by Mary Birk
Reid frowned. “When did you see her last?”
“Friday night. She stayed with me because Henry was out of town on business with Walter. Then Saturday morning, she left to go back to her flat. She called me once that afternoon, but I haven’t heard from her since. Do you know where she is?” Tears filled the woman’s bleary eyes.
“No.” Reid tried to think what this meant. “Henry said he hadn’t seen her either?”
She nodded. “He’s frantic.”
“Do you think something’s happened to her?”
“Yes, of course. She wouldn’t just disappear. She wouldn’t just leave Henry.”
“Perhaps she did.” Reid remembered his advice to Glynnis Taylor. He hoped she’d left on her own, and that nothing had happened to her. “I’ll make some inquiries. Meanwhile, I’ll talk to Bert about your husband’s will. Will you be all right here?”
“Yes. I’ll just go upstairs to bed.” She pointed up and wobbled. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Reid took her arm; he didn’t want the woman negotiating the stairs in her condition. He found the maid waiting out in the hall and instructed her to take Barbara Ramsey up to bed, then left to find Bert Ramsey.
Von Zandt could not be allowed to take over Ramsey International.
Chapter 90
REID ADJUSTED the headphones on the surveillance monitor. He kicked his feet against the bottom of the seat across from where he sat in the van. They had parked close enough to get immediate reception, but hidden in a stand of trees.
Walter Von Zandt’s voice sounded disgusted. “The bitch betrayed me.”
Henry said something in response, but Reid couldn’t make it out.
The elder Von Zandt spoke again. “She should have been watched more carefully.”
Henry Von Zandt’s voice, now audible, registered the rebuke. “I thought we had things covered.”
“Apparently you were wrong.”
Reid had neither requested nor received authority to plant the listening devices at Lynstrade Manor that he’d gotten from John Stirling. Nonetheless, during the investigation into Frederick’s murder, he and Harry had planted scan-resistant bugs in various places inside the house. Anne’s bodyguard, who was pretending to be one of Jonas and Anne’s workmen, had placed additional directional microphones outside in strategic spots. Nothing they heard via these devices could be used in a legal prosecution, but Reid didn’t care about that so much as he cared about making sure he knew if Anne was in danger.
“Yes.” Henry’s voice again.
“You’ve determined how she did it?”
“The account data was transferred and copied from the computer in your office to some sort of removable disk or flashdrive shortly before dinner—when you were meeting with your guests in the secure conference room. Before the women joined us.”
“I should have known when Reid came in with his jealous husband act that something was up. That has to be when she gave him the information. I wouldn’t have been so ready to believe his act if I hadn’t seen him act the same way about Anne before.” Walter Von Zandt’s voice paused, then resumed. “So she must have had it with her when we went into dinner. God damn it, the security scans should have found whatever she copied the data on to if she had it on her then.”
The first part of Henry Von Zandt’s response was inaudible, but the next words were clear. “How do you think she got into your computer?”
Walter Von Zandt sounded disgusted. “I never made any secret within the house about where the key to the office was, but the computer was password protected.”
“She figured out your password?”
“She must have done. I could kill her with my bare hands, the little bitch.”
Panic thudded through Reid’s lungs. He needed to get Anne away from Lynstrade Manor’s grounds right away. He checked the time. Half three. Was she there right now? What if something had already happened to her? Reid knew he shouldn’t have allowed her to continue working there. He should have insisted, kidnapped her, had her visa pulled, anything.
He punched in the number of the man assigned to guard Anne on his mobile, and waited while it rang, his attention still focused on the conversation over the wire transmission. It was Walter Von Zandt’s voice again.
“The little cunt handed him the data right in front of me—chocolates, she said. I thought nothing of it because she had made such a production of putting together those stupid boxes of chocolates.”
Reid closed his eyes in relief, and his heart slowed down to almost normal. Von Zandt wasn’t talking about Anne, but rather Moira. Anne’s bodyguard answered with a quiet, “All’s well here.”
“Thank you.” Reid hung up, just as Henry Von Zandt spoke again.
“Why would Moira help Reid?”
“Who the fuck knows?” That from Walter.
Henry asked the obvious question. “Do you think Reid’s wife was in on it?”
Once again Reid’s heartbeat quickened, and he was suspended in terror while he waited for the answer.
Walter’s voice softened. “No, not Anne. I can’t imagine Reid allowing her to get involved. He’s protective of her and insanely jealous. It was obvious he didn’t like her being in my house or even working for me. And if she had been involved, he’d never have allowed her to come back here to finish my gardens.”
Harry looked over at Reid and gave a thumbs up.
Reid felt a hundred years old as he put down his earphones. “We have to find Moira.”
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 22
Chapter 91
“WE SHOULD have no problem getting the will set aside. Cyrus Rothman had a conflict so large it could swallow the sun. I should be surprised if Rothman isn’t warned off, as well, and not be allowed to practice law anymore. The bar does not look kindly on members who do things like this.” Ronald Hitchcock not only looked the part of a formidable solicitor, with a bushy head of graying hair and serious eyes covered by metal-rimmed glasses, but he came with impressive credentials. What’s more, he’d immediately made time in his busy schedule for Reid and Bert Ramsey to meet him in his offices.
