A KILLING IN THE CITY
Available on Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/Killing-The-City-Kendall-ebook/dp/B0093N363S/ref=pd_sim_kstore_2
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Killing-The-City-Kendall-ebook/dp/B0093N363S/ref=pd_sim_kinc_4
‘To make a killing in the City’ is a phrase often used within the financial world, to indicate making a large profit on investments, or through dealings on the stock market - the bigger the profit, the bigger the killing. However, Tom Kendall, a private detective, on holiday in London, has a different kind of killing in mind when he hears about the death of one of his fellow passengers who travelled with him on the plane from Miami. It was suicide apparently, a simple overdose of prescribed tablets. Kendall immediately offers his help to Scotland Yard. He is shocked when he is told that his services will not be required. They can manage perfectly well without him, thank you.
This is the fourth story to feature Tom Kendall. Once again his ever-loyal secretary, Mollie, ably assists him in his fight against crime.
Chapter One
John Wyndham Collier
John Wyndham Collier was a big man, big in every sense of the word. Six feet four tall, and weighing a little over fourteen stone, he controlled this vast financial empire that had a presence in every part of the globe. He welded power with an iron fist. Nobody crossed Collier, not if they had any sense that is. Nobody disagreed with him. Nobody argued with him, and nobody ever questioned his judgement. Nobody dared. Not if they wanted to keep their job. What he said went.
He was a self-made man, who had worked his way up to the higher echelons of power. He was now head of this financial giant. He owned fifty one per cent of the shares, and was the Chief Executive Officer and Chairman of the Board. Nothing happened in the company without his knowledge, and his agreement.
Of course he hadn’t done it entirely alone. Oh no. He had made good use of several other people over the years. Not that they had any knowledge of what was happening of course, or had actually given their consent. No not at all, far from it. Indeed they hadn’t actually suspected a thing. In fact, the vast majority of them didn’t even know of his existence. If they had known what was happening they would almost certainly have objected. Many of them had lost their life savings because of Collier, not that they knew.
Always the opportunist, Collier had merely taken advantage of various situations that had occurred. And why not, he asked. If a few people were just too gullible, or too stupid, was that his fault? No it wasn’t. So they couldn’t think for themselves, was that his problem? Was he his brother’s keeper? No, he wasn’t. If a few people got hurt, or trodden on, along the way, well it was just unfortunate, wasn’t it. So be it. It was just one of those things, one of those things that could not be helped. What did it matter anyway? Did anyone really care? Collier very much doubted it. Besides he wasn’t really that worried whether they cared or not. In fact he wasn’t worried at all. So he had made a few enemies along the way, more than a few. But what did that compare with the power he now possesses. You couldn’t cook an omelette without cracking a few eggs, could you?
If you don’t want to get burnt, stay out of the kitchen. That was one of Collier’s favourite sayings. He had got burnt, once, many years ago. He had vowed then and there that it would never happen again.
Collier’s office clearly showed the trappings of power, wealth, and success. To one side was a large mahogany desk. On the desk were a number of buff coloured files and several papers neatly piled on one side. On the wall opposite was a large mahogany cabinet, which took up most of the wall space. On the shelves was row after row of leather bound books. Amongst them were a number of extremely valuable and very rare first editions. Interspersed amongst the books were several large ornaments. Included were a number of vases, and a group of porcelain figurines. The end section of the cabinet contained a selection of drinks. To one side of the cabinet were two leather armchairs, and a low mahogany table. On the adjacent wall were a number of filing cabinets and another small bookcase containing a number of ring binders. Next to the filing cabinets was a large leather sofa.
On three of the walls were a number of original oil paintings, including a Renoir, and a Degas. Not that Collier was an art connoisseur, because he wasn’t. He knew nothing about art, and cared even less. All that he knew was the possible monetary value a work of art might have. That was all that mattered as far as he was concerned. Those three paintings were investments, nothing more. So too were the first editions, and the porcelain figurines. Whatever artistic qualities they possessed were of no interest whatsoever.
Collier suddenly stood up and pushed his huge leather swivel chair back hard from his desk. It struck the wall with a loud thud. Collier was breathing heavily. He slowly walked over to the window, and peered out, down to the ground below. It wasn’t the most scenic view ever but it did give a commanding view of the main car park area located at the rear of the building. From here he could see every coming or going. He looked over to the far side. He smiled. The allocated parking space was still vacant. Not that he was surprised. He looked over at the wall clock. Two thirty-five. His visitors were not due for almost another hour yet. He looked back at the parking space. He nodded. That’s where Graham Nicholas Baxter will park, he murmured.
