Trail of Greed: Fighting Fraud and Corruption... A Dangerous Game (7 page)

“Me too. I’m Alice Hetherington, by the way. I don’t know anybody else here so I hope you don’t mind me importuning you.”

“Not at all. My name is Bob Bruce.” “Originally Robert, I suppose,” she said with a smile. “How did you guess? What brings you here?” “Well . . .” she said hesitatingly, and looked intently at me. “I’m also very interested in what Mr Purdy has to say. You see, I’m a client of his and I’ve given over most of the money my late husband left me to AIM for them to manage. I’m not very good at financial things but I’m a bit concerned about what they are doing with it.”

My antennae moved into gear. “Go on,” I said. “Well I don’t know if I should. You look like a nice, trustworthy person – certainly different from all the others here – but I don’t know you.”

“Mrs Hetherington – may I call you Alice? I’m basically here for the same reason as you. Not for myself, but for a friend who expressed exactly the same concerns to me. I promised him I’d come along here and listen to what they have to say and see if I could help him.”

“Are you, or were you, a financial person?” “To a degree. Let’s say I know more than my friend.” “And certainly more than me,” she went on. “The trouble is that I live up in Perthshire and I’m not exactly surrounded by smart financial management people. Our family lawyer knows a fair bit about conveyancing but that’s about it.”

“Where do you live?”

“Just outside Waterloo.” I knew the village which was just off the main road north to Pitlochry. I’d passed it many a time on trips north and always wondered how it got its name. It must be a village that was no older than the battle but I had often wondered who had named it and why? Perhaps the local squire had fought with Wellington and when he came back he renamed the farm cottages after the famous victory and it subsequently developed into a village. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place where you would find a lot of financial expertise.

“What do you mean when you say you’re concerned about what they’re doing with your money?”

“Well it’s not an awful lot, but it’s all I’ve got and I need the income to supplement my pension. It’s just not paying me as much as they said it would when I signed up.”

“And you’re thinking of moving it?” “I can’t yet because it’s tied up for five years and I’ve another three years to go.”

People were starting to move back into the auditorium. “Let’s go and see what they have to say and we’ll talk a little afterwards, if you’re not dashing off.”

“No, I’m not. See you afterwards then,” and she bustled off inside.

I took my place, ready for the AIM presentation or what I guessed would be the Alan Purdy show. I would definitely have to have a word with Alice afterwards.

Once everyone had settled down Mr Purdy was announced as one of Edinburgh’s success stories. He stood beaming and welcomed us all, thanked the two previous speakers for their erudite performances, cracked a couple of jokes which, although not particularly funny, were met by the obligatory laughter – mainly from the younger bunch.

His presentation was slick. There is no doubt about that. Power Point slides with multi-coloured graphs succeeded one another at just the right speed. You had time to absorb the effect of the slide while he pointed out the one or two numbers he wanted you to notice and then on to the next one. There was no way the slide was up long enough for anyone to fully absorb the detail.

The whole thing was very upbeat. Intelligently, he mentioned a couple of investments that had not turned out quite as well as expected but they had not had a major effect on the overall picture.

“We pride ourselves at AIM in our capacity and nerve to take risk – measured risks. That’s where the money is. Perhaps not today but at some point in the future we are sure that the risk ventures will come through.”

He was in command. He had his audience’s full attention. It was a mixture of plain language interspersed with just enough technical terms and buzzwords to sound very convincing. The trouble was it was mostly flannel. He succeeded in convincing everybody that last year’s growth of three point nine per cent and the upside potential of the riskier investments, linked to the likely overall economic indicators for the next few years was an excellent performance – even better than the previous year’s three point five per cent.

A very satisfied Mr Purdy sat down to applause from the audience and congratulatory handshakes from his fellow presenters.

