I left the Coles’ house before I was asked to leave. Besides, I couldn’t hang around. Vivienne McKenzie had emailed me first thing and requested a meeting at chambers and although I was dreading speaking to her, I knew I had no option but to return to work.
My plan was to slip into Burgess Court, undetected, during lunch. It was a Friday, when most of chambers scattered to local pubs. I figured I could sweep my office, catch up with Paul, speak to Vivienne and be gone before most of my colleagues got back at 3 p.m. The last thing I wanted to do was bat off pitying questions about my meltdown in court, when I had more important things to do.
I was on the bus, gunning towards Piccadilly, when my phone rang.
‘Francine?’
I didn’t recognize the voice immediately and Alex Cole had to formally introduce himself.
‘We need to talk.’
I was no real surprise that he’d called me, although my heart was racing hard. He was calm, but insistent that we should meet. I was annoyed that it interfered with my plan to swoop in and out of chambers, but when he said he could get there within the hour, I reckoned I would still make my two forty-five with Vivienne and leave Middle Temple before the pub crowd returned.
Our designated meeting spot, Riojas, was a wine bar on a Theatreland back street. It looked like a cross between a gentleman’s club and an East End boozer: dark wood-panelled interior walls, rickety captain’s chairs and marked tables that looked as if they hadn’t been replaced since the Krays stalked the streets of Soho.
Alex was already there in a corner table. There was a bottle of red wine in front of him, and a half-full glass of red. I approached him with the sinking feeling I used to get whenever I was sent to see the head teacher for a dressing down.
‘Hello, Alex,’ I said, sitting down.
He picked up the bottle to offer me some, but I shook my head.
‘Don’t you drink now?’
He looked at me as if this was both an accusation and a criticism.
‘I’m sure it’s good but I’m on my way to chambers.’
His lips were stained cherry red, but he didn’t look at all relaxed, quite the opposite.
‘Sophie said that you’d been round to the house today,’ he said finally.
I thought about Mrs Cole’s grown-up speech about all pulling in the same direction, but I knew I had been right: her loyalties were to Alex and I couldn’t fault her for that, even though I’m not sure I’d have felt the same way.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I nodded. ‘I had some information to give Martin. I assume you know what that was.’
‘The same information you gave to the police,’ he said tartly.
He downed the rest of his wine, lifting the bottle to pour a refill before he’d even swallowed.
‘I could have told the police things too, Fran. About your relationship with Martin. But we didn’t.’
‘We?’ I asked, raising a brow.
‘Sophie talked me down.’
‘I don’t suppose that was done entirely altruistically.’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ he said simply. ‘We did it for the business.’
A waitress came to take my order, looking uncomfortable, as if she had intruded on a lovers’ tiff. I asked for a glass of water and she hurried off to the bar, glancing back until she thought it was safe to return.
‘The Gassler Partnership has over a billion pounds under management, were you aware of that?’ said Alex, slurring his words slightly. ‘Our investors are names you’ve probably heard of. We have an algorithmic trading method that is the envy of the trade. But above everything else, we have our reputation,’ he said, his hand balling into a fist on the table.
‘Our reputation as investment managers is tied to the return our investors think we can give back to them. Without that, we’re nothing. So what do you think happens when you’ve got one partner arrested in connection with his wife’s disappearance, and another one hauled in to the police station because someone said he was screwing his partner’s wife? We’re ruined.’
Angry spittle had beaded on his lip and as he wiped it away he tried to compose himself. For a moment I saw the dark side of the alpha male.
‘Do you think it’s come to that?’ I asked calmly. I’d acted for a lot of bankers but I didn’t know that much about the financial sector and the fine details of how it worked.
‘We have at least two private equity groups interested in acquiring a minority stake,’ said Alex, lowering his voice but pointing a finger for emphasis. ‘They’re still circling. But one investor has already hinted they might pull out their money if there’s any more “embarrassment”’ – he used hooked fingers to book-end the word – ‘and it won’t take much to bring the whole house of cards tumbling down. We have to keep everything locked down, Fran. Everything.’
He sat forward, peering at me.
‘Do nothing without speaking to me or Martin, so we can run it past our crisis-management team. I mean it.’
