The engagement happened in the dark, and friendly fire incidents do
happen. But still..."
He paused." So you resigned your commission, revived the law degree
you'd put on ice, and went into the family firm, a year ahead of
schedule. Mike resigned his too, and came back to Mother well to
become a piss-artist, until finally he got out of control, I tried to
batter his brains out, and he had to be put away.
"And you knew about that, of course. My father set up the trust that
looked after him through your firm, rather than use his own. He did it
for the sake of confidentiality, but it backfired on him. You found
out, and naturally, you didn't forget."
He tossed the envelope on to a chair. "All information is useful,
isn't it, Candela? It's my stock in trade; I take pieces of
information and use them to build models; of events, scenes, crimes. My
officers down in Edinburgh, and one in particular, has done a bloody
good job on you over the last week. He worked out that the fire in the
Academy was a scam, and from there it was a short step to Tubau Gordon.
Once he got in there, and he looked at the circumstances of that fire,
at where and when it was started, your name jumped out at him. When he
was told about the thirty-million-pound loss that's been uncovered
since, your motive, and your guilt, became self-evident."
Skinner smiled. "That's as far as he could go, though, poor lad;
that's all the information he had, so the model he could build with it
only shows how fucking clever you've been. Giving us the girl might
have been risky, only it wasn't, because of the way you set her up.
It's funny,
setting up Andrea was much the same as you did in the jungle ... when
you used someone else's weapon and left him to take the blame."
For a moment Candela relaxed, but only until Skinner took another step
towards him. "Ah, but I've got more knowledge, though. I can build
the model a bit higher. Looking at the timings involved, I know that
when you realised that you had lost the biggest and most exciting
gamble of your life, and that you were about to be exposed, arrested,
disgraced and all that stuff, you thought of my poor brother. After
all these years, maybe he'd prove useful again. So you checked that he
was still in Oak Lodge, and you got in touch with him.
"I can almost hear the conversation, you know. At some point you
established that Mike still had his skills ... I knew that myself from
something Aidan told me ... and then you invited him to your place in
the country. Once he was here, you told him what you wanted him to
do."
Skinner sighed. "I hope he didn't agree just like that; I'd prefer to
believe that he didn't. So how did you force him, I wonder? Did you
really beat him with a hammer? Was it you who put those marks on his
body, not some drunken fall? Or did you torture him by filling him
full of drink and then depriving him of it, until he did what you
wanted, and built you a device to trigger the fire in the painting, and
another one for the computer, undetectable because everyone, even the
experts, would think it was part of it?"
He saw Candela's eyes narrow, very slightly. "Yes, that was it, wasn't
it." He nodded. "Know what I think Mike did? I reckon he made a
device that would blow out the fuses of the computer and cause a big
power surge that would start a massive electrical fire, then he showed
you where to install it within the computer, and how to set it as a
timer. The security records show that you went into Tubau Gordon on
Thursday evening, less than two days before the fire. I suppose you
did it then. It worked, too; I've seen the reports. The heat was so
intense that there was nothing identifiable left; a nuclear explosion
couldn't have done more. Score one for Michael."
He stared at Candela; his pretence of amiability was gone. "So?" he
hissed. "How did my brother die?"
"He had a heart attack," said the lawyer 'simple as that. We had
dinner here, he got drunk as usual, and he fell down dead. Naturally,
I didn't want him found here, so I gave him to the river, at the foot
of the garden." He gave the policeman a look of pure contempt.
"And that's all I'm telling you."
"You don't have to tell me any more. I know everything now."
"And much good may it do you, Mr. Skinner. You still don't have a
case you can take to court. There's no forensic evidence, Michael's
dead, and you cannot prove, nor will you ever, that I was responsible
for one penny of that loss."
"You're really not much of a fucking lawyer, are you," said the DCC.
"Superintendent Rose and Inspector Steele of my staff are, even as I
stand here, working overtime putting together a report for the Crown
Office. Tomorrow morning they will present it to the Lord Advocate, in
person. It's touch and go, but you're a betting man, Mr. Candela.
