Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [30]
It was some of the papers that the chief inspector wanted me to look at.
“We need your permission as Mr. Kovak’s executor to remove certain items that we believe may help with our inquiries. These, for example. But we would like your opinion on them first.”
He handed me two sheets of paper covered entirely on both sides by handwritten lists with columns of what appeared to be dates with amounts of money alongside, together with a further column of capital letters. “Could they have something to do with Mr. Kovak’s work?”
I studied the lists briefly.
“I doubt it,” I said. “They are handwritten and we do everything on computer. I think these could be amounts of money.” I pointed at the center two columns. “And these look like dates.”
“Yes,” he said. “I worked that much out. But do you know what they are?”
“Do they correspond to the amounts on the credit card statements?” I asked.
“No. I looked at that. None of the figures are the same.”
“How about last month’s statements?” I said. “Most of these dates are last month.”
“We have been unable to locate any statements other than those you have seen. But some of the dates on this list would have been for the statements we have, and none of the amounts match.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you,” I said. “I don’t recognize any of the amounts and, individually, most are far too small to be anything to do with Mr. Kovak’s work. We always work in thousands, if not tens of thousands. Most of these are hundreds.” I looked once more at the lists. “Could that third column be people’s initials?”
The chief inspector looked. “It might be. Do you recognize any of them? For example, do they match any of your work colleagues?”
I scanned through the list. “Not that I can see.”
“Right,” he said suddenly, as if making a decision. “With your permission we will take these papers away, together with the credit card statements, Mr. Kovak’s laptop computer and these other things.”
The chief inspector waved a hand towards a box on a side table near the door. I went over and looked in. The box contained various bits and pieces, including Herb’s American passport, an address book, a desk diary and a folderful of bank statements. It was all rather sad.
“It’s fine by me,” I said. “But you do know that his computer won’t give you access to Mr. Kovak’s work files?”
“So I believe.”
“He would have been able to access the office files and e-mails through his laptop, but no records of them would have been stored on it. The laptop would have merely been acting as a keyboard and a screen for the firm’s mainframe computer in Lombard Street.”
“Nevertheless,” said the chief inspector, “it is our policy to search through such a device for any correspondence that might have a bearing on his death. I trust you are happy with that.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed.
“Good,” he said, folding the computer flat and placing it in the box with the other things.
“But can I make copies of that credit card stuff before you take it away? I do know that one of the first tasks for executors is to close the bank accounts and pay the debts of the deceased but goodness’ knows where I will get a hundred thousand to do that. How much did he have in the bank?”
“Not that much,” said the chief inspector.
“Do you mind if I look?” I asked.
“Not at all,” he said. “I understand from Mr. Kovak’s lawyer that it will be yours anyway.”
I pulled the folder of bank statements out of the box and looked at the most recent ones. The balance was quite healthy, but, as DCI Tomlinson had said, it didn’t run to anything like a hundred thousand. More like a tenth of that. I unclipped the last statement from the folder and made a photocopy using the printer/copier on the desk. I then photocopied all the credit card statements, and both sides of the two sheets of handwritten figures, before handing them all back to the policeman.
“Thank you,” he said. “I just need your signature