The small conference room of the exclusive Gordon Street offices of one of the largest law firms in Scotland was kitted out in such a fashion as to give clients the message that they were part of an exclusive, privileged clientèle. Rich wine-colored leather upholstered chairs sat around the sleek round mahogany table, and the modern art that adorned the walls was obviously original.
Reid nodded, satisfied that they had the right man for the job. He’d gotten the recommendation for Ronald Hitchcock for Bert from his own family’s solicitors. He was going to make sure this prize as well as the money from the accounts was snatched out of Von Zandt’s greedy paws, if it was the last thing he did. “Bert, do you want to challenge it?”
Bert Ramsey looked at the solicitor. “How much of a difference would it make?”
Hitchcock steepled his fingers. “The difference between nothing and millions. Although, of course, you and your mother could decide not to challenge the will, and to instead rely on Walter Von Zandt’s generosity.”
Bert shook his head. “No f’ng way. What happens now?”
“It’s a significant enough estate to motivate the putative beneficiary, in this case, Walter Von Zandt, to fight our efforts to set aside the will. If he doesn’t, he’ll lose both your father’s personal assets and Ramsey International. Additionally, I’d advise you to petition to have the Ramsey stock transfers to Von Zandt reversed. Of course, if the will is set aside, the estate will have to pay whatever portion of the loan is still outstanding, but that amount is negligible. The rest of the loan has been paid back with interest, so the court is likely to simply set aside the other conditions of the loan, such as the seats on the board and the stock that was given with the loan, because Rothman’s conflict of interest is so flagrant as to basically constitute fraud.”
Bert tapped his pen on the pad of paper in front of him. “Then the stock will s
till belong to the estate, and go to my mother, I presume?”
“Yes. There’ll be no trust and no trusteeship for Von Zandt.” The solicitor adjusted his glasses. “Was there a prior will?”
Bert nodded. “I don’t know if we even still have a copy. It had some bequests to my sister and me, but other than that, everything went to my mother.”
“Good. You’ve a strong case, as I’ve said. That being said, the conservative approach would be to strike a deal with Von Zandt to avoid years of litigation. Decide what you’re willing to give up and what you aren’t, and make a trade in exchange for dropping the will challenge.” Nothing in Hitchcock’s demeanor gave a clue as to whether he was recommending making such a deal or was just identifying options. Reid thought the solicitor would make a formidable poker player.
Bert frowned. “If he doesn’t back down, and we lose in court, Walter could possibly get my father’s whole estate and control of the company?”
Hitchcock considered. “It’s possible.”
Hitchcock’s suggestion was reasonable, but the solicitor wasn’t aware of all the implications of Von Zandt getting control of any part of Ramsey International.
Reid shook his head. “Von Zandt won’t dare engage in a civil suit over the will. He knows what an investigation into his accounts and business dealings would reveal. He’ll fold up his tent and slink away if you challenge it.”
Bert nodded, setting his jaw. “You’re right. We won’t settle.”
Reid exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“What about my sister?” Bert turned to Hitchcock for an answer.
“She’ll not be entitled to anything from the estate if it’s true that she killed your stepfather.”
“But if I want to make sure she has enough money for her legal defense? Can I do that with money from the estate?”
“That’s entirely up to you and your mother.”
“I have my mother’s power of attorney. I want to make sure Moira’s got enough for whatever she needs.” Bert’s face suddenly seemed much older. “They used her, you know. All of them—Richard, my mother, Von Zandt. She was just sixteen. He’s such an evil bastard and they sold her to him.”
Hitchcock made a note. “Very well, then. We’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”
Fuck you, Von Zandt, Reid thought. Fuck you.
* * * * *
Reid was back in his office by midmorning. The search for Moira Ramsey had continued with no luck. She seemed to have just vanished. Reid knew they had to move quickly if they were to beat her executioners to their task, and Von Zandt had the advantage of knowing his prey better than Reid and his people did.
But there was no sign of the girl anywhere. And Glynnis Taylor was still missing as well. Reid wondered if the two of them were still alive. Maybe they were together. He hoped they were. Moira would have a better chance of surviving with her aunt’s help.
He looked away from his computer when he heard children’s voices outside his office. That was a first. He didn’t remember ever seeing children in the office before. None of his team had any, and it wasn’t exactly a child friendly environment.
Puzzled, Reid went to his office door to investigate. Smiling, he recognized his sister Pippa’s two eldest children just as they were hurtling toward him. Pippa was coming up behind them, all smiles. Pippa, unlike Darby, was petite like their mother, but like her brothers and their father, her hair was almost black with eyes to match. Pippa’s children, however, were sturdily built blue-eyed towheads like their father. Nobody who didn’t know them would guess they were even related to their mother.
“We’re here to kidnap you for lunch.”
“Great.” He hugged the children, then his sister. “Where’s the little one?”
“She’s home with nanny. Two-year-olds don’t travel well and I needed some time with these two hellions.”
He smiled, rubbing the children’s heads fondly. “Where shall we go?”
