Ima simply gaped at him in astonishment.
Jack Figg always slept with half an ear listening, and when his phone began to ring on Sunday morning, he reached for it automatically, glancing at his electric clock. It was five in the morning. The time surprised him, and when he said, “Hello?” he sounded snappish.
“Jack, it’s Pat Dalton. Sorry to call this early, but I’ve got some extraordinary news.”
“It better be at this hour,” Jack answered.
“Jonathan Ainsley’s dead.”
“What?” Jack was out of bed in an instant, moving across the room to the small desk, his mobile pressed to his ear. Sitting down at the desk, he said, “Are you absolutely sure about this, Pat? I was told that five years ago, only to discover it wasn’t true. Much to my disappointment and aggravation of late.”
“You can believe it this time. I’ve seen the body. He was shot in the head twice. From behind and then from the side. His brains were blown out, not to mince words.”
“And you have seen the body?” Jack pressed. He was taut inside, anxious and also wary.
“Yes. At the morgue in Istanbul. If you recall, my brother-in-law, Ismet, is an inspector with the Istanbul police. He phoned at four o’clock in the morning to tell me. Oddly enough, I’d had lunch with him yesterday, and I asked him to let me know if he ever heard anything peculiar about Ainsley. Whatever it was, I needed to know. As I told you, Ainsley’s yacht suddenly showed up about a week ago, parked on the Bosporus. Ismet was still on duty last night when the body was discovered—”
“Where was that?” Jack interrupted.
“At his yali on the shores of the Bosporus. Ismet immediately went out there with some of his officers. Ainsley’s body was slumped over the coffee table in the living room. Blood everywhere, apparently. The coroner said death was instant, and that it occurred around six-fifteen last night.”
“Who found the body?”
“His wife, Angharad Ainsley. She became alarmed when he hadn’t returned for dinner by nine, so she went on one of the tenders over to the villa, taking the chief steward with her.”
“I presume your brother-in-law interviewed her?”
“Extensively. Ismet said she’s not a suspect, since she was on the yacht all day and all evening, and obviously she was seen by the various staff members that entire time.”
“It sounds to me like a contract killing. An assassination.”
“I tend to agree, Jack,” Patrick said. “No evidence at all, and no fingerprints. It was a professional job.”
“You’re right. And he’ll never be caught. What about staff at the villa? What did they know?”
“Just a housekeeper there, and a gardener. Neither saw anything; in fact, they didn’t even know Ainsley was coming until the last minute. Apparently he went in to say hello to the housekeeper; he said he had a meeting in the summerhouse, that’s a small house on the property. He made it clear he didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Did the wife know why he had gone ashore?”
“Yes, she said he went to meet one of his partners from Hong Kong. That’s all she knew. And that’s all I know.”
“I see. Stay in close touch with me, Pat. I’ll be on my mobile all day. And thanks for calling me so promptly.” There was a pause, then Jack finished. “He got what was coming to him.”
Forty-six
At eleven o’clock that morning, Jack Figg sat in the living room of Linnet’s house with Larry Vaughan, Simon Baron, and James Cardigan. M and Linnet were in the kitchen making coffee.
Jack had called them all together to tell them what had happened the night before in Istanbul. Paula, Shane, and Desmond were still in Paris, needing and wanting to be there for Tessa and Lorne. And they were both doing well, much to everyone’s relief. Jack had phoned Paula and Shane to give them the news, and the rest of the family also now knew that Jonathan Ainsley was dead.
“By the way, James, I want to thank you for your help, you’ve been invaluable,” Jack said, genuinely meaning this. “I’d like to add that I phoned Richie on his cell earlier, expecting to find him in Istanbul, but he’d already gone back to Hong Kong. I reached him there, and I also spoke to Wen Li. They were both startled by the news of Jonathan Ainsley’s death. But there was great relief all around, even though they hadn’t anticipated an assassination. Like us, they just wanted to render him penniless.”
James nodded, and looking across at Simon, he said, “And you have had a load lifted off your shoulders, haven’t you?”
