Silent Money Read online

  Audrey thought for a second. ‘No, I don’t think so. In fact, not that many customers across Scotland. But it makes us look as if we’re doing something, I suppose. That’s what’s important.’

  This changed everything. Michael needed to diversify, and do it fast; start up these new schemes before Alba Transport became big enough to be picked up on the radar. That meant bringing forward the moment when he got into this full time. Ron would be pleased; he was getting more and more agitated at Michael’s reluctance to quit his bank job and put the new schemes into action.

  ‘About bloody time,’ he said when Michael told him his decision. ‘We could be doing a lot more business than you’ll let me. I’m running out of excuses not to take some of the cash that’s getting offered to us. Some big players are interested, and they’re not used to people saying no.’

  ‘One step at a time, Ron. These turnover and cash limits are key, and my contact might not have been willing to give me as much detail if I wasn’t at the bank anymore. As long as there’s stuff to find out, I need to stay where I am.’ He shook his head. ‘But don’t worry, I want out as soon as possible. Once we’re ready, I’ll quit in a heartbeat. You don’t know how much I want to get out of there.’

  Then Ron came with the news that Billy Carlisle had been arrested for burglary. Michael was not impressed.

  ‘I thought the deal was we only worked with professionals. He was the first one you trusted to use our operation and now he’s behind bars?’

  ‘Getting collared is an occupational hazard in this line of work. He was unlucky, it could have happened to anyone.’ He glared at Michael to cover up his discomfort. ‘Trust me, Billy’s not a problem. He’s not going to own up to the nest egg he’s got salted away, and he’d never rat. And I shouldn’t need to convince you. It’s me that’s at risk; I’m the one he’d grass on. You’d have a failed business venture, but I’d be the one to go down. I don’t need to remind you of that.’

  Michael could see Ron’s mounting anxiety. He was right – Ron was the one who should be worried. But the cops were getting one step closer to them, and Michael didn’t like it.

  ‘Okay. We knew this would happen eventually. Another test of the system, I suppose. See what you can find out about what’s happening to Billy.’

  Michael couldn’t understand why he felt so unsettled by Billy’s arrest. His business model assumed the inevitability of some clients being arrested, and safeguards had been put in place to make sure the operation, and especially he, remained undetected. It was probably a good thing that the first test came from someone that Ron had personally vouched for. But it was moving from a theoretical scenario to stark reality. That’s what made it so unsettling.

  A few days later, the police arrived at the bank. Mason was at lunch, so Michael ushered them into a meeting room.

  ‘What can I do to help?’ he asked.

  Michael held his breath as they spoke. ‘We arrested a petty criminal, Billy Carlisle, two days ago,’ said the senior officer. ‘Stolen goods, so we had a warrant to search his home. It seems he has a bank account here. We want to check it for any sign of criminal activity. Can you let us see his last two years’ bank statements?’

  Michael could not believe his stupidity. Billy Carlisle was also a customer at his branch. And he didn’t know. He only had himself to blame. Ron couldn’t have been expected to know where Billy did his regular banking, and Billy himself would be unaware of the connection. This was one big coincidence. But a coincidence that could cost him dearly.

  Michael returned with the file. ‘I’m afraid our branch records only go back eighteen months. If you want anything further back, I’d have to have them retrieved from the microfiche in Edinburgh.’

  ‘This should give us enough of a picture,’ one of them said. He flicked through the file. ‘You know, it’s very odd. Carlisle doesn’t seem to have any income from gainful employment, and he had lots of cash paid in for widely varying amounts all through last year. All that you’d expect to see from a villain. But four months ago, it all seems to have changed. Regular cash payments for round amounts, enough to cover his expenses. Like he has a regular source of income. He says he does piecework, casual labour, and this seems to back it up. Are you sure he doesn’t have any other account here?’

  ‘I’ll do another check, but I’m pretty sure not,’ Michael replied. ‘Unless under another name. Do you maybe have an alias I could check under?’

