A killing in the city E-Book

John Holt

• Herausgeber: John Holt
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

‘To make a killing in the City’ is a phrase often used within the financial world, to indicate making a large profit on investments, or through dealings on the stock market - the bigger the profit, the bigger the killing. However, Tom Kendall, a private detective, on holiday in London, has a different kind of killing in mind when he hears about the death of one of his fellow passengers who travelled with him on the plane from Miami. It was suicide apparently, a simple overdose of prescribed tablets. Kendall immediately offers his help to Scotland Yard. He is shocked when he is told his services will not be required. They can manage perfectly well without him, thank you.(Although a Standalone novel, it is also the Fourth in a Series featuring Tom Kendall private detective)

Leseprobe

A Killing In The City

John Holt

Phoenix Publishing – Essex – UK

© September 2012 - John Holt

CONDITIONS OF SALE

John Holt has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998 to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

This book has been sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Printing History

First published by Night Publishing in March 2012.

This second Edition has been re-edited and re-issued by Phoenix, Essex, UK, in September 2012

ISBN:

978-1-291-04754-7

Preface

The story that follows is totally fictitious. All places and persons included in the story are totally imaginary, and any similarity to actual persons alive or dead, is totally co-incidentally, and unintentional. Although many of the places mentioned in the story do actually exist, they have been changed as necessary for my own purposes, i.e. to serve the needs of this story.

This is the fourth story to feature Tom Kendall. Once again his ever-loyal secretary, Mollie, ably assists him in his fight against crime.

I am grateful to Lauren Ridley, Cherryloco Jewellery for allowing me to base the Phoenix logo on her design.

I also gratefully acknowledge Wikipedia for information regarding London landmarks.

Once again my sincere thanks go to Michael and Barbara Morton for their un-tiring work in checking the formatting of the manuscript.

John Holt

Chapter One

John Wyndham Collier

The City of London is often referred to as the Square Mile, or just simply The City. Almost two thousand years old, The City is the historic core of London, the central hub around which the modern conurbation grew. It is now a major business and financial centre, ranking on a par with New York City as one of the leading centres of global finance. At its heart is the Bank of England, the controller, and keeper, of the Nation’s finances for almost three hundred years. A hundred yards, or so, further to the north is located the second of The City’s great financial institutions, the London Stock Exchange, where everyday fortunes are made, or lost, at the whim of world affairs, and the market traders.

Almost opposite the Stock Exchange, at the junction of Threadneedle Street, and Bishopsgate, is the third of The City’s major buildings, the Travers Morgan Building, known locally quite simply as The Tower.

* * *

Constructed in the late nineteen eighties, The Tower is a glass and steel structure that rises some twenty-two storeys high. It is home to Travers Morgan PLC, one of the world’s leading investment companies. Travers Morgan was founded at the turn of the century, by John Travers, and Clifford Morgan. At that time it was mainly involved in transportation, notably shipping and the railway. Benefitting from the First World War, it had grown into a huge conglomeration of companies encompassing banking, insurance, shipping and trade.

* * *

Seated up on the tenth floor was John Wyndham Collier, the head of Travers Morgan. This was to be an important day for John Wyndham Collier. He was expecting some visitors. Not that the visitors themselves were particularly important. They were merely incidental, nothing more than necessary players in the forthcoming main event that was soon to unfold.

For the tenth time in as many minutes Collier glanced at the clock on the wall. He started to tap the desk with his fingers, the drumming gradually becoming louder, and louder, faster and faster. Patience was a virtue Collier did not possess. Impatient as ever, he was anxious to get on. Time was money, and he had no desire to waste either commodity.

* * *

John Wyndham Collier was a big man, big in every sense of the word. Six feet four tall and weighing a little over fourteen stone, he ruled this vast financial empire with an iron fist. Nobody crossed Collier, not if they had any sense, that is. Nobody disagreed with him. Nobody argued with him, and nobody ever questioned his judgement. Nobody dared.

He was a self-made man, who had worked his way up to the higher echelons of power. He was now head of this financial giant. He owned fifty-one percent of the shares, and was the Chief Executive Officer and Chairman of the Board. Nothing happened in the company without his knowledge, and his agreement.

