direction if they demanded sight of the pension funds’ share certificates. In the event, the Maxwells’ nonchalance infected Cook and he managed to greet the IMRO officers in an unconcerned manner. Just as the Maxwells anticipated, the bureaucrats proved to be incompetent. The two inspectors – described by both Highfield and Cook as ‘young and inexperienced’ – had stayed for one day. Their only recommendation was that BIM needed to improve its documentation. ‘A bit of an anti-climax,’ concluded Highfield.
Cowling’s visit, Maxwell feared, would be worse. There were good reasons for his concern. Since the last accounts, dated 30 June 1989 and covering the previous eighteen-month period, his private companies’ debt to BIM, despite the recent settlement, had risen to £40 million. Moreover, to any practised accountant, the pension funds’ involvement in Maxwell’s share sales on the eve of the financial year’s end would have suggested questionable window-dressing. Yet Cook’s fear that Cowling would complain about the delay in repaying the debt proved unfounded: he had underestimated Maxwell’s relationship with the partners at Coopers, whose tolerance, understanding and willingness to take the Publisher’s assurances on trust were a great comfort to him.
Taken together, Maxwell’s 400 companies were by far Coopers’ biggest clients, producing annual fees of £5 million. Although he occasionally feigned innocence about taxation, Maxwell possessed an astute understanding of accounts and accountants. Twenty-five years earlier, he had tyrannized John Biggs, the stuttering, alcoholic auditor of Pergamon, into approving his fictitious accounts and concealing the fraudulent management of his first public company. Such tactics were no longer appropriate. Instead, he resorted to a charm offensive, smothering with eyewash John Cowling, Neil Taberner, Stephen Wootten and Peter Walsh, all Coopers accountants responsible for different branches of the empire.
John Walsh had been auditing Maxwell’s companies since 1970 and prided himself as ‘one of the trusted old faces’. In 1991 Walsh explained in a self-congratulatory memo to his colleagues that Coopers’ close relationship with Maxwell was unusual since, though he had ‘used almost every lawyer, every broker and every merchant bank in London, he has been totally loyal to Coopers … because we stood by him in the 1970s when everyone else avoided him (National Westminster Bank is in a similar position)’.
Recognizing the importance of Maxwell’s accounts, Coopers had even established an office in nearby Plumtree Court from where they had easy and continuous access to the Maxwell finance departments. The accountants adopted a trusting approach towards the Maxwell empire – believing that it was the directors’ responsibility to compile the accounts and indicate any problems. ‘An auditor’, Walsh would fondly repeat, ‘is not like a ferret pointed at a rabbit warren just to see how many rabbits come out.’ Walsh would also defend the absence of any discussions between the Coopers auditors working for the empire’s different segments. Maxwell’s canny compartmentalization between MCC, RMG, BIM and many other companies was willingly self-imposed by Coopers upon themselves. ‘I never spoke to Neil Taberner,’ Walsh would admit. That self-denying ordinance was vital to the auditors’ subsequent claims that they had not known of the huge inter-company loans between Maxwell’s public and private companies, including BIM. ‘Auditors are not given crystal balls,’ argued Walsh, in support of his professions of ignorance. Responsibility for the accuracy of the accounts, the Coopers men endlessly repeated, rests with a company’s directors, and that was a responsibility which the Chairman was pleased to accept.
To aid him in that task, he looked out for those weak but ambitious Coopers employees who could be recruited to work directly for him. The presence within the empire of young men like Basil Brookes and Jonathan Ford, and retired senior auditors like David Corsan (who had previously audited the whole Maxwell empire), tempted by higher salaries, made that disingenuous eyewash easier to dispense inside the auditors’ headquarters. The beneficial result was that, consistently in previous years, the value of MCC’s assets and its profits had been wildly inflated. Maxwell’s £49 million losses after the 1987 crash were relegated to an obscure footnote; suspicious currency speculation featured as trading profits; while the valuation of ‘intangibles’ at £2.2 billion was eight times higher than their true value. Coopers’ annual blessing of Maxwell’s fabrications had allowed his regular boast about ‘record profits’ to pump up both MCC’s share price and his own self-esteem.
Pinpointing the chaos in BIM’s accounts should have been an uncomplicated task for Cowling. In 1989, an auditors’ report had mentioned that Maxwell appeared to control BIM – ‘a high-risk company easily influenced by senior management’ – and criticized the supervisory systems as ‘poor’. An internal Coopers memorandum about the pension funds’ investments highlighted the risks of stock lending and the funds’ growing stake in MCC, prompting the auditor’s comment that Maxwell’s management of the fund as his personal vehicle free of any independent, basic controls was ‘risky’. One year later, matters were made worse by the apparent confusion of information sent to Cook by Larry Trachtenberg. Although BIM’s investments, income and payments to pensioners had been systematically recorded, Cook complained to Cowling that he was ‘confused about the income from stock lending. We’re going backwards and forwards, and we’re getting contradictory information.’ He claimed to be puzzled because LBI had not submitted proper accounts to BIM. ‘Nothing they give us makes any sense,’ Cook told Cowling. ‘It’s all late, incomplete or wrong.’ Since Cowling was also LBI’s auditor, it seemed that he was ideally placed to unravel the confusion.
Cowling could be forgiven for thinking that Cook was foolish. After all, Cook had received regular statements from Trachtenberg but admitted not to have calculated BIM’s actual income. Moreover, he claimed to be baffled about the interest accruing to BIM because, to avoid handing over cash, Trachtenberg had told him that he was also investing the interest payments. In the event, Cowling did not criticize either Cook or Trachtenberg.
Imposing not so much a Chinese wall as a concrete one around himself, Cowling had not discussed his task with his Coopers colleagues working on other Maxwell companies’ accounts. Nevertheless, within days he noticed that pension fund money had ‘disappeared’ because the systems, controls and records of BIM and LBI were chaotic. He also discovered that important details about the stock lending were ‘unknown’.
When Maxwell returned to London in the early hours of 7 December, he could only hope that Cowling could be placated if he unearthed any discrepancies. His major concern was that Cowling would ask to see the actual share certificates rather than photocopies. Since many of them were held by the banks, that would pose a tricky problem. Maxwell’s first conversations with Kevin seemed encouraging. To comply with the law governing the formal submission of annual accounts, Cowling had agreed to sign BIM’s accounts immediately, although his work could only be completed over the following weeks.
Relieved by that outcome, in the run-up to the Christmas holidays Maxwell closeted himself with lawyers. Despite the millions spent in legal fees over the years, he had won few victories in the courts, yet his threats of litigation often served his purpose, silencing enemies and deterring creditors. Not surprisingly, his massive expenditure on lawyers galvanized most of the profession to offer him their services unconditionally. But, contrary to his practice with accountants and bankers, he made no effort to retain the services of the large, prestigious partnerships mushrooming around the City. Instead he sought individuals who could be relied upon to devote themselves – personally and professionally – more than wholeheartedly to his cause.
In-house he relied upon Oscar Beuselinck to manage his writs for defamation against the growing number of critics. Although the seventy-one-year-old solicitor had represented Private Eye against Maxwell in 1986, he had agreed to work for the Publisher at a salary twice as large as he had expected.
The second in-house lawyer was Debbie Maxwell. Preoccupied by the need to defend several writs against Maxwell for payment of millions of pounds in unpaid fees and damages for broken contracts, she had become renowned for asking her employer, ‘How shall I describe this: half full or half empty?’ At 10
