by James Oswald
McLean smiled, even though the jibe stung, and did as he was told. Only once the four of them were seated did the detective superintendent speak again.
‘The way I see it, we’ve a suspicious death on our hands, and the last person to see the deceased alive was our own station chief. Is that right?’
‘Fielding’s death might not be suspicious,’ Ritchie said. ‘And I’m sure Gail’s got a perfectly good explanation for her visit last night. She was only there for an hour.’
McLean held his tongue. He knew that Elmwood had treated Kirsty well. Apart from her strange obsession with him, the chief superintendent had treated pretty much everyone in the station well. Now wasn’t the time to wade in with accusations.
‘There’s still the matter of his connection to Cecily Slater.’ Harrison filled the silence that had followed Ritchie’s input, and McLean was pleased to see that the detective sergeant felt confident enough to do so. He’d not have had the nerve when he was her age. But back then chances were none of the officers in this room would have been women, and the air would likely have been filled with cigarette smoke too. Small changes, but none of them for the worse.
‘What are you smiling about, Tony?’ McIntyre’s voice cut through his wandering thoughts.
‘Sorry, Jayne. Just thought of something from way back. Not relevant.’
‘Well concentrate on the matter in hand. You can start by explaining to me exactly what the connection is between your dead woman in the gamekeeper’s cottage and Tommy Fielding.’
Where to start? ‘We know his law firm were dealing with all her legal matters,’ he said. ‘They held her will. Unchanged, apparently, since it was drawn up by Carstairs Weddell in 1984, after her brother died. Given that Carstairs Weddell are still one of the top law firms in the city, especially when it comes to dealing with families like the Bairnfathers, it strikes me as a bit strange Cecily Slater would have taken her business away from them.’
‘Who were the beneficiaries of the will?’ McIntyre asked.
‘Just her nephew. Lord Reginald. And since she never nominated a successor, he gets to decide who’s appointed to her post on the board of the Bairnfather Trust, too. My guess is he was going to get Fielding to do it.’ McLean clasped his hands together, wished he had more information and less speculation. ‘I think this all comes down to money. It usually does.’
McIntyre raised an eyebrow at that, but nobody said anything so McLean carried on.
‘I don’t begin to understand how these things work – I’d need Lofty to look into that and I’m not about to bother him just now. But the fact is that Lord Bairnfather stands to take control of the trust that manages the family estate. I don’t think he particularly needs the money, but his aunt’s veto on what the trust could and couldn’t do? What if she were about to pass that on to someone else? Someone her nephew couldn’t control?’
‘Mirriam Downham.’ Harrison made it a statement, not a question, but then she looked straight at McLean with an expression that confirmed his suspicion she’d make a good detective chief superintendent one day. ‘Is that not quite a leap?’ She paused and then added: ‘Sir?’
McLean almost laughed. ‘Complete speculation, but we’ve got nothing else to explain why she was killed. We know she had told Downham she was going to put her affairs in order. And yet the will provided to us by DCF Law is more than thirty years old.’
‘So, what?’ McIntyre asked. ‘You think Fielding saw what she was doing and told Lord Bairnfather? Destroyed her latest will, knowing that his firm had the earlier one still on file? Set a bunch of violent thugs on her before she could do anything about it?’
‘Well, that was what I was going to ask him. In a roundabout way. Not going to be able to do that now, but I’d still like to talk to the other partners in his law firm, and I need to see those folders he had on his desk.’
McIntyre rubbed the weariness from her eyes, then looked around the group, taking her time to come to a decision. ‘OK, Tony. You go speak to the lawyers. Janie, I’d like you to go to Fielding’s apartment and fetch back anything you think might be relevant. Folders, computer if he had one. On the face of it, we’re looking for any reason that might explain his death, but if there’s information about Cecily Slater in there, highlight it.’
McLean was already on his feet, and Harrison stood up to follow him. ‘And what about Elmwood?’ he asked.
McIntyre let out a heavy sigh and rubbed her eyes again. ‘Leave her to me.’