Of course he hadn’t done it entirely alone. He had made good use of several other people over the years. Not that they had any knowledge of what was happening of course, or had actually given their consent. Indeed they hadn’t actually suspected a thing. In fact, the vast majority of them didn’t even know of his existence. If they had known what was happening they would almost certainly have objected. Many of them had lost their life savings because of Collier, not that they knew of his involvement.

Always the opportunist, Collier had merely taken advantage of various situations that had occurred. And why not, he asked. If a few people were just too gullible, or too stupid, was that his fault? No it wasn’t. So they couldn’t think for themselves, was that his problem? Was he his brother’s keeper? No, he wasn’t. If a few people got hurt, or trodden on, along the way, well it was just unfortunate, wasn’t it? It was just one of those things, one of those things that couldn’t be helped. What did it matter anyway? Did anyone really care? Collier very much doubted it. Besides he wasn’t really worried whether they cared or not. In fact he wasn’t worried at all. So he had made a few enemies along the way, more than a few. But what did that compare with the power he now possessed. You couldn’t cook an omelet without cracking a few eggs, could you?

If you don’t want to get burnt, stay out of the kitchen. That was one of Collier’s favourite sayings. He had got burnt, once, many years ago. He had vowed then and there it would never happen again.

* * *

Collier’s office clearly showed the trappings of power, wealth, and success. To one side was a large mahogany desk. On the desk were a number of buff-coloured files and several papers neatly piled on one side. On the wall opposite was a large mahogany cabinet, which took up most of the wall space. On the shelves was row after row of leather bound books. Amongst them were a number of extremely valuable and very rare first editions. Interspersed amongst the books were several large ornaments. Included were a number of vases, and a group of porcelain figurines.

On three of the walls were a number of original oil paintings, including a Renoir, and a Degas. Not that Collier was an art connoisseur, because he wasn’t. He knew nothing about art, and cared even less. All that he knew was the possible monetary value a work of art might have. That was all that mattered as far as he was concerned. Those three paintings were investments, nothing more. So too were the first editions, and the porcelain figurines that lined the shelves of the bookcase. Whatever artistic qualities they possessed were of no interest whatsoever.

* * *

Collier suddenly stood up and pushed his huge leather swivel chair back hard from his desk. It struck the wall with a loud thud. Collier walked over to the window, and peered out, down to the ground below. It wasn’t the most scenic view ever but it did give a commanding view of the main car park area located at the rear of the building. From here he could see every coming or going. He looked over to the far side. The allocated parking space was still vacant. Not that he was surprised. He looked over at the wall clock. Two thirty-five. His visitors were not due for almost another hour yet. He looked back at the parking space. That’s where Graham Nicholas Baxter will park.

He turned back towards his desk. Of course he hadn’t really expected to see Baxter’s car. Not just then at any rate. Not that Baxter would be late, that much was certain. He would certainly be on time. In fact he would probably arrive a little early if anything. Baxter could not afford to miss this meeting.

Suddenly he felt strangely nervous. No, he wasn’t nervous exactly, apprehensive maybe, unsure. Whatever it was, Collier did not like the feeling. He felt vulnerable somehow. Suppose Baxter had decided not to come after all. Suppose he had decided to make a fight of it instead. Perhaps he wouldn’t just take it lying down. That was unthinkable, impossible. Even Baxter wasn’t that stupid. How could he possibly make a fight of it? Suppose everything hadn’t been covered. Suppose something had been missed. Something he had overlooked somehow. Had he missed a loophole somewhere, a possible way out for Baxter?

He looked over at his desk. There was the document awaiting Baxter’s signature. Collier had spent weeks preparing it. He had gone through it over and over. Nothing had been overlooked. There was no loophole. He had checked every word, every letter. He knew every line, every full stop, and every comma. Nothing had been left to chance. He had checked everything. Then he had double-checked, and then he had checked again. He had missed nothing. Baxter would be there, make no mistake. He had no real choice did he?

Collier looked at the clock once again. It was two-forty.He was becoming increasingly impatient. He hated sitting around waiting. Once he had a course of action in his mind, he just wanted to get on with it, to get it over and done with. He had been planning for this day for a long time now. He just wanted to get on with it now.

