Crocodile Tears Read Online Free Page B

going as well as people thought. One or two of his developments had fallen behind schedule, and he had huge financial problems. The bank was closing in and it looked as if he might go bankrupt . . . and of course you’re not allowed to be a member of Parliament if that happens. Too unsightly for their taste. God knows what he was thinking, but he decided to set fire to one of his properties and claim the insurance. That was his way out of the mess. Well, the property in question was a twenty-four-story office building overlooking St. Paul’s, and one night it simply burned to the ground. The next day, McCain put in a claim for fifty million dollars. Problem solved.”
    They came to a sharp bend in the road and Edward Pleasure slowed down. By now the whole road was snow covered, with dark pine trees looming up on both sides.
    “At least that’s what he thought,” he went on. “Unfortunately for him, the insurance company smelled a rat. They started asking questions. Like, for example, why had the alarms been switched off? Why had the security staff been given the night off? There was a lot of gossip in the press—and then, suddenly, a witness turned up. It turned out there’d been a homeless person sleeping in the underground garage. He’d actually been there when McCain drove in with six gallons of gasoline and a cigarette lighter. He’d been lucky to get away alive. Anyway, McCain was arrested. There was a fairly sensational trial. He was sent to prison for nine years.”
    Alex had listened to all this in silence. “You called him Reverend McCain,” he said.
    “Well, that’s the strange thing. In a way, McCain’s whole life had been bizarre—but while he was in jail, he converted to Christianity. He did a correspondence course and became a priest in some church no one’s ever heard of. And when he got out—that was five years ago—he didn’t go back into business or politics. He said he’d spent his whole life being selfish and that he wanted to put all that behind him. Instead, he set up a charity. First Aid. That’s what it’s called. It provides a rapid response to emergencies all over the world.”
    “How much farther?” Sabina’s voice came from the backseat. She was still plugged into her earphones.
    Edward Pleasure held up a hand and opened it twice, signaling ten minutes.
    “You interviewed him,” Alex said.
    “Yes. I’ve done a big piece for Vanity Fair . They’ll be publishing it next month.”
    “And?”
    “You’ll meet him tonight, Alex, and you can see for yourself. He’s got an enormous amount of energy and he’s channeled it into helping people less fortunate than himself. He’s raised millions for famine relief in Africa, bush fires in Australia, floods in Malaysia . . . even that accident in southern India. Jowada . . .”
    Alex nodded. He’d read about it when he’d been working as a ball boy at Wimbledon. It had made the front pages. “The nuclear reactor . . . ,” he said.
    Edward nodded. “For a time it looked as if the whole city of Chennai could have been affected. Fortunately, it wasn’t as bad as that, but a lot of people were killed in the panic. First Aid was up and running the very next day, getting antiradiation stuff to the women and kids, helping with supplies . . . that sort of thing. Nobody was quite sure how they got off the mark so quickly, but that’s how they work. Instant response. Their aim is to be the first charity in.”
    “And you really think this man, McCain, is genuine? That he’s turned a new leaf?”
    “You mean . . . do I think he’s another Damian Cray?” Edward smiled briefly. It had been his article exposing Cray as a maniac that had almost got him killed. “Well, I did have my doubts when I first met him. I mean, even if he wasn’t a crook, he was a politician, which didn’t exactly recommend him. But you don’t need to worry, Alex. I did plenty of research into his charity. I interviewed him and a lot of people who know