by Helen Fields
‘I can take the meeting for you, Cordelia,’ Liam was saying as Jeremy took the tea in. ‘I’m from a corporate background so I understand how these people think and what they want to hear. Why don’t you go home? You obviously aren’t well.’
‘I’ve prepared the conference room,’ Jeremy said, putting the tea on Cordelia’s desk.
‘Thank you,’ Liam snapped. Jeremy glared at him.
‘W-would you like a biscuit?’ Jeremy asked. ‘Maybe some sugar w-would make you feel better?’
‘Jeremy, we’re busy, if you don’t mind,’ Liam said.
‘No, that’s all right. He’s just trying to help. A biscuit might be a good idea. Thank you, Jeremy,’ Cordelia said.
He drifted back out into the corridor, hearing Liam restart his efforts to exclude Cordelia from that afternoon’s meeting. Taking care to arrange a selection of biscuits on a china plate, Jeremy made a mental note to stay away from Liam Hood. Some people were just trouble.
Ava was on the phone with the pathologist Ailsa Lambert before even sitting down at her desk on Monday morning. It hadn’t been the best of weekends. Callanach hadn’t responded to her calls, save for one brief text, which had made it clear he didn’t want to be contacted. The hangovers that had been so easy to shift with sugar and saturated fat during her twenties were a much more impressive foe in her thirties, and as a result she’d felt wretched right through until Sunday morning. It wasn’t until Monday at 6am that she realised she’d missed a voicemail on Friday afternoon from the city mortuary.
‘Ailsa,’ Ava said. ‘Someone from your office called me on Friday. I didn’t catch the name. Do you know what it was about?’
‘I asked Sally to call you with the results from George Begbie’s toxicology samples. They’re back quickly because there’s nothing to tell you. As I suspected, there were no drugs in his system and no alcohol. Every single result is consistent with carbon monoxide poisoning. In the circumstances, and I’ve spoken to the Procurator Fiscal about this, there is no reason to hold an investigation into the death. I went round to see Glynis myself Friday evening. We’ve released the body for burial. George has already been transferred to the funeral director’s.’
Ava was quiet. It wasn’t that she’d expected anything else but, she realised, she’d been hoping for more. The results were in and they were absolute. The man she had looked up to her whole career, on a personal and professional basis, had simply decided not to carry on. Had his life been so empty without work, she wondered? Is that what happened to police officers when the thrill of the chase was suddenly gone? The man she’d put on a pedestal was suddenly just a selfish prick who couldn’t see how blessed he was to have a devoted family and to be loved.
‘Thank you for letting me know. Do you have any idea when the funeral will be?’ Ava asked.
‘Glynis wants it done as soon as possible. Understandable in the circumstances. There was some mention of Friday but you should confirm with her,’ Ailsa said.
‘I will.’ Ava put the phone down. She wandered through to the incident room, disturbing DS Lively mid bawdy-joke session. ‘That phone number I gave you. Did you get anything on it?’
‘Aye, I got something. I looked like a proper Charlie, ma’am. I phoned the number from the scene and it got picked up over at St Leonard’s police station. I asked Chief Inspector Dimitri about it while we were all still at the scene. He explained that one of his team had checked the licence plate with the DVLA who’d provided Jones’ details. They were trying to ascertain if the vehicle had been stolen. I felt a right chump for not recognising one of our own station’s numbers. CI Dimitri properly took the piss out of me for it,’ Lively said, to much guffawing from his band of fellow officers.
‘I’m sure you were more than a match for the CI, Detective Sergeant. Did you manage to remain polite with the senior officer or should I be expecting a formal complaint today?’ Ava asked.
‘I simply told him you’d passed me the number, ma’am, and instructed me to call it,’ Lively responded.
‘Nothing else?’ Ava asked, sighing inwardly at the smile on Lively’s face.
‘He may or may not have overheard me calling him a prick as he was walking away, ma’am.’
‘Bloody brilliant. Complaint then. Right, I’m going over to see Mrs Begbie. All queries to DI Callanach in my absence. Anyone seen him today?’ Ava asked.
