“For the life of me, I can’t recall his name. And it wasn’t a terribly pleasant conversation.”
“It sounds to me,” said Peel, “as though you and DCI Chapel got on rather well.”
“That’s because the detective chief inspector wanted something from me.”
“Investigate one of the richest men in the United Kingdom on suspicion of murder?”
“Not just murder,” said Gabriel. “Money laundering and tax evasion as well.”
“There are easier ways to evade taxes than killing one’s wife and staging a kidnapping.”
“It was two birds with one stone. At least that’s the working theory at New Scotland Yard.”
“Knight gets rid of his wife and his tax problem at the same time?”
“Exactly.”
“But why would he want to kill a woman like Alice Winter?”
“Why does any husband kill his wife?”
“In Cornwall it usually involves alcohol.”
“But in Belgravia and Knightsbridge, money is more often the motive.”
Peel sidestepped a tourist snapping a photograph of the London Eye. “Do you believe it?”
“I’m not quite there yet. But it would explain why Edward Knight was so eager to meet the initial billion-dollar ransom demand—and why he wanted to personally authorize the wire transfer to that bank in Cyprus. It would also explain why his wife is still missing.”
“But if he was involved in a conspiracy, why would he ask for help from someone like you?”
“A good question.”
“And the answer?”
“I conferred a sense of legitimacy on the entire undertaking. And remember, on the evening that Knight supposedly learned that Alicewas missing, he was surrounded by several hundred people. I happened to be one of them.”
“The fundraiser at his estate in Devon?”
Gabriel nodded.
“It’s a perfect alibi,” said Peel.
“For a perfect murder.”
“There’s no such thing, you know. Every killer makes a mistake.”
“DCI Chapel seems to think Edward Knight made a rather expensive one. By the way, we’re having drinks with her later.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I rang her, Timothy.” Gabriel shook his head slowly. “Didn’t they teach you anything at detective school?”
Oxfam, founded by a group of Quakers, social activists, and academics during the darkest days of World War II, had received the first contribution. It was one hundred thousand pounds, enough to move the needle but not quite noteworthy. Nor was it considered unusual that the donor wished to remain anonymous. There were many philanthropists, especially those of unimaginable wealth, who did their giving while protected by a veil of secrecy.
But just three days later the British arm of Médecins Sans Frontières received an identical contribution—one hundred thousand pounds, anonymous donor. Next it was the British Red Cross and Action Against Hunger, though each received a quarter million pounds, a not insignificant sum. Human Rights Watch received the same figure, as did Amnesty International and the Refugee Council. The venerable Save the Children, which had been in the business of caring for the young and destitute since 1919, received a half million.
It was at this point that a group email began to circulate inside the close-knit community of relief professionals and fundraisers, the topic of which concerned the origin of the donations. All were in agreement that the money had likely come from the same source, perhaps an individual, perhaps a charitable trust. As luck would have it, one of the emails landed in the in-box of a reporter fromThe Times, who decided to make some inquiries of her own. The first person she rang was a friend who worked for Global Relief UK, the newest, smallest, and neediest of the British-based international aid organizations. The friend, whose name was Phoebe Chadwick, was the coordinator of Global Relief’s Africa program. It took a bit of cajoling, but eventually Phoebe admitted that GRUK, the group’s unfortunate acronym, had received a large unsolicited donation as well.