The Master of Ceremonies then announced that Mr Purdy would be happy to take questions from the hall. As always on these occasions there was silence for a few moments. Then an earnest young lady from the middle of the young bunch stood up and asked the first question. It was something to do with the ratio of fixed and variable returns in the portfolio which could have been answered with two or three simple figures, but somehow Purdy managed to spin out his answer to last about five minutes. Definitely a man who liked the sound of his own voice. He’d have been a good game show host.

Another couple of inane questions followed which were summarily dealt with and then our organiser looked at his watch and announced.

“We’ve time for one more question.”

I got to my feet, a couple of sheets of paper in my hand with some numbers on them which I had jotted down the day before.

I noticed Pierre, Steven and Alice all turn their heads towards me.

“I have a question for Mr Purdy.” Purdy was at this point smiling at the taxman sitting next to him, obviously thinking that his job was done. He wasn’t paying much attention to me.

“I’d first like to congratulate Mr Purdy on his very polished delivery.”

That got his attention. He smiled at me and nodded his thanks.

I pretended I was consulting my notes and glanced up and eyeballed him. The smile faded slightly. He started to look a little nervous.

“I’ve been looking at the results of other funds of similar size and the average growth figures I have is seven point two per cent for last year – some hitting as high as ten per cent. I also noted that the year before their average was six point nine per cent. According to my calculations that is a differential of, let’s say, three and a half per cent each year, which, for a fund of fifty million, makes three and a half million pounds over the two years. Can Mr Purdy explain to us where this missing money has gone?”

There was dead silence. You could have heard a budgie burp.

The younger generation looked shocked. The older generation woke up.

The MC jumped in. “Sir, I think your question is out of order.” “I’m sorry,” I replied. “Perhaps I didn’t frame the question correctly. What I meant was that if investors had put their money in other funds they would be three and a half million pounds better off.”

Meanwhile Purdy had rallied from the shock and recovered. He stood up and signaled to the MC that it was ok.

“Mr . . .?”

“Bruce,” I replied. “Thank you for rephrasing your question. You must admit that the way you put it the first time could have led to misunderstandings.”

I smiled at him.

“Let me explain.” He started by trying to cast doubt as to whether my numbers were correct and then veered back to the rubbish he had trotted out during his presentation. He gathered steam and managed to steer people’s thoughts away from the question I had asked.

When he sat down the MC quickly wrapped things up so that there would be no chance of any more questions from the floor, thanked everyone for coming and invited us all to take a drink outside before taking our leave.

A few of the old guard smiled at me and patted my arm as they passed on the way out.

Most of the audience accepted the offer of a drink and were milling about, slowly congregating into groups. I preferred to stand off on the side by the window and observe. The largest group was near the bar where Purdy was holding court. A few of the young brigade were gathered round him, hanging onto his every word. I also noticed with interest that Keith’s lawyer, whom I had met the other day at the golf course, was there too, frowning and making the occasional comment into Purdy’s ear. He must work for AIM as well, I thought to myself.

Steven approached me diffidently and made a show of introducing himself, handing me a business card.

“That was a nasty one.”

“It was meant to be!”

“Do you mind if I write about it?” “No, but keep it factual – as we agreed. Don’t go wild . . . yet. He didn’t like my question at all, but he was pretty good at covering it up. I think something is going on. I’ll tell you about it in a couple of days – ok?”

“Fine.” I could see that Purdy had noticed us chatting. He wasn’t going to come and speak to me in this public environment, that was for sure. But I did expect some kind of reaction to the potential embarrassment I had caused him.

I saw Alice hovering nearby so I excused myself from Steven and welcomed her with a smile as she came forward.

“You seemed to have rather set the cat among the pigeons,” she said.

“Well, that was the idea.” “Bob,” we were on Christian name terms now. “Do you think it would be possible that you could phone me sometime?” She slipped a small piece of paper into my hand, “So that you could advise me on what I should do about my investments? And, in the meantime, can I give you this?”

She handed me a large brown envelope. It felt as if it contained probably about twenty pieces of paper. I tucked it under my arm.

“It’s copies of my dealings with AIM. Perhaps you could look through it?”