He turned back towards his desk. Of course he hadn’t really thought to see Baxter’s car. Not just then at any rate. Not that Baxter would be late, that much was certain. He would certainly be on time. In fact he would probably arrive a little early if anything, Collier thought. Baxter could not afford to miss this meeting.
Collier smiled. He looked back at the clock. Suddenly he felt strangely nervous. No, he wasn’t nervous exactly, apprehensive maybe, unsure. Whatever it was, Collier did not the feeling. He felt vulnerable somehow. Suppose Baxter had decided not to come after all. Collier shook his head. Suppose he had decided to make a fight of it instead. Collier shook his head once again. Perhaps he wouldn’t just take it lying down. Collier shook his head a third time. That was unthinkable, impossible. Even Baxter wasn’t that stupid. How could he possibly make a fight of it? Collier shook his head once again. Impossible it may be, unthinkable perhaps, and yet he still felt strangely uneasy. Suppose everything hadn’t been covered. Suppose something had been missed. Something he had overlooked somehow. Had he missed a loophole somewhere, a possible way out for Baxter? He looked over at his desk. There was the document awaiting Baxter’s signature. Collier shook his head. He had spent weeks preparing that document. He had gone through it over and over. Nothing had been overlooked. There was no loophole. He had checked every word, every letter. He knew every line, every full stop, and every comma. Nothing had been left to chance. He had checked everything. Then he had double-checked, and then he had checked again. He had missed nothing. He started to relax and smile once again. Baxter would be there, make no mistake about that. He had no real choice did he?
Collier looked at the clock once again. Two forty. He sat down. For the twentieth time he started to move things around on his desk. First he moved the telephone into the middle of the desk. Then the computer keyboard was pushed to one side, to make room for the intercom. Then the telephone would be moved once again, and then the intercom returned to its original position. He was becoming increasingly impatient. He glanced at the wall clock once again. Collier hated sitting around waiting. Once he had a course of action in his mind, he just wanted to get on with it, to get it over and done with. He had been planning for this day for a long time now. Long enough, he thought. He just wanted to get on with it now.
He started to tap his fingers on the desk once more, drumming faster and faster, louder and louder. Then he started to move things around once again. An old sepia photograph of a young lady, in a gold frame was moved from one side to the other. He stopped and looked at the photograph for a few moments. He shook his head and raised his hand to his cheek. His mother, not that he remembered her, she had died when he was no more than two years old. He raised his hand to his cheek once again and brushed away a tear. Oh no, the tear wasn’t for his mother. The tear came as he remembered how his father had been after her death. How he had beaten the young John Wyndham for poor results at school.
* * *
“Must do better, boy,” his father would say. It was never John, or son. It was always ‘boy’. Sometimes he said nothing at all. That was even worse for the young boy, the complete silence, to be ignored, as though he never actually existed.
“There are two types of people,” his father would say. “There are those who succeed and those that don’t. There is no point in coming second. It’s not the taking part that counts. What matters is winning.”
* * *
John Wyndham Collier took those words to heart, and lived by that rule from that time on. He stared at the photograph for a few moments. He sighed deeply and reached for the frame. Slowly he laid it face down on to the desk. He shook his head and started to nervously tap the buttons on the intercom. Accidentally he pressed the call button. Instantly he pressed the cancel button.
He was too late. Immediately there came an answering call. “Did you want something sir?” a voice asked. It was his secretary.
“No, nothing,” he replied sharply. There was no hint of an apology. He started to replace the handset, and then suddenly changed his mind.
“Is the room ready,” he asked.
“Everything is ready sir,” Joyce replied. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
Collier grunted, and replaced the handset. He shook his head. “Nothing to worry about,” he repeated. What did she know about it anyway? He sighed and took a deep breath. Then he started to smile. Really though, she was right. There was nothing to worry about, was there? He had thought of everything. Every eventuality had been covered. Every contingency had been allowed for, every possibility had been taken into account. There would be no surprises. No slip-ups. Nothing could, or would, go wrong.
He stood up once again. As he did so he pushed his diary to one side. Too hard. The diary slid over the edge of the desk and fell to the floor. He sighed and slowly walked around to the front of the desk. The diary was lying open. Collier bent down and picked it up. As he did so he glanced at the entry on the open page. Six months ago, he murmured. Had it really been six months? He nodded, and started to smile. Six months almost to the day. That’s when his opportunity had come, at last. That’s when he was able, finally, to put his plans into operation.