  ‘Not that we know about. Damn. Well, it looks like we’ve only got him for the job where he was caught red-handed. If he has been up to anything else recently, the slippery bugger has managed to hide it from us. And the trail will be cold on these cash transactions.’ The detective smiled thinly. ‘Never thought Billy Carlisle was smart enough to cover his trail like this.’

  The police left empty-handed, and Michael could barely contain his elation. From a moment of the utmost dread, it had turned out to be a vindication of everything he had been working on. The containment strategy had worked, there was no paper trail linking Billy to the transit account or on to Ron. But most importantly, he had seen that people like Billy Carlisle kept their mouths shut when caught.

  ‘Now we’re ready,’ he told Ron that evening. ‘Billy has inadvertently been the perfect test of whether our system is bombproof. Somebody gets caught and the police find that, completely out of character, he has suddenly managed to hide all the money he’s stolen and nobody thinks it could be part of a bigger operation. You’ve got people queuing up to give us their cash. I’ve had chapter and verse from the bank’s auditors about what they look for in irregularities, and the Fraud Squad have told me how they go about an investigation. Nobody spots what we’re doing even when I push the Alba Transport file under their noses. You say there’s lots of demand for this, Ron. Give me a month after leaving the bank, and I’ll take care of all the business you can get for me. Think you can handle it?’

  Ron grinned. ‘I’ll have a bloody good try.’

  Michael handed in his notice the next day. His colleagues all wished him well, but the look in their eyes told Michael how foolhardy they all thought he was being, starting his own business at the height of a recession. Their scepticism made him all the more determined to succeed.

  He started the formalities of setting up a company and getting office space sorted out. It didn’t take long to find the perfect property, a discreet end-of-terrace office just off George Square, with a useful back door leading onto a side street if he ever had to make a surreptitious exit. He paid the deposit and first six months’ rent from the money he had managed to salt away already.

  Now he was going to hit the big time.

  chapter eight

  Michael was two weeks into his notice when a young woman he didn’t recognise came into the bank. She had an air of quiet confidence which fascinated and unsettled him at the same time, with fine aristocratic features as smooth as a porcelain figurine. She announced that she wished to open an account and lodge a little money, that she was starting back at university next month and needed an account in Glasgow as Coutts didn’t have a branch there.

  When Michael looked at her chequebook he did a double take. ‘Lady Charlotte Aldford? Not so many people with titles at Glasgow University. St Andrews, maybe Edinburgh at a push.’ Despite his best efforts, he found himself being impressed.

  ‘Charlotte, please. My family have connections with Glasgow, apparently,’ she explained. She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘I suspect we dabbled in slavery, but the official line is that we were tobacco barons. Made a lot of political donations at the turn of the century to have our past disappear and become respectable, which secured the first Earl of Aldford his title from a grateful David Lloyd George. Four generations later, I’m the result. My father was the Earl.’

  ‘You’re studying Fine Art at Glasgow?’ Michael said, checking her application form. ‘Well, there will be n
o problem in opening an account here, if you wish. Anything else I can help you with?’

  ‘My financial affairs are rather complicated,’ she replied. She looked down, avoiding Michael’s eyes. ‘The thing is, my father passed away rather suddenly a few months ago. I was in Europe with friends at the time, took a year out from uni. The house and estate is going to my younger brother, Timmy, with the rest of the inheritance being split three ways between the two of us and my mother. My parents separated about five years ago, but everyone is still on speaking terms. Very civilised.’

  There was something she was not telling him.

  ‘Sorry to hear about your father. Is it investment advice you want? That’s certainly something I can arrange for you.’

