‘A lot of “what ifs” there, Bob,’ Provan chuckled, clearly enjoying his new familiarity with his former commander.
‘I know,’ he conceded. ‘I’m flagging it up, that’s all. When did the relationship, if we can call it that, come to light?’
‘Yesterday,’ Mann replied. ‘When the body was discovered, it was reported to Sandra; she called DCC McGuire and advised him. He benched her right away and told her to call us in.’
‘She’s isolated from the investigation? Completely out of the reporting chain?’
‘Officially, yes. She asked if I’d keep her in touch with developments. I said officially no.’
‘Unofficially?’
‘When all this is over, we’ll be working under her again; I don’t want to be on her hit list.’
Skinner scratched his chin. ‘If you tell her something you shouldn’t and the chief constable finds out, or the DCC . . . Whose hit list would you like least to be on? Leave it with me, Lottie; I’ll sort your dilemma.’
‘How can you do that?’ Provan asked.
‘I can talk to Mario and tell him to give you a written order forbidding any disclosure. If she leans on either of you, you can wave it at her.’
The little detective sergeant grinned. ‘That would do it. Why the fuck did you ever leave, big man?’
‘Sometimes, Dan,’ he confessed frankly, ‘I’m not sure.’
They had reached the car park. Skinner pressed a button and the lights of a metallic-grey Mercedes came on. ‘Are you going straight there?’
‘Yes,’ Mann told him. ‘Do you have the address?’
‘Yeah, I’ll see you there. I’ll give you a head start; it wouldn’t do for me to arrive before you.’
‘If you approach from the Buccleuch Avenue entrance to Kirkhill Road, you won’t be seen by the media. They’re all contained at the other end.’
He nodded and headed for his car.
‘Just like old times,’ Provan muttered as they watched him depart. ‘How do you feel about it, Lottie?’
‘Absolutely fine. He’s on our side. And he’s getting Sandra off our backs,’ she added. ‘Do you think he’s right about her vetting report being doctored?’
‘Oh aye. I’ve got half a mind to nip along to Shotts Prison and ask Max why he did it.’
‘Don’t engage the other half, not yet; it’s probably not relevant. We have to get down to Ayr; I want to brief the whole team there, so that everyone’s familiar with the crime scene.’
‘Where will we be based after that?’ the DS asked as he slid into the passenger seat. ‘The nearest station, or get a mobile HQ van down there?’
‘It depends on what progress we make,’ she replied, engaging gear, ‘but at the moment, I’m thinking neither. Obviously we’ll do the routine stuff in Ayr, check CCTV coverage, such as it is, for cars in the vicinity around the time of Leo’s death, talk to neighbours to see if there’s a night owl who might have seen something, or someone leaving the house. If that gives us a result, fine; otherwise, once that’s done, most of the people we’ll want to talk to live nowhere near there. My thought is that we keep a presence on site, but the inquiry HQ will be in Glasgow. Would you have a problem with that?’
Provan shook his head. ‘Not in the slightest. Ah don’t fancy slogging up and down tae Ayr every day. Plus,’ he added, ‘it’ll make it easier for you with Jakey.’
‘Dan,’ she sighed, ‘my private life can’t have a bearing on the way this investigation’s run. If it does, I’m the wrong person for the job.’
‘That’s rubbish. Everybody’s entitled to a private life. The chief constable herself’s a single parent wi’ a kid younger than Jakey.’
‘She doesn’t have a bastard of an ex-husband with a rich daddy who’s threatening to take her child away from her, though, does she? My blood’s boiling at the thought of having to leave him with those people overnight, let alone having him go for that interview tomorrow.’
‘I thought you got a bit tetchy when boarding school was mentioned.’
She frowned. ‘I called him back, you know, and expressly forbade him from taking Jakey to that place. He told me to get stuffed; his exact words.’
Provan’s nostrils flared. ‘I promise you this, Lottie; one way or another I’m going tae do that man. But in the meantime . . . I’ve got a temporary solution to your childcare problem.’
