‘I wrote to them, on your behalf. I advised them of the accident and said that as your solicitor I would await their observations. I had a letter in Friday’s mail from their UK office. They said as the machine was well out of guarantee they had no liability or obligation in the matter. However in the circumstances, they are prepared to offer you a replacement as a gesture of goodwill.
‘What d’you think of that?’
By now, you know I’m naive in certain respects. Although I’d shielded myself behind my anger in the period after the accident, it had never turned itself in the direction of the company which had made the lethal machine. That changed in an instant. Within me I could hear Jan’s voice, and when I spoke, it was for us both.
‘I think you should decline their offer,’ I told my friend, coldly and evenly, in that tone which I hadn’t owned ten days before. ‘I think also that you should advise them that we will be obtaining a copy of the police report on the machine, and that if it shows that my wife’s death was caused by a fault in its manufacture, then we will pursue every remedy open to us, both civil and criminal, in Scotland and in Germany.
‘How does that sound?’ I asked him.
‘It sounds like something a real hard-arsed lawyer like me would say. I’ve already asked the Fiscal’s office for a copy of the police report. I’ll let you know as soon as I get it. My guess is that the Germans will want to examine the machine themselves to confirm what the police say, but that very soon they’ll make you an offer of compensation.’
‘How much?’ As soon as the words were out, I was swamped by a wave of guilt for asking the question. Jan’s death couldn’t be quantified in financial terms. ‘No, forget that. I don’t want their fucking money. I just want them to agree to withdraw every single machine of that type.’
‘They’ll do that anyway,’ Greg forecast. ‘Take their cash,’ he urged. ‘Give it to your nephews if you like, but take it. If they’re culpable, they should pay.’
‘Aye, I suppose you’re right. Let’s just wait for the report.’
After I finished my call to Greg, I phoned a few other contacts, to let them know I was back in business. They all seemed glad to hear from me, and they all had work. I began to wonder whether there was a conspiracy among my business friends to keep me occupied. I spent another hour at my desk planning a work schedule, then arranged two interviews for that afternoon.
When I had no other options, I was finally forced to turn to the task I had been dreading. I moved round to the other side of the partners’ desk, and sat in Jan’s chair. I had gathered all her mail together; now I began to open it. There were two cheques from clients, and a couple of letters from the Inland Revenue, but most of the envelopes contained the usual junk; the stuff that annoys recipients but makes serious money for the Royal Mail.
Jan’s filing system was simple and efficient. The papers relating to each of her clients were all kept together in sequence. I filed the material in her out and pending trays, then switched on her computer, and found her directory. That was neat too, with her clients listed as such, with address, phone, fax and e-mail numbers and name of principal contact in each one.
I phoned them, one by one and told them formally what they knew already. They were all upset, and two of them even offered to pay me a termination bonus. I declined, but said that if they wanted to make a donation to their favourite charity in Jan’s memory, that would be okay with me. Once I had finished, I boxed each client’s papers, wrapped them securely and called a delivery service to return them all.
The only exception was The Gantry Group. Jan’s relationship with her newest client had been of such a short duration that she had not had time to develop a file, or amass papers. I called Susie anyway, at her office. I had seen her at the funeral, and afterwards, with her father and Dylan, at our reception in the church hall, but she had been too upset to say much.
She was still solemn when I spoke to her that morning; she mentioned money too. ‘Jan did a lot for us, Oz. I’ll work out the time she spent here and send you a cheque.’ I gave her the same answer I had given the others. When she protested, I told her, ‘Look Susie, that work is all abortive now. You’ll have to get someone else to start again. Any idea who?’ I asked.
She treated me to a flicker of her laugh. ‘I’ve been worn down on that one, I’m afraid, Oz. I’m going to have to take old Uncle Joseph back. Dad said we couldn’t afford to go back to scratch again, so we’d have to make do with the Devil we know.
‘Actually, from the work that Jan did, I may have been wronging the old bugger after all.’ That didn’t square with what my wife had told me before I left for Spain, but I supposed that she must have come to that conclusion later.