DCF Law occupied a floor of the office block directly across the plaza from where Tommy Fielding had died, which must have made commuting to work a breeze. McLean had barely shown his warrant card to the efficient receptionist before he was being whisked through to a conference room where two men were deep in conversation. They stopped as soon as they saw him.
‘Detective Inspector. It’s been a while.’ The nearest of the two men stood up, crossed the room, offered a hand to be shaken. McLean thought it possible he might have met him before, but he couldn’t recall where or when. He had to be either Donaldson or Cartwright.
‘Has it?’ he asked, hedging his bets.
‘Andrew Cartwright,’ the man said. ‘I used to work with Jonas Carstairs. Terrible what happened to him.’
A brief flash of recalled image, from a lifetime ago. An elderly man, friend of McLean’s grandmother, his throat cut and a piece of his own liver shoved in his mouth. McLean shuddered at the memory, surprised at how clear it was. How visceral. For a moment he could still smell the hot iron tang of the blood, hear the lazy buzz of the flies as they feasted.
‘Terrible indeed, Mr Cartwright. And now we have another unexpected death to deal with. Your partner, Mr Fielding.’
‘It’s come as something of a shock.’ The other man, presumably John Donaldson, stood up and came around the table to greet McLean. ‘They told us he died at home, but nobody’s said how it happened. Was it suspicious?’
‘I can’t really confirm anything at the moment,’ McLean said. ‘We’re gathering information right now. As you say, Mr Fielding’s death was unexpected, so we have to look into it.’
‘Well, if there’s anything we can do to help?’ The man who was probably Donaldson indicated a chair at the conference table. ‘Why don’t you have a seat and Dot can bring us some coffee.’
‘I shouldn’t be long. Just a couple of questions for now. It might come to nothing if the post-mortem tells us he had an undiagnosed heart problem or something.’ McLean sat down, waited for the two partners to do the same. ‘When was the last time you saw Mr Fielding?’
‘Yesterday afternoon. We had a partners’ meeting here. Finished about half three, I think. He seemed fine then. His usual belligerent self.’
‘Belligerent?’
‘Did you ever meet him, Inspector?’ Cartwright asked. ‘Tommy was a first-class defence lawyer. Exactly the kind of man you wanted fighting your corner when the odds were stacked against you. But . . . how can I say this without sounding harsh about a dead man? He was very combative at times. Didn’t suffer fools much. We’ve lost a few promising junior lawyers to his temper before.’
‘I’ve met him a few times before. He cross-examined me in court a while back, and I bumped into him at a function at the North British. Most recently, I spoke to him a few days ago. At the Scotston Hotel.’
‘Ah yes. Tommy’s second office. I sometimes wonder why we bother paying the rent on this place. He’s more often there these days.’ Probably Donaldson waved a hand in the general direction of the hotel. ‘At least it’s not far, if we need to send one of the interns to fetch him.’
‘Do you know why he favoured the hotel so much?’ McLean asked.
‘Well, it’s handy for his seminars and conferences, for one thing. And it belongs to the Bairnfathers. Tommy’s been working very closely with them for years now.’ Cartwright frowned as he spoke. �
�I suppose someone will have to inform Lord Reginald. Don’t imagine he’ll be too pleased.’
‘I thought you said Fielding was a defence lawyer,’ McLean said.
‘Oh, he is. Was.’ Cartwright shook his head once as if still not quite accepting the fact. ‘But he met Lord Reginald at one of his fathers’ rights things. I think that’s what he said. They seemed to get on, and the next thing we’ve got all of the Bairnfather Estate’s legal business. Not going to look that gift horse in the mouth, am I?’
‘And that would be why you were acting for Lady Cecily Slater’s estate following her death, I take it.’
Probably Donaldson stiffened. ‘Is that relevant?’
‘I don’t know. But Fielding had her file on his desk at home. You know she was murdered? And the investigation into that is still ongoing?’
‘You don’t think Tommy had anything to do with that, surely?’ Cartwright asked.
‘Was he . . . ? Do you suspect foul play, Inspector?’ Probably Donaldson added. ‘Those women protesting outside the hotel seemed very hostile.’