He started to tap his fingers on the desk once more, drumming faster and faster, louder and louder. Then he started to move things around. An old sepia photograph of a young lady, in a gold frame was moved from one side to the other. He stopped and looked at the photograph for a few moments. It was of his mother. Not that he remembered her. She had died when he was no more than two years old. He raised his hand to his cheek and brushed away a tear. No, the tear wasn’t for his mother. The tear came as he remembered how his father had been after her death. How he had beaten, and humiliated the young John Wyndham for poor results at school.

* * *

“Must do better, boy,” his father would say. It was never John, or son. It was always ‘boy’. “You’re not trying, boy.” Sometimes his father said nothing at all and simply glared. That was even worse for the young boy, the complete silence, to be ignored, as though he never actually existed.

“There are two types of people,” his father would say. “There are those who succeed and those who don’t. There is no point in coming second. Remember it’s not the taking part that counts. What matters is the winning.”

* * *

John Wyndham Collier took those words to heart, and lived by that rule from that time on. He stared at the photograph for a few moments longer. He reached for the frame. Slowly he laid it face down on to the desk. He started to nervously tap the buttons on the intercom. Accidentally he pressed the call button. Instantly he pressed cancel.

He was too late. Immediately there came an answering call. “Did you want something, sir?” a voice asked. It was his secretary.

“No, nothing,” he replied sharply. There was no hint of an apology. He started to replace the handset, and then suddenly changed his mind.

“Is the room ready,” he asked.

“Everything is ready, sir,” Joyce replied. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Collier grunted, and replaced the handset. Nothing to worry about indeed, what did she know about it anyway? Although of course she was perfectly right. There was nothing to worry about, was there? He had thought of everything. Every eventuality had been covered. Every contingency had been allowed for. Every possibility had been taken into account. There would be no surprises. No slip-ups. Nothing could, or would, go wrong.

He stood up once again. As he did so he pushed his diary to one side. The diary slid over the edge of the desk and fell to the floor. He slowly walked around to the front of the desk. The diary was lying open. Collier bent down and picked it up. As he did so he glanced at the entry on the open page. Six months ago! Had it really been six months? Six months almost to the day. That’s when his opportunity had come, at last. That’s when he was able, finally, to put his plans into operation.

* * *

It wasn’t exactly on a par with the great Wall Street Crash of 1929, but on that particular Monday morning, almost six months ago, it had come pretty close. Stock Markets had crashed all around the Globe, losing ten percent of their value in one day. It had started on the Hang Seng with heavy trading on oil and the dollar. This was quickly followed on the Nikkei, and the Malaysian markets. The value of the dollar had plummeted to an all-time low. The effects had then quickly spread, with major panic selling, leading to even greater falls.

The exact cause of the fall was uncertain. High interest rates were put forward as a possible cause; increased borrowing was another possibility. There was no one particular reason however, nothing that could be readily identified, nothing that you could put your finger on. All of the financial experts were agreed, however, on one thing – the market slump was only short term. It was only a temporary glitch, and of no major concern. It would not last, said Her Majesty’s Treasury. A temporary setback only, said The Governor of the Bank of England, it would all be over in a few short weeks.

This was a view that was echoed in the money markets around the world. “We have seen this kind of thing before,” said the United States Federal Reserve. “Don’t read too much into it,” pronounced the Editor of the Wall Street Journal. “It doesn’t mean anything. The markets will bounce back, stronger than ever. Just mark my words.”

But the Markets did not bounce back. They continued to fall un-checked. Share prices went into freefall. The dollar continued to lose value. The Financial Times and the Confederation of British Industries called for a substantial cut in interest rates. The Markets still continued to fall. The United States Treasury injected massive amounts into the economy, but to no effect. The Markets still fell. The World Bank called for a massive rise in interest rates to stimulate investment. The Markets still fell. By the end of the second week share values had fallen by twenty-four percent.

* * *

Credit crunch was one of the buzzwords going around at the time. There was, of course, a long official, complicated definition of what that meant, but simply put it meant that the banks had just pulled the plug, and had stopped loaning money. Furthermore, any money they had loaned they wanted back, and they wanted it there and then. Furthermore there would be no further loans. And why would they suddenly stop loaning? Because, in recent years, there had just been too much credit and too many people were now failing to keep up the payments. Huge losses resulted. The banks were no longer prepared to take the risk. Added to that were depressed share values, and high interest rates. It was as simple as that. Any first year economics student would have known exactly what was happening. They would have done something about it long before. A cap on loans might have helped. More stringent requirements on borrowers, or perhaps re-negotiated loan terms might have had an effect. Or improved collateral possibly, or better security. In any event, they would have done something long ago.