Susie invited me to dinner on the following Thursday. For a moment I wasn’t going to accept, until I realised that it would mean one less evening that week in the flat, on my own. So I thanked her, and accepted.
In the silence that remained I sat at our desk, looking at the only substantial block of Jan’s files that were left; the only client I hadn’t terminated. They were my papers: invoices, receipts, tax returns, Revenue correspondence and all the other things which my wife and business manager had done for me. For the first time, I began to wonder how I was going to manage myself.
I was still brooding on this as I made my solitary lunch, and also thinking irrationally about adopting a cat, when the phone rang. It was Everett. ‘Hello man,’ the brown voice rumbled. ‘You hanging in there?’
‘What choice do I have?’ I asked him.
‘None, my friend. You do it for her.’ He paused then jumped straight to the point. ‘Oz, Liam Matthews is just insufferable as a ring announcer. When you comin’ back?’
I was astounded. ‘I didn’t think you’d need me back. With Leonard in the frame as your saboteur, my job’s done, isn’t it?’
‘It looks like that job’s done, sure, and by the way, I owe you your bonus, but that doesn’t obscure the fact that you’re a damn good ring announcer. And I need one. Thousand sterling a weekend, Friday evening through Sunday, plus your VAT, plus expenses.
‘Amsterdam this weekend, then Manchester, then the Wednesday after that it’s the live pay-per-view event in Edinburgh. We got heavy subscription for that already. I need you Oz, my friend. Diane needs you. Our partner Jerry, he needs you. Don’t let us down now.’
I laughed. I laughed for the first time in nine days. ‘Who am I to reject all that need,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it. It’s what Jan would want. What time’s the plane on Friday?’
Chapter 36
Greg had just received the police report from Dylan’s pal the Assistant Fiscal when I called in to his office in West Regent Street, to drop off a couple of witness statements and to sign the various forms which he had for me.
We were both pushed for time, and so he gave me a copy to take away with me. I had a series of interviews for another lawyer scheduled that morning and early afternoon, and so it was well into the day before I had a chance to pick it up.
I managed to read it all the way through on the fourth attempt. On each of the first three readings I made it as far as the description of Jan touching the live, water-filled appliance, then broke up.
The report was concise and unequivocal in its judgement. It said that the machine had been halfway through a wash cycle when the accident had happened. It pointed out that Jan must have loaded the machine, selected and switched on the programme. Therefore it surmised that the powerful vibration of the machine must have shaken loose a live wire from the power supply to the motor. This, it argued, had come into contact with the casing of the machine, stopping its cycle and turning it instantly into a death-trap.
Since the investigating officers had found a partly sliced pepper on the chopping board it presumed that Jan, ‘the victim,’ had been in the kitchen when the mishap had occurred, that she had stopped what she was doing and had attempted to restart the washer. On touching the lethal appliance she had received a massive
electric shock which had killed her instantly. She was barefoot and the tiled floor was wet, but even without that added conductivity, she had no chance of survival.
The report said that its finding must remain one of extreme probability rather than fact, since the faulty wiring had been melted and fused together by the extreme heat generated as the current had earthed itself through Jan’s body. However the police examiners had called in Trading Standards Officers to test their findings, and they had agreed whole-heartedly with their conclusions.
When I was finished, I phoned Greg. ‘It looks pretty damning for the manufacturer, doesn’t it?’ I said to him.
‘Aye,’ said my friend. ‘As I guessed, they’ve asked for permission to have the machine tested independently. But they sound pretty well convinced. They have Scottish solicitors acting for them now, and one of them called me this afternoon for a preliminary chat about the quantum of your claim.’
I looked up at him. ‘Give me that last bit in English,’ I asked.
‘It means how much they’re going to pay you,’ he said. ‘If their tests bear out the others, and it seems that they should, it could be big; six figures.’