Knowing how the LA feels about bent lawyers, would you lay a tenner
against him taking you before a jury?"
"He'd never get a conviction."
"No?"
"Not one that would stand up at appeal."
"Does that matter? As soon as they get a warrant for your arrest,
Maggie Rose and Steven Steele will pick you up, either here or in
Edinburgh. I'd like it if they were able to huckle you out of your
office, actually. That would be nice."
"I'd still be acquitted though."
"You'll be ruined too."
"Don't you believe it."
The policeman let out an explosive, brutal laugh. "You don't get it,
do you, Candela? This is personal. Whether you killed him or not, you
took Michael away from somewhere he was happy, and you forced him back
into his past, to do your will. You used him one last time, and then
you just threw him away. Listen, I'm under no illusions. My brother
was little short of a beast as a young man; he was a drunken, sadistic
thug. But somewhere along the line, with help from the good Brother
Aidan, he found the good within him, and he lived a contented, if
unfulfilled life.
"Then you came along and took him away from it. And you did worse; you
treated him like a dog, before and after he was dead."
Skinner's eyes were chilling as he looked at the lawyer. Finally, fear
showed on Candela's face. "Suppose you do walk away from your
so-called perfect crime, you're still going to account for it in public
and for the rest of a life which I hope, if you have any sense, will be
very short.
"You're going to be a pariah, Candela, a social outcast. If necessary,
our report to the fiscal will be, regrettably, leaked to the media. You
think no one will use it? Ultimately, we might not have enough for a
criminal conviction, but a civil jury would be pretty certain to find
against you, should you choose to sue for defamation ... especially as
you couldn't offer any defence, since you're guilty as fucking sin." He
picked up the envelope. "If you don't believe me, ask my daughter,
like I did; she's a bloody sight better lawyer than you ever have been,
or
ever will be."
"But leaking that report would end your own career," the man
whispered.
"Don't be stupid. It would never be traced back to me. Don't you have
any idea of what I can do?"
He started for the door. "Think about it, Candela. There's about a
twenty per cent chance you're going to prison. But there's a one
hundred per cent certainty you'll be disgraced. Plus, you'll have me
on your back for the rest of your life."
He glanced around the distinguished room. "This place must have a
library. And, gun control or not, you've probably got a pearl-handled
revolver lying about somewhere.
"Ask yourself this," said Bob Skinner, as he left. "What's expected of
a real gentleman in your situation?"
Sixty-Four.
He glanced around his drawing room. "Did you ever fancy oak panelling
in here?" he asked.
"Certainly not!" Sarah replied. "Much too old-fashioned. What
brought that on?"
"Ah, nothing," said Bob. "You're right; that sort of stuff belongs to
another era."
"I should think so." She turned back to the Scotsman, and to the front
page story. "Will this man Candela be convicted?"
"There's a chance. He's remanded on bail, so we have as long as we
like, within reason, to complete a case. We've got a search warrant
for his place in Perthshire and his flat in Edinburgh. We might just
find some supporting evidence; even if it's only wire that matches the
material used on the Academy fire-bomb, it could turn a possibility
into a probability.
"I'm still hoping for another outcome, though."
"A guilty plea, do you mean?"
"Yeah, something like that." He pressed the button of the television
remote, and turned on A Question of Sport.
"Do you know yet when Michael's funeral will be?" she asked.
"I'll hear from the undertaker tomorrow, but I think it'll be next
Tuesday. He'll be cremated in Gourock; Brother Aidan will take the
service. That'll suit all his friends through there. Afterwards, his
ashes will be interred beside my mother and father, in the cemetery in
Mother well."
"That's good. Appropriate. Will you go?"
"Of course. And you, if you want."
"That's good too. Of course I'll come." She paused. "Speaking of
funerals," she continued. "I had a call from Babs today, the bitch
that she is. She said that Ron's mother's arrived in Buffalo, and that
she's planning to hold his service on Saturday week, once the DA's
office has released his body."
He looked at her, frowned, and shook his head. "Don't even think about
it," he said.
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