by John Dysart
“Sure.” He disappeared. He was back in a few minutes.
“They do. Their UK operations are run from their only subsidiary over here which is in Edinburgh,” he reported triumphantly.
“Is it now? Right, let’s get Steven onto it.”
During the AIM business I had enlisted the help of a young financial journalist who was the son of an old friend of ours when Liz had been alive. He had proved very confidential and useful and had had a neat scoop out of the affair. I wondered if he might be able to help by doing some digging around the LyonPharma’s Edinburgh operation. It was worth a try.
I got him first time and we had a catch up on his news. I learned that he and his girl friend were expecting a baby. I duly congratulated him. It was none of my business and I’m still a bit old-fashioned about these things but I did wonder why they hadn’t got married first. A trial period of living together I could understand but a trail period of parenting struck me as going a bit far – but then maybe I’m just a bit old- fashioned.
“Steven, any chance you could do a bit of scouting for me?” I asked him.
“Is there a story at the end of this one as well?”
“Frankly I’ve no idea but if there is you’ll get it,” I promised him.
“Fine. Who are you interested in?”
“Have you ever heard of a company called LyonPharma? They’re the UK subsidiary of a big French pharmaceutical outfit.”
“Are these not the guys who recently announced a big breakthrough in Alzheimer’s treatment?”
“That’s them.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Just a profile – size, how many employees, the names of the directors etc. You know the kind of thing.”
“How soon?”
“As soon as you can. If you can give me a quick rundown and then I’ll let you know if I need more.”
“I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
I didn’t think it would tell me much but you never know.
I wrapped things up.
“Liam, you come with me into Stirling tomorrow if it’s OK with MacLean. If not, you can go off for a couple of days’ golf or hiking with your godfather. There’s nothing he can do at the moment.”
All nodded their agreement. So we had a plan - but plans can get blown apart.
My phone went. I looked at the number. It was the Stirling Police again. What could they want?
I answered. “Bob Bruce, hello.”
“Mr. Bruce, this is Sergeant MacLean from the police in Stirling.”
“Good afternoon, sergeant, how are you?”
“Fine thank you, sir. Am I disturbing you?”
“No. Go ahead.”
I had hit the loudspeaker button as soon as I knew who it was so that the others could hear.
“First of all, did you find your man in Edinburgh?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Good. Subsequent to our last meeting something has happened at this end which I need to talk to you about. Could you please come through and see me tomorrow – with your grandson?”
“Certainly. What’s happened?”
“The body of Irina Vasilescu has just been hauled out of the Forth near Bannockburn. Forensics say she has been dead for about six hours and it is being treated as murder. Can I be sure that you will be through tomorrow? I can assure you that you’re not a suspect but we thought you might be able to help us.”
We looked at each other with horror and astonishment. I assured him we’d be there and switched off the phone and chucked it onto the table in disgust.
What in the hell had we got ourselves into…..?
Chapter 7
When Liam and I arrived at the police station the following morning we were greeted by a harassed-looking Sergeant MacLean. He welcomed us with some signs of relief and ushered us straight away into the same room as before.
“Coffee? Right. Be back in a minute.” And he disappeared.
He was back shortly with a tray of four cups of coffee, accompanied by a younger man whom he introduced as D. I. Ross. Ross was a neat and intelligent-looking man who looked as if he was in his early forties. He shook hands with us, thanked us for coming in and sat down at the head of the table in a business-like fashion. The pad he had been carrying was placed neatly in front of him. He took out a pen which he laid beside the pad and looked up at us.
“Gentlemen, I’ll start by saying that Sergeant MacLean here has informed me of everything that has happened concerning you both. Let me summarise what I know and you can confirm it.”
There seemed no need for us to reply so we just nodded.
“But first let’s get rid of one thing.” He addressed himself to me. “You are Mr. Robert Bruce and this is your grandson Liam?”
“Correct”.
He wrote the date and our two names at the top of the page.
“For the record, can you tell me where you were between the evening of the day before yesterday and yesterday midday? Liam?”
“I was in Edinburgh all that evening and yesterday morning I was driving back to my grandfather’s house in Letham. I was with my godfather Mike, my grandfather’s brother, all the time and he can confirm it.”
He noted this down and, at the same time, without looking up, asked me the same question.
I told him that I had been golfing at Kingsbarns and returned home and spent the evening and the following morning there. “I was with my half-brother Pierre all the time and he can confirm it.” He scribbled on. When he had finished he put the pen down and leant back in his chair.
