By All Means (Fiske and MacNee Mysteries Book 2)

by Alan Alexander

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  In Aberdeen, DCI Vanessa Fiske was on the telephone in DCS Esslemont's office. The Chief Constable's Acting Staff Officer was also there, and the phone was on speaker.

  ‘Lord Cordingley, things have moved on since we spoke before, which is why I have not been in touch. You know that your proposal that I should submit my questions to Mr Roskill in writing was completely unacceptable. I have now decided, after discussions with senior colleagues, that I need to interview him under caution. When would it be convenient to do so? I am happy to come to London, and I should emphasise that the matter is urgent.'

  Vanessa was speaking in her most formal tone and had decided that she would not rise to whatever patronising shit Cordingley decided to throw at her.

  'I still need to know the nature of your enquiries, Chief Inspector.'

  'All I am obliged to tell you is that I believe that your client maybe able to help with my enquiries into several very serious crimes.'

  'I'll need more than that before I advise my client to meet you.'

  'I am not asking him to "meet" me. I am telling him, through you, which is unsatisfactory in itself, that I need to interview him under caution. If you are not prepared to facilitate that, I will ask my colleagues in the Metropolitan Police to arrest him so that he can be brought to Aberdeen. That may still be necessary after I speak to him, but I would have thought that you would wish to avoid, for as long as possible, the consequences of a formal arrest.'

  For a long moment, Cordingley said nothing. 'I will speak with Mr Roskill, as soon as I can, and I will telephone you.'

  'Before close of play today,' Vanessa said, using a metaphor that Harry Conival had advised her against, because not much cricket was played in Aberdeen. In London it was, though, and she had a memory of having seen a picture of Roskill holding court in the Members’ Enclosure at Lord’s. And hadn’t he gone to a cricket match immediately after resigning as Prime Minister? Or maybe that was one of his predecessors.

  She hung up, turned to Esslemont and exhaled deeply. 'I'll go tomorrow, sir. Cordingley knows that if he tries to stall, this will go public. Do you want to be present for the interview?'

  The DCS knew that he should probably recognise the significance of interviewing a former prime minister under caution by being there, but he hated going to London.

  'No. Take MacNee with you. I'll sit in if you have to bring Roskill here.'

  *

  In Saltcoats, the SOCOs were re-examining MacIlwraith's house. Colin MacNee had asked for a further forensic search in the hope of finding some physical evidence that would link MacIlwraith to the Last Cairngorm bombing. He was convinced that his browsing history, and the fact that he had downloaded bomb-making instructions, would not be enough to secure a conviction on a conspiracy charge. The PF had said as much. He needed physical evidence to buttress the circumstantial case, and he was certain that MacIlwraith would not have been smart enough, nor careful enough, to eliminate all evidence of bomb making.

  'So how the fuck did you miss it first time round?'

  Colin was angry and, uncharacteristically, he was showing it. The most senior SOCO had phoned him to tell him that they had discovered, at the back of a desk drawer, a tenancy agreement for a light industrial unit - no bigger than a lock-up garage - on a trading estate not far from MacIlwraith's house. He wanted to know if they should get help from Strathclyde Police to open the unit and search it.

  'What do you think?' Colin's tone was sarcastic and incredulous. 'I'll get in touch with Kilmarnock and get them to send round a couple of PCs and some bolt cutters. Just make sure you do it right. Take as long as you need, within reason.'

  *

  In Glasgow, Dongle Donaldson was working with the cyber crime specialists of Strathclyde Police to see if any more evidence could be extracted from Simon Mathieson's computer equipment. It had been very difficult to make the case against Mathieson in relation to the cyber attack of Mercury Fulfilment any less circumstantial. Mathieson’s laptop had been configured to control all his other devices and it could have been used to launch an attack, or to engage in other kinds of hacking. But, as Dongle had expected, a direct link to Mercury Fulfilment had proved elusive.

  ‘When my boss asked me to investigate Mathieson’s search history, I only had access to his laptop and, unlike the other guy, he had been very careful not to leave a trail that would incriminate him.’ Dongle was thinking aloud over coffee in the canteen in Govan Police Station with two DIs from the high tech squad. ‘Did he have any other devices that he might have used for surfing the net?’

  ‘There was a tablet with no history of being used for anything but email, and we checked that the emails were on the same account as the laptop. He had a whole array of hard disks. Any of them could have been hooked up to a keyboard and temporarily configured to get on the web.’

  ‘Did you check them?’

  The two DIs looked at each other and then looked down at their coffees. ‘Not all that carefully, if we’re honest. We were focused on more sophisticated uses of the hardware. We were looking for evidence of cyber crime more than anything. And Andy Hanna wanted us to search for any financial information.’

  Dongle decided that getting ripped into them would be counter-productive, and, in any case, they outranked him. His special expertise gave him some leeway with his superiors, but it needed to be deployed carefully.

