’m a visiting professor at Oxford. I have all the necessary visas.”
“Is it true that the particular area of your expertise is terrorism?”
“It’s one of them. Why do you ask?”
“Is it true that in the course of your research, you have made many, shall we say, acquaintances who are, or were, members of terrorist organizations?”
“You don’t honestly think … Look, if you suspect me of something, you should read me my rights.”
Hawkins clenched his fists. Watt and McLeod took notice.
“That won’t be necessary at this point,” she said. “We’ll be in touch. Thank you for coming in.”
She crossed her arms. As he turned to leave, he couldn’t help but feel she looked somehow different, less inviting. The office hallway seemed to get progressively darker and colder as he made his way to the bank of elevators.
Hawkins stumbled out into the street. The stench of urine still not washed away by the rain rose up to greet him. Moments later, he found himself on a pavement in front of Liverpool Street Station. Screaming horns and psychotic truck drivers spilled out from every unseen corner. He looked down and dodged some vomit splattered over the pavement. His mind was spinning. Where is Sam? Dead-end speculation down dead-end alleyways. I need to get the hell out of here. He crossed at the lights and entered the station.
*
Sofi Watt checked herself in the mirror on the wall of the Shard’s elevator as it soared upwards. She had been poring over documents all day at her desk. But she was damned if she was going to let Claire Nelson see her look anything but fresh. And focused.
Sofi had known the head of Density’s legal department for many years now. They had grown up in practically the same neighborhood. And while they were only distant acquaintances in their formative years, their paths had crossed many times since becoming solicitors in the City.
Claire had crested a wave to a partnership at a large international law firm, and Sofi would have been the first to acknowledge it wasn’t just her looks that got her there. Sofi knew Claire was her match and more when it came to finding solutions for clients and getting deals done. Claire knew how to play her cards. Her clients worshipped her and insisted to her senior partners that she take the lead in their most important transactions.
Claire’s personal motivational theory was: shine brighter than anyone in the room, at any cost, out-compete women, manipulate men. As Sofi walked down the corridor to the conference room, Claire’s perfume hit her like a fragrant brick wall.
“Sofi darling, so good to see you again.”
“Claire, thanks for agreeing to meet at such short notice. I wanted to go through—”
“Let me tell you how I’ve set things up for you today.”
Claire leaned back in her chair and ran her fingers through her long, wavy blonde hair.
“The two of us have a half-hour or so. I thought it might be good for you to meet with Sam’s boss, Bertram, and his colleague, Richard. We’re still trying to pick up the pieces here, but for now, Richard and Bertram will be handling everything that Sam was working on. Is that OK?”
Sofi gritted her teeth and forced a smile.
“That sounds great, Claire.”
“Before we start, do tell me, how are things on the dark side? Have you nabbed any nasties yet?”
Claire chuckled, then paused.
“I am sorry. It’s just that I just find your latest career move so damn … interesting. I really am excited to know what it’s like.”
“It’s not really so novel, Claire. It’s the same subject matter, just a question of looking at it with a different pair of eyes, from a slightly different angle. I’m still finding my feet, but it feels right.”
“Well, good for you, darling. Mum and Dad must be proud. Now, where would you like to start today?”
“Thanks for the copies of the emails you sent over. May I ask how they came to your attention so quickly?”
“Sam’s work here is absolutely critical. The minute we couldn’t reach him, we needed to know exactly what he was working on. Human Resources reviewed all his communications over the last few weeks or so and delivered a subset to Bertram and me for review. The emails to his brother stood out like sore thumbs of course.”
She tossed her hair back again.
“I initially thought they could be explained. When we looked more closely at all his recent transactions, we uncovered inconsistencies in the KYC process for some new clients.”
“And you really think Sam is somehow behind all of this? Intentionally?”
“Well, I think we need to look into things further. And I certainly thought it was something that should be brought to your attention immediately, given the nature of your initial investigation.”
The tone caught Sofi off-guard. Did she know? She cleared her throat.
“Sure, but exactly what improprieties do you think could have happened here?”
“We think Sam falsified documents and manipulated our computerized client-approval processing system. You can meet with IT today as well, and they can explain the steps taken to enter the system. It’s hard to believe it wasn’t done intentionally.”
“What do you think could be Sam’s motive for all this? I’m assuming he is well-remunerated, to say the least. As far as I know, his future at Density is or was rock solid. He has certainly never struck me as the type who could have sympathies for any brand of religious radicalism.”
“I really have no idea. I certainly don’t think it’s got anything to do with his beliefs. What Sam believed in was winning and making lots of money. None of this makes sense. And this bombing has us completely baffled and appalled, of course.”
“Of course. Yes, could we talk a little about that?”
Sofi relaxed into her chair. She watched as Claire flipped through her notes. Blush-pink nails manicured to perfection. On her left-hand ring finger, what must have been a three-carat princess-cut diamond sparkled. On her right, a gigantic emerald set in platinum hung to the side of her middle finger.
“Ahmad Ghazali was Sam’s junior. He was loyal to Sam in every way. Sam brought him in, showed him the ropes. It was a great opportunity, and Ahmad grasped it. He seized the day. Sam trusted him with his closest relationships, and Ahmad was meeting with one of Sam’s most important—”
“DIA. Omar Sadir.”