“Now, here is what I understand. A couple of days after Liam’s overnight stay with us you came to see Sergeant MacLean because you’d seen a photograph of Irina Vasilescu in the newspaper. You asked him if there was any way you could get access to her to ask her a couple of questions about her boyfriend, whom Liam knew, but who had seemingly disappeared. The reason you wanted to find this man was that you suspected he had been pumping Liam for confidential information about a very valuable research project which his employers were working on. Is that right?”
“That’s correct.”
“As far as I’m concerned that is not my business. There is no crime involved. However, if it has any bearing on my investigation into this unfortunate girl’s death, then it is my business.”
He continued.
“Sergeant MacLean was bending the rules in allowing you to speak to her but I’m prepared to overlook that. What is more important is that you seemed to have learned something from her about the whereabouts of the man you wanted to find – a certain Rémy - and apparently you confirmed to Sergeant MacLean yesterday afternoon on the phone that you had manage to locate him. Am I still correct?”
Liam answered.
“Yes. We did find him, in Edinburgh, and he told us that he had nothing to with the passing of confidential information to the company in France. In fact he said that it was Miss Vasilescu who had asked him to enquire about my work and that, in his opinion, she was the one who must have passed the information.”
I broke in. “I only learned this yesterday when Liam arrived back from Edinburgh. As you can imagine I was hoping that there might be a way of getting back in touch with her to check this and was about to phone Sergeant MacLean when he phoned me.”
He took a few more notes. While he was doing this I asked him if the police were absolutely sure that it was murder. He told us there was no doubt about it.
“The details needn’t concern you but it has been confirmed that she was dead before she was put in the river and there is evidence of strangulation.”
While he continued to write I took advantage of the moment to raise a questioning eyebrow at Sergeant MacLean who gave a faint nod and said to us “Inspector Ross is aware of the fact that I told you both a bit about the girl’s background which came out after she cracked up the other day.”
Ross finished and took back c
ontrol of the conversation.
“Yes. You can imagine therefore that we do have a lead for possible investigation. But I don’t see us having much success. If it’s the drug business, most of the traffic comes from down south and we’ve no leads up here. The girl lived on her own and nobody has come forward claiming they know her in spite of our requests.”
He turned to Liam. ”Can you give us the name and address of this Rémy or tell us how we can get in touch with him?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have his address. And I don’t even know his surname. All I can do is tell you that he hangs around the Saltire pub in the High Street in Edinburgh. We got that from Irina and that’s where we found him.”
He noted down the pub’s name and said he would try to get some help from Edinburgh to follow up.
“I seriously doubt that Rémy had anything to do with it,” ventured Liam.
“Nor do I, but we have to follow up all leads. He may be able to give us the names of people whom she knew. You never know.”
He put away his pen and made as if to leave.
“Thank you, gentlemen, for coming through. You’ve been a help. Before you leave there is something I can do for you, Liam, which might put your mind at rest about this patent business.”
He pulled a plastic envelope out of his pocket and handed it over to us. “We found this in Miss Vasilescu’s affairs. It seems to prove that she was the one who was responsible for your indiscretion getting back to France.”
Inside there was an envelope and a small piece of paper. The envelope bore a French stamp and was addressed to Irina Vasilescu. The piece of paper simply read, in printed letters, ‘Liam Bruce, Bioscope, Stirling University Campus, Ecosse’.
“That looks like proof enough that she had her instructions from France and your guy, Rémy, was telling the truth. I hope that helps. It’s of no real relevance to us because I can’t see that being the reason behind her death. After all, passing information is not a criminal offence.”
We both glanced at it.
“Looks like it,” I said as I handed it back. “Thanks for showing us that. It’s a relief to know that our theories are correct. Do you have any objections if I tell Mrs. Mackie at Bioscope?”
“No.” …..and then a thought occurred to me.
“Can you get fingerprints from that?” I asked.
“We will be doing so. The answer is ‘probably’. Although I’m not sure that would help us much in solving her murder. And, as her connection to Liam wasn’t a crime, I’d have no access to fingerprint records in France. I’d need a match to identify who sent it.”
The meeting broke up and we all headed for the door.
As we were leaving Ross delayed me for a second with a question.
“Mr. Bruce, might you be planning to dig any further into this patent business?”
“I don’t know yet but very probably. I don’t like what’s been done to Liam and I don’t like the idea of the perpetrators getting away with it scot-free and making millions on the back of it.”