* * *
It wasn’t exactly on a par with the great Wall Street Crash of 1929, but on that particular Monday morning, almost six months ago, it had come pretty close. Stock Markets had crashed all around the Globe, losing ten per cent of their value in one day. It had started on the Hang Seng with heavy trading on oil and the dollar. This was quickly followed on the Nikkei, and the Malaysian markets. The value of the dollar had plummeted to an all-time low. The effects had then quickly spread, with major panic selling, leading to even greater falls.
The exact cause of the fall was uncertain. High interest rates was put forward as a possible cause; increased levels of borrowing was another possibility. There was no one particular reason however, nothing that could be readily identified, nothing that you could put your finger on. All of the financial experts were agreed, however, on one thing – the market slump was only short term. It was only a temporary glitch, and of no major concern. It would not last, said Her Majesty’s Treasury. A temporary setback only, said The Governor of the Bank of England, it would all be over in a few short weeks.
This was a view that was echoed in the money markets around the world. “We have seen this kind of thing before,” said the United States Federal Reserve. “Don’t read too much into it,” pronounced the Editor of the Wall Street Journal. “It doesn’t mean anything. The markets will bounce back, stronger than ever. Just mark my words.”
But the Markets did not bounce back. They continued to fall un-checked. Share prices went into freefall. The Financial Times, and the Confederation of British Industries called for a substantial cut in interest rates. The Markets still continued to fall. The United States Treasury injected massive amounts into the economy, but to no effect. The Markets still fell. The World Bank called for a massive rise in interest rates to stimulate investment. The Markets still fell. By the end of the second week share values had fallen by twenty-four per cent.
* * *
Credit crunch was one of the buzzwords going around at the time. There was, of course, a long official, complicated definition of what that meant, but simply put it meant that the banks had just pulled the plug, and had stopped loaning money. Furthermore, any money they had loaned they wanted back, and they wanted it there and then. Furthermore there would be no further loans. And why would they suddenly stop loaning? Because, in recent years, there had just been too much credit and too many people were now failing to keep up the payments. Huge losses resulted. The banks were no longer prepared to take the risk. Added to that were depressed share values, and high interest rates. It was as simple as that. Any first year economics student would have known exactly what was happening, immediately. They would have done something about it long before. A cap on loans might have helped. More stringent requirements on borrowers, or perhaps re-negotiated loan terms might have had an effect. Or improved collateral possibly, or better security. In any event, they would have done something long ago.
The so-called experts had, however, taken considerably longer to see it coming, and they were still taken by surprise. All right, so it was unforeseen. All right no one could have forecast it, but eventually they came to realise the worst. The economy was in meltdown. So now what? What should be done about it? What was the best course of action? What was the best way out of the trouble? Cut public spending, was the judgement of one group. No, said another, not at all, quite the opposite in fact. You have to spend your way out of a recession, and boost the economy. Spend, spend, spend. Nonsense, said a third group. Cut interest rates, was their advice. A massive cash injection was required, was the counsel of a fourth group. Increase public borrowing, suggested a fifth. Whilst another group advocated wide scale investment, although where the finance was to come from was something of a mystery.
The only thing that the experts could actually agree on was that something had to be done, and done quickly. Although what that something was no one was prepared to say. More to the point, no one actually knew.
* * *
Available on Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/Killing-The-City-Kendall-ebook/dp/B0093N363S/ref=pd_sim_kstore_2
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Killing-The-City-Kendall-ebook/dp/B0093N363S/ref=pd_sim_kinc_4
‘To make a killing in the City’ is a phrase often used within the financial world, to indicate making a large profit on investments, or through dealings on the stock market - the bigger the profit, the bigger the killing. However, Tom Kendall, a private detective, on holiday in London, has a different kind of killing in mind when he hears about the death of one of his fellow passengers who travelled with him on the plane from Miami. It was suicide apparently, a simple overdose of prescribed tablets. Kendall immediately offers his help to Scotland Yard. He is shocked when he is told that his services will not be required. They can manage perfectly well without him, thank you.
This is the fourth story to feature Tom Kendall. Once again his ever-loyal secretary, Mollie, ably assists him in his fight against crime.