“And how! Watching somebody’s back is always bloody tough, but when it’s somebody you love, it’s even harder,” Simon replied.
M and Linnet came in with the coffee.
Larry said, “M and I haven’t really been able to take it all in, Jack. It’s quite a shock.”
“I know. It came as a big surprise,” Jack replied.
After taking a sip of the coffee, Jack told them everything else he knew, in precise detail, knowing nothing less would do, stopping the flow of his story to answer questions. These were mostly posed by M, and occasionally by James.
Finally, Jack finished. “And so you can be damn sure that Ainsley is dead. Patrick saw the body in the morgue.”
“I always told you we should get a hit man,” M said, staring hard at Jack. “And I was right, wasn’t I? Because obviously somebody else did.”
“You were right,” Jack conceded, giving her a little salute. “From the details, or should I say from the lack of evidence, it does sound like an assassination to me.”
“And Angharad had nothing to do with it?” Linnet asked, her head to one side, giving Jack a curious look.
Before he could answer, M said, “She might have a hand in it! I mean, she’s as bad as he was. Maybe she has a lover whom she persuaded to bump him off.”
Linnet looked at Jack. “What do you think about that scenario?”
“It’s clever, but it doesn’t quite fly for me,” he answered. “I believe that Ainsley was killed because of money, by someone in business with him.”
M said, “I don’t want to move away from Ainsley just yet, Jack, but there’s something I don’t quite understand. You told Linnet and me that your old friend Wen Li was helping you, and us, as was his grandson. But why? I mean, why would they do that?”
“Here’s the story,” Jack said. “And I’ll try to give it to you in simple terms. Many years ago, Zhèng Wen Li acquired a mistress. He had a wife, but she had been left paralyzed when she fell down a flight of stairs, and he was still young, needed female companionship. Later, his mistress became pregnant, had the child, but sadly, she died just after the birth. Wen Li gave his son to his favorite cousin, another banker who was childless. His name was Chiu Wan Chin. He was wealthy, and brought up the child like his own son. Wen Li was happy because his child was within the family and he could see him all the time. He was the favorite uncle, in fact.”
Linnet exclaimed, “Jack, I know that name, Chiu! But why?”
“You probably heard it from your mother,” Jack answered. “Just listen for a few more minutes and you’ll understand everything. Wen Li always took an interest in his son. But he became disenchanted with him just after his adopted father, Chiu Wan Chin, died. That was in the 1980s. By this time Wen Li’s illegitimate son was a grown man. He had taken over his adopted father’s bank, and he was a partner of Jonathan Ainsley.”
“After Mummy threw Ainsley out of the family!” Linnet said, nodding, remembering everything now.
“That’s correct. As it turned out, Tony Chiu, Wen Li’s biological son, was crooked. He was a drug dealer, a money launderer in the Golden Triangle, and thanks to Paula he was sent to jail in Hong Kong. However, Jonathan Ainsley managed to evade conviction. And Tony Chiu took the fall.” Settling himself more comfortably in the chair, Jack continued.
“Jonathan Ainsley was married to a beautiful Englishwoman whom he met in Hong Kong, Arabella Sutton. When she became pregnant, he was overjoyed. But the so
n and heir turned out to be a Chinese baby, or rather Eurasian. Tony Chiu was the biological father. And Richie Zhèng, as we know him, is the child of Tony Chiu and Arabella Sutton.”
“What a story,” Linnet exclaimed, staring at Jack. “Mummy never told me any of that.”
“She didn’t know, Linny. I only learned about it when I saw Wen Li in Hong Kong recently. When he found out Jonathan was still alive, his rage knew no bounds. You see, Wen Li blamed Jonathan for Tony’s downfall. He believed Ainsley had corrupted his son. Also, he felt Tony had been made the fall guy, because Ainsley was never put in jail, and he considered Ainsley as guilty as Tony.”
M said, “But why wasn’t Ainsley punished, too, Jack? I mean, if he was in cahoots with Tony Chiu, he should have gone to jail as well.”
