"None of these things will happen."
"I won't. I'm telling you I won't."
The grin vanished in a flash. Mcllhenney reached out a massive hand,
and seized the woman by the chin, twisting her face round until she was
looking into his eyes; there was none of his usual amiability in them,
only a look that went right into her bones. "I want you to think about
something, Jo," he whispered. "Who scares you the most? Agnes Maley,
or Kenny Bass ... or me?"
Fifty-Eight.
"Are you going to tell me now, Bob?" Bradford Dekker asked. "Why are
we here?"
Skinner was smiling as he twisted round in the front passenger seat of
Richard Madigan's car, to look at the Erie County sheriff in the back.
The sergeant sat stiffly behind the wheel, almost at attention, with
his boss as a passenger.
"Because I want to show you something, Brad," he replied, 'quite a few
things, in fact. And thanks for agreeing to do this, and give me the
chance."
"I must admit that it's against my better judgement, in a way," said
Dekker. "I don't feel comfortable without Eddie Brady here."
"If Brady's doing what you told him to do, he's serving this
investigation ... and a damn sight better than he has in the past. For
example, look at that." He took a folder from his lap, and took out a
sheet of A4 paper, which he handed across to the sheriff.
He looked at it for a few seconds, frowning.
"That's a blow-up from a photograph taken by the woman who lives across
the road from Ron Neidholm's house. You'll see that it's timed and
dated; it was taken less than half an hour before your officers found
my wife in Ron Neidholm's kitchen, in a state of shock after
discovering her lover's body. That shot is crucial evidence, Brad;
it's always been available to you, but it took me to find it, because
the guy in charge of your investigation was so fucking sure of himself
that he didn't bother to order his detectives to interview potential
witnesses who might just have seen something else."
The sheriff took a quick, deep breath, and exhaled, but said nothing.
Skinner reached across and tapped the paper in his hands. "As you'll
see, the photo shows a car licence plate, Empire State type. The
vehicle was parked in Ron Neidholm's driveway." He took another
photograph from his folder and handed it across. "As that wider shot
proves. The number on the plate is a vanity registration forming the
word "LIBRIS'. Did you study Latin at school, Brad?"
Dekker shook his head. "No, but I know roughly what it means; "books",
isn't it?"
"Near enough." He produced a document and gave it to Dekker. "That's
the registration document; it names the owner of the vehicle as Mr.
Candrace Brew, of 1216 Oregon Way, Buffalo. Mr. Brew is employed by
Buffalo and Erie County public library service as librarian in
Waterside branch library, five-zero-two Wanaganda Street. Mr. Brew
was also named by the witness Alice Bierhoff as one of the three people
she told about seeing my wife in an intimate situation through the open
window of Ron Neidholm's bedroom."
Skinner took the last item from his folder and handed it over. "That's
a photograph of Mr. Brew; Sergeant Madigan obtained it from the
library service's human resources department. I've shown it to my
wife; she recognised Mr. Brew at once. She and Neidholm were having
dinner last week in a lakeside restaurant called the Lazy Lobster, or
some such, when he approached their table and asked him for his
autograph. She described the man as effusive, embarrassingly so for
someone of his age, and just a little bit spooky. She also recalled
that he appeared to be suffering from a skin condition; she could see a
symptomatic rash on his wrist and he was wearing white surgical gloves.
Those things don't leave prints on knife handles, Brad."
Skinner smiled again. "Are you feeling the buzz, yet, sheriff?" he
asked. "I've got nothing against elected police chiefs. If the system
runs counter to my culture, fair enough. It's worked in your country
for a long time. But I've often wondered whether guys like you don't
get envious of the real policemen they command, whether they don't itch
to get out there on the street with them. At home, in my rank, I'm
finding it harder and harder to do that, and there are times when it
does my head in. So I guess you must feel it a bit too."
Dekker nodded, and gave a small grin as he leaned back in his seat.
"Yes, you're right; I've always been envious of guys like Richard,
here.
I've always been a political realist, though; if I did that and an
investigation went sour, I'd be gone at the next election."
