“Uh...huh,” I grunted, wondering how Sandy would get home.
“Lifeboat crew had to go out. Helicopter ‘n all. Were a close call.”
“But they got them off?”
“They did. But it makes me mad.”
“Uh... huh.”
“Boat wore smashed to smithereens. Serves ‘m right. Hope the insurance refuses to pay up. Bloody fools. It’s the crews, I worry about. These playboys risk the lives of men worth a hundred times their salt.”
I returned to the table in front of the fire.
“Barmen says Southampton flights are cancelled because of the fog. What will you do?”
“Do they have rooms here? I could always stay for the night.” He looked at me. I knew what his eyes were asking.
“I’ll check with the airport. If you can’t get back tonight, we might as well stay here. You can fly out first thing, when the mist lifts.”
I opened my bag to get out my phone, and saw it immediately. A large white envelope, which I certainly hadn’t put there. I took it out carefully. It was addressed to Mr Alexander Ross.
Without speaking, I threw the envelope on the table. He picked it up and turned it over in his fingers.
“Where did this come...”
“I’ve no idea. Someone must have slipped it into my bag. It’s nothing to do with me.”
We stared at each other.
“It’s addressed to you.”
My heart pounded as I watched him tear open the white paper, and unfold a piece of A4 paper, covered in spidery writing. He started reading intensely. Sweat broke out in my palms, as I held my breath. As he read, his face relaxed, and then, very gradually, broke into a smile.
“We’ve done it,” he said, when he reached the end. “Julia, we’ve done it.” He pulled me to him and plonked a big kiss firmly on my lips. Then, he was laughing, laughing, as though his wildest dream had just come true.
“Read,” he said, pushing the letter into my hands. It was dated a few days ago.
November 25
Dear Mr Ross,
I am aware that you are acting as independent actuary in the case of the collapsed Kelly pension fund. You recently visited me to ask me a number of questions in connection. I am afraid I have been unwell in recent months, and suffered lapses in memory.
However, I was recently admitted to a psychiatric hospital where, under treatment, my condition has improved. I would now like to offer you the following information.
I was the appointed actuary to the Kelly Superannuation Pension Scheme during the period you raised with me. Jack Kelly managing director approached me because the company was in difficulty. He needed cash to make investments both in the company and elsewhere.
He asked to make significant withdrawals from the pension fund, which I told him I could not legitimately approve. He offered me a £1.25 million fee, if I could devise a way it could legally be done.
I devised a scheme for making regular withdrawals. However, these depended for their legality on my valuing the fund in a way which would normally be considered a contravention of the high standards of our profession and in violation of my obligation to protect the public interest.
I am profoundly sorry for the action that I took, and now wish to set the record straight.
Yours
I folded the letter and placed it on the table.
“He must have slipped it into my bag, but why give it to us? And why now?”
“He’s scared. Livingstone would have shaken him, but Black’s murder must have petrified him. Kelly was on his way down to see him. He’s scared out of his wits.”
“There was that other important visitor the girl mention. That had to be Kane. Do you think he offered him some kind of deal?”
“It’s possible. Implicate Kelly, or my bank will freeze every penny you and your precious Edna possess. “
“And he could. Maybe the illness was a cover all along? Edna takes the money, goes abroad, he recovers and joins her once it’s all died down and the band wagon’s moved on.”
“Maybe…”
“This gives you what you need, though doesn’t it…. to go after the professional insurers? Cameron’s too?”
“Maybe…” he repeated. “Let’s wait and see what the lawyers say, but first...” His face broke into an enormous smile, as he placed his arm round me and pulled me closer.
“Let’s see if we can get a room.”
Chapter 48
7 pm Tuesday, November 27,
Buckler’s Hard
When it came to it, we booked two rooms. I guess I bottled it again. Sandy raised his eyes to heaven as I ordered two singles, but said nothing. We parted to go to our separate rooms. We both had work to do. We agreed to meet at 7pm in the bar, and unless the weather had worsened, take a stroll around the tiny harbour, before eating.
I kept trying to call Pitcher. I was desperate to reach him. It was hopeless.
Sandy was already waiting when I appeared at the bar. He gulped down the last dregs of his glass, and pulled on his jacket. Outside, it was dark, but the mist was thinning, making it possible to glimpse a couple of stars through the haze.
“It’ll be clear in the morning,” I said, as we walked slowly along the water’s edge.
“I hope so,” he replied. “I need to get back.”
“Me, too.”
“I need to speak to the lawyers immediately.”
We walked towards the marina, and I could hear the distant tinkle of the riggings, like fairy bells in the wind. He took my hand. He felt warm and protective. I wished we could stay here forever.
“What a long time ago it all began,” Sandy muttered.
“Yes... a financial scandal, Strachan’s death...” I left the list unfinished.
“We’ve learnt a lot,” he said.
“A lot, but not enough,” I replied, thinking of the girl.