  Dongle spent the rest of the day meticulously searching the various memory devices that had been found in Mathieson’s flat. It was time-consuming and painstaking work, especially because he had to be sure that he was recovering stuff that Mathieson – no mean computer expert himself – didn’t want anybody to find. He was good, but not as good as me, Dongle thought, as he prepared a report for DCI Fiske.

  *

  In Edinburgh, the First Minister was preparing for another appearance in Parliament and another grilling by the opposition. Senior members of her party were openly speculating about how long she could remain in office. The Justice Secretary had not spoken to her since he had dramatically left the Chamber as she answered questions after her previous statement.

  In Glasgow, the editorial conference at the Banner had discussed the position the paper should take on the First Minister's difficulties. The editorial line had usually been supportive of the government in general and of the FM in particular. In common with other titles, however, it had recalled the abrupt resignation of one of her predecessors. The first leader in the Glasgow Banner made uncomfortable reading in St Andrews House:

  Just over ten years ago, a First Minister was forced to resign over a relatively minor, and as it turned out, technical, breach of the rules governing expenses payable to MSPs and MPs. This newspaper called for his resignation because of the damage that was being done to the reputation of the Scottish Parliament. We now have the unedifying spectacle of a First Minister who, because of a conspicuous failure to confirm that she instituted proper security checks on a potential employee, stands accused of not having done so.

  Unless she can tell Parliament today that the checks were done, especially when she became First Minister, to ensure that Mr Paul MacIver, now on remand on very serious criminal charges, posed no security threat, she must go. MacIver is widely known to have had connections with radical, even extremist, nationalists. That in itself should have been enough to put the First Minister on her guard.

  Let us be clear about the questions she must answer:

  Did she request security checks when she was considering the appointment of Paul MacIver as her special adviser when she was appointed as Finance Secretary?

  Did she ensure that further checks were undertaken when she became First Minister?

  Will she tell parliament who recommended MacIver to her?

  Did she act on advice from the Security Services relayed to her by the Permanent Secretary to the Scottish Government that they considered it essential that MacIver be fully vetted?

  If the answer
to any of these questions is no, the First Minister’s position will be untenable.

  The First Minister looked up from reading the press cuttings. The only other people in her room in St Andrews House were the Permanent Secretary and her Private Secretary. They waited for her to speak.

  ‘Somebody is briefing the papers, especially the Banner. How else would they know about advice from the security services or the question of who recommended Paul to me?’

  Neither of the civil servants spoke.

  ‘Should I call the Cabinet before I make a statement?’

  ‘That is entirely a matter for you, First Minister. I would simply advise that you would need to be clear about the purpose of such a meeting.’

  What she needed was the kind of advice that she had paid Paul MacIver to provide.

  ‘Draft a statement. Have it here within an hour. Then I’ll decide how to proceed.’

  *

  In Wilmington, Delaware, the Board of Burtonhall had dispersed and, with the exception of the Chairman, Richard Seaton, the board members had been driven to Philadelphia International Airport, where the Burtonhall jet was waiting to take them to their connecting flights: the Russian to New York for a flight to Moscow, via Paris, the American to Omaha, Nebraska, and Roskill to New York to catch the BA First Class Service to London City.

  Seaton and Cy Packard, the CEO, were in Packard's office drinking Jack Daniels from the crystal glasses that Cy had been given when he left the CIA.

  'James was uncharacteristically quiet today.' Packard said.

  Seaton sipped his Bourbon. 'I noticed that. But I didn't know what to make of it.'

  'Me either. His whole attitude has been a little strange recently. He was oddly reluctant to approach his old friend Carey to get the Scottish police to stop crawling over us. And he claimed he didn't think there was any need for him to attend the Board meeting. I had to lean on him pretty hard. Almost called you in to persuade him. I have a feeling, an instinct, the kind I used to get sometimes in the Company, that he's up to something.'

  'But what?'

  'I have no idea. I may have to call in some favours and see what I can find.'

  *

  In London, Roskill was met by Cordingley at City Airport. Roskill was surprised, and slightly concerned, to see his lawyer waiting for him after he cleared immigration via the VIP line.

  'Edmund! What a surprise! I expected to see Vic.'

  'He's outside with the car. I had to speak to you immediately and privately. Can we go somewhere quiet? There's a VIP lounge here I take it?'

  'You can say anything in front of Vic. Let's just go to the car.'

  'No, Mike. This is serious, and delicate, and I don't propose to take any risks.'

  Vic was Roskill's protection officer and he had been with him for years. He had heard almost as many secrets as the Queen. Something was up.

  They found a quiet table in the lounge and poured some coffee.

  'No point in telling you this any way but directly. The Scottish police - Detective Chief Inspector Vanessa Fiske, formerly of the Met - wants to interview you under caution. She'll probably be here tomorrow. You can't refuse.'

  'I fucking well can! I am a former Prime Minister of the UK and I do not need to truckle to a minor fucking police officer!'