Claire raised her eyebrows and tilted her head.
“Yes, indeed, Sofi dear. You really have done your homework.”
“Do you think DIA has any involvement in the KYC improprieties we’ve discussed?”
“Absolutely not. Not in the least. DIA is one of our most important clients. They are a global player and respected throughout the international investment community. No, I think that’s barking up the wrong tree, darling. If there’s any connection between Ahmad’s death and Sam’s disappearance, it’s related not to Ahmad’s meetings in Dubai, but his relationship with Sam.”
“What do you mean?”
Claire glanced through the window to the hallway.
“Bertram is just coming now. I think he’s better positioned to talk about this.”
Bertram Mercier entered the room.
“Bertram, we were just talking about Sam and Ahmad.”
Mercier strode in, seemingly taking no notice of the people in the room. He pulled a chair away from the table and took a seat opposite Sofi, crossing his legs and arms simultaneously, avoiding eye contact at all times. After the introductions, he looked Sofi over.
“Yes, a good team. Sam’s revenue numbers have been consistently impressive. It must have been difficult to be his junior, but they seemed to get along OK.”
Sofi adjusted to Mercier’s strong French accent.
“Difficult?”
“Sam’s a good performer. This cannot be questioned. But his delegation skills …”
Mercier ran his hand over his balding crew-cut.
“Sam is a micro-manager. Ahmad was very talented. He came to me on numerous occasions, expressing his desire to have more responsibility. In my view, he should have been given more, but Sam …”
“So you think there was some tension between Sam and Ahmad?”
“Without a doubt. Understand, amongst salespeople there is always some competition. Usually it is healthy. But Sam’s drive could sometimes be … unproductive. Especially now.”
“Why now?”
“We are experiencing cutbacks. Like all financial institutions, we have to trim our resources to fit with the times. This makes life on the floor less pleasant. Sam is, as always, determined to keep his numbers up. Determined to let everyone know this, while theirs are falling. He can be clinical, cold-hearted about it at times. Though not many would admit that they were intimidated by him … that would be suicide.”
“Determined to keep his numbers up?”
“Yes. Sam’s clients are not currently as active as they usually are. Nevertheless, Sam is determined to maintain his sales targets one way or another. He works like he has an image to maintain.”
Claire glanced upwards as Richard Blumee walked into the meeting room. Mercier looked over and said, “Richard here has a close relationship with Sam.”
Blumee appeared a bit ragged, like he hadn’t slept.
“So, what do you make of Sam’s disappearance?” said Sofi.
“Sam and I work in the same region. We have spent many long nights together, entertaining clients.”
Blumee coughed and sniffled.
“He’s probably overdone it and decided to take a leave of absence for a few days. Just like him to do this unannounced. Arrogant bastard.”
“Sam does a lot of client-entertaining?”
“With a vengeance. I thought I had a steel gut, but Sam is in a different league. No limits, you know, quantity or otherwise. Sam will try anything and usually does.”
“What sort of things are we talking about?”
“Couldn’t possibly comment. I can only say I personally follow firm policy on client entertainment.”
A smug smile, showing no teeth. Sofi turned away. Where do they find these guys?
“Please do comment. It’s important.”
Richard looked around at Claire and Bertram. He tucked his hands under his thighs and stared down at the table.
“Look, Sam’s a good lad. He could just go a bit overboard sometimes. Blowing off steam would be a polite way of putting it, and definitely an understatement. He wasn’t shy when it came to arranging a night to remember for his clients. Sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll. You know what I mean?”
“Sam arranged prostitutes and drugs for his clients?”
“Yeah, for his clients.”
Richard snickered.
“For himself?”
“I think I’ve said enough already.”
His voice cracked. He turned to Mercier and asked to be excused. Mercier frowned and then nodded. As he sauntered out of the room, he tucked his shirttail in his trousers. Sofi watched as he walked toward the door. He turned back to glance at her, no fewer than three times.
*
Claire wrapped up the meeting and delivered Sofi to the compliance department, where she thanked her and asked her to let herself out when she’d finished. After an hour reviewing records with compliance and IT, Sofi made her way out of the building and took the tube to St. James’s Park.
The offices of the National Crime Agency were located next to New Scotland Yard. Only one small plaque visible in the doorway gave any clue to its identity and function. She passed security and climbed the stairs to the third floor to meet her boss, Mick. The dull green paint on the hallway walls made her yawn. The afternoon had been a haze. Time spent with Claire was always physically and psychologically draining.
The picture the three had collectively painted of Sam was all new information. Part of her couldn’t believe that this was the Sam she had gotten to know. Another part of her could. I slept with him. He wasn’t exactly a one-woman guy. I knew that going in.
She rubbed her eyes and cleared her mind as she walked in to meet with Mick. It was her regular weekly with him, and she had to crystallize her thoughts on Density, prepare for the pushback. Mick was sitting behind a wooden desk, files piled up around him. She knocked on the open door as she entered. He looked up as he mopped up the coffee stain on the papers below his Styrofoam cup.