‘He’s in his office. Came in early. I’ve not seen him since,’ Tripp said.
‘Aye, he was looking all dark and brooding when he appeared to get his coffee. Just the way the girls like him, isn’t that right?’ Lively said, earning another round of laughter.
‘They’re short of people on traffic duties today. If anyone has nothing to do I can order a temporary transfer out of MIT,’ Ava said. The result was a sudden rush of bodies away from comedy central back to workstations.
Glynis Begbie took her time opening the door. Ava smiled apologetically. ‘Glynis, hello. I was wondering if I might speak to you for a few moments.’ She looked at the tear-stained face of the Chief’s widow and realised it wasn’t a good time, not that there would be a good time in the foreseeable future.
Glynis looked behind her into the hallway and back at Ava. ‘Now?’ she said.
‘Is everything all right?’ Ava asked. ‘I’m sorry, that was crass. I know you’re not all right, but has anything else happened? You don’t seem …’
Glynis stuck a nail in her mouth and chewed as Ava stuttered through a sentence that was never destined to go smoothly. She looked unkempt, nervy, and Ava thought she could see spider webs in her hair.
‘I was sleeping,’ Glynis said, running a hand down her crumpled clothes.
‘It’ll only take a minute,’ Ava said. Glynis backed away. As she stepped into the hall, closing the door behind herself, Ava felt a draught. The air was musty and the dust that speckled Glynis’ clothes had made a grey/white trail down the stair carpet. ‘I gather you spoke to Ailsa on Friday,’ Ava said gently.
‘I did,’ Glynis replied. ‘The funeral director was very kind. She came round Saturday and most of the arrangements are being finalised today. There’s a slot at the crematorium on Friday. You’ll come?’
‘Of course. And a few of the squad, those who knew George the longest. It’s cold in here. Is there a problem with the heating?’ Ava asked.
‘I’m having to watch the pennies,’ Glynis said. ‘Only then I …’ She began to cry. Ava moved forward slowly and put an arm around her shoulders.
‘Why don’t we go and sit down?’ Ava asked. ‘You’re covered in dust. What were you doing when I arrived?’ Not sleeping, that much was obvious, Ava thought, wondering about the lie as she walked Glynis through to the lounge and sat her on the sofa.
‘After my sleep, I went up in the loft. The funeral director suggested that we might have some photos of George through the decades, for people to remember him by. My old albums were still in boxes from when we moved here. I’ve never been up there before. George used to do that stuff.’ She took a handkerchief from her sleeve, wiping tears and dust from her cheeks. ‘Now that I think about it, he did almost everything. All the banking. He handled our money. Occasionally I signed a piece of paper for a mortgage or a savings account. I never even wondered where it was all coming from …’
‘It must be hard to suddenly start looking after yourself alone. Could you ask one of the children to …’
‘No!’ Glynis said. ‘I can’t have them involved.’ She was shaking, her face even paler than when Ava had rung the bell, looking out into the hallway as if expecting a ghost to appear.
‘Perhaps I can help,’ Ava said. ‘Is there anything in particular worrying you?’ Glynis clutched her knees, eyes on the carpet. ‘Why don’t I go and put the kettle on?’ Ava said. ‘I’m not in any hurry. You stay here.’
She walked into the kitchen, closing the lounge door as she went, making a noise with the kettle and mugs, before stepping silently back into the hallway and t
aking the stairs. Something had upset Glynis, only upset didn’t seem to be all the story. Ava would have said it was more like fear. The loft hatch was down, a ladder extending from above and pale light shining from within. Ava glanced back down the stairs to the lounge door. It was still shut and the sound of Glynis’ soft sobbing was just audible. Ava began to climb.
The loft was, as Glynis had said, full of packing boxes, some of which were still taped up and labelled and a few whose tops were breached with items poking out. There was a clear path left through the centre to the rear of the loft. Ava left her shoes at the top of the hatch to keep her footsteps quiet as she crept through the half-dark.
