The King's Prerogative

by Iain Colvin

  ‘It’s actually a bit of a sad story,’ began Fiona. ‘I’m a quarter Swedish, on my mother’s side, you see.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Persson, smiling. ‘I thought you had the look of a Swede about you. I do hope that’s not the sad part of the story.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She flashed him one of her smiles. ‘My grandfather on my mum’s side is… or should I say, was, a man called Alfred Horn, who lived in Sweden as a young man and moved here after the war. He married a Scottish girl, settled here and had a family. Well, he died not so long ago, and this wallet with the letter inside was found with his effects. It was in my grandfather’s attic, lost among some other household papers.’

  Persson nodded in understanding and sympathy. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Rankin. As a Swedish national living in Scotland, we would have been informed of his passing, I’m sure.’

  Craig’s senses switched to full alert. They’d hoped to avoid any complications. On the train he decided that their plan would involve sticking as close to the truth as possible, but for Fiona to use her charm and her plausibly Scandinavian looks to concoct a story based around her family, rather than his. He also decided they would use the name Alfred Horn and gamble on the fact that the package might have been sent using that name, in which case the Consulate could have a corresponding record in their files that they would cross-check. Or at the very least, presenting the old leather wallet with the initials AH engraved on it might make it easier to sell the story. Now the gamble looked like it would unravel and he wished he’d decided to be the one doing the talking. If the Consulate checked for the death of an Alfred Horn and couldn’t find one, their story would be blown.

  ‘Well, I don’t know if you would have been advised,’ said Fiona. ‘When my grandmother died a few years back, my grandad Alfred moved back to Sweden. He still had a brother and a sister there you see.’

  ‘Ah yes, I understand.’

  ‘I didn’t get much of a chance to see him in the last few years, which is such a shame because he’s not here any more.’ Fiona began to tear up and the tip of her nose turned red. Craig dug in his pocket and produced a handkerchief for her. She blew her nose quietly, and composed herself again. ‘Thank you, Craig. Mr Persson, I’d be so grateful for anything you can do to help.’

  ‘Of course, of course. Please don’t upset yourself. If I might explain, most of the work we do here concerns promoting trade links between Scotland and Sweden. We perform a number of services for Swedish companies who have links to customers and partners here. At any one time we hold many trading documents and import/export files on behalf of clients. We hold the documents for as long as necessary. Most are released after a particular piece of business is completed, usually after a few weeks or months. But our rules are quite simple. We hold documents in safe keeping until we’re asked to release them as per the instructions given to us by clients. Although it is very unusual to have anything in our keeping for such a long time, we are not actually required to dispose of such documents until fifty years have passed. May I ask, what kind of business was your grandfather in?’

  ‘I think he was a timber merchant in his younger days, but I’m not certain,’ said Fiona.

  ‘Ah yes, well that might explain it,’ said Persson. ‘During the Second World War Sweden was neutral of course but we continued to trade with the UK, and also with Germany it has to be said. Perhaps your grandfather’s package was in relation to a shipment of timber which was sunk by a U-boat or a mine. Regrettably such things happened all too often during the war. In such circumstances, we would probably have either released the associated paperwork on request or contacted our client after a period of time had elapsed. In the case of your grandfather’s package, it would seem there was no contact address and so the package remained with us indefinitely.’

  Craig marvelled at Fiona’s improvised performance, and the information it had produced so far. He sensed that the conversation was approaching the crucial moment. Right on cue, Fiona asked the key question.

  ‘Would it be possible for me to see the package?’ she asked.

  ‘There are one or two formalities to observe before we can get to that point, I’m afraid,’ said Persson. He lifted himself from the couch and walked to his desk where he consulted the ledger that Henrik had brought in earlier. ‘This is where the details of the package were recorded back in 1941,’ he explained. He flicked forward a few pages and traced a finger down a page. ‘Ah, yes. DR41/074. Here we are.’ He lifted the ledger from the desk and brought it over to the coffee table. ‘It says I have to ask you for two things, Miss Rankin. Firstly, are you the bearer of the letter? Clearly you are. Secondly, can you identify yourself?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Do you have proof of identity?’

