Death of a Wine Merchant Read Online Free Page B

the rest themselves. They created bogus accounts using real investments quoted in the financial pages that showed how much she was losing every year so that by the time the old lady died the investments had virtually all gone. These were real shares and real share prices they pretended to deal in, only they weren’t actually buying and selling, just taking notes of the different prices at different times so they could show how the old ladies mighthave lost most of their money. When the time came to send in the paperwork after the death, they just put in the figures they already had. Nobody asked to see the actual share certificates or the records of the stockbrokers’ dealings, though I suspect they could have finessed those all right.’
    ‘How were they caught?’ asked Powerscourt.
    ‘Ah,’ said Pugh, ‘if you were feeling generous, you could say they were unlucky. You might not be so charitable if you were one of the old ladies or the people meant to inherit their money. Three of their victims in six months all had the same solicitors on Kensington High Street. All their clients invested with Granville, Trevelyan and Lawrence. All ended up without a penny. One might have been possible, two might just have been feasible, but three was too much. This solicitor went into every possible detail of the paperwork and found that they didn’t have it. Then he called in the police. Can you believe it, the three rogues have even found a couple of old ladies who testified in court in their favour. I’m not sure they believed me when I told them they were being cheated out of their money. Anyway,’ Pugh slid his feet off his desk and back on to the ground and began riffling through some papers, eventually holding up a brief tied in pink tape, ‘this is why you’re here, Powerscourt. Just been instructed yesterday,’ he went on. ‘Hopeless business, hardly worth turning up in court apart from the fact the fee is rather substantial. Wondered if you’d like to lend a hand. Solicitors keen for everybody they can find to help get our client off, particularly keen to get you on board. Heaps of money.’
    ‘What sort of case?’ said Powerscourt.
    ‘Murder,’ replied Pugh. ‘I’m for the defence, you understand. Some defence! Here’s the story.’ There was a brief pause while Charles Augustus Pugh restored his boots to their rightful place on his desk and wrapped his hands behind his neck. ‘Grand wedding, wine merchant family hook up with Norfolk grandees who have huge house. Hundred guests, maybe more, all dressed up as if they’re going toRoyal Ascot. Groom’s father found shot in room near the Long Gallery where they were all about to put the nosebags on after the service. Then there’s the dead man’s brother six feet away, sitting on a chair with a gun in his hand. Blood all over the priceless carpet. Same gun, or almost certainly the same gun, police discover, used to shoot the brother. Think Cain and Abel in modern dress in the bloody Fens, for Christ’s sake. Brother Cain charged with murder. Bloody fool won’t speak. All he will say to the authorities is his name and that he didn’t do it. What, my friend, what on earth am I supposed to do with this lot? The committal hearing is next week, the Old Bailey in five or six weeks if everything goes according to plan. It could be less. Can you help me? Can you work a miracle? The loaves and fishes would have nothing on this.’
    Powerscourt agreed to take the case on. His only thought at the beginning was that the silence probably meant a woman was involved who was not Cosmo Colville’s wife. Pugh gave him all the details of the families and the wedding party and took him down the street to the solicitors to take up his formal employment in the matter.
     
    Lady Lucy Powerscourt was looking at an auction catalogue when her husband returned to Markham Square from Gray’s Inn. She turned slightly pale when Powerscourt told her the details of his latest case.