The Easy Sin by Jon Cleary Page A

businesses out on the street.
    â€œMy men are down in the finance department,” he said. “When we came in this morning all Mr. Cragg's staff just up and left, as if we'd come to fumigate the place. No offence, Mr. Cragg. It's the way we're always greeted.” He smiled as if to show it was water off a platypus' back. “One gets used to it.”
    â€œIt's a regular business, receivership?” said Malone.
    â€œLike cremation,” said Smith and smiled again.
    â€œ Who ordered the cremation?”
    Smith hesitated, but Malone's look told him: don't hedge, mate. “The Kunishima Bank. They're Japanese, from Osaka.”
    â€œAnd what have you found?”
    â€œIt's too early to say,” said Smith, hedging. “But the losses are considerable, otherwise we wouldn't be here.”
    Malone looked back at Cragg. “What do you think happened to Magee?”
    Cragg ran a pondering hand over his head. His hair was cut to such a short stubble that it looked like dust; Malone waited for him to look at his hand to see if any had come off. He, too, was hedging. “Well, basically, from what I read in the papers, the joke on the computers about a ransom for Kylie—” He nodded at her as if she were no more than a prize doll on a sideshow stall.
    Malone wondered who had told the media about the messages on the computers. “You don't want to believe everything you read in the newspapers. So you think he killed the maid on his way out, just as an afterthought?”
    â€œNo!” Kylie up till now had remained silent in the background. “Errol wouldn't hurt a fly—”
    â€œHe's hurt three hundred workers,” said Cragg. “All of them downsized without, basically, any redundancy pay. He's a bastard,” he repeated.
    â€œYou haven't answered my question,” said Malone. “You think he killed the maid?”
    â€œWell, no-o . . .” Cragg all at once looked lost: not just for words, but as if the scene he looked out on, the rows of work-stations, had abruptly turned into a landscape he didn't recognize. “No, I know it doesn't sound like him—basically—”
    â€œOf course it doesn't!”
    Malone motioned for Kylie to keep quiet. “Could he have been kidnapped?”
    â€œWhy? Why would anyone want to kidnap him and ask for a ransom?” Cragg frowned. “Jesus, everyone's known for the past week we're broke—”
    â€œMaybe one of your staff, or several of them, thought there was some money hidden that would pay for him?” Sheryl had picked up a nod from Malone. Two interrogators were always better than one. It was Malone's old cricket strategy, different-type bowlers from opposite ends. “Is there any money missing?”
    The last question was directed at Smith; he shook his head. “Too early to tell.” Then he added undiplomatically, “There often is.”
    â€œWhere would it be?” Kylie had lapsed back into sullen silence, but now her nose pointed to the scent of money.
    Smith shrugged. “Anywhere in the world. I'm not saying there is any, but if there is our clients have first call on it. They are the major debtors.”
    Malone gave Cragg a hard stare, taking over the bowling again. “Did you know the state of affairs?”
    Cragg spread his hands, like a man pushing away cards he had been dealt that had no value. “I'm not a money man. I came in here two years after Errol had got it off the ground—he wanted my technical experience. I worked in Silicon Valley for two years—I came back here and I could take my pick of jobs. Errol made the best offer.”
    â€œYou've got options?” said Sheryl and again after a slight hesitation Cragg nodded. He seemed off-balance with the two-pronged attack. “On paper you'd have been wealthy. Did you sell when you saw the share price going down?”
    â€œWhat business is it of yours?” He was growing