‘I don’t suspect foul play, no. And certainly not some kind of angry mob baying for blood. It’s not like that at all. I’m simply trying to put together as much information as I can about what Mr Fielding was doing in the time leading up to his death. It’ll go into a report for the Procurator Fiscal, along with the results of the post-mortem, and that will be the end of it, I expect.’
Cartwright appeared to relax a little, taking McLean’s words on trust. Probably Donaldson was more wary though, still sitting forward, his posture tense.
‘Was Fielding the only one working for the Bairnfather Estate?’ McLean asked. ‘I mean, is there someone who can easily pick up where he left off? Run with it? I know Lord Bairnfather’s not an easy man to keep happy.’
Probably Donaldson’s shoulders slumped at the question, his defensiveness melting away. ‘There’s a couple of secretaries will be able to help, but Tommy kept on top of all that stuff himself. It’s going to be a nightmare picking through all the pieces. It’s something we touched on yesterday at our meeting, actually. Same as we did at every meeting, to be honest. He was very defensive when it came to his clients. Detrimentally so, as we both told him time and time again.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘And now it’s come to bite us on the arse. Just like I told him it would.’
McLean considered the pair of them. They might have been lying to try and protect the reputation of their firm, but it seemed unlikely. Fielding had struck him as the kind of man who kept secrets, even from his business partners. Maybe especially from his business partners.
‘Well, that’s probably enough to be going on with. Thank you for your time, gentlemen.’ McLean stood up, took a business card from his pocket and slid it on to the conference table. ‘If you do think of anything else that might be relevant, or come across something when you’re reviewing Mr Fielding’s business, do let us know. Soon as we have cause of death confirmed, I’ll pass that on, and you will of course be kept informed of any other developments too.’
‘One thing before you go, Inspector.’ Probably Donaldson pushed back his chair and rose to intercept McLean before he could leave. ‘You said Tommy had some work at home? Might we have those folders back soon? And his laptop?’
McLean smiled his best shark tooth smile. ‘As soon as possible,’ he said, reappraising just how much Probably Donaldson really knew of Tommy Fielding’s activities. The lawyer was almost certainly right. This was going to bite DCF Law on the arse, and hard.
55
The major incident room had about it the air of somebody’s house halfway through moving home. Fielding’s death had brought a halt to the process of winding down the Cecily Slater investigation, but there wasn’t much evidence of it going into reverse. At least not yet. If it turned out the lawyer had accidentally choked himself, and the only link with the dead woman was his being her solicitor, then the room would be mothballed until the next serious crime. McLean didn’t imagine that would be long in coming.
He found DS Harrison and DC Stringer huddled around one of the few workstations that hadn’t been unplugged and wheeled away by the IT technicians. Spread out on the table beside them, the folders that had been sitting on Fielding’s desk were now marked with little yellow Post-its, which meant that somebody had read through them.
‘Find anything interesting?’ McLean asked, which made Stringer jump. Harrison’s nerves were much stronger. Or she was simply used to being crept up on.
‘Sir. You’re back then. Go OK with the lawyers?’
‘As well as can be expected. I think they knew Fielding was pursuing his own agenda, but were happy to turn a blind eye as long as the money kept coming in.’
‘Lawyers, eh?’ Harrison rolled her eyes, then turned back to the folders. ‘I’ve had a quick scan through these. Really wish Lofty was here, mind. He’s got an eye for the detail.’
‘And?’
‘Slater’s file is just stuff to do with her will. Powers of attorney, that kind of thing. I did notice something, though.’ Harrison picked up the file and flicked it open to the first marked page. ‘There’s a copy of a letter here. Routine stuff. But it refers to the will being redrafted.’
McLean peered at the typed page, but he’d never been all that good at legalese, and his eyes were tired. ‘When was this?’
‘Letter’s dated six months ago, which would put it around about the same time Slater got in touch with Mirriam Downham about setting her affairs in order.’
Hardly a smoking gun, but it was something. ‘Anything else?’
