Patrick Radden Keefe: “The wicked never believes to be the wicked. Only in the cinema the villain laughs sinisterly”

He just published The Oligarch's Son (Periscopi/Seix Barral, Catalan translation by Ricard Gil), a painful and fascinating investigation into a young man who dies after plunging into the Thames from the fifth floor of a luxury apartment in London's Riverside. Patrick Radden Keefe delves into the motives for that leap, into the double life he was leading and, above all, into the contrast that arises between the resplendent facade that is modern-day London and its interior, corrupted by money.

The book in English is called London falling. It refers to the boy who plunges from the balcony of a luxury apartment, but it also speaks of the fall of London. What decline did you want to portray?

— Seen from the outside, London might seem like a booming city. Literally: you can see how the steel and glass skyscrapers grow and the landscape mutates. It is more cosmopolitan and seductive than before, with better restaurants, expensive cars, beautiful people... luxury is breathed into the atmosphere. The paradox is that, despite this, money has emptied the city. In many of these buildings there is no one and some have been built with dirty money. Many people feel alienated and have had to leave. I was interested in this paradox of the city that is robust on the outside, but has lost its soul.

Is it a specific evil of the British capital?

— It could be applied to many cities. Surely to Barcelona as well. I love this city. I don't speak either Catalan or Spanish, but I can be perfectly functional here. The perversion, of course, is that what I find attractive as a foreigner are the same things that, if you live here, you might think are ruining the city. Mind you, London has a specific ingredient: the impact of post-Soviet oligarchs, who have taken this idea to the extreme. The Golden Visa program has also benefited very wealthy people from the Gulf, from Iran, the Nigerian elite... It is easier to find them in London than in New York or Los Angeles.

The villains in your books are very diverse, but they all deny doing any harm. Is it easier for us as a species to inflict pain on others than to admit it?

— Absolutely. I have been writing for twenty years about people who do bad things, and the villain never believes they are the villain. Only in movies does the bad guy laugh sinisterly. Well, perhaps Peter Thiel knows he is one of the bad guys and is fine with it. And Elon Musk, to a certain extent. But I think that even Musk, deep down, would like to be liked by people and thinks he is a hero.

It is a fascinating mechanism.

— Yes, because it shows how we all constantly rewrite reality. While I was on tour in London, a person asked me to sign their book. He was a real estate agent who worked for billionaires. “I love it!”, he told me. And I was astonished: he didn't realize he was one of the bad guys! I don't mean him personally, but rather that everything that sustains him, his career... And I thought: but don't you feel challenged?

The book's protagonist, young Zac Brettler, built himself a false identity, behind his parents' backs, and passed himself off as the son of a Russian oligarch. Did it hit close to home, you being the father of two teenage boys?

— Adolescence is a very plastic life, in which you break away from your parents and decide what your story will be. It has always been so, but now, with social media, identity is especially important. At the same time, there is the added difficulty for young people to imagine a future that includes them. Zac's generation will be the first that, from a material point of view, will not live better than its parents. And they are being raised on social media where everything is a lie.

Didn't delving into this desperate life with a tragic end make you overprotect your children?

— It is tempting to lock them at home under lock and key, and not let them use their mobile phones, but that would not be doing them any good: they must have the freedom to write their own story. What is most frightening, as a parent, is realizing how many things are outside of our control.

Some of the things you discover about Zac must have been painful for his family. Did you omit some aspects out of modesty?

— The most delicate aspect was explaining the secret family of Hugo, the maternal grandfather. Whoever reads the book will not notice it, but it took me two years of battles to be able to include it, because at first, the fact that he had had a daughter out of wedlock who ended up committing suicide was only known off the record. I have all the empathy in the world for the family, but if I glossed over it to make them feel better, I would have fallen exactly into what the characters in this story do. Finally, I convinced them that it would be malpractice not to talk about it. And that, rather than writing a crippled book, I would prefer not to write it at all.

After everything you reveal, does the police plan to reopen an investigation that seems scandalously deficient?

— It is still too early to know. The Metropolitan Police continues to say that there is nothing suspicious about this death. It's crazy. I hope enough people read the book so that there is political pressure on the police. However, I am not writing the book with that in mind. The Brettlers themselves say they don't care if the case is reopened, although I think they do, and that they will be happy if they do.

