With the banks refusing to help her, there would be no way to keep the company private.
“I’m sorry to bring you such bad news, Miss Roffe, but I felt that I should tell you personally.”
“You know, of course, that Roffe and Sons is still a very strong and healthy company.”
Herr Julius Badrutt nodded his head, once. “Of course. It’s a great company.”
“Yet you won’t give us more time.”
Herr Badrutt looked at her for a moment, then said, “The bank thinks your problems are manageable, Miss Roffe. But…” He hesitated.
“But you don’t think there’s anyone to manage them?”
“I’m afraid that is correct.” He started to rise.
“What if someone else were president of Roffe and Sons?” Elizabeth asked.
He shook his head. “We have discussed that possibility. We don’t feel that any of the present members of the board have the overall ability to cope with—”
She said, “I was thinking of Rhys Williams.”
CHAPTER 38
Constable Thomas Hiller of the Thames Marine Police Division was in terrible shape. He was sleepy, hungry, horny and wet; and he could not decide which was the greatest of his miseries.
He was sleepy because his fiancée, Flo, had kept him awake all night, fighting; he was hungry because by the time she was through screaming at him, he was late for duty, and he had had no time to pick up a bite; he was horny because she had refused to let him touch her; and he was wet because the thirty-foot police boat on which he was traveling had been built for service, not comfort, and a rising wind was driving the rain into the small wheelhouse where he stood. On days like this there was bloody little to see and even bloody less to do. The Thames Division covered fifty-four miles of river from Dartford Creek to Staines Bridge, and ordinarily Constable Hiller enjoyed patrol duty. But not when he was in this shape. Damn all women! He thought about Flo in bed, naked as a pouter pigeon, her large tits waving up and down as she yelled at him. He glanced at his watch. Another half hour and this miserable tour would be finished. The boat had turned and was headed back toward Waterloo Pier. His only problem now was deciding what to do first: sleep, eat, or jump in the kip with Flo. Maybe all three at once, he thought. He rubbed his eyes to force the sleep out of them, and turned to look at the muddy, swollen river pimpled by the rain.
It seemed to loom out of nowhere. It looked like a large white fish floating belly up, and Constable Hiller’s first thought was: If we haul it aboard, we’re going to stink of it. It was about ten yards to starboard and the boat was moving away from it. If he opened his mouth, the bloody fish was going to delay his getting off duty. They would have to stop and grapple it, and either pull it over the side or tow it in. Whichever they did would delay his getting to Flo. Well, he didn’t have to report it. What if he had not seen it? What if—? They were moving farther away.
Constable Hiller called out, “Sergeant, there’s a floating fish twenty degrees off starboard. Looks like a big shark.”
The hundred-horsepower diesel engine suddenly changed rhythm, and the boat began to slow. Sergeant Gaskins stepped to his side. “Where is it?” he asked.
The dim shape was gone now, buried in the rain. “It was over there.”
Sergeant Gaskins hesitated. He too was anxious to get home. His impulse was to ignore the damned fish.
“Was it big enough to menace navigation?” he asked.
Constable Hiller fought with himself and lost. “Yes,” he said.
And so the patrol boat turned and slowly headed toward where the object had last been seen. It materialized again unexpectedly, almost under the bow, and they both stood there, staring down at it. It was the body of a young blond girl.
She was naked, except for a red ribbon tied around her swollen neck.
CHAPTER 39