Chapter One
John Wyndham Collier
The City of London is often referred to as the Square Mile, or just simply The City. Almost two thousand years old, it is the historic core of London, the central hub around which the modern conurbation grew. It is now a major business and financial centre, ranking on a par with New York City as one of the leading centres of global finance. At its centre is the Bank of England, the controller, and keeper, of the Nation’s finances for almost three hundred years. A hundred yards, or so, further to the north is located the second of the City’s great financial institutions, the London Stock Exchange, where everyday fortunes are made, or lost, at the whimsy of world affairs, and the market traders.
Almost opposite the Stock Exchange, at the junction of Threadneedle Street, and Bishopsgate, is the third of the City’s major buildings, the Travers Morgan Building, known locally simply as The Tower.
* * *
Constructed in the late nineteen eighties, the Tower is a glass and steel structure that rises some twenty-two storeys high. It is home to Travers Morgan PLC, one of the world’s leading investment companies. Travers Morgan was founded at the turn of the century, by John Travers, and Clifford Morgan. At that time it was mainly involved in transportation, notably shipping and the railway. Benefitting from the First World War, it had grown into a huge conglomeration of companies encompassing banking, insurance, shipping and trade.
* * *
Seated in his large plush office, located up on the tenth floor was John Wyndham Collier, the head of Travers Morgan. This was to be an important day for John Wyndham Collier. He was expecting some visitors. Not that the visitors themselves were particularly important. Oh no, they were merely incidental, nothing more than necessary players in the forthcoming main event that was soon to unfold.
For the tenth time in as many minutes Collier glanced at the clock on the wall. He nodded his head and took a deep breath. This was going to be a big day, he murmured, a very big day indeed.
He started to tap the desk with his fingers, the drumming gradually becoming louder, and faster. Patience was a virtue that Collier did not possess. Impatient as ever, he was anxious to get on. Time was money, and he had no desire to waste either commodity.
* * *
John Wyndham Collier was a big man, big in every sense of the word. Six feet four tall, and weighing a little over fourteen stone, he controlled this vast financial empire that had a presence in every part of the globe. He welded power with an iron fist. Nobody crossed Collier, not if they had any sense that is. Nobody disagreed with him. Nobody argued with him, and nobody ever questioned his judgement. Nobody dared. Not if they wanted to keep their job. What he said went.
He was a self-made man, who had worked his way up to the higher echelons of power. He was now head of this financial giant. He owned fifty one per cent of the shares, and was the Chief Executive Officer and Chairman of the Board. Nothing happened in the company without his knowledge, and his agreement.
Of course he hadn’t done it entirely alone. Oh no. He had made good use of several other people over the years. Not that they had any knowledge of what was happening of course, or had actually given their consent. No not at all, far from it. Indeed they hadn’t actually suspected a thing. In fact, the vast majority of them didn’t even know of his existence. If they had known what was happening they would almost certainly have objected. Many of them had lost their life savings because of Collier, not that they knew.
Always the opportunist, Collier had merely taken advantage of various situations that had occurred. And why not, he asked. If a few people were just too gullible, or too stupid, was that his fault? No it wasn’t. So they couldn’t think for themselves, was that his problem? Was he his brother’s keeper? No, he wasn’t. If a few people got hurt, or trodden on, along the way, well it was just unfortunate, wasn’t it. So be it. It was just one of those things, one of those things that could not be helped. What did it matter anyway? Did anyone really care? Collier very much doubted it. Besides he wasn’t really that worried whether they cared or not. In fact he wasn’t worried at all. So he had made a few enemies along the way, more than a few. But what did that compare with the power he now possesses. You couldn’t cook an omelette without cracking a few eggs, could you?
If you don’t want to get burnt, stay out of the kitchen. That was one of Collier’s favourite sayings. He had got burnt, once, many years ago. He had vowed then and there that it would never happen again.
* * *
Collier’s office clearly showed the trappings of power, wealth, and success. To one side was a large mahogany desk. On the desk were a number of buff coloured files and several papers neatly piled on one side. On the wall opposite was a large mahogany cabinet, which took up most of the wall space. On the shelves was row after row of leather bound books. Amongst them were a number of extremely valuable and very rare first editions. Interspersed amongst the books were several large ornaments. Included were a number of vases, and a group of porcelain figurines. The end section of the cabinet contained a selection of drinks. To one side of the cabinet were two leather armchairs, and a low mahogany table. On the adjacent wall were a number of filing cabinets and another small bookcase containing a number of ring binders. Next to the filing cabinets was a large leather sofa.