The so-called experts had, however, taken considerably longer to see it coming, and they were still taken by surprise. All right, so it was unforeseen. All right no one could have forecast it, but eventually they came to realise the worst. The economy was in meltdown. So now what? What should be done about it? What was the best course of action? What was the best way out of the trouble? Cut public spending, was the judgement of one group. No, said another, not at all, quite the opposite in fact. You have to spend your way out of a recession, and boost the economy. Nonsense said a third group. Cut interest rates, was their advice. A massive cash injection was required, was the counsel of a fourth group. Increase public borrowing, suggested a fifth. Whilst another group advocated wide scale investment, although where the finance was to come from was something of a mystery.

The only thing that the experts could actually agree on was that something had to be done, and done quickly. Although what that something was no one was prepared to say. More to the point, no one actually knew.

Chapter Two

It’s An Ill Wind

John Wyndham Collier had seen it coming. And he had made his plans. He was ready for it. He knew exactly what to do. Not that he could stop it of course. Nor, indeed, did he want to stop it. At least not right now. That would not have suited his purpose at all. As far as he was concerned the situation could go on for as long as it liked. He knew how to make the best of the situation, and how to take advantage of it. And he did so, to the full.

“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good,” he whispered. Though, in this case that wind was making him money, and lots of it. As shares prices started to fall, Collier started buying up stock in other companies, other rival companies, especially The Baxter Corporation. Fairly soon he had acquired large blocks. In fact, he now had a controlling interest in most of them.

* * *

Was it really only six months ago? He shook his head in disbelief, and slowly placed the diary back on to the desk. Six months, and still there was no consensus of opinion. Still no overall strategy had been put into operation. Oh there had been talks of course. Seemingly endless discussions had taken place. Both the International Monetary Fund, and the World Bank had produced wordy documents on the subject, but no firm universal proposals had, as yet, been put forward. The United States Treasury, and the European Union had produced dozens of reports, but they were only assessments of the situation at that particular time. Forecast after meaningless forecast were issued, only for the figures to be proved wrong, and requiring amendment at a later date.

So much for the so-called experts, six months on, and the recession was far from over. In fact, if anything, it had got much worse. The economy was now in deep recession. That was now official, finally. Everyone had suspected it for weeks and weeks, but now it had actually been formally confirmed. It was now Global, and affected every major economy in the World. The blame was placed fairly and squarely upon the far eastern markets. They, in turn, had blamed the western economy. Interest rates were cut to their lowest levels since records had begun. It made no difference. It was too little, and far too late. Two more major banks had ceased to exist overnight, bringing the total worldwide to fifty-three. Two other major banks were to receive massive bailouts from the Government. Many more were in a precarious position, teetering on the brink of closure. Companies were going out of business at the rate of one hundred and twenty-four per day.

Bankruptcies and redundancies were becoming commonplace. Shop after shop had closed down, office after office, factory after factory. Unemployment levels were now at a height not seen since the late nineteen fifties. Government borrowing had tripled, with even higher rates predicted. Massive cuts in public spending were announced, together with increased taxes. Still there was no sign of any major change to the situation, and still there was no consensus with regard to a long term solution.

* * *

Amidst all of the doom and gloom, there was, however, one company that stood out like a shining beacon. An example of what good management could achieve. That was Travers Morgan. Whilst every other company was showing record losses, in the past quarter Travers Morgan’s profits had soared to a massive twenty-six billion, up by seven percent on the previous quarter. A substantial part of that profit had been set aside to finance an acquisition long planned for by John Wyndham Collier. It had been six years since the idea had first come into his mind. Opposition to his plan had originally been fierce, and widespread. It was far too risky said one. It would be far too expensive said another. What was to be gained, asked a third. Collier had stuck to his guns however, and would not back down. Yes, it would be risky, and expensive, but the potential profits would be enormous. Besides he had an old score to settle. One other thing, Collier told his opponents, if you don’t like the idea, leave.

Gradually he began to gain support, one way or another. Opposition faded away, and he began to finalize his plan. That plan would now, at last, be put into operation. The Baxter Corporation acquisition was to go ahead. The papers were due to be signed that very afternoon.