“It’s never enough,” there was a distance in his voice.
We walked on a while further. The wind was whipping up.
“We should be turning back,” Sandy said, but I wasn’t ready yet. I was enjoying the walk and wanted it to last a while longer.
“Not yet. Look there’s an old boathouse up there, let’s take a look inside.”
We opened the door and stepped into a tardis. From the outside it looked like a glorified shed, but inside was enormous. Sandy switched on an electric light, which glowed brightly enough through multiple layers of cobwebs and dust.
There were four boats in different states of repair, a workbench and desk. Sandy was fascinated. He left me to walk around the boathouse, studying each vessel in detail and commenting on different aspects of shape and design. It was all lost on me. But as I watched him, I wanted to know more about boats and the sea, to share his passion. I so wanted to be part of his life.
When he came back to me, he slowly, deliberately, took me in his arms and kissed me with every fibre of his being. His fire burnt right through me. We skipped dinner for an early night, and didn’t need those two rooms, afterall. Don’t ask me how many times we made love. I have no idea. I only remember it was the most wonderful night of my life.
Chapter 49
7am Wednesday, November 28,
New Forest
After that night, events began to move rapidly, beyond my control, beyond the control of any of us.
We rose early. The mist had lifted. But while we breakfasted in my room, Sandy’s phone rang. It was Joe from Tarbert. His cottage had been broken into over night.
“My car’s at the airport. I’ll drive straight up,” I heard him say, before hanging up. We set off for the airport soon afterwards.
“I could do with a couple of days peace and quiet to go through these documents properly,” he said, kissing me farewell at the airport. “We have to have absolutely everything buttoned down.”
“I’ll miss you,” I said, kissing him back.
“Let’s get through the next few days,” his voice softened. “Then,
maybe, we can get on with the rest of our lives.”
Pitcher called as I was rounding the M25, so I turned off at the next exit, pulled in at a service station and called him straight back.
“Where’ve you been? I’ve been frantic.”
“Some of us have more important things to do than entertain elderly colonels in Tunbridge Wells. What’s so urgent anyway?”
I recounted, as succinctly as I could, the encounter with Kane, and the Liechtenstein Trust Fund dossier, with the list of addresses.
“I need to see this,” he said.
“I’m concerned about security....email.... fax,” I replied.
“Where are you?”
“’Bout ten minutes from Heathrow.”
“Excellent. Get the next flight to Glasgow. I’ll meet you.”
With that instruction he hung up. I didn’t hesitate, but started the car and head for terminal one. I picked up a standby taking off within the hour.
I decided not to call Sandy and let him know I was coming north. He had enough to deal with and didn’t need me as a distraction.
Chapter 50
1pm Wednesday, November 28,
Glasgow Airport.
The Chief Inspector was waiting for me on the road directly outside the airport. Although he drove an unmarked BMW, I guessed he must have police authorisation to park so close. We drove straight to Strathclyde HQ. Pitcher entered the premises like he owned them. No longer an outsider.
“She’s with me,” he said to the officer on the main desk, as he swung through security and into a small windowless interview room, with the word Press on the door.
We sat at a table, and I lined up three documents in front of him, the bank statements, the pensions accounts, and the Liechtenstein dossier.
“We won’t be disturbed here… shoot.”
“These relate to the financial fraud,” I said, pushing the first two slightly to one side. “This is the one I think will interest you.”
He picked up the Liechtenstein Trust dossier.
“So the Kellys own all these premises?”
“According to Black and his sources. Did you see?” I said, pointing to Gallow Terrace.
“This still doesn’t prove they were running that brothel,” he said.
“And look at the entry for Crossglen.”
“Heroin refinery,” he sighed. “It figures.”
“See, there was a fire and some one was killed.”
“It could have been the girl’s father,” he sucked on one of his teeth. “Again, it doesn’t prove anything.”
“But the other addresses...”
He read on in silence for a few moments, before closing the dossier and turning his chair to face me directly.
“Great stuff. Well done. But what happens next is police work. You have to leave it to me.”
“Oh no. This is my script. You’re not writing me out.”
“You can’t come with us. You can break the story. I’ll give you everything and make sure you’re ahead of your competition all along the way. But you have to leave the rest to me.”
“I want to come with you. How can I tell the story if I don’t see it first hand?”
“You can’t be in a hundred places at once. Leave me to do what I do best and I’ll do everything I can to help you do, what you do best. It was the deal, remember. What we agreed at the very start.”
I hesitated.
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll lock you up in a cell for obstructing police inquiries... and throw away the key.”
“You wouldn’t dare....”
“Do we have a deal?” he asked again, grinning.
I nodded.
“Good. I have a lot to do first. Where will you be?”
“I’ll stay at the Buchanan... until I hear from you.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t be long.” He opened the interview room door and called a junior officer to show me out.
