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‘You’re saying Bob Reid is a pimp?’
‘Oooh, now, I didn’t say that.’ He pulled a sardonic smile. ‘But I would say that he derives an income from immoral earnings.’
‘So, Bob Reid may have had no idea when he rented out his flat that there were hookers moving in.’
‘All in the telling, isn’t it?’ He winked. ‘All in the telling. “Owner of Vice Den” doesn’t look too good on the c.v. does it? Or the assault convictions.’
‘Convictions?’
Kuczynski nodded, even more ebullient. ‘Found guilty at Reading Crown Court of assaulting Miss Amanda Rider. It was mentioned in the local paper, plus a photograph of Miss Rider. Very attractive blonde bird. Model. They’d been living together for four years, lucky sod.’
‘And Reid got a sentence?’
‘Suspended.’
‘Unusual?’
‘Judge said there were mitigating circumstances.’
‘What?’
‘Miss Rider was, it seemed, a very volatile young lady. There’d been an argument when he said he wasn’t going to buy her an MG. She’d started smashing up his place – Meissen vases that had been in the family, that sort of thing. He told the court he had to hit her to make her stop. Judge seemed to agree.’ Kuczynski studied Chris for a moment before exclaiming, ‘But that’s not the point, is it?’ He jabbed him in the ribs. ‘The point is, he done it. Beat up his little woman. Hit this beautiful, vulnerable woman. Plus he owns a brothel. Not just violent, but exploits women. Not a pretty picture, is it?’
‘I don’t see how any of this has the slightest bearing on Project Silo.’ Chris didn’t try to conceal his annoyance. ‘So what if Bob Reid got involved with some temperamental bitch, or was conned by a hooker into renting her his flat?’
Kuczynski’s eyebrows twitched above his sunglasses. ‘Well, old son, I’m sure Elliott could do something with it.’
Chris was still shaking his head when, unable to help himself, Kuczynski continued, ‘As for Ed Snyder at Activ
e Red, well, that’s just another case of your high-flying businessman being led by his balls instead of his brains.’ He glanced over to see if Chris was listening. ‘Just eighteen months ago, his secretary sued him for sexual harassment. He used to touch her up in the office, the dirty sod. Said he’d make it worth her while getting her kit off for him. Company car, holidays in Spain, that kind of thing. He decided to pay her off, out of court, before the media started crawling all over him. Settled for fifty grand. No liability, of course, but it doesn’t sound good, does it?’
They had paused, Kuczynski fiddling in his pocket for a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Just being with this man made Chris feel squalid, as though he’d fallen in a cesspit. The supposed crimes and misdemeanours Kuczynski had dug up didn’t impress him. They only made him wonder what in God’s name he was doing talking to this spiv. After Kuczynski had lit up, they about turned and headed back in the direction they’d come.
‘It’s even worse for Snyder when you discover he’d had an affair with a previous secretary which went on for two years. He’s a married man, you know, three kids. Lots of late nights at the office. While Mrs Snyder’s at home cooking his tea, Mr Red is being very active doing some horizontal jogging.’ Kuczynski laughed uproariously, before resting his hand on Chris’s shoulder for a moment. ‘See, mate, I’m worth every penny of my outrageous fees, aren’t I?’
Chris felt like exploding – telling this jumped-up bovver boy precisely what he thought of him and his outpouring of sleaze. But he judged it wiser to keep schtum. For all he knew, Kuczynski was in charge of monitoring his own activity; the guy who could, at will, have him put into a wetsuit with a dildo up his ass. So instead, Chris only replied, ‘You sure have dug up a lot.’
‘And I’m sure it’s going to be very useful.’ Kuczynski had obviously expected more enthusiasm. ‘If it’s anything like the last investigation I did for Elliott, it will be very useful indeed.’
Chris didn’t begin to wonder what that might have been. Instead, he was remembering the night of his encounter with Jacob Strauss. How he’d been standing by the lifts at Lombard, a towel looped round his neck. ‘I’m going to lap up every last detail,’ he’d said. Chris knew now the kind of details Strauss had been expecting, and why he’d found it so disturbing. Strauss, North and Kuczynski. They all mucked in the same gutter.
Now he turned to Kuczynski and said sincerely, ‘I’m sure the client is going to love your report.’
Kuczynski chuckled. ‘Reward in itself.’ Then, opening his coat and extracting a ring-bound document, ‘You know, I never thought I could call myself a bona fide public relations man but here I am,’ he grinned, handing the document over to Chris, ‘a vital cog in the great Lombard machine.’
Chris tried to pull a smile. ‘Thanks for your work.’ He shook the proffered hand.
Kuczynski bowed elaborately, tipping his hat. ‘Thank you for your custom, old son.’
•••
At her bay window overlooking the courtyard of St John’s College, Ellen Kennedy had been daydreaming for a full half minute before she realised it, and stopped, with a wordless expression of self-reproach. She’d caught herself away with the fairies increasingly of late, much to her annoyance. So little time and so much to do, the thought of wasting precious moments on idle fancies vexed her.
The starting off point was always the same, of course: what if the GlobeWatch money came through? What if she found herself with eighty thousand pounds of funding to put into action the many programmes that had only ever been cherished ideas? The whole scale of her non-academic activities would suddenly change. The balance between her teaching and research would change too. These thoughts excited her enormously. But she was also apprehensive. What a curious feeling, being on the brink of being able to do all she’d dearly wanted to for so many years – and now finding herself nervous about taking the plunge. She supposed the nervousness would soon disappear once she started planning the detail of the programmes she’d be embarking on. She’d already spent some time going through the document she’d presented to the GlobeWatch Executive Council, writing in the margins names of the various assistants she would approach, making a note of rooms available for hire which could constitute the base of her new operations. She’d never indulged in this kind of detailed planning before – she had no time for wandering about in realms of pure fantasy. But now it was all tantalisingly close.
She’d had no doubt that her proposals had gone down well with the Executive Council, just as the other Council members’ suggestions had struck her as eminently reasonable. Many of their ideas, like hers, had been developed and discussed over several years, in various different forums, always in search of a suitable sponsor. Not only did Claude Bonning hold the key to realising her own dreams, he could also make real the cherished dreams of others. She’d heard stories of his fundraising credentials while he was at Family First, an organisation that had grown exponentially while he’d been at the helm. But his performance with GlobeWatch had been masterful. The list of companies donating to the new body couldn’t fail to impress – they read like a Who’s Who of corporate Britain. And although the individual amounts donated by each company weren’t revealed, the total; £250,000 was an astonishing sum to have raised for an organisation that was just starting up.
However, Ellen couldn’t overlook Claude’s somewhat lower credibility in other areas of GlobeWatch’s organisation. Although the Executive Council had been convened in an orderly fashion, all very democratic and consensus-orientated, it seemed to her that, in his impatience to get things off the ground, Claude had chosen to ignore procedures that she considered important. Three days after the Executive Council meeting, minutes had arrived in the post. Unlike some of her more lackadaisical colleagues in voluntary organisations, Dr Kennedy was punctilious about reading minutes of meetings. And she couldn’t help noticing, in the note about ‘GlobeWatch Awards’, that Executive Council members were to tell Claude if they disagreed with any of the proposed companies he’d short listed for the awards, or it would be assumed they were happy with his choices.