  ‘No, that’s not why I’m here. Mine and Timmy’s share of the estate has been put in trust until we’re twenty-one – six months away in my case – and the trustees are real stick-in-the-muds about me squandering any of it. Keep me on a tight rein. They have Coutts send them a copy of my statements every month, which is why I can’t go to them with my little problem.’ Charlotte shuffled her feet and looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been a bit extravagant on my European travels. The other girls were so lah-di-dah with their money, and I had to go along with all the excesses. Would have been mortifying to do otherwise.’ She gave a theatrical shudder. ‘I’m broke, I’m afraid. Need an overdraft until my next beneficiary payment. Is that too shocking?’ She looked at Michael, blinking with embarrassment.

  ‘Silly, I would say, rather than shocking. But sadly I’m not allowed to let you open an account with an overdraft on day one. Can’t you explain things to the trustees, get them to see reason?’

  Charlotte blushed. ‘That would be too awful. Uncle Clarence is so beastly about these sorts of things. Isn’t there anything you can do?’

  ‘Tricky. I should mention that I’m leaving the bank in a few weeks to start my own business. Always been a dream of mine.’ Michael said it as if he was confessing his deepest secret. She stared straight at him, her contrite expression softened by the hint of a mischievous grin.

  He gave the impression of ignoring her flirtations. ‘I have to make sure I leave things as my successor expects to find them, I’m afraid. But let me see what I can do. How much are we talking about?’

  ‘Two hundred pounds until December. Piffling amount, really. So tiresome of me to get into this mess.’

  ‘Pop back tomorrow and I’ll try my best. I might have to sail close to the wind to push it through, but leave it with me.’

  After she left, Michael’s pen hovered over the application form. He could change the date to make it look like she’d been a customer for three months – that way she could get her overdraft right away. Then he shook his head. Risks were everywhere as he embarked on a life of crime, and this was an unnecessary one. All to get to know someone with a title before their name.

  He paused.

  Not only a title. Money. And connections. And beauty.

  Some risks were worth it. He made the change. He wouldn’t be at the bank much longer, and it would be unlikely anyone would spot that the paperwork didn’t match up while he was still there. To make the subterfuge less obvious, he went through some other customer files, removing key documents here and there.

  Michael put her through a grilling when she came back the next day, ostensibly for purposes of pushing through the overdraft but really to find out all about her: hobbies, interests, where she hung out, what she was planning in the months ahead. Everything he could use to make sure this wasn’t the last time they would meet. And he liked seeing her squirm under pressure. Lady Charlotte was not used to holding out a begging bowl.

  At the end of the interrogation, he gave her the good news.

  ‘I’ll get the overdraft arranged today, Charlotte. Leave it with me.’

  Her look of appreciation had a grateful quality that he found curiously erotic.

  ‘The bank has a firm line that students can’t open bank accounts with an overdraft. I’ve slightly gone out on a wing, made it look like you’ve been a customer for three months. I hope you’re not too shocked.’

  Charlotte looked worried. ‘I hope I’m not getting you into trouble, Mr Mitchell. I didn’t realise it would be this involved.’

  Michael laughed off her concerns. ‘Not at all, just a little white lie. No one will even notice.’ He stood up. ‘Well, Charlotte, it’s been very nice to meet you and I’m glad I could help out. Be careful with your money in future.’ He placed his hand on her back as he guided her out of the meeting room.

  As soon as she left, Michael noted down all the details about lifestyle and habits that he had gleaned. Anything he could use to impress her when they next met. Now it was just a question of finding how to achieve that.

  He checked her new account every day and was amused to find that one of the first cheques she’d written since getting the overdraft was to the People’s Theatre box office. So much for the promised austerity drive until the overdraft was paid off. There, written on the back, was the date of the performance so the theatre could make sure they sent her the correct tickets. Bingo.

  Michael bought two tickets for the same performance and turned up early. He was glad he’d left in plenty of time; the theatre was well off the beaten track on the South Side of Glasgow, a small oasis of highbrow theatre in an urban desert. Chekhov’s Cherry Orchard reimagined as Scottish gentry returning to their Highland estate. He smiled at the irony.

