The bitterest pills come sugarcoated. Philip was quite delighted when a Birmingham businessman named Stephen Rotkoff booked an appointment in early 1955. It seemed that he was being heard of outside the East Midlands triangle, and that the reports were good.
Mr. Rotkoff was a large, powerful man in his thirties with a high colour, sparse sandy-coloured hair, a loud, braying laugh and a powerful, crushing handshake designed to hurt.
Luckily for Philip, he had learned how to deal with this sort of bullying in Hong Kong, and, seeing the hard glint in his visitor's eye, he automatically pushed his hand so far forward that Rotkoff could not apply anything like his full grip.
Philip could see a quick spasm of anger in visitor's eyes, swiftly replaced by bonhomie. The two men sat in the handsome, early Victorian office overlooking New Walk. The normal courtesies out of the way, they swiftly got down to business.
"I understand, Mr. Cheshire, that you are not affiliated with any stockbroker, and don't buy or sell shares. How do you make your crust?"
Philip reached into a drawer of his desk, produced a contract and passed it to his visitor.
"It's very straightforward. I recommend purchases and sales of shares or bonds and you make the purchases through your usual broker. I shall give you a mandate to sign and pass on to him. He will then send me copies of any transactions made on your behalf, and I open a ledger page for you.
Alternately, I can deal with a broker on your behalf, and in that case you would be copied in to all the transactions. The broker would send you a quarterly statement and you could collate it with mine.
Any transactions that do not arise out of my advice I disregard, but I keep a running account of all the sales and purchases you make, and identify those that came about directly as a result of my advice. At the end of the year, I calculate what capital gain you have made from following my advice, and I bill you 7% of that gain as my commission.
You also receive my fortnightly newsletter, with current reviews and forecasts. Every time you implement a concrete recommendation from me, I make a one-off charge of £10 guineas."
Rotkoff put the contract on the desk with scarcely a glance. His voice had the quality of a sneer.
"You are not going to get rich like that, but that's your affair."
He opened his wallet, proffered a rather noncommittal business card, and explained that he and his partners owned Hanson, Calke and Partners, an estate agency with branches throughout Birmingham and the Black Country. Philip recognized the name from advertisements in Country Life and The Field.
It all seemed above board, and together they drew up the guidelines and planned a portfolio with an initial value of £70,000; one of the largest the partnership had had handled up to that point.
Within a day or two, Philip produced a well-balanced portfolio made up mostly of lively companies spread through what he took to be the growing sectors of the economy.
Rotkoff took the advice and fifteen months later, when the account was showing a capital gain of 19%, he received a meticulously itemized bill for £712, representing fees and charges plus the standard 7% on the capital growth. Rotkoff had every reason to be delighted, and Philip was gratified when the bill was paid promptly.
***
Alarm bells began to sound one evening at Denise's house. Philip and Laura were having supper with Denise and her new gentleman friend, Andy Summerton, the retired former head of the Leicestershire CID.
The ladies had withdrawn to the dining room to lay out a cold supper, when Andy, refreshing their drinks, casually, asked Philip how business was going on.
Philip was happily telling him about gaining Stephen Rotkoff as a client when he noticed Andy's rather jowly face tighten ominously.
"You're looking a bit iffy Andy. Is there something about him I should know?"
"If it's the same Rotkoff, then there certainly is. He's no more an estate agent than I am. Old Man Rotkoff was the biggest brothel-owner in Brum and the Black country before the war, and Stephen was his muscle.
The brothels were put out of business at the end of the war and now Stephen runs half the street girls in Brum, plus a particularly nasty protection and extortion racket. He's heavily into illegal bookmaking and probably has a slice of the drug traffic to boot.
If it's the same bloke, you really should watch out for him, Philip. Most criminals are a bit pathetic really, but the odd few; men like him; are something else. They're hard, clever and cruel. They thrive on putting the frighteners on people and watching them squirm."
Seriously alarmed, Philip asked.
