Erin clicked on a folder labelled ‘entertaining’ and found the details of several florists. One name, however, was highlighted in bold, and Erin scribbled down the name and number. She was just about to close the folder when her eye was drawn to a file called ‘Christmas Gifts’. Intrigued, she clicked it opened and started reading a long list of presents that Adam had given to his family and friends the previous Christmas, all carefully documented by his former PA. Well, it wouldn’t do to send Mummy a Hockney two years on the run, would it? she thought. But it was an impressive lineup. Art, designer clothes, handbags, spa weekends; they had all gone to his family, assistants, godchildren and friends. Not to mention the cigars, wine and hampers that had gone to clients and contacts. It was only halfway down the page that she saw something that made her heart leap into her mouth. She looked around her anxiously and quickly closed the file.
Last Christmas, Marcus Blackwell had received a bottle of 1947 Château Henri Jacques.
Chris was having a very late lunch at his desk, a quiet booth located behind the newsroom. His cubicle was an untidy space, spilling over with papers, magazines, press releases and a mountain of chocolates, sauces, exotic spirits and brand-new soft drinks, all received from manufacturers and vintners vying for Chris’s attention and column inches. He had finished his stories for the week and was using the free time at his disposal to catch up on the last few days’ press, his mind wandering between the world’s event
s and thoughts of his own involvement in one particular news story. The Karin Cavendish story had cooled in the press at least, he noted, flicking through all the tabloids and broadsheets. Just a small piece in the Mail, nothing new. He was just scanning the Financial Times when a headline on page nine caught his attention: Computer Giant Ginsui In Takeover Bid.
His eyes widened as he tried to remember his conversation with Erin days earlier. When Michael Wright had interviewed Erin on the day she had found Karin’s body, he’d asked her if she knew who Ginsui was. Apparently Karin had written the name as a diary entry for the day she died. Wright had clearly assumed Ginsui was the name of a person, thought Chris, chewing the tip of his biro. But it was the name of a company, a large Japanese computer manufacturer. His mind began to ponder its significance but his thought process felt blocked.
Ginsui, Ginsui. Ginsui. Why would Karin have an appointment at Ginsui?
Over the top of his booth he could see some of his colleagues walking around the newsroom, fetching coffee, walking between departments; the usual semi-frenetic activity as deadlines loomed for the first editions of tomorrow’s paper. Out of the corner of his eye he could see City Editor Alistair Crompton heading to his office in the corner of the room.
‘Are you busy?’ asked Chris, popping his head round the door.
Alistair smiled up at him. ‘I’ve got a phone interview in about five minutes, but grab a chair.’
Chris grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with water from the cooler before sitting opposite Alistair, a balding man in his fifties with red cheeks and a jovial manner.
Chris paused a moment before he spoke. He knew he had to tell Alistair the facts as he knew them. ‘What would you say about a friend of mine who had the word Ginsui written in her diary four days before the takeover was announced?
‘Does this friend invest in stocks and shares?’
‘Let’s say they do,’ said Chris, taking a sip of water.
‘And is this friend connected? Do they have friends, contacts, advisers in the City?’ continued Alistair, pouring himself a cup of tea from a pot in front of him.
‘This friend is very rich and very connected. Her boyfriend owns a number of investment companies.’
‘Then I’d say it sounded a little suspicious,’ smiled Alistair.
‘Why?’ asked Chris, his heart thumping.
‘It could of course be entirely innocent. Maybe your friend was reminding herself to go and buy a Ginsui computer,’ he said, smiling cynically. ‘On the other hand your friend could have been tipped off to buy shares that were certain to rise in value. Maybe she’d written it in her diary to remind her to buy them.’
‘Insider dealing?’ asked Chris.
‘It’s rampant,’ said Alistair, sipping the tea. ‘Far more so than the FSA would care to admit.’
‘Where would somebody completely unconnected with the electronics industry get a tip-off about Ginsui?’
‘There can be hundreds of people who know market-sensitive information prior to a takeover. A banker, a broker, a lawyer, a financial PR. Any connected friend could have tipped her off. It could even have come via the boyfriend if he’s a big City player and he’d heard something.’
Chris suddenly felt a cold chill. Had Adam been feeding Karin share tips? Could that have had anything to do with her getting murdered? Money was always a strong motive.
He thanked Alistair and headed quickly back to his desk. He had to get in contact with Erin. If she hadn’t contacted Inspector Wright already he was going to do it himself. This was getting serious.
Driving his navy-blue Ford down Knightsbridge, Michael Wright slapped the palm of his hand against the steering wheel with frustration. They had been forced to release Evan Harris twelve hours earlier and he just did not have enough evidence to arrest Molly. The forensic team working in Karin’s house hadn’t thrown up any strong leads, except that the murder weapon was a glass candlestick that had smashed on contact with Karin’s neck. Only half of the candlestick was on Karin’s floor in pieces around her body. The other half the murderer must have taken with him or her.
He was banging his head against a brick wall with this case. It was a high-profile murder; a rich, beautiful socialite beaten to death in her own home. It had dominated the newspapers for days. The powers that be would want a successful conviction, and Michael knew they did not have a strong enough case against either of the primary suspects. He was due to speak to Summer Sinclair at the hospital in a couple of hours; he was determined to find out who the father of her child was and where she was on Monday evening, because that could put a different complexion on everything. In the meantime, he was going to return to Karin’s house and look again. Long experience told him that there was always something else, always something that had been overlooked. He had to find it. His mouth set in a thin, determined line and he stepped on the accelerator.
Erin had spent the last two hours staring at her computer screen wondering what to do. She had tried the phone number Michael Wright had given her, but she had only reached the incident room at Scotland Yard, where an unfamiliar voice had told her that Chief Inspector Wright would not be back until later. When Erin had been asked if any of the other officers could assist her, she had quickly declined. She knew that her wine-bottle information was just a theory, and she had a feeling that only someone like DCI Wright would take it seriously.
Adam had gone out immediately after their meeting, being unusually vague about where he was heading. She knew he had been invited to Mikhail Lebokov’s drinks party that evening, but that didn’t start for another two hours. She had a sudden thought and walked down the corridor to Marcus’s office. As she had suspected, the room was empty, but his PA Candy was sitting outside, making full use of her boss’s absence by applying a layer of topcoat to her freshly painted scarlet fingernails.
‘Hi honey,’ smiled Candy, ‘listen, I’m dying for a cigarette. Do you mind watching the phones for ten minutes.’
‘No problem. Where’s Marcus?’ asked Erin nonchalantly.