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It was almost one in the morning when she saw it.
At first she thought she’d made a mistake, and went back to cross-reference the information. But no. She was right the first time. In the small print of all the company records, one name came up over and over again—HM Capital Inc.
Woolley Trucking, Jeff Wilkes’s business, was a wholly owned subsidiary of HM Capital. Trammel Logistics, another of Billy and Milo’s big clients, had been part owned by HM Capital in the year that Hamlin’s went under, although the firm had sold its stake soon afterward. Queens Auto Parts, the supplier Alexia had visited this afternoon, had no obvious connection. But when Alexia typed “De Sallis” into Google, the name of the white knight client who had rescued Queens Auto in the nineties and squeezed Hamlin’s out, there it was again: HM Capital. According to the company’s annual report, HM Capital was a 25 percent shareholder. All in all it added up to a pronounced interest in the Queens and Brooklyn car business, for a private equity group whose other investments were exclusively in the financial sector. Up until 1996, the only businesses in HM Capital’s portfolio were small-cap emerging-market institutions. HM had taken over savings and loan companies in Mogadishu and bought out insurers across the former Soviet Union. All of which begged the obvious question:
What the hell were they doing dabbling around with Hamlin Motors’ clients?
Another forty minutes of searching online failed to provide an answer. Alexia rubbed her eyes wearily. She had to get up and head to the airport in less than five hours and still hadn’t slept a wink. Just as she was about to switch her laptop off and try again to sleep, a thought occurred to her.
Clicking on Advanced Search, she typed in: “HM Capital Directors, Executives.” A list of around twenty names popped up on the screen. About halfway down the list, Alexia did a double take. There was a name she recognized.
It was the last name on earth she’d expected to see.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Teddy De Vere’s hearing was being held at London’s famous High Court on the Strand. Part of the Royal Courts of Justice, a late-Victorian Gothic edifice complete with turrets, ornately carved arches, and an orgy of statuary, from biblical figures to famous lawyers of the day, the High Court provided the stage on which so many of England’s great legal dramas had been played out. In recent years the court had become synonymous with celebrity. The inquest into Princess Diana’s death was held here, along with the privacy trials of various Fleet Street newspapers, with actions brought by Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones, Naomi Campbell, and a host of other A-list names.
Teddy De Vere might not be quite in this category. But together, he and his wife remained one of the best-known, and most controversial couples in British politics. The fact that Alexia De Vere had exited public office stage left at the height of her family’s scandals last year, turning her back on Britain and its media, only served to make her appearance at her husband’s sentencing more newsworthy. The big question was not “How long would Teddy De Vere get?” but “What would Alexia De Vere be wearing?” Had she aged? Had stress made her lose weight or gain it? Did her poor crippled daughter, the erstwhile fiancée of the murdered man, Andrew Beesley, still despise her famous mother, Britain’s second “Iron Lady”? Or would a touching family reconciliation be glimpsed on the High Court’s famous stone steps this morning? These were the burning questions to which the Daily Mail’s readers demanded answers. They might not be in the public interest, as such. But they certainly interested the public. Hundreds of ordinary people had gathered on the Strand to catch a glimpse of Alexia De Vere arriving at court. Between the spectators, the news crews, and the paparazzi, the scene outside the High Court was, as Alexia had rightly predicted, a madhouse.
Happily, she had Angus Grey to guide her through it.
“Just hold my arm, my dear, and keep your eyes fixed straight ahead.”
Angus was looking even more dashing than usual in his barrister’s wig and gown. If Alexia hadn’t known him better, she’d have suspected that a touch of the dermatologist’s needle had softened the lines around his eyes and mouth, although Angus swore a three-week holiday in Mauritius was behind his more youthful look.
“Remember not to look down,” he told Alexia. “It makes you look guilty.”
“For heaven’s sake, Angus. I’m not the one on trial.”
“You are by that lot.” The QC nodded toward the crowd as their car pulled up. As usual, he was right. The moment Angus and Alexia stepped out of the vehicle, the barrage of questions and catcalls was deafening.
“How does it feel to be back?”
“What do you expect today, Mrs. De Vere?”
“Will you stand by your husband?”
“Will your daughter be attending? Mrs. De Vere!”
Alexia’s heart began to race in something akin to panic. To
think I used to enjoy this attention. Thrive on it, even. All I want now is to see Teddy and get this over with.
With Angus Grey leading her, she made it inside the building. A seat had been reserved for her beside Angus at the front of the court, so she didn’t have to face the gawkers in the spectators’ gallery. Even so, walking into the courtroom, she could feel their stares burning through the back of her cream bouclé Chanel jacket.
“Is it just me, or is it warm in here?” she joked to Angus.
“Try to tune them out. Teddy will be here in a minute. He’ll be the last to arrive before the judge and he’ll come through there.” Angus pointed to a carved oak door that looked as if it belonged in a church. “The proceedings shouldn’t take too long. The crown prosecution get to make a brief statement. Victims’ families can also come before the bench at that time, but there’s no one in this case.”
“Really? No one came to speak for Andrew? How sad.”
“It’s a good thing for us,” Angus Grey assured her. “Sobbing mothers and sisters are the last thing Teddy needs. Although the truth is, the judge will already have studied the case in detail. Chances are he made up his mind days ago as to the sentence. All this . . .” He waved around the courtroom. “All this is just for show. Anyway, after the crown’s finished, I say a few words in mitigation, and then it’s straight to the judge’s address. Some of them waffle on for about ten minutes. Usually it’s a minute of moralizing at most. Then they pass sentence, and Teddy will be led down to the cells.”
“Right,” Alexia said grimly. She knew all of this, but hearing Angus spell it out in black and white was still painful.
“You should be able to see him then if you want to. Let me know if you do and I’ll submit the request to the court now.”
Alexia’s mind flashed back to that earlier trial, a lifetime ago and a world away, when Billy Hamlin had been taken down to the holding cell. Her father and Billy’s father had almost come to blows, and she’d slipped in to see Billy, and it was all just awful, terrible, and he’d proposed and she’d accepted—what else could I do?—and when she left she knew she would never see him again. But she had seen him again, and since that day everything, her whole world, had come crashing spectacularly down.