‘I don’t really give a toss, Greg.’ As I spoke, I was visited by an unbidden memory of Jan in that makeshift mortuary chapel. ‘They can’t give me what I want,’ I added.
‘No, no, of course they can’t. I do have some good news for you, though. I had a talk with the Assistant Fiscal and I got him to agree that in the light of the report, there’s no need for a formal Fatal Accident Inquiry before Sheriff and jury. He accepts that it’s clear no criminal offence has been committed, and that since the matter could wind up in the civil courts, it’s better that his office doesn’t muddy the waters.
‘So the file will be marked “Accidental Death”, and closed. That’ll be a weight off your mind, Oz.’
‘Sure,’ I said, with more bitterness than I intended. After all, Greg really did think he had done me a favour. ‘I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.’
Chapter 37
I had been dreading dinner with Susie and Mike, and I’m quite sure they had been too.
However it wasn’t as bad as I had feared. Sure, I felt a bit like a spare part, and I was painfully aware of the extra chair all through the evening, but Susie managed the really difficult bit perfectly.
As Mike handed round the drinks - I had come by train and was going home by taxi - she sat down opposite me, and said, ‘Oz, tonight we can talk about Jan if that’s what you want. But if it’s too painful for you, we can talk about other things.’
I looked at her, feeling enormously grateful. I knew that somewhere in me there was a need to talk about my wife, our life and her death, with friends from outside my family circle. But I hadn’t known Susie for long, and Mike for not much longer; kind and solicitous as they were, they simply weren’t close enough. As I thought about it, I realised that there was only one person in the world who was.
So I told her. ‘I need to come out into the world again, Susie. Let’s talk about life.’
And that was what we did. We talked about Dylan’s career shift and his prospects in Strathclyde, a much bigger force than Lothian and Borders, with more ladders and career opportunities. We talked about Susie’s plans for the St Vincent Street development and her new apartment.
Over dinner, I told them about my exciting alternative career as a ring announcer. I mentioned Jerry’s mishap in Barcelona, but stuck to the official story that it had been caused by an equipment failure. ‘They want to watch that,’ said Dylan. I looked at him, inwardly concerned that his copper’s nose might be twitching. I needn’t have worried; it would have taken a good-sized pinch of pepper to make Mike’s hooter twitch. ‘That’s two accidents recently,’ he went on. ‘They’ll have the Health and Safety people after them if they’re not careful.’
Of course, since we were in Glasgow, we talked about football as well. It was true that in Edinburgh, Dylan had been essentially a rugby man, but that is politically incorrect in Glasgow, where the round ball rules almost unchallenged and where, no matter how hard the clubs try to change the pattern, allegiances are determined still by religion and ancestral prejudices.
‘Your father must be invited to every big game in Glasgow, Susie,’ I said. ‘But does he hold a season ticket anywhere?’
She grinned. ‘You’re right about the invitations. He could be at Ibrox or Parkhead every Saturday during the season if he wanted. He’s much too cute to hold a season ticket, though. The other side’s supporters would notice, and they’re voters after all. The group did make a donation to the Save the Jags campaign, and we bought some Partick Thistle shares as well. But that was politically okay, you understand.’ She smiled again.
‘He doesn’t go to a match every Saturday, of course, or anything like it, although he does make sure that he visits Rangers and Celtic alternately. He makes a point of being at all the European matches, but that’s because the visiting sides usually bring their Mayor in the party, so he feels he has to.’
She looked at me. ‘The truth is that my father hates football, for the image it’s given this city over the years. Privately, he gets terribly angry that for all that Glasgow has invested in the Burrell, in the Royal Concert Hall, in the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, and in all the other museums and show-places that we can boast of, Edinburgh is still internationally famous for its Festival while we’re best known for our football teams.
‘Give him a few drinks in private then sit back and listen. You’ll get a tirade about how we can bring the world’s most famous orchestra to Glasgow, yet the only cultural coverage we ever get is when some character pretends to play the flute at a football match.’ Susie chuckled. ‘Mind you Oz, all that’s a family secret.’