Pippa grinned. “Someplace they don’t want to skewer noisy brats.”
He pretended to ponder. “Hmm. No brat-skewering places. That narrows down our choices.” He waggled his eyebrows at the children and they laughed.
“Funny.” Pippa punched his arm and he pretended to flinch.
“Ow! Tough girl.”
“Don’t you forget it.” She waved her hand toward her children who had wandered away, commandeering Reid’s desk chair, and spinning it around.
“Stop that right now, you two.”
“They’re fine, let them play,” Reid said.
“It’s your office. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I’ll consider myself warned.” He took his jacket from the hook behind his door and put it on.
“Is Darby still in town?” Pippa asked. “Perhaps we should see if she wants to join us?”
“No.”
“No, she’s not in town anymore, or no, you don’t want her to join us?”
“I don’t think she’s in town, but I don’t want to see her if she is.”
“Well, then.” Pippa’s voice was bright and matter-of-fact. “The children and I will have you all to ourselves.”
They settled on a restaurant on the edge of a park, and were sitting at one of the outside tables as, for once, the weather was fine. Reid was charmed by his niece and nephew and freshly reminded of his fondness for this softer sister of his. Although younger than him, Pippa was well settled in her marriage and with her small brood, neither of which Reid could say for himself.
He listened as Pippa entertained him with stories of the family back at Dunbaryn, and what was going on with the family’s distillery business where she worked with her husband.
“The folks miss you, you know. You need to visit. You haven’t been home since Christmas.”
He ran a hand through his hair, looking away from her. “I know. I can’t just yet.”
“They’re worried about you.”
“Aye, I guessed that. They call.”
“And Anne? Where is she in all this?”
“She’s here in Scotland, as I’m sure you know as you would have seen the latest bit in the gossip sheets.”
Pippa ate a chip. “Perhaps I did see something. Are you not together, then?”
He shook his head. “It’s a bit complicated.”
“Always is with you two, isn’t it?”
He twisted his lips in what tried to be a smile.
“So Anne’s here, but not with you. What’s she doing in Scotland?” Pippa reached over quickly and stopped a cup of milk from being overturned by her son, then turned her attention back to her brother.
“She’s on a job. A garden renovation outside of Glasgow.”
“Is she with that other man?” Pippa asked, her voice trying too hard to be casual. “The one from California?”
He shook his head. “No, she’s not. At least not right now.” They were silent for a moment.
“I’ll order ice creams for the children, but I fancy a Guinness. You’ll join me, won’t you, Terrence?”
He nodded, although he rarely drank at lunch. “That would be good.”
She beckoned the waitress over and gave their order. “So tell me what’s going on. Darby knows, apparently?”
“Part of it. She sussed it out on her own.”
“Just tell me if you want me to mind my own business. I won’t, of course. I’ll just worry.” She stopped talking as the waitress approached with their drinks and the ice creams, then nodded her thanks. She settled her children with their treats, not taking her attention from Reid. Her eyes signaled she was willing to wait as long as it took for an answer.
“No, it’s all right.” He took a long drink of ale. “I need to talk about it to someone I can trust.”
Pippa put her hand on his. “That’s the nicest thing you could say to me. I’m always coming to you with my problems, but this is the first time you’ve confided in me. Thank you for that, for trusting me. What is it,
then?”
He looked down at his sister’s hand where it covered his. “She’s going to have a baby.”
“Oh, Terrence, how wonderful.”
Then he looked up and saw her face change as she read the problem in his tortured face. “I see. A baby, you said. Not your baby?”
He held out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “We don’t know. It’s a possibility, but more than likely not mine.”
She lowered her voice as she watched her children. “Well, excuse my language but, shite.”
He shook his head and gave a small, mirthless laugh. “My sentiments exactly.”
“What happened? I mean, I can figure out the basics, but you know.”
“It’s complicated, as I said. When I went to her in California, she broke things off with the other man, and we reconciled.” He looked down at his glass. “But somewhere right in there—well, she’s pregnant and the timing makes it anyone’s guess right now whose baby it is.” He took another long drink. “But the odds are against me.”
“Oh, dear God, I’m so sorry. So where is she staying?”
“I bought a house for us here in town. She’s there. I’m at the flat. She’ll only be here until the job’s finished; then she’ll go back to the States.”
“No, Terrence, that’s awful. Is that what she wants?”
He grimaced. “No, nor what I want. But there’s not much for it. If the baby’s his, Andrew Grainger would not be willing to let the child grow up thinking it was mine; and the child would know that his mother had conceived him with his father when she was married to me. His life would be constant explanations and his classmates . . . well, his life would be hell. Not a good way for a child to grow up.”
“But wouldn’t that be true even if she was with the artist? Children adjust.”
“When they have to. More fair for the adults in the child’s life to make the adjustments. And if our marriage is over and she’s married to the baby’s father, it will make things more settled for the child. More defensible to playground teasing, at least. And I think it’s less likely to make a difference over there.” Not only wouldn’t Anne be swimming in a fishbowl of publicity because of her titled status, but surely the crowd of people that artists associated with were less rigid than the ones Reid encountered both in his work and his private life.