Trading Reality (8 page)

And then, only the day before, I had had a chance to go up to see him, to talk to him, to help my brother who had helped me so much in the past, and I had said no. If I had come, would he still be alive? I had let him down. It would take me a long time to forgive myself.

I owed Richard. I owed him a lot. I would look after what was left of him, his house, his possessions. And I would look after FairSystems.

I was getting cold. I stood up and walked back to the Robbers’ Arms. As I entered through a small hallway, a voice called out, ‘Morning.’

I paused. A tall thin man with a neat white beard stooped beneath the narrow doorway. He was wearing a jacket and tie. ‘Did you sleep all right?’ he asked.

‘Not really,’ I mumbled.

He looked me up and down, and then said, ‘Let me get you some breakfast?’

Food suddenly seemed a very good idea. I nodded my head. ‘Take a seat in there. I’ll be through in a moment.’ I sat in the small dining room, and in a few minutes the smell of frying bacon drifted through.

Ten minutes later, the man returned with a cup of tea, and a big plate of eggs, sausages, bacon, tomato, the works. ‘Here you are. Get your teeth into that.’

He left me to it. I appreciated his discretion, and quickly cleared my plate.

Although the fresh air and the food made me feel a lot better, my brain was fuzzy from a night without sleep. I went upstairs to my room to use the phone.

It was still only eight o’clock on a Sunday morning, but Daphne Chilcott answered as though she had been awake for hours. Which she probably had. She was the type of woman who is up pruning roses before six.

‘Good morning, Daphne. It’s Mark. Can I speak to Karen.’

It took her a moment to work out who I was.

‘Ah, Mark. How are you? It’s a little early don’t you think? Karen’s still asleep. Perhaps you could telephone again later on.’ What she meant was ‘What the bloody hell are you doing ringing at this hour of the morning?’ but being Karen’s mother, she couldn’t say that.

‘I would very much like to talk to her now, Daphne. It’s important.’

‘Very well.’

After a moment, I heard Karen’s voice, heavy with sleep. ‘Mark, what’s up?’

‘Richard’s dead.’

‘No! What happened?’

‘He was murdered. Last night. At his house.’

There was silence at the other end of the phone. I heard a whispered ‘Oh God’. With a jolt, I suddenly realised that I would get no support from Karen this morning, she would need support herself. I wouldn’t be the only person grieving Richard, just one of many.

‘How?’

I told her. The tears came. I could hear her weeping and sniffing four hundred miles away. ‘Karen, Karen. It’s all right,’ I said uselessly. I heard her try to speak, but she couldn’t. The sobs became uncontrolled, as though she was having trouble breathing.

Suddenly, I heard her mother’s crisp voice, ‘I don’t know what you’ve said to Karen, but it has upset her. Now goodbye,’ and the phone went dead.

The old cow! I would call Karen back later, when she had calmed down.

The next call was going to be even more difficult. I dialled the number.

It took several rings before there was an answer. ‘Frances Fairfax.’

I didn’t recognise the voice. It was a woman’s voice, a young woman’s voice. I felt cold. This was the woman who had torn my family apart.

‘Can I speak to Dr Fairfax?’

‘May I say who’s calling?’

‘It’s his son.’

‘Oh, Richard. It doesn’t sound like you.’

‘It isn’t,’ I said grimly.

There was silence as she fetched my father.

‘Mark?’ Hearing his voice gave me a jolt. It sounded the same, only different. There was a guttural hoarseness that had not been there before. The voice of a man approaching sixty.

‘Hello? Is that Mark?’

‘Yes, Dad. Yes, it’s Mark.’

‘How are you? It’s good to hear your voice.’ He did sound pleased to hear from me.

There was so much I wanted to say to him. But keep it brief.

‘I have bad news, Dad.’

‘Yes?’ The enthusiasm disappeared. It was replaced by fear.

‘Richard’s dead,’ I blurted.

Silence. ‘Oh, no! Um . . . What happened?’

‘He was killed.’ Silence. ‘Murdered.’

‘God. When?’

‘Last night.’

‘How?’

‘He was hit on the head. I found him lying in the boathouse. He . . .’ The image of Richard’s shattered skull flashed back before my eyes. I couldn’t continue. I took a few deep breaths. ‘I just thought you ought to know,’ I finished.