* * *

Collier reached for one of the files lying at the side of the desk. On the front cover there was a small white label. Written across the centre was a single word, Baxter. He opened it, and started to flick through the pages.

The Baxter Corporation had been established in the early spring of 1858, by Baxter’s great grandfather, Thaddeus Jonah Baxter. Originally it was nothing more than a simple loan company, a glorified moneylender offering loans at extortionate rates of interest. The Company had then started to offer mortgages. Gradually the company had built up encompassing a range of financial services regarding property, transport, export and import, trade, shipping and insurance. Then a little over ten years ago it had started to deal in Futures. That was when Collier had joined the firm.

For a while things had been good he remembered. The business had built up significantly, and he was doing nicely, as they say. He gradually worked his way up until he became a Section Head. Then came that little bit of trouble. It was all over something very vague, a large sum of money had gone missing, or something of the kind. Then the accusations of insider trading had started. Fraud was mentioned. Then the rumors began, and quickly spread. But that was all they were, rumors, nothing but rumors, malicious accusations, hearsay. It was nothing more than circumstantial evidence. Finally there was the official enquiry. It could prove nothing of course, but still the rumors continued. Then there was a second enquiry. It was never proved, and no money was ever re-covered, but it had left a nasty taste in the mouth.

He started to tap the file. It was all there. There were copies of the official reports, the newspaper cuttings and the findings of the enquiry. Still there had been no proof, no conclusive evidence. There had been nothing definite. Nonetheless it had been politely suggested that it might be best, for all concerned, if Collier actually sought a position elsewhere. Collier had been forced to resign. Naturally he would be adequately compensated.

* * *

Adequate compensation had been old man Baxter’s suggestion. Oh certainly Collier had received compensation, the equivalent of eight weeks salary. And naturally there had been no possibility of a reference. That was also Baxter’s decision. “I’m sure that you understand?” he had said.

Collier threw the file back down. Oh yes he understood right enough.

He looked at the clock once again. Two forty-three. Time seemed to be going so slowly. He hated waiting, wasting time. He needed to be doing something. Anything as long as it made a profit. He started to drum his fingers on the desk once again. Then he pushed the file away angrily. It slid along the desk, stopping just a few inches from the edge.

Collier turned to the large dark blue, leather bound diary lying close by. He opened it to where the blue marker ribbon indicated the entries for that day. The entry simply read “Baxter 3.30 pm.” It was underlined in red. He flipped the diary closed.

Lying in the middle of the desk was an old fashion leather blotter pad. The blotter paper was pristine, and unused. On top of the pad was a flip top notebook. It was lying open. Written on the open page was the date, together with a heading, “Things to be done.” Underneath was just one word – Baxter. Collier looked at the word for a few moments. He started to laugh and then drew a thick line through the name, and closed the notebook.

Beyond the notebook was an internal intercom. Close by was the telephone. Next to the telephone was a combined Walnut pen tray and desk tidy. There was an array of pens, and pencils, neatly lined up, together with a number of rulers. In front of the desk tidy were a heavy glass paperweight, and a stainless steel letter opener. To the left side of the desk was a desktop computer. Visible on the screen were two words ‘Travers Morgan’. The words continually flew across the screen. Backwards, forwards, up and down, side to side. The computer keyboard had been carelessly pushed to one side. The computer mouse lay dangling over the edge of the desk. For a few moments Collier sat motionless, staring at the keyboard. Suddenly he angrily swept his hand across the desk sending both the keyboard, and the mouse crashing to the ground.

There was a single tap on the office door. Then it opened, and a young lady peered into the room. “I heard a noise,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

Collier looked over at the door. “Everything is fine,” he replied. “Just tell me when they arrive. Now get out.”

The young lady did not need to be told twice.

* * *

Next door to Collier’s office was the Board Room, where the meeting was actually scheduled to take place. Graham Nicholas Baxter would be there, together with his second in command, a Scot by the name of Andrew Kelt. He would also be accompanied by his full legal team. His accountant would be there, together with the Company Treasurer. His solicitor would be there. His Secretary would be there, together with three or four other hangers on, his so-called advisors.