“With pleasure,” I replied. Over her shoulder I could see Alan Purdy again glance in my direction. His brow furrowed for a fleeting second as he saw us talking. He turned and made a quick remark to a younger man standing beside him. The man flicked a look towards us and nodded. He immediately detached himself from the group and, accompanied by one of his colleagues, came purposefully over to us.

“Mrs Hetherington, nice to see you here,” said the colleague, taking her by the arm and leading her away from me.

At the same time the other man addressed himself to me. Looking at my name badge which I had not yet had time to hand in he said, “Mr Bruce, may I introduce myself. David Firkin. I work for Mr Purdy at AIM. I hope you enjoyed the conference.”

It was clearly a manoeuvre planned to break up our little conversation. My guess was that Purdy didn’t want me talking to Alice. The question was “Why?”.

It was immediately clear to me that Purdy had sent his henchman over to find out who I was and what, if anything, I thought I was up to. He could not afford to show that he was upset by my question.

“I found it very interesting,” I said. “Are you an investor, or a potential investor?” he asked, looking again at my badge.

“I’m semi-retired,” I answered. “I came along because I have several clients whose money I look after. The kind of people that AIM seems to be interested in. So I thought I’d find out what you have to offer.”

“Interesting. Have you got ten minutes? I could perhaps give you some more insight into our approach if you have the time and, if you think it worth it, we could arrange a more formal meeting later. Do you live in Edinburgh?”

“No. I live over in Fife in a small village called Letham. Do you know it?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Look, we have some meeting rooms here. Why don’t we take five minutes if you’re not in a hurry?”

It was a good salesman’s pitch and I decided to go along with it. Perhaps I’d learn a bit more.

Firkin’s colleague had by now joined us, having helped Alice on her way and we repaired to a small meeting room just off the lobby.

The room had been set up for just such eventualities. There was a table in the centre with six chairs around it. There was a jug of coffee, cups and biscuits on a buffet standing against the wall. The view from the window down Princes Street was magnificent.

“Coffee? Let’s sit down.” Firkin’s colleague, who was so far nameless, pulled out a chair for me and I took my place. He sat down opposite me and Firkin brought us three coffees. “No Name” looked about thirty. He was fairly big and muscular and, although he was dressed as all the others in a grey suit, shirt and tie, none of these things looked as if they belonged to him. He didn’t look like a young investment banker. He seemed to me more like a scrubbed up truck driver. But then appearances can be misleading, as Dad had always told me.

We chatted generally for a while. Firkin gave me the pitch about the personal approach to investing – the fact that AIM specialised in advice to suit individual circumstances. He was smooth, but there was no doubt he was trying to wheedle out of me as much information about myself as he could. How many clients? About a dozen. What kind of investment amounts? On average about a couple of hundred thousand. Where did my clients come from? All over the place – mostly in the country or in smaller towns. I kept away from the big cities.

No Name was taking notes, laboriously. His pen didn’t really seem at home in his large hand but he was making a valiant effort.

After about ten minutes I had had enough and said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to go now. I have a train to catch in fifteen minutes.”

“No problem. It was really nice meeting you and don’t hesitate to call me next time you come through to Edinburgh and perhaps we can have lunch and discuss what AIM can do for your clients.”

I got up and turned towards the door.

“Just before you go, Mr Bruce . . .”

I turned back. “I presume you are who you say you are, but, if by any chance you are not, I would be a bit more careful about the way you ask questions in a public conference.”

Firkin said this with a smile. No Name had stood up, towering above his colleague by a good six inches, flexing his fingers after all the unaccustomed note-taking he had been doing. There was no smile on his face.

“That sounds rather like a threat to me.” “Just some friendly advice.” “Thank you,” I said and left the meeting room. The lobby was practically empty by now but I did see Purdy sitting in an armchair in the corner talking earnestly to Gavin Reid, the lawyer I’d met through Keith. I noticed them but made sure that they didn’t realise I had seen them.