Free Trading Reality by Michael Ridpath Page B

FairSystems’ stock was behaving strangely.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘He didn’t know,’ I said. ‘He had just spotted a pattern that was inconsistent, and, like a good scientist, he wanted to find out why.’
    ‘Do you have any ideas?’
    ‘No. We checked out the market, and no one had heard anything. I think Richard was imagining it.’
    ‘I see. Do you have his analyses?’
    ‘Yes, I do. At home in London.’
    ‘May we see them?’
    ‘OK. I’ll send them to you, if you like.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Donaldson looked at Kerr and stood up. ‘That will be all for now, Mr Fairfax,’ he said. ‘You’ve been very helpful. Please let us know where we can get hold of you if we need to ask any more questions. And if you do have any more thoughts about who bore your brother a grudge, you will let us know, won’t you?’
    ‘Of course,’ I said, getting up to go. ‘Um, will I be able to see Richard’s house?’
    ‘Yes of course. But not for a few days. I’d like to give forensics all the time they need. But before you go, please give DI Kerr your girlfriend’s name and address, and the address of everyone who you know who knew your brother.’
    Kerr led me out, and I scribbled names and addresses on a piece of paper. ‘I hope you find him,’ I said.
    Kerr rubbed his tired eyes. ‘Believe me, we’ll check out every half-lead you gave us. The boss is thorough. And he does get results. We’ll get the bastard, don’t you worry.’
    ‘Good.’
    There wasn’t much point in staying in Kirkhaven, especially since I couldn’t get into Richard’s house. It was crawling with forensics, and they were crawling slowly, creeping over every scrap of dirt and fluff, leaving a trail of fine grey powder behind them.
    So I took the Fiesta back to the airport and flew down to London. It was good to put four hundred miles between myself and the scene of Richard’s death. The pain became less acute, less overwhelming. More manageable.
    Karen met me at the airport. I pulled her close to me, and held on to her. ‘Oh Mark, Mark,’ she whispered into my ear. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’
    She took my hand and led me to her car. We drove home in silence. I couldn’t say anything, she didn’t push me.
    When we arrived, she poured me a large whisky, and sat next to me, holding me in her arms. ‘Tell me about him.’
    And so I did. Haltingly at first, trying to hold back the tears. In the end I gave up, letting the sobs come as I talked about Richard, picking up on random memories. We talked, or rather I talked, late into the night.
    I needed her. My mother was gone, and so, effectively, was my father. Until Richard went too, I hadn’t realised how much I had relied on him for all that a family gives: love, continuity, security. Now I was all alone.
    Over the next few days, I leaned heavily on Karen, and she supported me. Perhaps she was repaying me for all those difficult times when I had been there for her, right after she had been dumped. Richard’s death had clearly affected her too, more than I would have imagined, but she had recovered from her initial shock, and built steel defences around herself. I knew when I talked about him, and cried over him, these defences were tested, but they held. She herself never cried, nor talked about Richard. She just listened.
    I stumbled into work on Monday, exhausted from the emotional fatigue of the last forty-eight hours. The last thing I wanted to do was spend the day moping alone at home. I wanted people, distractions.
    It was good to be back in the trading room again, to lose myself in prices, yields, spreads and basis points, and to focus once again on the inescapable monthly profit and loss. The month was looking better, but April would definitely end up as a loss, not a profit. I considered a number of possible trades, but didn’t have the desire to put any of them on. So Ed and I just watched the positions we had, the Renaults moving ever upwards, and the ten-year treasuries