‘Yes, thanks for telling me.’ My father’s voice had suddenly aged another ten years. I wanted to share my grief with him, but it was impossible. Too much, all in one phone call.

‘There will be things to sort out,’ I said. ‘Funeral, the will, that sort of thing. His house. FairSystems. His bits and pieces.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘No, it’s all right. I can do it.’

‘Please, Dad. Please, let me deal with it. I’m here in Kirkhaven now.’

‘I’ll come up as well.’

‘No!’ I said sharply. That, I couldn’t handle. ‘Look, I’ll sort everything out, and you can come up for the funeral. We can talk things over then.’

A pause. ‘OK, Mark, we’ll do it that way if you like.’

‘All right then. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye.’

I stared at the phone. I was glad Richard had made peace with my father. We hadn’t spoken for ten years. How would he have felt if I had died? More to the point, how would I feel if he died?

Morbid thoughts. Not surprising. After all, someone had been killed. Some bastard had cold-bloodedly murdered my brother! I knew that most murderers were caught. I hoped to God they caught this one.

There was a knock at the door. It was the sergeant from the night before. He looked tired, but his uniform was immaculately pressed.

‘Mr Fairfax? Could you come with me to the station, please, sir. It’s probably easier to talk there than here.’

That wasn’t really true. Kirkhaven’s police station was tiny, being not much more than a corral of portakabins. There was plenty of activity. Cars were pulling up, spilling policemen out into the tiny car park. Some wore uniforms, many didn’t.

I was ushered into a cramped little office. The crumpled man with the ravaged nose was there, looking even more crumpled. Next to him, rising, as I entered, from the main chair behind the little desk, was a tall, bald man with an impeccable tweed suit, worn just like Sergeant Cochrane’s uniform.

‘Good morning, Mr Fairfax. Detective Superintendent Donaldson. I believe you have already met Detective Inspector Kerr?’ I had, but the name hadn’t sunk in. ‘Take a seat.’

We all sat down, Kerr perched on an uncomfortable stool.

‘I’m in charge of the investigation into your brother’s murder,’ the big man went on. He had a clear, crisp Scottish accent. Very businesslike. ‘First, let me say how sorry I am about your brother’s death.’

I nodded. I realised I was going to receive a lot of these awkward condolences over the next few days. Difficult to give, difficult to receive.

‘Let me start by asking you a few questions.’

‘I’ve already answered two lots of questions in the last twelve hours,’ I said irritably.

Donaldson held up his hand. ‘I know, son, but we’ve got a few more. We’re going to find whoever did this. We had nine murders in Fife last year, and we cleared up every one. And this will be no exception. But I need your help.’

I saw he was right. ‘OK, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything I can to help you catch him. Anything.’

‘That’s good. Just answer some simple questions for now. The doctor places the time of death within a couple of hours of noon on Saturday. Where were you then?’

‘What do you mean where was I?’ I protested. ‘Surely you don’t think I did it?’

Donaldson flinched. The crumpled man, Kerr, leaned forward ‘Of course not, son,’ he said in a kind voice, thick with fatigue. ‘But most murders are committed by people who knew the victim. That’s why we need to eliminate everyone who knew him. We just want to start with you. The Super likes to be very thorough about eliminating people, right sir?’

Donaldson coughed. ‘Quite so. Now where were you?’

‘At home in London, until about eleven. Then I went racing at Ascot.’

‘Did you go with anyone?’

I gave them Greg’s name and number. Kerr wrote them down. I also showed them the stub of my boarding card for the eight o’clock shuttle from Heathrow to Edinburgh.

Donaldson took up the questioning again. ‘Do you know anyone who bore a grudge against your brother? Anyone at all now? Think carefully.’

I had already thought. ‘No one that I know of. He wasn’t the sort of person to have enemies.’ My voice shook. My eyes stung. I took a breath. ‘No, no one.’

Donaldson waited a moment for me to recover my composure. ‘Do you know if your brother was worried about anything.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He was. In fact, that’s why I came up here.’

Donaldson raised his eyebrows.

‘He rang me last week, and said he wanted to talk to me. He didn’t say what about. He said it was important, and he didn’t want to talk on the phone.’

Donaldson leaned forward. ‘And do you have any idea what he was concerned about?’