‘Are you going to take time off?’ she chuckled grimly. ‘Not that Jakey wouldn’t like that,’ she added.
‘I don’t have to. Vanessa, my Jamie’s lassie, they live near you and she can help, for the next four or five months, anyway. She’s a home hairdresser, and now that she’s pregnant, she’s cutting back on her workload. I’ve spoken to her, and she’d be happy to look after Jakey when she’s needed. She can arrange her jobs any way she likes.’
Lottie was staring at the road ahead. ‘How old is she?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘Does she take shit?’
‘No way. But she’s a laugh. They’ll get on great.’
‘I’d pay her, Dan.’
‘That’s between the two of you.’
She glanced across at him and smiled. ‘When we get to Ayr,’ she said, ‘you’re getting kissed.’
‘That could be construed as sexual harassment in the workplace.’
‘So sue me.’
Eleven
‘For a guy who’s worth all that money, this is quite a modest layout,’ Bob Skinner observed. ‘Stereotypical Scot, not flashing the cash around.’
‘See what’s in the garage, though,’ Provan told him. ‘A Ferrari, a Bentley Mulsanne and a Ford Mustang. Oh aye, and a Harley-Davidson Low Rider . . . for nippin’ down to Aldi, I suppose.’
‘You know your motors.’
‘A man can dream.’
They were standing in the main reception room of Leo Speight’s house; it was the only space available to them on the lower level; Dorward’s forensic team had finished there, but were still working in every other area.
Mann had decided that she would rather not have Skinner present during her team briefing in the gymnasium. Instead she had suggested that he and Provan might meet with Gino Butler, who had called to say he would arrive at two with the list of party guests and catering staff that she had requested from him.
‘Does anybody really think that Speight could have fallen out wi’ gangsters, Bob?’ the DS asked.
‘To be honest, Dan,’ he replied, ‘I have no idea. That’s what’s been suggested to me, but no one is saying whether there’s any evidence or where it came from. In the absence of facts, I’m going into it with an open mind. That’s how it’ll be. Why do you ask, anyway? Do you have a theory?’
‘No’ yet. I’m in the same boat as you: I don’t know enough.’
‘Excuse me, gentlemen.’
Both men glanced across to see a tall figure framed in the doorway. He had a naturally high forehead, emphasised by a receding hairline. He wore a tweed jacket and he was peering at them through a pair of round spectacles perched on the bridge of a long, hooked nose.
‘This is a restricted area,’ the newcomer said. ‘Should you be here?’
Provan’s lip curled; he tapped the warrant card that hung on its lanyard around his neck. ‘This says I should.’
‘I wasn’t talking to you, Sergeant. I know who you are. It’s your companion I’m concerned about.’
‘Then don’t be; he’s not here, he’s just a hologram.’
‘Don’t be flippant with me, Mr Provan,’ the newcomer retorted, ‘or you’ll regret it. You’re a serving police officer; this man is not.’
‘How would you know that?’ Skinner asked quietly.
‘Because I know who you are. You’re the man the previous chief constable explicitly banned from crime scenes.’
‘Did he?’ Skinner chuckled. ‘He never told me that, and in the interest of fairness, I should have been the first to know. Since you seem to know who I am,’ he continued, ‘who are you, that he gave you that instruction?’
‘Peregrine Allsop, director of communications.’
‘Is that right? Well, Mr Allsop, my advice to you is that you put down your shovel.’
‘What shovel?’
‘The one you’re using to dig yourself an ever-deeper hole. Whatever Andy Martin may have told you about me, I am not one to wander into a major criminal investigation without being invited, and without proper credentials.’ He produced a laminated card from a pocket and held it up, forcing the communications director to move close enough to read it.
‘I see,’ he murmured. ‘Nobody told me,’ he complained.
‘Well, in the immortal words of Freddie and the Dreamers, I’m telling you now. Have you got a function here?’
‘I have to give the media an update on the investigation.’
‘Then ye better go and talk to Lottie,’ Provan suggested. ‘You’ll need to be properly briefed, but hear this from me. Don’t say too much, and don’t drop her in it.’