‘And safe with me. I can’t tell you how much our family appreciated your dad coming to Jan’s funeral.’ I smiled at her, and to keep the conversation light-hearted, added, ‘Especially since there are no Glasgow votes in Anstruther.’
‘If there were,’ said his daughter, ‘he’d know who they were and where they lived!’
‘How’s his old pal Mr Donn settling back in?’ I asked.
Susie made a face. ‘Smugly,’ she replied. ‘He’s even installed a new book-keeper; his nephew, would you believe. The boy’s efficient, I have to say, but that won’t save him though.’
‘You have plans for revenge, I take it.’
She nodded. ‘Oh yes. When my father steps down as Lord Provost, if he ever does, he’s promised himself that he will go on a long cruise . . . with the other Lady Provost.’
‘Eh?’
‘His mistress, but we don’t talk about her at all. Shouldn’t have mentioned her: must be the drink. Christ, I don’t even know her name, he keeps her that tight. I only know for sure because he told me always to phone before calling at the house. Me! His daughter!’ She bristled with a mixture of Amarone and indignation.
‘Anyway,’ she muttered, with a grim smile, ‘as soon as that bloody boat leaves the dockside, Uncle Joseph and young Stephen are out on their arses. See if I’m not my father’s daughter!’
In case his girlfriend’s indignation slipped out of control, Dylan, sensibly for once, switched the subject back to the GWA. ‘So you are going back to that, Oz?’ he said.
‘Amsterdam tomorrow,’ I confirmed. ‘Then sunny Manchester, then the big event in Edinburgh. That’ll be a live transmission, so there’ll be no scope for any more accidents.’
‘Will the big chap be fit by then?’
‘If the big chap’s fit for Christmas, he’ll be lucky.’
We chatted on about not very much, until my taxi arrived, by which time I was quietly sloshed, as I had been every night that week. It was raining, par for the course for the beginning of April, so I paid the guy inside the taxi and sprinted for the entrance to my building.
A funny thing happened as I opened my front door and switched on my hall light.The three tracked ceiling spotl
ights came on, then one went out, not in the quiet, now-you-see-it, now-you-don’t way, but with a loud bang. I swore quietly and walked through the living area to the kitchen, with thoughts of another beer. There too, I switched on the light, three floods set on a circle. The same thing happened again; all three came on, then one went out; with a bang.
I changed my mind about that beer. Instead I sat in the dark and looked out at the city, asking myself what were the odds against two light bulbs - in separate fittings, in an apartment whose electrics have just been checked out as thoroughly as humanly possible by the guys from Scottish Power - exploding, one after the other.
I reached my own conclusion. I didn’t feel spooky as I sat there, not a bit. I didn’t feel alone, either. ‘Hello, darlin’,’ I said, smiling into the shadowy room. ‘Looking out for me, are you? Don’t go too far though.Those bulbs are expensive.’
It had worried me, that during all the nights since Jan’s death, I had never dreamed of her. That night I did. It was a grey dream; she came to me through a mist. She didn’t smile and she wasn’t happy, and yet . . .
I can’t remember what she said; maybe she didn’t say anything. But she told me nonetheless that while she missed me as much as I missed her, and while there was nothing good in what had happened, it would be all right. I would have to be patient, and to live my life out, but once I had done that, however long it took . . . it would be all right.
Chapter 38
The plane to Amsterdam was a Fokker - yes, I know that joke. For a passenger plane it seemed to me to be very small, and seated next to Everett in the front row, I couldn’t help but wonder about the effect of his size on its stability.
‘Is Diane not coming on this trip?’ I asked him, once we were through the white-knuckle part of the flight and the pretty Dutch girls had appeared with the drinks trolley.
‘No, she said she has things to do in Scotland. Anyhow,’ he added, quietly, glancing over his shoulder, ‘Matthews is back on the commentary team this week.’
Wearing Purple (Oz Blackstone Mystery) Page 21