‘There’s some correspondence about the Bairnfather Trust that’s probably worth following up.’ Harrison flicked through to another page. ‘Again it’s an oblique reference, but reading between the lines I get the feeling Slater had put her foot down about something and Fielding was trying to persuade her to change her mind. That one’s from a couple of months earlier.’
‘So potentially we could have Fielding asking Slater to approve something to do with the trust that she doesn’t want to. Slater making moves to protect herself. Possibly even reassigning her power of attorney to someone else. And Fielding suppresses all that. Keeps the paper trail to a minimum, and kills the old girl before she can kick up a fuss?’
Harrison shrugged. ‘It’s pretty much what you suggested, sir. Pieces seem to fit, but there’s nothing conclusive. Just speculation.’
‘What about the laptop?’ McLean scanned the table but couldn’t see it.
‘Serious security on it. Which you’d expect from a lawyer’s computer. Same with his phone. I’ve sent both of them down to Mike in IT forensics, but we’re treading on thin ice, sir. Unless Fielding’s death turns out to be suspicious, we probably shouldn’t be poking around in his personal stuff.’
McLean had to admit that Harrison was right. Even if everything was deeply suspicious as far as he could tell. He checked his watch. ‘Angus should be starting the PM in an hour or so. I’ll head down to the mortuary and see what he can come up with for us.’
‘You want us to carry on going through this?’ Harrison waved the folder about.
‘No. Leave it for now.’ McLean focused on the spotlessly clean whiteboard for a moment, then remembered the thing he’d been going to ask. ‘The other people who were drinking with Fielding last night. Anyone spoken to them yet?’
‘No, sir. We thought going through this was more important. They’d all left before . . .’ Harrison looked around the room to see who else was in there, then decided not to finish the sentence anyway.
‘But you know who they are, right?’
‘Aye. Well, two of them. Izzy recognised them. She’s got contact details and everything.’
McLean shook his head. ‘I don’t want to know. Just speak to them and find out what they were doing there, where they went afterwards. The usual stuff.’ He
turned to leave, but was pulled up short by DS Gregg, who was standing directly behind him and had the look of someone who’s been waiting for the right moment to interrupt.
‘Before you do that sir, the cleaner’s in interview room one. Melanie Naismith. You said you wanted to speak to her soon as she arrived?’
‘The cleaner?’ For a moment he couldn’t think what the detective sergeant was talking about. ‘Oh, right. Yes. The cleaner. I’d better go and talk to her then.’
When McLean entered the interview room, Melanie Naismith was sitting in her chair, eyeing up the walls and sparse furnishings as if they could do with a good dusting. She was probably right, although he had no idea how often, if ever, the interview rooms were cleaned. This was at least one of the nicer ones, with a window that had a view and a radiator that more or less worked.
‘Thank you for coming in, Ms Naismith. I imagine this must be very difficult for you.’
‘Worked in a care home gone fifteen years. Ain’t the first dead body I’ve seen. I was mostly shocked ’cause I thought I’d walked in on him having a wank.’
McLean suppressed the smirk that wanted to spread itself across his face. ‘Had you worked for Mr Fielding long?’
‘I didn’t work for him. I cleaned his flat. Same as I clean a lot of folk’s flats. Some big houses too. But if you mean how long had I been cleaning his flat for, about two years, maybe a bit more?’
‘How often do you clean it?’
‘Every day during the week. Mr Fielding likes it all neat and tidy when he comes home. Liked, I should say.’
‘And you had a key to gain access when he wasn’t in.’
‘Key for his door. Code for the front so I didn’t have to bother Harry every time I wanted to get into the building.’
‘You cleaned other flats in the block, then?’
‘A few.’
‘Is it usual for your clients to give you access like that?’
Naismith shrugged. ‘Some do. Others watch you all the time, like they think you’re going to try and steal things. I’ve had folk leave money in plain sight, jewellery sometimes. Just to see if I’m tempted. I don’t normally work for them long, though. Spent enough of my time wiping assholes. I don’t much care to clean for them too.’