I shrugged, then nodded, pondering his choice of words. House of cards.
‘In which case, can I ask you a question?’
He shrugged, his narrow eyes almost disappearing into thin black slits.
‘Did you have an affair with Donna?’
‘No,’ he said finally.
‘You’re not speaking to your wife now. Or the police.’
He puffed out his cheeks, glanced down at the pink-stained tablecloth and then back at me.
‘Look, something happened. Once. A drunken kiss, maybe a year ago. It was at a friend’s summer party in the country. I’d had some coke, so had she. It was a warm night, lots of those lanterns hanging everywhere to make it look romantic.’
He said the word with disdain and looked into the distance as if he was thinking about that night with equal contempt.
‘We didn’t sleep together,’ he said, looking back at me. ‘Frankly, there wasn’t time. And there was no relationship once we got back to London. I’m not stupid. Donna is my business partner’s wife. And I am also married. Divorce and the dissolution of my business doesn’t feel like a good trade for a quick fling. Besides, I love my wife and I love Martin like a brother.’
I let that statement slide.
‘So where is Donna?’ I asked. ‘What do you think happened that night?’
I’d had this conversation with myself over and over. I’d talked about it with Clare and Phil, but none of us knew Martin as well as Alex Cole did.
He looked less self-assured now, as if the wine had drained his confidence rather than bolstered it.
‘Martin is a brilliant man,’ he said, staring at the stem of his glass. ‘I knew that the first day I met him at uni. In our group, he just stood out. He had more confidence than the Old Etonians, he was smarter than the postgrad brains. We got taken on by the same bank as part of their trainee scheme. At first I cursed my luck that I was in his intake, that I could never shine when he was among us, but then I decided to ride on his coat-tails.’
He swilled the remains of his wine around the bottom of his glass.
‘Martin wanted it more than any of us,’ said Alex, his voice quiet. ‘That’s what always gave him the edge. He was always prepared to work harder than everyone else, go that little bit further.’
‘What are you saying, Alex?’
‘What I’m saying is that I don’t want to think about what happened that night.’
‘You believe he could have hurt Donna?’
He snorted softly.
‘Speak to some of our business associates. If you told them Donna was after half of his money, they wouldn’t be surprised that she has disappeared.’
‘What business associates?’
Alex had almost polished off the entire bottle of red wine. He glanced anxiously towards the bar like a junkie after his next hit.
I looked at him, urging him to focus.
‘Hedge Funds bet on the market,’ he conceded. ‘Our fund invests in different ways: bonds, stock, currencies, gold … We buy, we sell, we short. Algorithms help – spotting anomalies in the market. But really we’re only as good as our information.’
He hesitated.
‘Two years ago we were given a tip. Martin had a friend. Richard Chernin. He promised Martin a tip about a billion-dollar merger in exchange for a loan. Martin gave him the money, but the tip didn’t come. He must have got cold feet about breaching FSA regulations. But he kept Martin’s money.’
He paused for dramatic effect, sinking the last of the wine. I bit my lip and waited.
‘Chernin claimed he was being intimidated and threatened to go to the police. A few days later he was the victim of a hit-and-run. He ended up with two broken legs.’
‘You’re saying Martin was involved?’
Alex continued as if I hadn’t spoken: ‘Chernin arranged to meet me, in confidence. He was convinced it was Martin who had organized the accident hit, said he’d threatened to kill him if he didn’t return the money. With interest.’
I looked at him and found him worryingly convincing.
‘If you really believe that about Martin, then why are you letting him stay at your house?’
‘What was I supposed to say? No? Besides, we don’t know that anything has happened to Donna. She might be fine,’ he said, in a tone that suggested he didn’t believe it.
‘I’m just telling you this because you’re his lawyer and I want you to know the full facts. Forewarned is forearmed and all that. If you know what negative information is out there on Martin, you know how you can firefight it. I’d appreciate it if you did me the same favour. If you hear that Martin is going to be charged. I need to know.’
He pulled out his wallet, took out two twenty-pound notes and put them on the table to pay for his wine.
‘Love hurts,’ he said as he stood up and touched my shoulder. ‘Good to see you, Fran.’ And he walked out of the bar.