  ‘I should have.’ She opened her bag again and rooted around in it. She produced her driving licence and handed it to Persson. Craig breathed out, thankful that they hadn’t been too clever. On the train they discussed giving Fiona a pseudonym for the occasion, but Fiona decided that they’d have enough to concentrate on without having to keep using a false name.

  ‘Thank you. All I am required to do according to the client instructions is to record your details in the ledger… like… so.’ He copied down Fiona’s name and address into the ledger and handed back the driving licence. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me for one moment?’ Persson left with the ledger, and Craig and Fiona were left alone again.

  ‘Do you think we’ve done it?’ whispered Fiona.

  ‘Shhhh,’ said Craig. ‘You know what walls have.’

  ‘Ice cream?’

  ‘Funny girl.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘You’re amazing,’ he whispered.

  ‘I know.’ She smiled at him and once more he was lost for words.

  Persson came back in with what looked like a small canvas bag about the size of a sofa cushion, slightly longer than it was wide. There were no distinguishing marks on it apart from a label on which was written the ledger code and the date 15/4/41.

  ‘Here we are. I do apologise for the dust, Marta did the best she could with a damp cloth, but it is over forty years old.’ Persson gave a small laugh then handed the package over to Fiona. ‘I did a little checking a moment ago, and the ledger code was applied to the package by our Foreign Office in Stockholm back in 1941. That’s where it originated.’

  ‘That would make sense, that’s where my grandad was from,’ said Fiona.

  Carl Persson clasped his hands and looked like a man who was as keen to know what was inside as they were.

  Fiona read his intention. ‘Oh, I’m sorry Mr Persson, I promised my mum that we’d open it together when I get home. I hope you understand.’

  ‘Oh please forgive me, Miss Rankin, of course I completely understand. He was your mum’s father, after all. No apology is necessary. Please, let me show you out.’

  He walked Craig and Fiona down the stairs and opened the main door for them. ‘You must come back and let us know if there is anything exciting in the package, although I have to be honest and ask you not to build up your hopes too much. It is probably a shipping manifest or a contract for some timber your grandfather was sending for the war effort.’

  ‘Oh I will, Mr Persson, and thank you for all your help, and for the coffee.’

  Persson then handed Fiona the letter. ‘Don’t forget this.’

  ‘Oh. Yes, thank you again. Goodbye.’

  They all shook hands.

  Carl Persson watched as they crossed St Vincent Street and made their way in the direction of George Square.

  Chapter 25

  Craig and Fiona walked down the street, deliberately not hurrying and trying to resist the temptation to look back. Craig expected to feel a hand on his shoulder any second, their scam exposed by the Consulate staff. After five minutes Craig finally accepted that they weren’t being chased or followed and that they’d got away with their little performance. Or rather, Fiona had.

  ‘That was the most i
ncredible adlibbing I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘I know, I was good wasn’t I?’ said Fiona, grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘You almost had me in tears when you talked about your poor Swedish grandad.’

  ‘Why thank you.’ Fiona gave a small curtsey. ‘What now?’

  ‘Now, I buy you a coffee and a massive piece of cake and we find out what’s in this.’

  They turned a corner onto Queen Street and walked a few yards to a little café with a sign saying City Bakeries above the window. It was narrow but extended some way back beyond a long counter, where the room opened up into the café proper. There were a dozen tables, most of them unoccupied. Craig thought it was ideal, they couldn’t be seen from the window and the corner table they selected was reasonably secluded from prying eyes. A waitress came over and took their order. Fiona asked what cakes they had and decided on a strawberry tart, and they ordered two coffees.