Chapter 51
9pm Thursday, November 29,
Glasgow
I didn’t hear from Pitcher until 9pm the following evening. I was watching a film in my hotel room, when my mobile rang.
“Can you get over here now? Things could start kicking off soon.”
I didn’t bother to reply, but grabbed my coat and left the hotel room without even switching off the television.
A sergeant was waiting for me at the front desk.
“Julia Lighthorn?” he opened security doors to let me pass. “I’m Sergeant Brown, we spoke on the phone a month or so ago, when the body was found in the Clyde.”
“You cracked the joke about actuaries at the bottom of the sea.”
He blushed, slightly. “A good start,” he said, “but a very bad joke.”
“In the circumstances,” I replied.
“We’d better start again. We’ve a long night ahead.”
I followed him down a twisty corridor and up three flights of stairs before he stopped, to unlock a door.
“This is my office, and we’re going to share it tonight.” There were two desks, one piled high, the other empty. He moved towards the cluttered one, and pointed for me to sit at the other. “You should have everything you need there to work through the night. If you need anything else let me know. Coffee?”
I nodded and he left the room.
The desk had a PC, telephone, notepads and pens. I was already logged on and everything seemed to be working fine.
When Brown returned with the coffee, Pitcher was with him.
“Good girl,” he said, pulling up a chair beside me. He was wired.
“Sergeant Brown will be with you all night. We’re starting to go in at midnight.”
“Going in?”
“We’re starting with the clubs. I want to pick up Tom Kelly and McSherry before they get any warning. Shortly after, we’ll begin raiding every address on the dossier.”
“You’ve checked them out.”
“To the extent that we can in such a short space of time.”
“Any sign of the girl?”
“Not so far.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I’d like something in the morning’s newspapers. What’s the latest deadline you can file to?”
“I can produce a holding story for early editions tomorrow, not much more. But I can file updates through the night for the later editions and the website.”
“Good.”
“What about the competition?”
Pitcher raised a questioning eyebrow.
“My competition,” I repeated for emphasis. I didn’t want any photo finishes. I’d worked hard for this story and deserved the gold cup.
“I’m not saying anything to anyone but you, and I don’t want you talking, is that clear, Hornblower? I don’t want hoards of hacks, and TV crews getting in our way. I promise the story is all yours.”
“Ross?”
“Anybody,” he looked at his watch. “I have to go. Get busy.”
As soon as he had gone I called Ludgate on his mobile.
“There’s a big story about to break. The police are raiding about 30 premises owned by a vice ring, they believe the Kellys have been running.”
“Jeez, where are you?”
“Right now, I’m in Strathclyde head office. They’ve given me my own little desk.”
“The police head-quarters?” he sounded dumb-founded.
“That’s right. We’ve got the story to ourselves.”
“You haven’t gone native have you?”
“No chance.”
“Good,” I could hear him thinking. “First edition will be hitting the streets soon. File the best holding story you can, then update for the later editions, and file for the web after that. It’s the best we can do. We’ll cross-ref the web material in the paper, so it will all be well flagged up. I’ll send you some web ID and access codes. You can edit it remotely. Any problems, let me know.”
When I hung up
, Brown came over and sat in the chair Pitcher had pulled up, although he pushed it a little further from me. My briefing began.
“The whole operation will be synchronised. Teams are going into the three clubs at midnight, with others hitting all the addresses on this list. Until we go in, there’s no knowing what we will find. Your first story must be filed in absolute secrecy. There must be no leaks. And it has to be general.”
“Police last night planning raids at Glasgow top night clubs plus addresses throughout Scotland believed to be involved in criminal activity.... that sort of thing?” I questioned.
“Sounds perfect.”
“Can I name the clubs?”
“Yes.”
“The addresses?”
“No.”
I began to type and played with the story for half-an-hour or so, before showing it to Brown.
“And they say there’s no censorship in the UK,” I said, emailing it across to him sitting only a few yards away.
“That looks fine,” he said, as he read. “But we want a guarantee of no leaks before I can let you send it.”
I called Ludgate again. “Send it direct to Bob Jones. He’s running the night desk. I’ll call him. That way no one else will have access. It’ll go straight into a secure page for the later editions.”
I filed the story at 10pm, and there was nothing to do but wait. Brown took me down to the canteen at 11pm, for fish and chips. Then we returned to his office to wait out the night.
To Pitcher’s credit, once the action began, the calls came in fast and furious. Every team had someone designated to report back to us.
The first report came from the Sea Witch club. Pitcher had taken twelve men into custody, including Frankie McSherry. Similar news came from the other clubs.
Across the country reports were coming in of arrests at brothels and the seizure of drugs, from heroin to crack cocaine and dope.
I filed stories through the night, updating as fast as I could with the latest information. Wave after wave of vans arrived at the station, filled with suspects picked up at various addresses. The air was alive with a medley of shouting and doors slamming. Similar scenes, I guessed, were taking place at nicks all over Scotland.
DEAD MONEY Page 25