The First Cut (Terrence Reid Mystery Series Book 2)

by Mary Birk

  “But it isn’t actually your company’s money that gets invested, is it?”

  “Not usually. Most often it comes from investors who want opportunities to make their money grow. We help put the ones that need money together with the ones who want to invest money.”

  “How careful are you that you aren’t matching up those needing investors with people who want to cause harm?”

  “Terrorists, I assume you mean.”

  “Or those that fund terrorists.”

  “This sounds like a conversation for which I should have a solicitor.”

  Reid raised his eyebrows. “If you think you need one.”

  “This is a legitimate, law-abiding company. We scrupulously follow the UK’s money laundering regulations.”

  “Then you needn’t be concerned.” Reid looked around. “I thought Frederick would be joining us.”

  “He’ll be here. I wanted to talk to you first. Frederick is,” Henry hesitated, then continued. “Frankly, he’s disabled. Not just physically disabled, but challenged mentally. Both my father and I are concerned about distressing him.”

  “I have no intention of distressing him. I just want to talk to him. Is that a problem?”

  “If it becomes a problem, I’ll stop things.” Henry reached over to the telephone intercom and hit one of the buttons. “Glynnis, send my brother in.”

  Frederick Von Zandt shuffled in, his pronounced limp giving the shuffle a little bounce at the end of each step. Frederick was nothing like his older brother. Where Henry was fit, Frederick carried a paunch. Where Henry was urbanely polished and immaculately groomed, Frederick dressed like an unkempt teenager. Where Henry was self-confident, Frederick, whose face was covered with an angry army of painful looking spots, was obviously self-conscious.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I appreciate it, Mr. Von Zandt.” Reid had decided to be deferential to the younger Von Zandt brother, guessing that not many people would give him that courtesy.

  Frederick seemed startled by being addressed as Mr. Von Zandt and nervously glanced at his older brother, who waved a hand at Frederick, as if to tell him to get on with things.

  “Just call me Frederick.” His eyes seemed to have difficulty meeting those to whom he was speaking, and his right eye seemed to continually water, necessitating him to keep wiping at it.

  “Fine, if you’ll call me Terrence.”

  Frederick smiled a bit uneasily. “All right.”

  Reid smiled, trying to put Frederick at ease. “Moira mentioned that you took her to her parents’ home on Saturday night for dinner.”

  Frederick visibly relaxed. “That’s right. I drive her around a lot. My father trusts my driving.”

  “Did you stay for dinner yourself?”

  “No. I went back home for my mother’s birthday dinner.”

  “Did you go back to the Ramsey house later?”

  “To pick Moira up, yeah.”

  “When you and Moira left the Ramsey house, did you happen to see anything out of place? Unfamiliar vehicles, anything like that?”

  Frederick thought. “No.”

  “Did you talk to Richard Ramsey at all that night?”

  He shook his head. “Mr. Ramsey never talks to me.”

  “Where did you take Moira after you picked her up?”

  Frederick’s eyes slid toward Henry, who nodded. Having apparently been given approval to continue, Frederick said, “To the flat. Where she lives.”

  “Where she lives with your father?”

  Frederick stared at his hands as if the answer to the question was written there, then sighed. “Yes.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  Frederick hesitated, and his gaze this time went to his feet.

  “Frederick?”

  He looked up at Reid’s question. “I kept an eye on her after I dropped her off.”

  “Kept an eye on her?”

  “Yes. She walked down the street to a club. To go dancing.”

  “By herself?”

  He nodded. “She went by herself, but there were men there who danced with her.”

  “You stayed with her?”

  “Not with her. I watched her.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “After a while, she left that club and went to another. Same thing there. Danced with some blokes.”

  “Did you watch her all night?” Reid tried to measure the creepiness factor of the young man following his father’s mistress.

  “Just until she went home to the flat.”

  “What time was that?”