It was well ordered for a loft. Cobwebs were located only to the sides, and the central floor planks were dust-free. At the very back were higher piles of boxes. Ava had to skirt around them to pick up a dropped torch, banging her head on a loose board that was hanging from the inclined ceiling as she stood back up. She directed the beam of torch light to inspect the offending board, and found herself staring into a space behind it. Climbing on a box to get a better look, she saw what looked like bundles of paper amongst the insulation. Reaching her hand in, she grabbed a sample and pulled it back out, stepping down to sit on the box while she investigated. It was a package, roughly hand-sized, wrapped in brown paper. She ripped the outside, knowing that she’d gone from treading over a line in a friendship to completely violating Glynis’ privacy, but something was wrong and there was no point pretending otherwise.
In Ava’s hands was a bundle of fifty-pound notes, slightly crumpled, undoubtedly used. She flicked through, noting the non-consecutive serial numbers, tallying in her mind as she went. There were at least one hundred in the package. She shoved them into her pocket and stood up again, craning her neck to look further into the wall cavity. As she shifted the torch, she saw the full extent of what was hidden there. Package after package lined the eaves space, enough that she couldn’t possibly count them all. She stood back, doing some mental arithmetic. If each package contained five thousand pounds, then there was a bare minimum of a quarter of a million in there.
Ava pushed the stray board back into place, then shoved boxes in front of the area she’d disturbed to return the scene to the way she’d found it, before making her way back through the loft to the ladder. Nearing the hatch, Glynis poked her head up.
‘Did you find it?’ Glynis asked plainly.
‘I did,’ Ava said.
Glynis nodded. ‘I’ll get us that tea, shall I?’ she said, moving back down the ladder.
They sat in the kitchen, the pile of cash on the table between them.
‘You’ve got no idea where the money’s from?’ Ava asked.
‘None,’ Glynis replied. ‘The board was hanging loosely from the roof when I went to find the photograph albums. I was trying to push it back when a packet fell out. The thing is, it makes sense, and now I feel like such a fool. It’s as if, looking back, maybe it was easier not to have asked the right questions. George paid for everything with cash. We lived well. I mean, he wasn’t on a bad wage by the time he reached Detective Inspector, and then at DCI we were extremely comfortable. Even so, I was worried when we moved into this big house. I had no idea we’d managed to pay off so much of the old mortgage, but George said he was a good saver and that he’d put a lot of extra cash into it over the years.’
‘He never gave any hint as to the origins of the cash he used? Gambling seems like the most obvious source,’ Ava said, pushing the notes with her fingernail.
‘Whatever it was, he had reason to hide it from me. That’s if it was me he was worrying about. How could he have kept such a big secret from me?’ Glynis asked. She wasn’t crying now. A calm had settled over her and she was staring at the cash with unhidden loathing. ‘There’s no way this ends well, Ava. I know it. You might as well call in the squad and get started.’
‘We don’t know what this is yet,’ Ava said, hoping her face wasn’t giving away the despair she was feeling inside. Privately, she knew Glynis was right. There was no way cash hidden behind boards in an attic came from a legal source. ‘Maybe he just lost his faith in banks, decided to keep some cash at home. Maybe he had a gambling habit he didn’t want to tell you about so he hid his winnings. There are any number of possibilities.’
‘You don’t believe that any more than I do,’ Glynis said, standing up to throw the dregs of her tea into the sink. ‘Phone calls late at night, George disappearing into the spare bedroom and closing the door so I couldn’t hear, declaring he didn’t want to disturb me. He never gave a good answer as to who was calling, and the truth, Ava, is that I didn’t push him hard for answers. An old friend from the force with an alcohol problem who needed a pal, he told me once. Another time it was someone chasing details from cold cases. None of it felt quite right to me, but it was easier not to make a big deal out of it. Now here am I, stuck with God knows how much paper money in my roof and wondering how I’m going to make the next mortgage payment. I needed the life insurance to pay off the mortgage on this place. George’s pension won’t cover all the bills, and once this gets out, who knows if I’ll even continue to get his pension. Perhaps it’s what I deserve after letting him get away with lying to me.’