You put forward a hypothesis. If Zac jumps from the balcony, it is to escape an imminent threat to his life. Did you hesitate about whether to include what is, after all, just a theory?

— A Say Nothing, began with a murder and ended by saying: this person is who I believe committed it. It was an important decision, because it pointedly singled out someone who had never been publicly mentioned as responsible for this war crime. But I was 100% sure of it. If I had been 98% sure, I would not have published their name in the book.

And in this case?

— I am 80% sure about what happened. That is why the end of this book is like an impressionist painting. I cannot be more precise, but I can offer some brushstrokes on what happened. In the broad strokes, I am convinced of the essential, even if there are small mysteries left to solve. And my obligation as a journalist is to be frank with the reader. In Say Nothing, mentioning the killer was the highlight of my career and it will probably not happen again. You who are also a journalist know it: life is never that complete.

They focus the blame on Verinder Sharma, who died shortly after from an overdose, and Akbar Shamji, who continues to do business. Any reaction from him or his circle?

— Verinder Sharma's daughter did not want to speak with me and threatened to sue me. I believe she lost her job after my article came out. It is interesting because I did correspond briefly with Shamji's children, but I hold no animosity towards those boys. I actually feel sorry that they have been caught up in a story in which they have done nothing wrong. Regarding Sharma's daughter, on the other hand... I am convinced that she lied during the police investigation.

In what sense?

— I think he knows things about Zac's death that he is not explaining. In any case, I am not writing with the consequences in mind. I only have to tell the truth. And I haven't heard anything from any of them since the book came out.

But isn't telling the truth providing a bit of justice?

— Well, I wouldn't use the word justice, it's a bit too big for me. But maybe I do make them account for their actions, in some way.

It's no small thing!

— But that is not enough. If you look at Akbar Shamji and the things he has done... let's say there are enough people who would like to see him on trial. But it is not my task, I insist. I never do anything to make anything specific happen as a result of what I write. My job is only to tell how things went.

A few years ago you told me you wanted to be the chewing gum stuck to my shoe.

— None of the Sacklers went to prison. They paid fines, they saw how their names stopped being on museum galleries... and nothing more. But until they die, and also after they die, and after I have died and you too, anyone who wants to know about the Sackler family will be able to find this book and read it. And, if you look on the internet about the Sacklers, it won't take you long to find a reference to my book. And there is a truth that you cannot expunge.

And Akbar?

— He will move through the world without facing legal consequences for what he did, but I do not think he will get very far. This man dedicates himself to obtaining funding for his projects, and when potential investors look into who he is, they will have this book with a few truths about him. But, then again, this is not justice.

You keep a public email address, for anyone who wants to send you a possible story. How many do you receive?

— I received one just this morning. Maybe about ten a week, but 99% of them I know immediately are not for me.

Does it affect you, having to reject them? I suppose there must be desperate requests...

— Yes, it is difficult. You pay an emotional toll. It happens to me that I often receive ideas similar to some of the articles or books I have just published and that makes me discard them immediately, because I do not want to repeat myself. I already warn on the website that I most likely will not even be able to reply. Sometimes I do it, even if it is just a brief note of courtesy, but then they often reply with an even longer message and I have to put an end to it, because I cannot play tennis with that. I feel sorry for them.

And what does the remaining 1% have that actually catches your attention?

— I move by instinct. An FBI agent told me twenty years ago something that was burned into my mind: cases either get better or they get worse. Well, the same goes for stories: perhaps they start off well, but then it has happened to me that I have gradually fallen out of love with them as I progressed. On the other hand, another story that didn't look promising suddenly becomes interesting.

Do you feel like a rock star of journalism?

— Not at all.

They ask you from everywhere, you have time to do long investigations, they adapt your books to the screen...

— It is hard to hear yourself being called that! (Smiles) Let's see, I feel very, very lucky. I have been doing this for twenty years, but the first books came and went without much notice. A kind review here and there, but nobody read them. The first one wasn't very good, but I think the second one was, and as soon as it appeared it was forgotten, in the blink of an eye. If ten years ago you had told me what my life would be like today, I wouldn't have believed it. But there isn't a single part of me that thinks this will last forever.