On three of the walls were a number of original oil paintings, including a Renoir, and a Degas. Not that Collier was an art connoisseur, because he wasn’t. He knew nothing about art, and cared even less. All that he knew was the possible monetary value a work of art might have. That was all that mattered as far as he was concerned. Those three paintings were investments, nothing more. So too were the first editions, and the porcelain figurines. Whatever artistic qualities they possessed were of no interest whatsoever.
* * *
Collier suddenly stood up and pushed his huge leather swivel chair back hard from his desk. It struck the wall with a loud thud. Collier was breathing heavily. He slowly walked over to the window, and peered out, down to the ground below. It wasn’t the most scenic view ever but it did give a commanding view of the main car park area located at the rear of the building. From here he could see every coming or going. He looked over to the far side. He smiled. The allocated parking space was still vacant. Not that he was surprised. He looked over at the wall clock. Two thirty-five. His visitors were not due for almost another hour yet. He looked back at the parking space. He nodded. That’s where Graham Nicholas Baxter will park, he murmured.
He turned back towards his desk. Of course he hadn’t really thought to see Baxter’s car. Not just then at any rate. Not that Baxter would be late, that much was certain. He would certainly be on time. In fact he would probably arrive a little early if anything, Collier thought. Baxter could not afford to miss this meeting.
Collier smiled. He looked back at the clock. Suddenly he felt strangely nervous. No, he wasn’t nervous exactly, apprehensive maybe, unsure. Whatever it was, Collier did not the feeling. He felt vulnerable somehow. Suppose Baxter had decided not to come after all. Collier shook his head. Suppose he had decided to make a fight of it instead. Collier shook his head once again. Perhaps he wouldn’t just take it lying down. Collier shook his head a third time. That was unthinkable, impossible. Even Baxter wasn’t that stupid. How could he possibly make a fight of it? Collier shook his head once again. Impossible it may be, unthinkable perhaps, and yet he still felt strangely uneasy. Suppose everything hadn’t been covered. Suppose something had been missed. Something he had overlooked somehow. Had he missed a loophole somewhere, a possible way out for Baxter? He looked over at his desk. There was the document awaiting Baxter’s signature. Collier shook his head. He had spent weeks preparing that document. He had gone through it over and over. Nothing had been overlooked. There was no loophole. He had checked every word, every letter. He knew every line, every full stop, and every comma. Nothing had been left to chance. He had checked everything. Then he had double-checked, and then he had checked again. He had missed nothing. He started to relax and smile once again. Baxter would be there, make no mistake about that. He had no real choice did he?
Collier looked at the clock once again. Two forty. He sat down. For the twentieth time he started to move things around on his desk. First he moved the telephone into the middle of the desk. Then the computer keyboard was pushed to one side, to make room for the intercom. Then the telephone would be moved once again, and then the intercom returned to its original position. He was becoming increasingly impatient. He glanced at the wall clock once again. Collier hated sitting around waiting. Once he had a course of action in his mind, he just wanted to get on with it, to get it over and done with. He had been planning for this day for a long time now. Long enough, he thought. He just wanted to get on with it now.
He started to tap his fingers on the desk once more, drumming faster and faster, louder and louder. Then he started to move things around once again. An old sepia photograph of a young lady, in a gold frame was moved from one side to the other. He stopped and looked at the photograph for a few moments. He shook his head and raised his hand to his cheek. His mother, not that he remembered her, she had died when he was no more than two years old. He raised his hand to his cheek once again and brushed away a tear. Oh no, the tear wasn’t for his mother. The tear came as he remembered how his father had been after her death. How he had beaten the young John Wyndham for poor results at school.
* * *
“Must do better, boy,” his father would say. It was never John, or son. It was always ‘boy’. Sometimes he said nothing at all. That was even worse for the young boy, the complete silence, to be ignored, as though he never actually existed.
“There are two types of people,” his father would say. “There are those who succeed and those that don’t. There is no point in coming second. It’s not the taking part that counts. What matters is winning.”
* * *
John Wyndham Collier took those words to heart, and lived by that rule from that time on. He stared at the photograph for a few moments. He sighed deeply and reached for the frame. Slowly he laid it face down on to the desk. He shook his head and started to nervously tap the buttons on the intercom. Accidentally he pressed the call button. Instantly he pressed the cancel button.
