Final Account by Peter Robinson Read Free Book Online Page A

partner?”
    â€œYes. My father, Jeremiah Pratt, was one of the founders of the firm. He’s retired now.”
    â€œI understand the family used to live in Eastvale, is that right?”
    â€œYes. Quite a nice house out towards the York roundabout. Catterick Street.”
    â€œWhy did they move?”
    â€œMary always fancied living in the country. I don’t know why. She wasn’t any kind of nature girl. I think perhaps she wanted to play Lady of the Manor.”
    â€œOh? Why’s that?”
    Pratt shrugged. “Just her nature.”
    â€œWhat about her husband?”
    â€œKeith didn’t mind. I should imagine he liked the solitude. I don’t mean he was exactly anti-social, but he was never a great mixer, not lately, anyway. He travelled a lot, too.”
    Pratt was in his mid-forties, Susan guessed, which did indeed make him just a few years older than Keith Rothwell. Quite good-looking, with a strong jaw and grey eyes, he wore his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his mauve and green tie clipped with what looked like a silver American dollar sign. His hairline was receding and what hair remained was grey at the temples. He wore black-framed glasses, which sat about halfway down his nose.
    â€œDid you ever visit him there?”
    â€œYes. My wife and I dined with the Rothwells on several occasions.”
    â€œWere you friends?”
    Pratt took another sip of cognac, put his hand out and waggled it from side to side. “Hmm. Somewhere between friends and colleagues, I’d say.”
    â€œWhy did he leave Hatchard and Pratt?”
    Pratt broke eye contact and looked into the liquid he swirled in his snifter. “Ambition, maybe? Straightforward accountancy bored him. He was fond of abstractions, very good with figures. He certainly had a flair for financial management. Very creative.”
    â€œDoes that imply fraudulent?”
    Pratt looked up at her. She couldn’t read his expression. “I resent that implication,” he said.
    â€œWas there any bad feeling?”
    â€œI don’t know what you mean.”
    â€œWhen he left the firm. Had there been any arguments, any problems?”
    â€œGood lord, this was five years ago!”
    â€œEven so.”
    Pratt adopted a stiffer tone. “No, of course there hadn’t. Everything was perfectly amicable. We were sorry to lose him, of course, but …”
    â€œHe wasn’t fired or anything?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid he take any clients with him?”
    Pratt shuffled in his chair. “There will always be clients who feel they owe their loyalty to an individual member of the firm rather than to the firm as a whole.”
    â€œAre you sure this didn’t cause bad feeling?”
    â€œNo, of course not. While it’s unprofessional to solicit clients and woo them away, most firms do accept that they will lose some business whenever a popular member leaves to set up on his own. Say, for example, you visit a particular dentist in a group practice. You feel comfortable with him. He understands how you feel about dentists, you feel safe with him. If he left and set up on his own, would you go with him or stay and take your chances?”
    Susan smiled. “I see what you mean. Do you think you could provide me with a list of names of the clients he took?”
    Pratt chewed his lower lip for a moment, as if debating the ethics of such a request, then said, “I don’t see why not. You could find out from his records anyway.”
    â€œThank you. He must have made a fair bit of money somehow,” Susan said. “How did he do it?”
    Pratt, who if truth be told, Susan thought, suppressing a giggle, might not be entirely happy about his name, either, made a steeple of his hairy hands. “The same way we all do, I assume,” he said. “Hard work. Good investments. Excellent service. Arkbeck Farm was in pretty poor shape when they bought it, you