details of only three individuals.'
'And every single one of them ...?'
'Every single one of them has paid at least one visit to a health club known as the Private House.'
it's serious, Jem.' Mike McKenzie was slumped against the door of his Daimler; he was haggard and unshaven, and for the first time Jem considered that he looked as old as his forty-three years. 'Sorry to drag you down here, but I can't talk inside. Walls have ears. Even company cars can be bugged.'
it's another fine day, MM. You sit on your company Daimler. I'll sit on my company Golf. What's the problem?'
'You mean you haven't noticed?'
'Oh. That problem. New business drying up, debtors reluctant to settle their accounts, suppliers screwing down our credit limits, the bank calling in our overdraft, and nasty rumours about us in the trade press.'
'Very perceptive. Some of that information is supposed to be confidential. If there was any point worrying about it, Td start worrying about the ambitions of my over-intelligent Sales Manager. But there isn't any point, so I'll ask her a favour instead.'
'What sort of favour?'
'Dirty work. I want you to be my secret agent.'
'Tell me about it.'
'Where do I start? Jem, the company's in a mess. Starting about three months ago, everything went wrong at once.'
'Last year was good. Sales up fifty per cent.'
i know. A lot of that was your doing, too, Jem. We were maybe overtrading a little, and that hasn't helped now the crunch has come. Suddenly, we're being attacked on all sides: contracts cancelled, customers not paying, suppliers not delivering, rumours flying all over the place. At first I thought it was coincidence - just a patch of lousy luck.'
'And now?'
'Now I've been approached to sell the company. For a ludicrously low figure.'
'Don't you own the shares?'
'I have the largest slice. My brother has some, also my wife. The executive directors have a few each. And a big chunk of the equity is held by the bank. If I sell, the company changes hands, that's for sure.'
'So who is making this offer you can't refuse?'
'Jem, you'll never believe it.'
Inspector Larson minced no words when telling the bespectacled boffin that he had wasted his own time and, even more reprehensively, that he had dragged a senior plainclothes policewoman down to Hendon on exactly the wild goose chase that her Ch'ief had predicted. But she took the print-outs and made a mental note of the address of the
Private House before she stormed out of the computer centre.
She commandeered a vacant office in the nearby Police Training School, and had lifted the telephone before the door had had time to slam behind her.
That's the address, Bert. Now give me the name that goes with it. And I don't want the name of the sitting tenant, or the holding company, or the caretaker's dog. I want the name of the man who owns this Private House, OK? ... It's who ? Terence Headman? The Terence Headman? ... Well, I'll be damned.'
'You've got it, Jem. The Terence Headman. He made the bid through one of his subsidiary companies, of course, but I did some homework. He's behind it.'
'What does a property tycoon want with Executive Environments, MM?'
'Beats me, Jem. But his interests are wider than the press reports tell us. I've been digging up information about him. The trouble is, I can't dig up any dirt.'
'And you think he's behind the problems we've been having?'
'His representatives as good as admitted it. Bragged about it. They seem to know about every move I make. That's why I'm so paranoid - why we're talking out here. I'm almost convinced my office is bugged. It's like Headman has someone looking over my shoulder all the time. And he's certainly got the clout to bugger up our business. I'm sure it's him. And if he keeps up the pressure, we'll go under. We can't last much longer. I'll be forced to sell.'
'So you want me to dig up some dirt?'
'I don't know that there is any dirt, Jem. That's why I have to ask you to do this as a