  Craig studied the package. It was a canvas bag, made from a material not dissimilar to sail cloth, like those large kit bags you sometimes see servicemen carry on their shoulders. The mouth of the bag had been folded over and sealed with a pliable metal band. Where the two ends of the band met there was a clasp. Craig couldn’t decide if it would be easier to hack his way through the clasp, the metal band or the canvas itself. In any event, he came to the conclusion he wasn’t going to be hacking into anything until he could find something more industrial than a butter knife to use.

  ‘I need to get a pair of pliers or wire-cutters for this.’

  ‘There’s a tool box at my flat,’ said Fiona. ‘Why don’t we stop off there, then we’ll have more privacy too.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ***

  Blake left the Glasgow drizzle and took the M8 to Edinburgh. After driving around the New Town looking for a suitable parking space, he found one on Frederick Street. He walked down Hill Street until he came to Hamilton Dunbar. He stopped, looked around, and walked through the main door and up to the reception. The receptionist, Julia, saw him approach and looked Blake up and down. With his unfashionable raincoat, wide shirt collar and even wider tie, he didn’t look like one of the usual publishing types. They wouldn’t be seen dead in that get up.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Yes, I hope so. I’m Detective Sergeant Wilson. Metropolitan Police.’ Blake showed her his warrant card. ‘I’m looking for a Mr Craig Dunlop. I have reason to believe he paid your office a visit either yesterday or the day before. Would that be correct?’

  Julia wasn’t sure what to say, but in the split second she had to make up her mind, she decided that this policeman obviously knew that Craig had been there so it was pointless denying it. ‘Yes, Mr Dunlop was here to meet one of our literary agents, Mrs Simon.’

  ‘May I speak with her?’

  ‘One moment please.’ Julia picked up a telephone and dialled Lynn’s internal extension. ‘Hi Lynn, I’ve a Detective Sergeant Wilson here asking to see you.’

  Upstairs at her desk, Lynn didn’t reply. She froze, unable to think of the right words to say. Or any words to say.

  ‘Lynn? Lynn, can you hear me okay?’

  ‘Eh… yes, yes Julia, I can hear you.’ She looked around her office as if looking for an escape route. There was nothing she could do. ‘Em, could you show Detective Wilson up to my office please.’ Her brain recovered from the shock and clicked into gear. ‘Oh Julia, could you take your time?’

  Lynn hung up then dialled another internal extension number. It rang once, twice, three times. ‘Come on, come on.’ A voice answered. It was one of the other literary agents, Neil Paterson.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi Neil, it’s Lynn. Could you do me a favour?’

  ‘Surely.’

  ‘Could you come to my office in five minutes and remind me that I’m late for a meeting?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Could you just do that? I’ll explain later, but it’s really important. In five minutes exactly.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She hung up and looked across at David Halliday. ‘Davie, no time to explain, but don’t you dare leave this office for the next few minutes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘And I need you to act normally. Craig Dunlop’s policeman is here.’

  ‘The police?’

  ‘Yes, don’t say a word. Nothing. Not a word about Craig or our meeting, or…’ The door opened, and Julia entered, followed by Blake.

  ‘Lynn, this is Detective Sergeant Wilson.’

  Lynn stepped forward briskly and offered her hand. ‘Lynn Simon, pleased to meet you.’ They shook hands. ‘And this is my assistant, David Halliday.’ David and Blake shook hands. Julia left them and returned to her desk. Lynn deliberately didn’t invite Blake to take a seat, so the three of them remained standing. Lynn looked at her watch. ‘Forgive me, but I’m on my way to a meeting. Is there something I can help you with?’

  Blake took in his surroundings and studied Lynn and David carefully. He made a point of taking out a notebook and flipping it open to a blank page, ready to take down what she had to say. You might think you’re going somewhere, thought Blake, but not till I’m good and ready.

  ‘Yes, I’m investigating the disappearance of a university lecturer. A Doctor Brian Irving of Strathclyde University. Do you know him?’ He examined her face. Either she didn’t know Irving or she was a good poker player, he thought.

  ‘Irving, did you say? No, I don’t think I know the name.’ Lynn decided to play her own little game. ‘Has he published any work that I might have heard of?’