‘No, not really.’

‘You must have some idea,’ he urged. ‘Guess.’

‘Well,’ I hesitated. ‘It might be one of two things. His company might be days away from bankruptcy. When I last saw him he said that he was running out of cash again.’

‘Again?’

‘Yes. FairSystems had a cash-flow problem last year, and I bailed it out. Or Karen, my girlfriend, and I did. It could have been the same problem again.’

‘And would you have helped him out a second time?’

I paused. ‘I don’t know.’ I knew the honest answer, but I didn’t want to say it out loud. I had had no intention of throwing good money after bad. I winced at the thought.

Donaldson was watching me closely. He understood. ‘And the second possibility?’

‘He thought FairSystems’ stock was being manipulated. He had spoken to Karen and me about it. He had all sorts of statistical analyses which he said suggested FairSystems’ stock was behaving strangely.’

‘Why?’

‘He didn’t know,’ I said. ‘He had just spotted a pattern that was inconsistent, and, like a good scientist, he wanted to find out why.’

‘Do you have any ideas?’

‘No. We checked out the market, and no one had heard anything. I think Richard was imagining it.’

‘I see. Do you have his analyses?’

‘Yes, I do. At home in London.’

‘May we see them?’

‘OK. I’ll send them to you, if you like.’

‘Thank you.’ Donaldson looked at Kerr and stood up. ‘That will be all for now, Mr Fairfax,’ he said. ‘You’ve been very helpful. Please let us know where we can get hold of you if we need to ask any more questions. And if you do have any more thoughts about who bore your brother a grudge, you will let us know, won’t you?’

‘Of course,’ I said, getting up to go. ‘Um, will I be able to see Richard’s house?’

‘Yes of course. But not for a few days. I’d like to give forensics all the time they need. But before you go, please give DI Kerr your girlfriend’s name and address, and the address of everyone who you know who knew your brother.’

Kerr led me out, and I scribbled names and addresses on a piece of paper. ‘I hope you find him,’ I said.

Kerr rubbed his tired eyes. ‘Believe me, we’ll check out every half-lead you gave us. The boss is thorough. And he does get results. We’ll get the bastard, don’t you worry.’

‘Good.’

There wasn’t much point in staying in Kirkhaven, especially since I couldn’t get into Richard’s house. It was crawling with forensics, and they were crawling slowly, creeping over every scrap of dirt and fluff, leaving a trail of fine grey powder behind them.

So I took the Fiesta back to the airport and flew down to London. It was good to put four hundred miles between myself and the scene of Richard’s death. The pain became less acute, less overwhelming. More manageable.

Karen met me at the airport. I pulled her close to me, and held on to her. ‘Oh Mark, Mark,’ she whispered into my ear. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’

She took my hand and led me to her car. We drove home in silence. I couldn’t say anything, she didn’t push me.

When we arrived, she poured me a large whisky, and sat next to me, holding me in her arms. ‘Tell me about him.’

And so I did. Haltingly at first, trying to hold back the tears. In the end I gave up, letting the sobs come as I talked about Richard, picking up on random memories. We talked, or rather I talked, late into the night.

I needed her. My mother was gone, and so, effectively, was my father. Until Richard went too, I hadn’t realised how much I had relied on him for all that a family gives: love, continuity, security. Now I was all alone.

Over the next few days, I leaned heavily on Karen, and she supported me. Perhaps she was repaying me for all those difficult times when I had been there for her, right after she had been dumped. Richard’s death had clearly affected her too, more than I would have imagined, but she had recovered from her initial shock, and built steel defences around herself. I knew when I talked about him, and cried over him, these defences were tested, but they held. She herself never cried, nor talked about Richard. She just listened.

I stumbled into work on Monday, exhausted from the emotional fatigue of the last forty-eight hours. The last thing I wanted to do was spend the day moping alone at home. I wanted people, distractions.

It was good to be back in the trading room again, to lose myself in prices, yields, spreads and basis points, and to focus once again on the inescapable monthly profit and loss. The month was looking better, but April would definitely end up as a loss, not a profit. I considered a number of possible trades, but didn’t have the desire to put any of them on. So Ed and I just watched the positions we had, the Renaults moving ever upwards, and the ten-year treasuries outperforming their two-year brethren.