Man, luck and something more.

— But an important part is luck and it is not false modesty. I believe the work I do is good, truly. Now, I also read galley proofs of many books for which I am asked for a blurb for the back cover and some I think are masterpieces... but they sell a few thousand copies and vanish.

Fame must have an amiable side, apart from the resources.

— This makes me feel philosophical and I find it tough. Look, it's amazing to be able to travel and come here to talk about the book. And I have an Instagram account where I spend the day doing all the promotion I can, because in this era we live in it doesn't seem logical to me to act like a purist who doesn't stoop to worldly affairs: if you don't play the game, people won't connect with what you write. But I do have a point of frustration because when I am happiest is not with this part, but doing the work.

Give me an example.

— In April, an article came out that I had been working on for five years, waiting for a trial to be held. Finally, they called it, and I went to New Orleans for three weeks to follow it. I remember being there, sitting on a hard and uncomfortable wooden bench, taking notes in my notebook... and thinking that was my place. I love talking to interesting people who have read the book, it's magical. But my place is on the uncomfortable bench.

Doesn't it become a distraction, so many promotional events?

— I have four projects underway and I can't wait to get back home and get started on them. I have to pass through Sweden first, then home for a few days, but I will have to leave for Ireland, back to London...

Four? Considering the scale of your research, that is no small feat. How do you do it without your head exploding?

— Ah, for six years I was a freelance and that forced me to do everything: books, articles, scripts... In investigative journalism, you often get stuck in front of an obstacle. You want to talk to someone and they don't answer. You need time, to wait. Of course, I could go to the sofa and watch Netflix until they responded, but then it took me so long to finish that I couldn't pay the rent. So I came up with the trick of always having five or six projects at the same time.

And keep jumping?

— Yes, always believing that I fall in love with what I am doing at that moment and telling others “well, this project that has gotten stuck doesn’t really matter to me that much!”. Until, after a while, I address them to unstick them and then they become the most important ones again. But it is true that sometimes there are hilarious moments. Perhaps I have spent the morning sending a thousand emails to talk to people and someone calls me in the afternoon, saying: “Hi, I’m Simon” and I say, damn, now I am unable to remember which story he belonged to and whether I should talk to him about Guatemala or London! (Laughs). When that happens... I know I have overdone it.

Do you ever disconnect?

— I don't need to rest much. I like spending time with my family and, since the pandemic, I started running and that helps me sort out work things in my head. But really, the pace we are all keeping is frantic.

Do you involve your family in the investigations, to act as a sounding board?

— To my wife, yes, but my children think that what I do is very boring. And it is important that it be this way, to build their own identity. A few days ago I was in New York and I met Dua Lipa at an event. I took a photo and shared it in the family WhatsApp group. And one of the boys said to me: “How old is the photo?”. That is the only thing he asked! I wanted to act cool, but they put me in my place. It is their prerogative and I love it.

Knowing that you are a bloodhound when it comes to finding truths, are they trying to deceive you?

— My wife and I had a dilemma. We left our eldest son home alone for the first time. Since I write about undesirable people, we had installed cameras in the house for security. The boy knew about them, but he forgot. And I, from a distance, saw a horde of boys arriving at the house and one of them trying to park his car next to mine, suddenly braking short. The kid got out, called my son, both of them looked at the side of my car and started frantically looking at their phones, I suppose consulting ChatGPT, until my son came out with a plunger and tried to pop out the dent the other one had made in my car. I was laughing and my wife and I were arguing about what we should do. Do we confront them? I was in favor of doing so, but my wife said: let's wait and see if he tells us about it on his own initiative.

The cameras in the house are a reminder of the risks you take. Do you talk to your family before tackling a delicate investigation?

— I always consult my projects with my wife before tackling them, and in some, she has made it very clear to me that I could not do them. I wanted to do a story about the Russian mafia, about really bad people, and she told me: no, you cannot do that. And if I wanted to go to Gaza, or to Ukraine, she would tell me no.

Do you accept it?

— Of course. I am not a single person. I got married, I have children, I cannot decide the investigations thinking only about myself.