‘None of this is your fault, Glynis, and you’re getting ahead of yourself. The police pension would only be stopped if there was a suggestion that George had been involved in criminal activity,’ Ava said. There was a long pause with no eye contact. Neither of them wanted to have that conversation. ‘Leave it with me and say nothing to anyone, not even your family. If you’re worried about money at the moment, there’s no reason you can’t use some of this. As far as we’re both aware, it’s rightfully yours. Just, you know, keep it subtle. Maybe change some of it into smaller denominations. If you don’t mind, I’ll keep one of these notes for now to see if I can trace its origins. I should go.’
Glynis said nothing, following Ava to the door and hugging her hard before she left. Ava sat in her car and stared at the fifty-pound note in her hand. There were strands trying to connect in her head but they wouldn’t quite complete a circuit. Perhaps she didn’t really want them to, she thought. George Begbie wasn’t the sort of man who didn’t trust banks and was reduced to shoving money under a mattress. He’d been at pains to secure the cash in a way that neither burglars nor Glynis would chance upon it. It was his failure to discuss it with his wife that really had Ava’s hair standing on end. The Chief had been disturbed enough to take his own life, after a series of late night calls and a suspect parcel on the doorstep. Now Louis Jones was missing too. Ava didn’t believe in coincidences, not on this scale. There was only one thing that made the criminal world go round. From drug dealers to human traffickers, arms dealers to fencers of stolen goods, it was all about the money. This was dirty. Her instincts were as real as the note in her hand. Much as she might have wished for the Chief to have been a closet gambler, she didn’t believe that for a second. If so, he wouldn’t have had to hide the money for so long. He could have filtered it into his bank account and Glynis would have been none the wiser. Ava wiped a single tear from her cheek. She couldn’t spend time now with pointless hypothesising about what the Chief had done. There was work to do. Finding Louis Jones and asking him a few questions would be a start. Figuring out where the cash had come from came a close second. More importantly, if George Begbie had died because of the cash that was hidden in his attic, then the money hadn’t come from anything as simple as a few bribes over the years. Payoffs to look the other way while a suspect escaped out of a back door or to ignore evidence during a search were an unsavoury but relatively common thing in the police, but no one came looking to get their money back. This much cash indicated a criminal conspiracy on a grander scale, and whoever had pursued the Chief was angry. The logical conclusion, the only conclusion in fact that Ava could reach, was that someone wanted their money returned and they weren’t going to stop until they had it.
Ava managed to
get to her desk without being waylaid. She signed in to the Police National Computer system and accessed the database.
The computer bore the news that Ramon Trescoe, the organised crime leader Begbie and Jones had put away, had been released from HMP Glenochil five months earlier. His address was listed as The Mazophilia in Glasgow. Dylan McGill was still safely behind bars. His involvement in the stabbing of a fellow inmate had resulted in the loss of early release privileges. McGill wasn’t due out for another eight months. Ava logged out of the system, folded up the paper on which she had scribbled some notes, and thrust it into her pocket.
Callanach walked in as she was looking up Chief Inspector Dimitri’s number. ‘I’m off to the city mortuary, ma’am. Dr Lambert has asked me to review the Lily Eustis case with her,’ he said.
‘Luc, about Friday night. I know I went behind your back and I’m sorry,’ Ava said.
‘I’ll write up a report when I get back. I expect the results of the toxicology screens are in, so I’m guessing the case will be off our list. Once that’s sorted I’m intending to take a few days leave. Will that be a problem?’
‘No, of course not. It’s short notice but while we’re not involved in anything pressing it should be fine. Could I ask what for?’
He ignored the question. ‘I’ll be out of contact while I’m on leave, so you’ll need to make sure there’s another ranking officer in my place,’ Callanach responded, turning to the door.
‘I see,’ Ava said. ‘Send your leave request through as soon as possible then.’ Callanach nodded and opened her door. ‘Luc, wait. I didn’t mean to cause more of a problem. You know I’m here, if you need me.’