Allsop frowned. ‘I know what I’m doing, Sergeant.’ He looked at Skinner. ‘Do you wish to attend, sir?’
The former chief gave a long whistle. ‘Absolutely not. Dan’s right. I’m a hologram; I’m not here.’
‘As you wish.’ He turned abruptly, and walked out of the room. As he left, Provan muttered something obscene.
‘No, Dan,’ Skinner said. ‘If I had taken over the national force, I’d have appointed a media director too. Probably not that one, but it’s a necessary function, one that needs a civilian specialist.’
‘Maybe, but no’ briefing the press on active investigations.’
‘My guess is there’s a reason for that: to protect Lottie. We both know it’s not what she does best. And as for you . . .’ he added, smiling.
‘Fair enough,’ Provan conceded. ‘The lassie’s got enough to worry about, apart from having to handle every aspect of this investigation.’
‘What do you mean?’
The DS grimaced. ‘Don’t let on I told you this, but she’s havin’ major grief from Scott Mann’s father and mother. The old guy’s minted, and he’s tryin’ to get custody of Jakey for Scott.’
‘Scott’s in prison,’ Skinner exclaimed.
‘And totally rehabilitated as a result, they’re sayin’. Whereas Lottie’s in a job that means she cannae look after her kid probably. On top of that, of course, it was her that drove Scott to drink and intae bad company.’
‘Who came up with that crap?’
‘Ever heard of Moss Lee? High-priced, big-mouthed solicitor advocate?’
‘Who hasn’t?’
‘Exactly. Arnold Mann’s hired him. Lottie, she can’t compete wi’ that. There’s a real chance that she’s going to lose that kid, Bob. I’ve told her I’m not havin’ it.’
‘Me neither,’ Skinner growled. ‘Leave that one with me. I can do more about it than you.’
‘Thanks. Now what did you show Allsop that had him standing to attention?’
‘Never you mind.’
‘That’ll be—’
Provan’s retort was interrupted by the appearance of another man in the doorway. ‘Mr Butler,’ the DS exclaimed. ‘Right on time. Have you brought your list?’
‘Yes,’ the newcomer said. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t have got here sooner, but I had to check with the security manager of the Blacksmith that everybody actually turned up. You wouldn’t have thanked me if you’d had to chase people who weren’t even there.’
‘Not necessarily. If they hadn’t been there we might have wondered where they were instead. Were there any no-shows?’
‘Damn few. It was pretty much a one-hundred-per-cent turnout, as expected.’ He paused. ‘Has the post-mortem been done?’
‘Aye,’ Provan replied. ‘This morning; outcome as expected. Subject to lab analysis, he was poisoned.’
‘So Leo was murdered?’
‘Officially we’ll call it a suspicious death, because we cannae rule out suicide one hundred per cent.’
‘No chance,’ Butler declared. ‘Leo had everything to live for.’ He frowned. ‘The pathologist didn’t find anything else, did he? No illness that we didn’t know about?’
‘Nothing at all. Given the business he was in, he was a phenomenon. But,’ the DS tapped the side of his head, ‘a pathologist can look at the brain and tell you if there was anything wrong with it. What he can’t do is look at the mind. He can’t tell you whether the deceased was happy or sad, whether his life was plain sailing or full of stress.’
‘I can,’ the manager insisted. ‘Leo was a happy man. He was never going to have to risk his health or his life for money again. He had firm plans for the future and he was going to wake up every morning knowing that day was going to be a good one. He took a lot out of his sport and he was planning to give a lot back. Those aren’t my words. They were his. It’s what he said to me two nights ago when we had dinner here, after looking in at the arrangements for the party.’
‘On your own? Just the two of you?’ Butler nodded. ‘Who did the cooking?’
‘Leo did. He always did. He prepared nearly all of his own meals, and when he didn’t, he supervised.’
‘Even in restaurants?’ Provan sounded sceptical.