Collier, on the other hand, didn’t need anyone else. He could manage this one quite easily alone. He had looked forward to this day for a very long time. This was to be his day. No one else would be with him. The Baxter team would be there in force, to discuss in details the terms and conditions. But there would be no discussion. The terms had already been decided in his mind. He had already made all of the decisions. The Conditions had already been established. He had set them. They were cast in stone. There was no room for manoeuvre. No possibility to change them. All that Baxter had to do was to simply sign the documents.

Collier checked the clock once again. Three twenty-five. He stood up and walked over to the window again. He looked down into the car park. There was the car, and there was old man Baxter just getting out. As he continued to watch, Baxter suddenly looked up. Collier just stared at him, unsmiling.

* * *

Five minutes later, the buzzer on the intercom suddenly sounded. “They are here, sir,” Joyce announced.

Collier looked across at the wall clock. “Right on time,” he said. They were punctual at least. He had been waiting six years for this day to come. They could easily wait another fifteen minutes. “Thank you Joyce,” he said. “Show them into the Board Room will you? Tell them that I’ll be right there.”

“Should I take in coffee?” she asked.

After he had finished with him old man Baxter would want something a lot stronger than coffee. “That won’t be necessary, Joyce,” Collier replied. He replaced the receiver.

He slowly opened the desk drawer and took out a photograph in a silver frame. He placed it on to the desk and stared at it for a moment. It was of two men, at a formal dinner at the House of Commons. One was a much younger John Wyndham Collier, perhaps no more than twenty-five or thirty years old. The other was a man in his late forties, Graham Nicholas Baxter, Chairman and Chief Executive of the Baxter Corporation.

The photograph had been taken almost ten years ago. Ten years, Collier whispered. How time had flown. Collier had worked for Baxter back then, until he had been fired. Well, he hadn’t exactly been fired. He had been requested to submit his resignation. Oh sure it had all been nice and polite, but at the end of the day he had lost his job.

Things would be different now. Today the tables would, finally, be turned. What was that phrase, something about revenge? Revenge is sweet.

He continued to stare at the photograph for a few moments, and then turned to the newspaper lying to one side. He glanced at the headline. “Scott Lawrence Announce Losses of Thirty Billion.” The third largest financial organization in America was in trouble. How long before they go to the wall. Was that the third, or fourth, of his competitors? Collier started to count. It was the third, the third of his rivals who had been in trouble, the third company that had finally been forced to close down.

How terrible, he whispered, trying to suppress the laughter, how positively dreadful. He could hold the laughter back no more. He quickly flipped through the pages to the business section. He slowly scanned the share prices. Every so often he would beam widely as he noticed the share price of a competitor falling. “Ah, here it is.” He tapped the page. “The Baxter Corporation, today’s low, £5.22. That’s down sixty pence on the day.”

He punched the buttons of a small calculator. “That’s two twenty on the week.” He punched the buttons once more, fourteen percent down in just seven days.

Of the several hundred companies listed, only a handful had shown an improvement on the day. Travers Morgan was one of them. Up by six percent already and there was still another two hours trading before the London markets were due to close.

The intercom buzzer sounded. “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” a voice said. “Mr. Baxter was wondering how much longer you would be.”

Collier looked at the wall clock once again. Not quite fifteen minutes had passed. He started to laugh. “Was he indeed,” he replied. “Tell Mr. Baxter that I shall be there as soon as I can.” He replaced the handset, and looked at the wall clock once again. “Another fifteen minutes should do it,” he whispered. He returned to the newspaper that he was reading.

Chapter Three

Tom Kendall – Private Detective

A little over three thousand miles away, Tom Kendall, Private Detective, was slowly making his way to his office in North Miami Beach. He knew very little about Stocks and Shares, or the Credit Crunch, or bank bailouts, and he cared even less. The Government’s debt of four trillion dollars, or whatever the sum was, give or take a billion or two, didn’t bother him too much either. After all, it was only money wasn’t it? Besides it was far too nice a day to worry about such mundane things anyway. The sun was shining brightly, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and soon he would be going on a well-deserved vacation, his first vacation since he couldn’t remember when. No, he wasn’t the least bit worried. Besides the recession was all but over wasn’t it? The economic crisis was finished. The economy was now well on the way to recovery. At least that’s what the so-called experts were saying.

“Share values climb,” announced The Wall Street Journal. The Dow Jones had made its largest gain in five years. “The worst is over,” said the Federal Reserve. “We can look forward to healthy growth from now on,” said the Treasury.