The Account. Roderick Mann

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СКАЧАТЬ could not imagine the elderly banker walking a mile to the lakeside on a freezing winter’s night without an overcoat.

      There was something else. He had no key in his pocket. Had he just walked out without locking the door? That, too, seemed unlikely.

      Inspector Thibault, the police officer investigating the banker’s death, had dismissed any suggestion of foul play by pointing out that there were no signs of a struggle. Cristiani had been astonished at such naivety. Only two years before there had been a report of a drowning in Lake Garda, ostensibly due to suicide. Later a man had confessed to the murder. The victim’s hands and legs had been bound with tape, he explained, before being lowered over the side of a boat with a rope around his waist. When he was dead the man’s body had been pulled back to the surface and the tapes and rope removed. No signs of struggle. An apparent suicide.

      Cristiani had met di Marco several times, most recently when they had dined at the same restaurant. They had talked briefly and di Marco had asked to see him again. He had seemed agitated. Cristiani told him to call. A few days later, sounding nervous, di Marco had telephoned to set up a dinner appointment. Before they could meet again he was found dead.

      When Cristiani telephoned Paul Eberhardt to discuss di Marco’s death and voice his concern about the coat and the key, the banker had seemed equally baffled.

      ‘I’ve thought about that myself,’ Eberhardt said. ‘I simply don’t understand it. It’s a complete mystery. Why did he do this terrible thing?’

      Cristiani listened politely. Although he knew Eberhardt only slightly, the elderly banker had intrigued him ever since a rumour had surfaced a few years earlier that he was being blackmailed. The rumour stemmed from the fact that he had continued paying a former officer of his bank, a man named André Leber, 10,000 francs a month even though he had left the bank several years earlier. Cristiani’s enquiries had come to nothing and in the end he had concluded that if the banker wanted to support a former colleague that was his affair. Leber had later died in a car accident.

      Frustrated, Cristiani made his way homeward, holding his umbrella with both hands against the gusting rain. Perhaps the death of di Marco had been a genuine suicide, he decided. That was what the police and the coroner had determined. But if it wasn’t, was it something to do with Paul Eberhardt?

      Paul Eberhardt had spent an anxious morning. The phone call from Cristiani had worried him. Inspector Thibault was the man handling the di Marco investigation – yet it was Cristiani who was asking all these questions: What had di Marco’s mood been when he left the bank that night? Was he depressed? How long was it before he was due to retire? Had anything happened at the bank to upset him?

      Eberhardt felt he had answered the questions well, but he could tell Cristiani was not satisfied. He had brought up the question of di Marco’s overcoat and the fact that he had left his apartment unlocked.

      Eberhardt had confessed himself baffled.

      What had surprised him was to learn that di Marco had invited Cristiani to dinner in Lausanne – far enough away to ensure privacy. So di Marco was going to tell his story just as he had threatened. And to an investigator of the Federal Banking Commission. Thank God he had acted in time to stop that.

      He reached for his coffee. It had grown cold. He rang for Marte to bring him a fresh cup. He was safe. He was convinced of that. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

Chapter 9

      Michael Chadwick had booked a table at the Connaught Grill, a place he often entertained clients and where, Julia knew, he would charge their dinner to expenses. He was in a buoyant mood.

      ‘So how’s the new manager?’ he asked after they had ordered.

      ‘I’ve hardly seen him,’ Julia said. ‘He’s been locked away in his office.’ When the news of Moscato’s appointment to the Burlington had first broken she had considered telling Michael about what had happened in Italy. In the end she had said nothing.

      ‘It won’t affect you, will it?’

      ‘I hope not.’

      He turned to her, a smile on his face.

      ‘If it does I’ve got the solution.’

      ‘What’s that?’

      ‘Come with me to Australia. We’ll get married there.’

       ‘What?’

      ‘I’ve been offered a job with Myers-Barswell.’

      Julia took his hand. ‘Michael, that’s wonderful.’ Myers-Barswell, she knew, was one of the top advertising agencies in Australia. It was the kind of firm Michael had dreamed of joining. ‘When did all this happen?’

      ‘Yesterday. I had a long talk with them. They know my work well. And it’s big money. So this is a celebration.’

      Julia leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’m thrilled for you,’ she said. She felt like a hypocrite as she said it. Their relationship had dragged on because she had not had the heart to end it. Now, out of nowhere, the opportunity had presented itself.

      ‘So what do you think?’

      ‘It’s wonderful news …’

      ‘I mean, shall we do it?’

      ‘Michael.’ She laughed nervously. ‘I can’t just walk out on my contract.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘They’d sue me.’

      ‘Come on, Julia. The Sultan adores you. Tell him what’s happened. He’ll understand.’

      ‘You know how I feel about you,’ she said. It sounded weak and she knew it. ‘It’s just –’

      ‘You don’t want to marry me,’ he said flatly.

      ‘It’s not that. It’s just – well, marriage scares me. Not marriage to you; marriage to anyone.’

      ‘So how long are you going to wait?’ he demanded. ‘You’re thirty-three years old. You say you’d like a child. You can’t put it off forever.’

      ‘Please, Michael, let’s not argue.’ She tried to inject a little enthusiasm into her voice. ‘Everyone says Sydney is terrific. You’ll have a wonderful time …’

      ‘Don’t push so hard,’ Michael said. ‘I get the message.’ He looked up sharply as the wine waiter came over with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. ‘That’s not for us.’

      ‘Compliments of the gentleman over there.’ The wine waiter inclined his head and proceeded to uncork the bottle. Both of them looked across the crowded Grill. In the far window alcove Robert Brand was sitting with a handsome, well-dressed woman who looked to be in her early forties. Brand raised his glass to them.

      ‘Who’s that?’ Michael demanded stiffly.

      Julia felt her face flush. She felt suddenly embarrassed. СКАЧАТЬ