"In that case, I'm going to make your day," said Skinner. He nodded in
the direction of a building across the leafy street. "He's in there,
in Waterside Library, just waiting for you. See that white car over
there, in the park at the side? That's his. It's your big moment,
Bradford. Elected or not, you're an officer of the law; so get across
there, you and your sergeant, and make the arrest in person. You'll be
a bloody hero, man; you could run for Governor of New York and get
elected."
Dekker looked doubtful. "Have we got enough to do that?" he asked.
Skinner nodded. "You've got some t's to cross, but you've got him.
Richard's been working with the technicos since they were sent back in
to do a proper job, haven't you, son?"
The sergeant turned in his seat. "Yes sir. The scene-of-crime team
identified dirt samples through the hall, and in the kitchen, that do
not belong on that site. They also found on the kitchen floor,
materials, specifically hairs from a human head and minute flakes of
what appear to be dried, dead skin, that were neither from the victim,
nor from Dr. Grace. Identical hairs were adhering to the hygienic
plaster on the victim's left thumb. The scientists now hypothesise
that when he was stabbed, Mr. Neidholm snatched at his assailant in a
reflex gesture, and detached them at that point."
"You take a hair sample from Brew," said Skinner, 'as soon as you get
him back to headquarters, and your case will be closed; trust me on
that."
The American looked at him from the back seat. "This investigation has
indeed been flawed from the outset, hasn't it, Bob? I'm sorry for the
embarrassment it caused your wife."
"Don't be," he replied, grimly. "She put herself in the situation."
"Nevertheless. What am I going to do about Brady?"
"If he was mine I'd retire him, quietly. You've got a relatively small
detective department, Brad. To get the best out of it, its leadership
has to be exceptional, not just adequate ... even if that means going
down the ranks to identify someone like Richard here, then hauling him
up the ladder, fast."
He grinned. "That's tomorrow's problem, though." He opened the
passenger door, and put his right foot out on to the sidewalk. "I'm
going to walk home from here; much as I'd like to, I can't be in on the
action. It's your big moment, s
heriff; get on in there and get your
man."
fifty-Nine.
"Where does the name come from?" asked Stevie Steele. The man behind
the desk looked across at him, as if his attention had been wandering
before their conversation had even begun.
"Eh? Sorry, you took me by surprise," said Francis Dolan; he was a
trim man, with sharp blue eyes and sun-bleached hair and could have
been aged anywhere between fifty and sixty. "The company was
originally a Scottish-Spanish partnership; it was set up twelve years
ago and those are the names of the founders. We're no longer a
partnership, though. Three years ago we incorporated and floated on
the Stock Exchange; at that stage I went from partner to chief
executive."
"Are the founders still involved in the business?"
"Sir Allan Gordon's still the chairman, but Alfonso Tubau cashed in his
stake soon after the flotation, and retired to make wine on his farm
near Sitges. Actually the incorporation was a neat way of divesting
ourselves of the Spanish end; it never did very well. Since the
closure of the Madrid office, our share price has risen steadily; we're
doing so nicely that we've become a take-over target for an American
firm."
"Welcome?"
"Not very. There have been feelers, but so far the board do not regard
the price quoted as being acceptable."
"What if they raised it?"
"If they raised it by enough, and wrote in some safeguards for existing
investors, the directors would have a duty to recommend acceptance. All
that's academic, though."
"Because of the fire?"
Dolan pursed his lips. "Not quite. Because of the consequences, would
be a more accurate summation." He frowned at Steele. "Tell me,
inspector, are you prescient, or do you have insider knowledge?"
The detective stared back; it was his turn to be taken by surprise.
"Neither. Why?"
"Because when you called me and asked for this meeting, I was on the
point of telephoning Sir James Proud and asking him to send a senior
officer to see me."
"Am I senior enough then?"
"For the moment you are. You can decide whether to refer what I'm
going to tell you up your chain of command. But first, maybe you'd
like to tell me why you wanted to see me."
"Certainly," Steele replied. "I'm investigating the outbreak of fire
at the Royal Scottish Academy on Saturday. It's being treated as a
case of arson."
"As a witness," Dolan exclaimed, "I have to tell you that that was
self-evident at the time."
"Can you describe what happened?"