  Blake paused a beat, which gave Lynn the answer she was looking for. ‘I don’t have that information,’ he said. He produced a four by five inch photograph from his inside pocket and gave it to Lynn to look at. ‘Could you look at this photograph and tell me if you recognise him?’

  ‘This is Doctor Irving?’ asked Fiona. She knew it was the man she’d remembered meeting some time ago, but she gambled that Blake wouldn’t know that their paths had crossed.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Blake. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘And you haven’t seen him recently?’

  ‘No, I can’t say I have.’

  Blake took back the photo and gave it to David, who also confirmed that he didn’t know the man.

  ‘I understand that Craig Dunlop visited you yesterday. Can I ask what you discussed?’

  Lynn held his gaze, but Blake noticed that David shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Craig’s name.

  ‘Yes, he did.’ She tried to buy some time while her mind frantically tried to produce a plausible cover story. ‘What has that got to do with Doctor Irving?’

  ‘Please answer the question.’ Blake’s eyes flitted between Lynn and David, searching for a weakness.

  ‘He’s an old friend of the family, and he just popped by to say hello in passing.’

  ‘An old friend of your family?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Then you know his parents, Alan and Jenifer?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve known them for, oh, must be ten years or more,’ said Lynn.

  Just then, the door opened and Neil Paterson popped his head round. ‘Sorry to intrude, Lynn. You know that the reps from Armstrongs are waiting for us in the conference room?’

  Blake turned to look at the intruder, as Lynn acknowledged that her presence was needed elsewhere.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Detective Sergeant, I’m already late for a meeting. I wish I could be of more help, but as I say I don’t know Doctor Irving. I don’t know what his connection is to Craig, but I’m sure Craig can tell you that for himself.’ She decided to take another calculated risk. ‘I can give you his home address if that would be helpful.’

  Blake thought for a moment. ‘No, that won’t be necessary, Mrs Simon. I don’t want to keep you from your meeting, but perhaps I could ask your assistant some more questions?’

  ‘Oh, I’m very sorry, David’
s needed at the meeting too. Maybe I could ring you when I’m free?’

  Blake wrote a telephone number in his notebook and ripped out the page, giving it to Lynn.

  ‘Please do, I can be contacted at this number.’

  Lynn walked Blake back down the staircase and out the main door. She waited till he’d walked fifty yards down Hill Street, then she closed the door and leaned against it.

  Neil Paterson stood at the foot of the stair. ‘What have you got yourself into now?’ he asked.

  ‘God only knows,’ said Lynn.

  Blake found a telephone box and dialled a long-distance number. The other end rang twice, and a man’s voice answered.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s Blake. I’ve confirmed that the literary agent did meet with Dunlop. What’s interesting is that she lied to me. She claimed to know his family, but didn’t know their names. I want to know why she’s lying, so I’m going to stay here for the moment.’

  ‘Very good. Before long she’ll lead us to both Dunlop and Irving. Keep me updated.’

  The line went dead.

  Chapter 26

  Craig and Fiona arrived at the main door of Fiona’s flat. Fiona rummaged about in her bag for her Yale key, opened the lock to let them in and shut the door behind them. Once in the hall, she stopped dead.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Craig, seeing the look of fear on her face.

  ‘Something’s not right,’ she said, looking around the hall.

  Craig couldn’t see anything that might explain her sudden anxiety. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I always close all the doors before I leave. They’re open.’

  ‘Doesn’t Chris have a key?’

  ‘Yes, but Chris is away in Ireland all week, on a field trip.’ She went into the living room. The bookshelves were empty, and the collections of books and VHS videotapes that used to be stacked on them were strewn across the floor. The tapes had been taken out of their boxes and randomly thrown into a loose pile on the carpet. The seat cushions from the sofa and chairs were also on the floor, as were the contents of two small wooden storage units. ‘Oh good God!’ Fiona put her hand to her mouth in shock.