  “About half two. Maybe a little later.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I was sitting in front of the building in the car, and she came over and talked to me before she went up to the flat. She knows I keep an eye out for her. She’s only nineteen, you know. She’s still a kid, and someone needs to take care of her.”

  Reid glanced over at Henry Von Zandt as his brother was talking. Henry was thrumming his fingers rapidly on his desk.

  Reid turned his attention to the elder brother. “You don’t agree?”

  “What difference does it make if I agree?” Henry’s fingers stilled, but then he picked up a pen, and started tapping it instead.

  Reid waited.

  “All right, she’s a tart.” Henry gesticulated with the pen in exasperation. “A slut. Her stepfather fobbed her off on Father first chance he got just to get rid of her.”

  Frederick’s ears got bright red and sparks of anger flashed in his watery eyes. “That’s a shitty thing to say about Moira, Henry.”

  Reid watched the exchange, appraising the tension between the brothers. He could tell from the way Frederick acted that his mental age did not match his actual age, hence Henry’s description of his brother as disabled. Calculating everything he’d seen and heard, Reid would have put Frederick at about age fifteen mentally, and there was nothing more volatile than a teenage boy—especially when he was in love.

  Henry looked disgusted and addressed himself to Reid. “You’ve seen her. She dresses like a tart, she acts like a tart.”

  Frederick shot a look of undisguised loathing at his brother and balled his fists as if he were restraining himself from using them, then stormed out of the room in galloping, uneven steps, muttering under his breath.

  Henry shook his head, exasperated. “Freddie’s an idiot.”

  Reid didn’t respond.

  Henry said, “So, Superintendent, if you were checking Moira’s alibi, I guess you’ve got it. Freddie’s as well.”

  “Since the subject of alibis is on the table, why don’t tell me yours for Saturday night?”

  In an exaggeratedly patient voice, Henry said, “I was at the birthday dinner for my mother, then my wife and I went home. The nanny was there with the children, so you can ask both her and my wife. I stayed home with my wife the rest of the night. The nanny lives with us, although I can’t say whether she would notice if I left the house again. You can ask her, and my wife as well, for that matter, if you like.”

  “Thank you.” Reid wrote down the nanny’s name and mobile number as Henry Von Zandt dictated the information in a bored voice while studiedly checking his watch.

  Reid asked, “Do you know if Richard Ramsey was involved with another woman? We have some information that he might have been meeting a woman the night he was killed.”

  Henry shrugged. “Not that I know of, but I can’t think why he’d tell me. Maybe a prozzy?”

  “Maybe.” Reid switched subjects again. “As I understand it, your father has made a bid to replace Ramsey as the chairman of Ramsey’s company. What kind of an impact will that make on your father’s company if he’s successful?”

  “You’re implying that my father and our company stand to benefit from Ramsey’s death.”

  “I’m not implying anything. Both you and your father have already informed me that they would.”

  Henry stood up, suddenly seemin
g to sense he was out of his depth. “I’ve nothing else to say to you, Superintendent Reid. This interview is concluded. Please leave.” He punched a button on his telephone and spoke a few sharp words Reid couldn’t make out, but was fairly sure were a command to get rid of him.

  And, indeed, Glynnis Taylor appeared within seconds to escort Reid out. In the hallway, she looked as if she wanted to say something, but Reid gave a slight shake of his head and murmured, “Not here.”

  She nodded, and he saw in her eyes that she understood. Any words they exchanged here would likely be overheard. Certainly she’d be questioned about them, and Reid did not want to endanger her.

  In the lift, Reid reflected on what he’d learned. First, Frederick Von Zandt was in love with his father’s mistress—just when you think you’d seen everything. But with regard to the investigation, Frederick Von Zandt gave Moira an alibi, and, he assumed, she’d give him one as well.

  And he’d touched a nerve with his questions about the possible change of control of Ramsey International. That was something Von Zandt had to want very badly.

  And something Reid could not let happen.