“Yes, that’s right, but he somehow managed to evade conviction. Tony contacted Zhèng Wen Li when he was in jail, informed him that he had known for some years that Zhèng was his biological father. Apparently Chiu Wan Chin had told Tony the truth on his deathbed.”
“I bet Tony wanted Wen Li to know he had a grandson floating around out there,” M said in a knowing voice. “And most probably Wen Li was angry about Ainsley’s treatment of Arabella and the baby.”
“You’re right,” Jack said. “The problem was, Tony didn’t know where Arabella Sutton was.”
“So how did Richie Zhèng appear on the horizon?” M asked, her curiosity aroused.
“He didn’t suddenly appear. Just before he died of cancer in jail, Tony unexpectedly received a letter from Arabella Sutton, telling him she had gone to Toronto with a man called Christopher Swanson and had subsequently married him. And that’s how Wen Li found his grandson. They met several times, took a liking to each other. When Richie was ten, his mother died. Wen Li went to Toronto to get him because his stepfather was also dead by then. So Richard Thomas Sutton became Richie Zhèng when he was ten years old and went to live in Hong Kong with his biological grandfather.”
“Voilà,” M said, staring at Jack. “And why would Richie be on our side in our fight with Ainsley?”
“Because he still blames Ainsley for his mother’s ill health, their hard life during his early years. Thrown out by Ainsley, divorced by him, she had quite a struggle when Richie was a little boy. She might even have resorted to prostitution to help them survive. Richie has never forgotten any of that.”
M nodded and asked Jack, “I understand why Richie would hate Ainsley, and I’m glad we’ve had his help.”
“Yes. We needed to keep track of Ainsley, know what he was up to. We were hoping it was something illegal that we could report to the police: fraud, embezzlement, money laundering—”
“But Ainsley was killed last night,” M cut in, eyeing Jack carefully. “And now we don’t need to ‘shop him,’ do we, Jack? The drama is all over, isn’t it?”
Looking across at her, Jack answered, “You’re absolutely right, M. Ainsley is dead. He surely can’t rise from his coffin a second time—”
“Or can he?” M interrupted, adopting a deep, overly melodramatic voice.
She sounded so comical everyone laughed, relieving the tension in the room. Jack exclaimed, “Well, to hell with this coffee! Why don’t we crack open a bottle of champagne?”
“Make it pink,” M said and jumped up, rushed over to her sister. Hugging her tightly, then sweeping her around the room in a jig, she paused dramatically. “Linnet, you and Simon should get engaged. Right now. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
“I’m all for it,” Simon said, looking across at Linnet, smiling hugely. “Come on, darling, say yes in front of all these witnesses.”
“I think it would be perfectly wonderful to get engaged to you now, Simon. Absolutely, positively I say yes.”
The champagne was opened and served, everyone toasted the newly engaged couple, and M invited them all to Sunday lunch at the Dorchester Grill. They all accepted, and she went off to the den to make the reservation. The others moved around the sitting room, sipping their champagne and chatting. Their relief was enormous. Knowing they no longer had any need to look over their shoulders seemed to make them giddy.
At one moment, James drew Jack to one side and said, sotto voce, “Did Richie mention anything more about the plan?”
Jack looked James right in the eye, gave a slight nod. “Of course. He put it into action on Friday. The first thing he had the hackers do was transfer his grandfather’s investment back to him. So the hundred million was moved to Hong Kong.”
“Just one other question. When would someone have known peculiar things were happening?”
“Hard to tell. Richie purposely set everything into motion late on Friday and over the weekend. However, somebody constantly watching their computer very closely might have noticed oddities in the early hours of Saturday morning,” Jack said.
“Somebody like a suspicious Russian?”
“Could be,” Jack answered quietly. “And he might have sent an assassin on a mission.”
Turning slightly, Jack focused his eyes on Linnet and M, the two of them in a huddle near the fireplace. They were laughing, and his heart lifted when he saw how relaxed and happy they were. For them it was over at last, and their fear had evaporated.
As if they realized his eyes were on them, they stared across at him and gave him huge, very loving smiles. He smiled back. These two young women were like the daughters he had never had, and he was so thankful he had kept them safe; that was all that mattered to him.