  Michael flicked through the programme, checked out the announcements of next year’s productions. John Osborne’s Look Back in Anger, Joe Orton’s Loot, Edward Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? He quickly memorised snippets of the synopses to show he knew his theatre.

  When Charlotte arrived, Michael was pleased to see the second ticket was for a female friend. She spotted him, gave a gasp of recognition, and came straight over. ‘It’s Mr Mitchell, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Charlotte. Charlotte Aldford. You’re my bank manager.’

  ‘Miss Aldford! Of course!’ Michael replied. ‘You must forgive me; I have so many student customers. You’re studying mathematics, right?’

  ‘No, not quite. Fine Art.’

  Michael pretended to look embarrassed. He could see that Charlotte found it endearing.

  ‘You like theatre?’ he said, making his question sound like a clumsy attempt to change the subject.

  ‘Love it,’ replied Charlotte. ‘I’m here with my flatmate Diana.’ She waved over to a gamine young woman with pixie-cut hair on the other side of the room. Diana waved back and stayed put. She had read Charlotte’s body language.

  ‘And you?’ Charlotte said. She looked over his shoulder. ‘With someone?’

  ‘Ah, no. Should have been, but sometimes these things don’t work out. On my own, unfortunately. A spare seat for my jacket.’

  They went to find their respective seats, and during the interval Michael saw that Charlotte was on her own at the bar, Diana having presumably been told to make herself scarce. He seized the moment.

  ‘Charlotte, I hope you don’t think this is inappropriate. I’ve got a spare ticket for Scottish Opera at the Theatre Royal next Thursday. The consequences of a failed relationship do linger, I’m afraid. Would you like to be my companion? If that’s not too forward, coming from your bank manager.’

  Charlotte smiled. ‘I’d love to. What a strange coincidence, meeting you like this. I felt a little … I don’t know … when I left the bank after meeting you.’ The interval bell rang. ‘Gosh, that was quick,’ she said, looking around. ‘I can’t think where Diana has disappeared to.’

  ‘Well, I’ll see you on the steps at the front entrance at seven. Here’s my home phone number in case you change your mind.’ He scribbled it on a bank business card.

  Charlotte looked at it and then at Michael. ‘Oh, I can’t believe I’ve met you ag
ain.’ She gave a coquettish giggle at her display of excitement. ‘See you on Thursday.’

  Michael looked at her as she headed back into the theatre. He thought he could detect a skip in her step.

  * * *

  It was the perfect date. Idomeneo by Mozart. And going to the opera was no sham. Ever since Michael first heard a collection of arias on a Music for Pleasure LP as a teenager, he’d fallen in love with the passion and grandeur of opera seria. He impressed Charlotte with his knowledge of the libretto and they rounded off the evening with an espresso at a little Italian café tucked down a side street. As the evening drew to a close, he took Charlotte’s hand.

  ‘I’ve enjoyed tonight, Charlotte.’ Michael looked down at the table in a convincing display of bashfulness. ‘I know this might sound strange, seeing as we are from different worlds and I met you as your bank manager. But would you consider us seeing each other again?’

  Charlotte squeezed his hand. ‘I’d love to, Michael. How we met doesn’t matter to me in the slightest. It’s me that should be worried. Most men seem so intimidated by my background. You’re different.’

  Michael drove her home. A first-floor flat in a sandstone tenement in Hyndland, no doubt purchased from the trust fund. Substantial, but not too grand to be daunting to her fellow students. No lights were on; Diana was either asleep or staying elsewhere. The air crackled with expectation. As they went into a long, lingering kiss, Charlotte breathed faint murmurings of encouragement. But Michael gently, gracefully, backed off. He gave her a peck on the lips to signal the end of the embrace. As he leant back, the light of a street lamp caught Charlotte’s face. She gave him a look, first of surprise, then disappointment and finally, he felt sure, of longing.

  Michael gave her a final kiss, small and tender. Charlotte gave a regretful smile.