called . . .’ He looks down at a leather bound folder.
‘. . . Lee Martin. He gets a good proportion of the estate. The house plus, ball-park figure, maybe seventy to eighty million cash.’ Norman Classon looks up at De Vries and Don February. ‘If the motive is money then this Lee Martin is your man.’
Classon is the Senior Attorney attached to the Special Crimes Unit, advising the department on legal matters. Usually, he joins an enquiry as charges are being prepared; De Vries wonders how he has become involved within hours of the start of the investigation.
‘. . . English guy, been seeing each other for the last five years. Eighteen months ago, Taryn Holt changes her will to make him the biggest private beneficiary.’
‘Does she?’
‘Makes him interesting, I would say.’
‘We’re about to talk to Mr Martin,’ De Vries says, glancing at Don February. ‘Anything else?’
‘The gallery is left to Dominic van der Merwe. She owned the freehold so it is not an insubstantial gift. Some pretty hefty bequests to art institutions. But, that’s not really the interesting part.’ Classon removes his glasses, studies the lenses, produces a silk handkerchief to wipe them.
‘As I think you know, Taryn Holt inherited her father’s company, Holt Industries, in 2009. His instructions were quite clear. His daughter was to have no involvement in the running of the company, and was prohibited from selling more than twenty-four per cent of the total company stock. That stock now passes to a trust held by those members of the board indicated within Graeme Holt’s will. Taryn Holt’s heirs do not get their hands on any part of the actual company.’
Don February asks:
‘What is the significance of twenty-four per cent?’
Classon nods.
‘Indeed, Warrant February. If Taryn Holt had realised the full twenty-four per cent of stock in Holt Industries, it would still have left her fifty-one per cent of the company. In other words, control remains within the Holt family, or with those who Graeme Holt specified. She was prevented from ever realizing the value of the remainder of her father’s company.’
‘Did she ever sell any stock?’ Don asks.
‘Another apposite question. No, she did not. But, apparently, she had made enquiries approximately three months ago about how she would go about the sale of stock if she wished to raise a capital sum.’
‘And how much would that have been?’
Classon smiles down at Don.
‘Something in the region of five hundred million rand.’
For several seconds, the enormity of the figure silences them.
‘Why would she want a sum like that?’ De Vries asks. ‘What could she spend it on?’
‘Not known . . .’
‘Or not revealed?’
Classon smiles at De Vries.
‘That was what Miss Holt’s lawyer told me. He had been can-did up to that point. I had no reason to doubt him then.’
‘I don’t believe him,’ De Vries says.
‘On what grounds?’
‘It’s my default position with lawyers.’
‘I hope,’ Classon says quietly, ‘that doesn’t extend to me?’
There is a discernible beat of silence. Then De Vries says:
‘You certainly did well getting all of this so quickly.’
Classon raises his eyebrows.
‘It seems that her lawyer had been instructed by the Holt Industries board to co-operate fully with our investigation. But, I agree, such access is . . . unprecedented. I went there to make an initial request. I didn’t expect to be handed everything.’
‘How did they know anyway?’ De Vries says. ‘She’s not been dead twelve hours . . .’
‘I suspect,’ Classon replies, ‘that an important company like Holt keeps a very close eye on its owner, even if she didn’t have day-to-day control.’
‘Who there benefits . . . ?’
‘At Holt Industries? I can’t tell you that.’
‘Because you don’t know?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who owns the remaining quarter of the company, sir?’ Don asks.
Classon turns to Don.
‘As far as I can see, it