Giving his full attention to James, still standing by his side, Jack said, “We must never talk about this again. Understood?”
“Understood,” James answered.
At this moment M walked over to join the two men, followed by Linnet. Jack noticed at once that M had that expression which signaled she had questions on her mind.
Before she even opened her mouth, Jack said, with a knowing look, “I’ll answer them all, M, if I possibly can.”
She grinned at him, nodded. “Just out of curiosity, now that Ainsley’s dead, what happens to his private bank? Who takes over and runs it?”
When he didn’t answer her, M shrugged and said, “Well, I guess you don’t know. It struck us that Angharad might move in there. She’s an ambitious woman and usually on the lookout for the main chance.”
“I agree with your assessment of her character,” Jack said finally. “But in this instance she won’t be making any moves. At least not in the direction of the Belvedere-Macau Private Bank.”
“Why not?” Linnet asked, eyeing him carefully. She had noticed an odd look on Jack’s face, was sure he knew more than he was saying.
After a split second, he replied, “There is no Belvedere-Macau Private Bank. Not anymore. It’s defunct.”
“How can that be?” M asked, her voice rising slightly. Staring at Jack, she went on. “He had other investors, didn’t he, as well as Richie’s grandfather? And also partners?”
“Yes, he did. They are all cursing Ainsley right now, I’m certain of that. And if he weren’t already dead, they’d be out for his blood, I can assure you. The bank doesn’t exist anymore because all the money has disappeared without a trace. There isn’t one single penny left in it.”
“But where has it gone?” Linnet asked incredulously. “How can so much money just disappear?”
“Hackers!” M exclaimed, sounding positive. “The money has been shifted electronically, hasn’t it? And over the past few days. Of course that’s it!”
Jack smiled slightly.
“It’s Richie Zhèng and Wen Li. They’ve done it, haven’t they? You just said they were all surprised Ainsley was found murdered, that all they’d wanted was to render him penniless. And they tried to do exactly that . . . they rendered him, and the bank, absolutely penniless by employing hackers.” She couldn’t keep the triumphant look off her face, and she gave Jack a wicked smile.
“Right again, M. It was a most beautiful plan hatched by Wen Li and Richie, with a few suggestions
from me and also from James. As you are aware, Richie is a whiz at the computer, and he knows hackers all over the world. A system was set up and put in motion this past Friday. No one noticed the movement of huge amounts of money because it was the weekend, and the transfers moved very quickly through different companies in three legitimate banks, then each company’s account was closed after the money had been moved on.”
M’s dark eyes locked on Jack’s, and they exchanged pointed looks. Then she said, “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! But where is the money now? There were hundreds of millions of dollars in Belvedere-Macau, according to you.”
“It all ended up in a Swiss bank,” he told her, his voice low.
“In a numbered account?” Linnet queried, an auburn brow lifting eloquently.
“There was nowhere else to put it,” Jack explained.
“Is the money going to be returned to the investors?” Linnet stared hard at Jack, her green eyes narrowing.
“No it’s not. They’re all crooks and criminals just like Ainsley . . . ill-gotten gains. They won’t see a penny.”
“So what will happen to the money?” M shook her head. “It can’t just sit in a Swiss bank, can it?”
“It could. Nothing could possibly happen to it. But in a few days, part of it will go to a new charity called SAFE, founded by several anonymous donors who intend to use it to good purpose. They plan to support and nurture the underprivileged children who are at terrible risk . . . in every country. Within months large amounts of money will be sent to different legitimate charities which care for children. The charity SAFE will be monitored by Wen Li,” Jack finished and then added, “with my help.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” Linnet interjected, a radiant smile crossing her face.
“Yes, it is,” Jack agreed.
“All that ‘bad’ money being used to do good, what a wonderfully ironic twist,” M said, looking at Jack, then James, before turning to her sister. She continued. “I can’t think of anything more fitting than that . . . keeping children safe. And what a perfect name to choose. It’s very meaningful, wouldn’t you say?”