"I described it to one of your officers in the aftermath."
"I know, but I'd be grateful if you'd do it again; it's not uncommon
for things to be recalled that might have been overlooked in the panic
after the outbreak."
The lean, tanned businessman shrugged, swinging to and fro in his
swivel chair. "Very well, but there's still not much to tell. David
Candela was halfway through his speech when there was a whoosh, and the
picture burst into flames."
"What happened next?"
Dolan smiled. "I suppose you might call it David's finest hour. For
all his army background, I've always thought of him as a dry,
lackadaisical character, but he took command on the spot and ordered
everyone out of the building. "Clear the gallery," I remember him
shouting. "Clear the gallery. No time for heroes." We did clear it
too, damn quick. David ordered his staff to gather us together at the
side of the building and hold us there until the fire engines arrived
and the blaze was under control."
"Did it seem out of control?"
"Not at that point, but David was concerned that there might have been
more than one device."
Steele nodded. "You can't argue with that thinking," he conceded. "Who
called the fire brigade?"
"I'm not certain. It could have been the curator, it could have been
David, it could have been anyone; I was legging it out of there by that
time. We weren't outside for all that long. The fire was contained
pretty quickly, from what I gathered, and the firefighters checked
everything else. After that we were allowed back in for the champagne
and whatnots, and to be interviewed by your people. Now that I think
about it, I remember seeing you there."
"And that's it? Specifically, you don't remember seeing anyone doing
anything out of the ordinary at the time the picture went up in
flames?"
"No, not a soul. That really is all I can tell you."
"Fair enough. It doesn't take us any further, but to be honest, I
doubt if we're going to get any further. So what about your fire, and
your problems? At least you're still able to operate, from what I can
see."
"On these two floors, yes we are," Dolan agreed. "One thing they get
right in modern buildings is the integrity of each level in extreme
conditions."
"How has your business been affected?" asked the detective.
"Before I answer that," the other man replied, 'let me explain a little
of what we do, and of our structure. We are investment trust managers,
pure and simple ... more or less. We don't get involved in the unit
trust end of the business; never have, never will. We offer services
to high net-worth individuals, for whom we believe that ITs are a far
more reliable and efficient vehicle. Unit trusts have their place;
they're okay for smaller investors, but that's not our market. I have
a friend who runs a restaurant, which he describes as strictly for fat
people. That's us in a way; we're the fat cats' fund manager.
"Investment trusts are companies which exist purely to make money. The
only business they have is buying and selling shares in other
companies. As an investor in an investment trust, you're a shareholder
in that company, and your shares will rise or fall in value as the
investments held by the trust rise or fall. Their beauty as a vehicle
is that they allow you to spread risk by holding a very wide portfolio
without the hassle of monitoring and trading them all individually.
Their management charges are lower than units, and these days they're
tax-effective because you can invest in them through Investment Savings
Accounts.
"Tubau Gordon invests in three sectors; the UK, for proven, steady
performance, European markets, which are developing rapidly, and the
Far East, which may have lost some of its sparkle, but which remains
pretty sexy in the long term, if a little riskier than it was. Each of
those sectors operates as a separate business within a business. Each
has its own staff, its own analysts and its own decision-makers,
reporting back to a responsible director, who reports in turn to the
main board, of which he or she is a member, and to me. Each business
is ... or was located on one of our three floors. The fifth floor,
where we're sitting now, accommodates Tubau Gordon Europe, and the
executive offices. The seventh floor houses our UK business. The
sixth floor, which no
longer exists, was where our Far East trusts were
located." Dolan stopped and looked at Steele. "With me so far?"
The detective nodded. "Yes. I've got some shares in ITs; even though
I might not be that fat a cat."
The fund manager smiled. "Good choice, as long as you're not with
Tubau Gordon Oriental." He pulled his chair closer to his desk. "In
the financial world, confidentiality is everything. We take that to
extremes here. We have no cross-over between the staff in each of our
divisions. Each operates completely separately, with no interchange of
information to avoid the temptation of insider dealing. To ensure
this, each division has a completely separate information technology
set-up. There's no way you can cut into seventh floor data from this
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