  Foul language, pulling rank and insulting other public servants. Cordingley had seen it before, and always when Roskill was unsure of his ground.

  'No, you can't. Because if you do, she'll send the boys in blue round from the Met and you'll be arrested and taken to Aberdeen. And do you honestly believe that the press won't be alerted? I really don't know whether we can keep a lid on this, but I'm sure we can't if you refuse to be interviewed.'

  'What's it about?'

  'Fiske says she believes you can help with her inquiries into several serious crimes. No further details. I thought you might want to hazard a guess.'

  Roskill's denial was perfunctory and unconvincing.

  Cordingley shook his head despairingly. 'Mike, if I'm going to help you, I need to know what's going on. I've checked, and Fiske is currently investigating two murders, both in companies owned by Burtonhall. And there are possible links to the attacks on Last Cairngorm and Mercury Fulfilment. You have connections to all of them except Last.'

  'You can sit in. Then it'll be news to you at the same time as it's news to me.'

  There was no point in pressing him any further. They might have another discussion before Fiske arrived, but Cordingley doubted it. His client was in real trouble, but what kind of trouble was known only to the police and his client. And his client wasn't telling.

  *

  Vanessa got home well after eight. She had spent two hours preparing for her interview with Roskill, which she had agreed could take place at the offices of The James M Roskill Public Affairs Trust in Belgravia the following afternoon. She had arranged a flight in the late morning, which would give her time to talk to Dongle about Mathieson and check with the PF about the possibility of charges against Roskill and further charges against MacIver. She could talk to Colin MacNee on the plane about what the SOCOs had found in Saltcoats.

  Neil was in the kitchen - as always, Vanessa thought, with a little pang of guilt - and the smell suggested smoked fish.

  'Cullen skink! My Glasgow auntie used to make it, but I don't suppose a nice middle class girl form the West Midlands has ever heard of it. It's essentially a Scottish chowder, made with smoked haddock - I sourced some smokies from Arbroath -, cream and potatoes. You'll like it. Very nourishing. Very wholesome. My auntie said it would stick to my ribs. She also said it would put hair on my chest, but that wouldn't interest you, I suppose.'

  Vanessa put her arms round his neck and kissed him. 'If you made it, I'll love it. Even if it didn't do much for your chest.'

  'I decided to be buff, not hairy. If you have any complaints, submit them in writing!'. But Vanessa was already in their bedroom, getting out of her working clothes.

  As they finished eating, Vanessa told Neil that she was going to London the next day to interview James Roskill.

  'I thought you might be. I had a call today from my contact in the SFO, and it seems that the ex-PM's name is being much bandied about in the City, Nothing very specific, but a suggestion that some of his dealings may be a little less than kosher.'

  'You could say that! I think he may have been complicit in a couple of murders and a bit of terrorism. I'll put it to him, but I doubt he'll cough. I've done a bit of contingency planning with the PF. She thinks we might be able to get him on conspiracy to murder and conspiracy to commit terrorism, but the case is far from strong. I'll need to put some pressure on him. Colin's coming with me and I might let loose his moral indignation. Might work. Anyway, it will be fun to watch. He's a terrier when he gets going.'

  'My contact also told me that Andy Hanna may have overstepped the mark when he talked to one of the journalists who've been investigating offshore tax havens. Implying that you might provide a quid quo pro in return for information about the 'very big names' you're investigating.'

  Vanessa smiled. 'Andy's certainly shown the occasional sign of going off piste - Esslemont raised an eloquent eyebrow when he came up with information about cross memberships of the boards of the companies we're looking at. But what he found was useful. I'll wait until I hear what he's got.'

  'You've changed your tune a bit since we had that little spat about how you should treat the gentlemen of the press! Your morality has become a little less absolute.'

  'OK, so I over-reacted. Put it down to the pressure of the case. I really, really need to close it, and if Andy's information helps, that's fine. I guess it's unlikely to be the kind of stuff that we can use in court, but if it makes it even a little more likely that we'll get convictions, that's fine too.'

  Neil refilled his glass - a nice Chilean Sauvignon Blanc to go with the fish - and took Vanessa's hand in his. 'Do you honestly believe you'll get Roskill in court? A former PM and internat
ionally respected philanthropist?'

  'Christ, Neil, you sound like the Chief. You should have heard him talking about the need to be able to defend our actions, not going on fishing trips, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. At least Esslemont weighed in on my side. No special favours. Treat Roskill like any other "person of interest". Going to him rather than bringing him here is as far as I'm prepared to go in respecting his position.'

  'You know it'll get out. Somebody will tip off the press. The Met knows you're interested in him. A lot of people in NEC know...'

  'I trust my people and, especially after the Fleming business, I don't think any of them is likely to be indiscreet.'

  'I understand that. But you've had to backfill to investigate the Roskill connection, and some of the people you've now got working on it don't owe you anything. Don't mistake respect for your rank and your reputation for personal loyalty.'