‘He very rarely ate in one. He never did when he was in training camp. He took responsibility for everything that went into his body. That’s professional sport, Detective Sergeant. Drug testing in boxing was patchy at best, but Leo signed up to a voluntary code that was as stringent as any of them. He said that if a fight went over four or five rounds, he could tell whether the other guy had been doping or not. It happened a few times in his career.’
‘How did he deal with it?’
Butler grinned. ‘He hit them harder.’
‘What about the soya milk?’
‘That was part of his regime; he drank two cartons of the stuff every day, wherever he was. Always almond flavour; he didn’t like the banana version.’
‘Everybody close tae him would know that, would they?’
‘Oh yes.’
Butler glanced at the detective’s companion, weighing him up as if he was disturbed by his silence.
‘Bob Skinner, don’t mind me,’ he said, extending a hand. ‘I take it,’ he continued as they shook, ‘that as his manager, you’re aware of the terms of Leo’s life insurance policy, and the enhanced benefit in the event of unnatural death?’
‘Of course. I negotiated it.’
‘In that case, think of me as the insurers’ insurance.’
‘Does that mean your brief is to establish that Leo died of natural causes, if you can?’
‘Or suicide: that would invalidate the policy altogether.’
‘How much convincing will you need? If DS Provan can’t rule out suicide completely, where does that leave you? How can you be persuaded that he didn’t kill himself?’
Skinner beamed. ‘The best way of proving that he was unlawfully killed is by finding the person who did it. In that respect, I have every confidence in DI Mann and DS Provan, and so can you.’
‘That’s good,’ Butler said. ‘There’s three million quid riding on it. If he was murdered, it pays out five mil; if not, only two. But you’d know that.’
Skinner nodded. ‘I was told. But they didn’t tell me how long the policy’s been in place, or who the beneficiary is.’
‘I set it up seven years ago. There is no named beneficiary as such. The benefit is part of the estate, so it goes to the heirs and successors.’
‘Who would they be?’ Provan asked casually.
‘I don’t know,’ the manager replied bluntly. ‘I believe I’m
an executor, because Leo asked me if I would be, but he drew up his will alone, with his lawyer, Herbert Chesters, as his adviser.’
‘Where can I find him?’
‘It’s not a him, it’s the name of the legal practice he used. His handler there was the senior partner, Joy Herbert, Mrs. If you need detail, you’ll have to talk to her. The office is in George Square. It’s not a big outfit and they keep a very low profile, but their clients are all very high-value individuals. They’re a law firm, but they do corporate structuring, taxation and inheritance planning as well. A lot of their clients are offshore.’
‘Was Leo, officially?’
Butler glanced at Skinner as he responded to his question. ‘No, not yet. It was something he intended to do, but he was waiting for the time to be right.’
‘When would that have been?’
‘When he had the settlement sorted out with Faye. His partner,’ he added, anticipating the question. ‘Estranged.’
‘Was that proving difficult?’
‘More difficult than it need have been. At the outset Faye didn’t expect half of Leo’s stash or anything like it; Leo offered her two million, cash, and she was okay with that. He’d already bought her the house where she’s living. If it had been left to the two of them, they’d probably have worked it out over lunch, for Leo was very persuasive – but the lawyers got involved and all of a sudden the simple became complicated.’
‘Bloody lawyers,’ Provan grunted, not quite under his breath.
‘Let me understand as clearly as I can,’ Skinner said. ‘He and Faye were never legally married.’
‘No, never.’
‘Did they ever actually cohabit? As in share the same permanent residence?’
‘That’s what the lawyer was trying to assert, but he was having trouble. He was trying to argue that Faye was Leo’s common-law wife, but Joy Herbert didn’t agree with that. She said that Faye’s main residence was the Troon house that Leo bought for her when she first fell pregnant, and put in her name. She says that since Leo spent at least two thirds of every year in training camp in London or in Las Vegas, and since he had other homes, they didn’t live together and certainly not long enough for her to be able to claim . . . what d’ you call it?’
A Brush With Death Page 8