The Big Over Easy

Jack declined his offer, but Grundy put one in Jack’s top pocket anyway and winked at him, then gave one to Mary and said, “For the boyfriend.” He then sat down in his own huge, corporate comfy chair and spun completely around, lighting his cigar as he did so. He stopped facing straight ahead as he clicked off his lighter, then placed his hands on the table and blew out some cigar smoke. It seemed like a well-rehearsed routine.

“This interview, is, I assume, to do with Mr. Dumpty’s death?”

“Just an informal chat, Mr. Grundy.”

“Why should it be formal? Unless, of course, Mr. Dumpty’s death was suspicious. Is this the case, Inspector?”

You don’t get to be the ninth-wealthiest man in Britain without being astute, thought Jack—or perhaps he already knew?

“We believe there are suspicious aspects to his death, yes, sir. Who was that leaving as we came in?”

“Two of my junior board members. I expect you recognized Friedland’s brother?”

“How long has he been working here?”

“Does this relate to Humpty’s death?”

“No.”

“I’m a busy man, Mr. Spratt.”

Jack grew hot. It was not a very subtle put-down, but effective. Grundy had been leading the conversation since he’d walked in. Jack decided he’d have to get the upper hand again and invoked his secret plan: talk to other people as Friedland talked to him.

“So am I, Mr. Grundy,” replied Jack, staring at him coldly. “A man—well, an egg, actually—has died, and I think irrespective of who or what he was, he deserves that I investigate his death to the best of my ability. So tell me, how do you describe your relationship with Spongg’s?”

Grundy smiled. A smile of respect, thought Jack. To people like Grundy, straight talking was the answer. He still wasn’t going to make it easy, though, and his dispassionate eyes bored into Jack like augers.

“Rivals. That’s no secret. We tried to buy them out six months ago but were thwarted by a new shareholder.”

“Humpty Dumpty?”

“Indeed. I wager old Randolph is kicking himself. With Mr. Dumpty dead, his shares are wrapped up in probate. They’ll go bust, and we’ll take all we want from the receivers.”

He smiled an ugly smile, and Jack shifted his weight uneasily. He didn’t like Grundy one bit.

“Sounds as though his death has benefited you, Mr. Grundy.”

“It has benefited the company, Mr. Spratt. The same as if he had fallen off a bike or died in his sleep. Corporate business is a dangerous place; I do not own this company any more than you own the Reading police force. The shareholders will view Mr. Dumpty’s demise without grief. We thought perhaps Humpty had a refinancing package for Spongg’s, but his death will have put a stop to that. In under a year, we will have added their product lines to ours. I hope I am candid, Mr. Spratt.”

“Very,” replied Jack. “What did you and Mr. Dumpty talk about at the Spongg Charity Benefit?”

Grundy laughed. “Your information is good, Inspector. He offered me his thirty-eight percent share of Spongg’s for ten million. I told him the time for deals had long passed, and he told me I wouldn’t be laughing this time next year. We’ll take what we want from the receivers. I heard his private life was fairly colorful. Why don’t you speak to some of his girlfriends? Jealousy is a powerful emotion, Mr. Spratt.”

“So is revenge, Mr. Grundy.”

Grundy guessed Jack’s inference. “You have Splotvia on your mind, Mr. Spratt?”

Jack nodded. “I understand you lost a great deal of money?”

Grundy contemplated the end of his cigar for a few moments.

“It was that damnable mineral-rights scam of his. I should never have become involved, but then again, it was business.”

“So you weren’t bitter?”

“Of course not. I was furious. You’d better know the facts. He raised that share capital and spent it, not on securing mineral rights but on arming the rebels against the military dictatorship that ran the country. I tried to have him charged with fraud, but he covered his tracks well. They even”—he laughed—“made him a colonel in the Splotvian Imperial Guard.”

“Sounds like a good motive to me, Mr. Grundy.”

“I disagree,” replied Grundy evenly. “My loss to Humpty was only two-tenths of one percent of my fortune. Consider this: Even if I generously estimated your personal net worth at four hundred thousand pounds, the comparative loss to you would be only eight hundred pounds. Two million may be more money than you’ll see in a lifetime, but I could lose that sum every week for a decade before I might consider myself ruined. Do I make myself clear?”

Jack gritted his teeth. He’d enjoy bringing this one down.

“Abundantly, Mr. Grundy. I wonder if you could tell me your movements following the Spongg Charity Benefit on Monday?”

“I returned home,” he replied, indignant that he should have to account for his actions to anyone, “with my wife. You can ask her, if you so wish, with my blessing.”

Jack stared at Grundy, who looked back at him without sentiment. Jack wanted to make him sweat, so he tried a threat.