  Chapter 37

  ON THE STREET outside the offices of VZ Capital, Reid regretted that he’d not bothered to don any type of a coat. But at least the cold bite of the wind made him feel like he might be alive again someday. This morning before Mass, he’d gone running, and for that blessed hour he felt as if he could get through the mess his personal life was in and eventually come out on the other side. During Mass, he’d prayed for guidance. Afterwards, he’d been even more certain that putting the child before what Anne and he wanted was the right thing to do.

  Marshalling up the self-discipline that had helped him get through bad times before, Reid turned his thoughts to his work. First and foremost, he had to find the information they needed to stop the next terrorist attacks. To do that, he needed to pin down the details of Von Zandt’s hidden financial operations. He thought about the ramifications of Von Zandt getting control of Ramsey International. Von Zandt had to be after the weapons subsidiary. If he controlled a significant supply of weapons as well as cash, Von Zandt’s ties to terrorist factions would become even more formidable a threat. Reid hadn’t been seeing the whole picture when he’d been focused solely on the money laundering.

  He decided to stop in the first place he came to, get some tea and ring his friend, Peter MacTavish. He knew he could count on MacTavish, an investment banker, to maintain confidentiality and to do whatever he could to help. Reid pushed open the door to the small café and spotted a booth. As he headed toward it, he saw Frederick Von Zandt sitting all alone in a booth further back, huddled forlornly over a cup of hot tea. Reid drew a deep breath. Opportunity had presented itself. The weakest member was separated from the tribe.

  Reid approached Frederick’s table. “May I join you?”

  Frederick started in surprise, but then nodded, gesturing to the other side of the booth.

  Reid slid in, motioning to the waitress. “This is a coincidence. I was fancying a cup of tea myself.”

  “It takes the chill off.”

  “Aye. I apologize if I caused trouble back there between you and your brother.”

  Frederick shook his head. “Naught to do with you. He’s a shite about Moira.”

  “You think he’s wrong about her.”

  “Course he’s wrong. Moira may dance with different blokes, but that’s just because she likes to dance. But she doesn’t cheat on Father. She wouldn’t dare.”

  Reid nodded, listened without commenting, thinking about Elisa Von Zandt saying the same thing. The waitress deposited a cup and a small pot of tea in front of Reid without so much as a word. After she left, Frederick went on.

  “Henry just doesn’t understand. Moira doesn’t have any friends her own age. She goes to school and takes care of Father. If she wants to go dancing, so what?”

  “Your father doesn’t mind?”

  “Not as long as she’s there when he wants her there. She works hard at school and deserves a break.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Frederick shook his head. “She’s so smart, and she’s genius at computers.”

  “Aye, I heard that.”

  The young man drank his tea and stared ahead, not speaking for a while.

  Reid followed suit and sipped his own tea, waiting for Frederick to decide to talk again.

  “Henry’s got no right to say anything about Moira.” He stirred his tea aimlessly. “He doesn’t like her, but Moira and I are friends.”

  “Aye, she spoke fondly of you to me,” Reid volunteered.

  Frederick smiled, pleased. “She did?”

  Reid nodded, then said what he thought Frederick wanted to hear. “She’s a nice girl.”

  “She really is. She’s just . . . incredible.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  Frederick seemed to relax. “I saw how you went to your wife in California—how you helped her. She needed you, and you were there for her.”

  Those damned tabloids again. Everyone seemed to know the story, or at least the story as the press put it out. As it had turned out, going to Anne had been a huge mistake—not just for himself, but for her as well. Reappearing in her life had caused Anne nothing but unhappy complications. She would have been better off if he’d stayed away. But he said nothing, keeping his eyes on Frederick.

  Something flickered across the young man’s face: pride and resolve. “How you feel about your wife—that’s how I feel about Moira.”

  Poor sod, if that’s true, Reid thought, but he said only, “You’re in love with her.”

