Carver - By Tom Cain Page 0,25

five years. If he was only there to get rid of him, surely he’d have done it by now?’

‘Unless someone has got to him recently.’

‘I can’t see why. Zorn pays very well. There’d be little financial incentive to betray him.’

‘How about blackmail? A man like Razzaq is bound to have dirty secrets in his past.’

‘And a man like Zorn is almost certain to know what they are already. Besides, I don’t get the impression Zorn gives a damn about that kind of thing. He makes his own mind up and acts accordingly. He’s not interested in social or political conventions, or what anyone else thinks – not unless he can make money from it. Razzaq could have wiped out whole villages or buggered orphans by the score; Zorn’s not going to worry.’

‘So that leaves only one possibility,’ said Carver.

‘What’s that?’ asked Grantham, frowning again in puzzlement.

‘Simple: Razzaq is still working for Zorn. He’s doing what Zorn wants.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Are you trying to tell me Malachi Zorn wants to die? The man has just set up an investment fund worth a minimum ten billion quid.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘So you know he’s coming to London for the big public launch party?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you know that your old friend Alix is one of the guests?’

This time Carver really was caught off guard, unable to stop the momentary look of shock in his eyes. Grantham relished his discomfort, always glad of an opportunity to get one over on a man who had often got the better of him.

‘Thought not,’ he said.

‘Doesn’t make any difference,’ Carver retorted. ‘The party’s not going to take place because Zorn has to be dead by then. Razzaq was very insistent about that. No way was Zorn going to make it to the party.’

Grantham frowned, his momentary triumph over Alix forgotten as he took in this new information. He looked out across the lake towards the Alps, as if seeking some answer hidden among the distant, snow-topped mountains. ‘I’m sorry, maybe I’m missing something. What possible reason could there be for Malachi Zorn to come over all suicidal, now of all times?’

‘I have no idea. And what’s more, I don’t care, because I’m not going to be the one that does it. I’m not taking the job.’

‘Really? I thought you had no choice. You have a murder charge hanging over you.’

‘That’s happened to me before, in case you’ve forgotten,’ said Carver. ‘But I’m still here, aren’t I? I’ll deal with Razzaq, whoever he’s working for.’

‘About that murder charge … the other one …’ Grantham began.

‘What about it?’

‘I have a file, you know. I compiled it in the months after you and I first met. Did a little digging around. Had some colleagues in France look through CCTV footage. Checked your movements, looked into a few Panamanian bank accounts and shell corporations, that kind of thing.’

‘I can’t say that surprises me,’ said Carver.

‘And although I never quite found a smoking gun – or should that be a shining laser? – I did put you there or thereabouts, as they say.’

‘She died in an accident,’ Carver replied flatly. ‘There’s been an inquest. It’s official.’

‘Oh, I agree. And there’s nothing to be gained by raking over that old ground. But I’m sure you know what did for Al Capone. It wasn’t the racketeering, or the corruption or even the Valentine’s Day massacre—’

Carver completed the sentence: ‘It was tax evasion.’

‘Good,’ nodded Grantham, ‘I thought you’d get the point. The fact is, you’ve made a lot of money over the years, Carver, and you’ve paid sod all in tax. That’s very antisocial. The Revenue would be most upset.’

‘It’s none of their business. I’ve not lived in the UK for years.’

‘Come on, you’re smarter than that. You’ve been paid money by lots of people in lots of different tax jurisdictions. Unless you’ve signed the appropriate forms, which I very much doubt, you will now owe tax, plus interest, in all those jurisdictions. That’s a lot of pissed-off authorities. Once they start digging over your affairs and finding out who paid you the money, well, those’ll be some seriously pissed-off clients. They’ll want to shut you up. Not nice.’

‘Unbelievable. First Razzaq, now you … so much for my holiday.’

‘That’s life.’

‘And don’t tell me … You can make all this grief go away if I do what you want. So what’s that?’

‘The same thing Razzaq wanted,’ said Grantham, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. ‘Tell him you’ll assassinate Malachi Zorn.’

Carver contacted Razzaq within the