Trading Reality by Michael Ridpath Page B

to Glenrothes. The more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed to me that Donaldson’s suspicions of insider trading would lead anywhere. To be an insider trader you need to have inside information. I had had none, until perhaps Richard had hinted that FairSystems was running out of money again. But that had been only a few days before he’d been killed. Karen had known nothing either.
    I was still a little nervous. In the City, even a hint that you have been involved in something dodgy doesn’t do your reputation any good. I hoped Donaldson wouldn’t ask too many questions.
    I thought about strange movements in share prices. From what little I knew, they were usually moves up, just before a takeover was announced, as people with inside knowledge bought shares in anticipation of the announcement. But FairSystems’ shares had moved down not up. Despite Richard’s theories, I saw nothing mysterious about that.
    I arrived at Glenrothes just before lunch. The town sprawled beneath three low hills. It was ringed with industrial estates, each containing blocks of rectangular, windowless metal factories. Grey cloud hung low overhead. There was very little movement, noise or smoke. Whatever machinery there was, was humming away quietly to itself under those metal cocoons.
    Richard had told me a little of Glenrothes’ history. It had been set up as a New Town in the 1940s and had grown with miners flocking from the west of Scotland to exploit the giant Rothes coal pit. This had turned out to be unworkable, and had been closed down after only a few years. Since then the town had enthusiastically embraced the concept of Scotland’s ‘Silicon Glen’, and had managed to attract large sums of foreign investment, much of it in high-technology industries. The biggest employer was the American company, Hughes Electronics.
    FairSystems’ factory was in the midst of an industrial estate just like all the others. When a big local computer company had gone bust three years earlier, Richard had been able to rent its facility cheaply from the local development corporation.
    It was a large, rectangular grey metal box, bigger than most of those surrounding it. The company logo was placed at various points round the exterior, an orange rising sun with the word
FairSystems
running across it. The only windows were clustered round the front of the building.
    I pulled into the car park, and walked across the tarmac past a newly planted garden in front of the factory. Scrawny young trees poked up from scantily planted flowerbeds. On two sides were similar featureless factories, and on the other was some wasteland stretching towards a small hill grazed by cows.
    Inside, the reception area was brightly decorated. The receptionist had very short red hair, and was wearing a simple black dress. I saw a chunky copy of
Anna Karenina
lying opened on the chair next to her behind the desk. When I said my name she gave me a sympathetic smile. She asked me to take a seat and wait for Mr Sorenson.
    So I sat down and waited. I was curious to see the factory. It had played such an important part in Richard’s life, and probably ably his death.
    The receptionist was staring out of the doorway, looking bored.
    ‘Carry on with your book,’ I said. ‘I don’t mind.’
    She smiled guiltily, and picked it up. She read a paragraph or two, and then looked towards me.
    ‘Mr Fairfax,’ she began nervously.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I’m really sorry about your brother’s death.’
    I smiled weakly.
    ‘So are all of us here,’ she went on. ‘He was a good man. We all liked him.’
    I was getting used to receiving condolences. But her sincerity was obvious, and suddenly touching. My eyes stung, and I swallowed.
    ‘Thanks,’ I said simply.
    She smiled quickly and went back to her book.
    Two minutes later Sorenson rushed into the reception area, followed by a man I didn’t know. ‘Mark. I’m glad you could make it. Good day yesterday, wasn’t it? Boy, that’s