  Frederick nodded, miserable but armored in defense of his beloved. “I’ve tried to stop, but I can’t.”

  “Not an easy thing to control. How is she handling her father’s death?”

  Frederick looked up, pulling himself away from whatever other thoughts were occupying his mind. “She’s doing all right. They weren’t close.”

  “You said he never talked to you. Why not?”

  “He thought I was stupid.” The astute look on Frederick’s face told Reid that he’d underestimated the young man’s intelligence. “I’m not. I’m not as smart as Henry or my father, but I’m not stupid.”

  “I know that. Were you at the meeting with Richard Ramsey on Friday?” Walter Von Zandt had said it was just Henry and himself there, but Reid had no reason to trust anything the man said.

  “Friday?” Frederick shook his head. “No, I saw him come in, but I don’t sit in on those kinds of meetings. It’s usually just Henry and my father.”

  Reid nodded, thinking of what other information he could possibly elicit from Frederick. “Did Mr. Ramsey seem upset when he came to the offices? Or when he left?”

  Frederick thought, then spoke, slowly formulating his words. “I think he was afraid of my father. Most people are. But Mr. Ramsey was not a nice man either.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Frederick rubbed the back of his neck. “What he did to Moira.”

  “What was that?”

  Frederick looked embarrassed. “You know.”

  “Sending her to live with your father?”

  Frederick nodded. “She was just barely sixteen. And she’d never . . . you know.” The young man’s face blushed bright red.

  “How do you know that?”

  Frederick started massaging his temples, as if what they were talking about made his head hurt. “My father showed me the blood spots on the sheets and explained what it meant. He said, this is how you know if you’re getting what you paid for.” His eyes, full of pain, though still watery, lost their unfocused look. “I hated Richard Ramsey for doing that to Moira. I’m glad he’s dead.”

  Reid didn’t blame Frederick; if he’d been Frederick, he’d have hated Walter Von Zandt as well. “What about Moira’s mother? Why didn’t she intervene?”

  Frederick shook his head in disgust. “She knew her husband needed my father’s m
oney. Besides, she’s always soused.”

  Reid tried not to let on how shocked he was. Moira had been part of the loan conditions. And apparently her mother had stood by and done nothing while her husband all but sold her daughter to Von Zandt.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The young man grimaced and nodded. Reid couldn’t even imagine how miserable it must be for him to be in love with Moira and have to see her with his own father. At least if Anne married Grainger, Reid would never have to see her again.

  Reid stood up to leave, placing some money on the table to cover the bill.

  The young man glanced up, his face anxious. “Don’t tell my father we talked without Henry here.”

  “I won’t.”

  Chapter 38

  BACK AT HIGH STREET, Reid buried himself in investigation reports and the results of the financial account searches. His mobile rang and he picked it up, distracted.

  “Reid here.”

  “Aye, and Stirling here.”

  “What can I do for you, John?” Shite—the last thing Reid wanted right now was to talk to someone who knew him as well as John Stirling did.

  “That’s certainly an enthusiastic greeting for an old friend.”

  Reid kept his voice deliberately curt. “Sorry, mate, I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Right.” Stirling put a world of amusement in his voice. “Of course you are.”

  Reid sighed, giving up. “Sorry. Are you in town?”

  “Aye. For the Easter holidays. I’m going to be at MacTavish’s for their annual Easter buffet Sunday. You going?”

  Reid rubbed his hand over his face. This Sunday was indeed Easter. “Probably not. I’ve too much work to do.”

  There was a short silence, after which Stirling’s cheerful voice came on again. “Then you’ll have a pint with me tonight? And maybe a bite to eat?”

  Reid hesitated. He didn’t feel like being with anyone else and didn’t want to go out, but Stirling lived in Aberdeen and didn’t come to Glasgow that often. Besides, he was always quick to lend assistance every time Reid called him. Refusing to make time to see his friend would not only be ungracious, but would probably send up more red flags than Reid wanted.