He was too late. Immediately there came an answering call. “Did you want something sir?” a voice asked. It was his secretary.
“No, nothing,” he replied sharply. There was no hint of an apology. He started to replace the handset, and then suddenly changed his mind.
“Is the room ready,” he asked.
“Everything is ready sir,” Joyce replied. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
Collier grunted, and replaced the handset. He shook his head. “Nothing to worry about,” he repeated. What did she know about it anyway? He sighed and took a deep breath. Then he started to smile. Really though, she was right. There was nothing to worry about, was there? He had thought of everything. Every eventuality had been covered. Every contingency had been allowed for, every possibility had been taken into account. There would be no surprises. No slip-ups. Nothing could, or would, go wrong.
He stood up once again. As he did so he pushed his diary to one side. Too hard. The diary slid over the edge of the desk and fell to the floor. He sighed and slowly walked around to the front of the desk. The diary was lying open. Collier bent down and picked it up. As he did so he glanced at the entry on the open page. Six months ago, he murmured. Had it really been six months? He nodded, and started to smile. Six months almost to the day. That’s when his opportunity had come, at last. That’s when he was able, finally, to put his plans into operation.
* * *
It wasn’t exactly on a par with the great Wall Street Crash of 1929, but on that particular Monday morning, almost six months ago, it had come pretty close. Stock Markets had crashed all around the Globe, losing ten per cent of their value in one day. It had started on the Hang Seng with heavy trading on oil and the dollar. This was quickly followed on the Nikkei, and the Malaysian markets. The value of the dollar had plummeted to an all-time low. The effects had then quickly spread, with major panic selling, leading to even greater falls.
The exact cause of the fall was uncertain. High interest rates was put forward as a possible cause; increased levels of borrowing was another possibility. There was no one particular reason however, nothing that could be readily identified, nothing that you could put your finger on. All of the financial experts were agreed, however, on one thing – the market slump was only short term. It was only a temporary glitch, and of no major concern. It would not last, said Her Majesty’s Treasury. A temporary setback only, said The Governor of the Bank of England, it would all be over in a few short weeks.
This was a view that was echoed in the money markets around the world. “We have seen this kind of thing before,” said the United States Federal Reserve. “Don’t read too much into it,” pronounced the Editor of the Wall Street Journal. “It doesn’t mean anything. The markets will bounce back, stronger than ever. Just mark my words.”
But the Markets did not bounce back. They continued to fall un-checked. Share prices went into freefall. The Financial Times, and the Confederation of British Industries called for a substantial cut in interest rates. The Markets still continued to fall. The United States Treasury injected massive amounts into the economy, but to no effect. The Markets still fell. The World Bank called for a massive rise in interest rates to stimulate investment. The Markets still fell. By the end of the second week share values had fallen by twenty-four per cent.
* * *
Credit crunch was one of the buzzwords going around at the time. There was, of course, a long official, complicated definition of what that meant, but simply put it meant that the banks had just pulled the plug, and had stopped loaning money. Furthermore, any money they had loaned they wanted back, and they wanted it there and then. Furthermore there would be no further loans. And why would they suddenly stop loaning? Because, in recent years, there had just been too much credit and too many people were now failing to keep up the payments. Huge losses resulted. The banks were no longer prepared to take the risk. Added to that were depressed share values, and high interest rates. It was as simple as that. Any first year economics student would have known exactly what was happening, immediately. They would have done something about it long before. A cap on loans might have helped. More stringent requirements on borrowers, or perhaps re-negotiated loan terms might have had an effect. Or improved collateral possibly, or better security. In any event, they would have done something long ago.
The so-called experts had, however, taken considerably longer to see it coming, and they were still taken by surprise. All right, so it was unforeseen. All right no one could have forecast it, but eventually they came to realise the worst. The economy was in meltdown. So now what? What should be done about it? What was the best course of action? What was the best way out of the trouble? Cut public spending, was the judgement of one group. No, said another, not at all, quite the opposite in fact. You have to spend your way out of a recession, and boost the economy. Spend, spend, spend. Nonsense, said a third group. Cut interest rates, was their advice. A massive cash injection was required, was the counsel of a fourth group. Increase public borrowing, suggested a fifth. Whilst another group advocated wide scale investment, although where the finance was to come from was something of a mystery.
The only thing that the experts could actually agree on was that something had to be done, and done quickly. Although what that something was no one was prepared to say. More to the point, no one actually knew.
* * *