“Are you, by any chance, the Bob Bruce that I read about in the papers seven or eight months ago concerning some investment company and Keith McDowell’s imprisonment?”
I smiled “Guilty, your honour, I’m afraid.”
His parting words were “Well I hope this business isn’t quite as adventurous as that was, from what I heard. But if I can help, let me know.”
I’m sure we both thought that these words were simply an expression of politeness.
Liam and I left and drove back home. It seemed that, as far as we were concerned, things were pretty clear. Irina had been sent from France to extract information from Liam which had resulted in the LyonPharma patent registration. Tough on Helen Mackie, tough on Liam, but there wasn’t anything that could undo the damage.
The only thing left that was bothering me was whether Antoine de Clermont was behind it or not. His friendship with Pierre and the fact that he was a shareholder in Bioscope bothered me greatly.
Helen Mackie had said she had two other projects on the go. Were they also potentially endangered? That seemed to me to be reason enough to get to the bottom of it.
There was no way I could voice my suspicions to Pierre. I had absolutely no proof. He simply wouldn’t believe me.
I needed another opinion. I determined to discuss it with Mike. He has a great knack of thinking simply and in a straight line. I didn’t often follow his advice but sometimes his black and white approach to things compensated my tendency to see things in shades of grey (but not as many as fifty!) and helped me to clarify my thoughts and plans.
When we got back to Letham I gave Mike a ring to find out where he was. He was at home and bored.
“Missing Sophie?”
“Piss off!” came back down the line.
Meeting Sophie had engendered a radical change in Mike’s life style. Heather and I were quite amused by it. We had put up with his numerous amorous adventures over the years and, now that he seemed to have got seriously hooked, it was a delight to tease him.
“Well, I’ve got something for you to get her off your mind. How would you like to look after Liam for the weekend? Come down and stay here and get some golf in or go and run up and down Falkland Hill a few times. I need a break and I promised to go up and see Maggie for the weekend.”
“Good idea”, he replied, and we agreed that he would stay on a couple more nights when I got back.
I left Liam in the care of his godfather and drove up to see Maggie for the weekend. I still wasn’t sure whether it was worth doing any more about the patent business. It seemed like a lost cause. But the potential implication of Antoine bothered me greatly. Should I do anything about that? A quiet weekend - a complete change – might help me to decide.
As I drove north I drifted over the events of the last couple of weeks. LyonPharma had lodged their patent. Helen’s had been refused. So that was a dead duck. No matter what we did we weren’t going to change that. At least Helen had her other two projects. I didn’t know what they were and I doubted very much if she was going to tell me but if they came to a successful outcome she would soon forget what had happened.
I just hoped that the company was solid enough. Start-ups are notoriously short of cash during their research and development stage. I didn’t like the idea that she might not be able to follow through because of a cash shortage.
I thought of Pierre. He had stacks of the stuff. He’d probably be interested in an investment opportunity. I made up my mind to talk to her about it when I got back. I did feel a bit guilty that, even if only accidentally, it had been my grandson that had been the source of her troubles.
Liam had taken a mental knock but he was young enough. He’d get over it.
Then I thought about that poor girl. Her death was a tragedy but I tended to agree with Inspector Ross that it must have been related to the drug issue, bearing in mind what we had learned about her past and the organised crime ring that was operating out of Romania into France. Still, that was the business of the police. There was no way I was going to get involved in that.
By this time I was cruising up the A9 and it was approaching coffee- stop time. I decided to peel off the main road and take a small detour round through Dunkeld. I’d stop at the Birnam Hotel for my break for half an hour. That would get me to my destination around six as promised.
I’d just pulled off the main road, my brain trying to handle two things at once – the decision to stop for a coffee and imagining that poor girl’s body and how she might have ended in the river. Then a flash thought suddenly intervened between the two subjects. I remembered thinking that there had been something I had missed during our meeting with Inspector Ross – something that had been said and I hadn’t realised its significance.
Then it hit me.
I pulled to a halt outside the great granite building that was the Birnam Hotel and went in quickly to order my coffee, taking it over t
o an isolated seat by the window.
I thought it through again. I replayed that meeting as well as I could remember it. The more I thought about it the more I was sure I was right.
It wasn’t something I had heard. It was something that I’d seen.
I grabbed my phone and called the police in Stirling, asking for Sergeant MacLean. As soon as he came on the line I asked him if he had access to the letter and the envelope that Ross had shown us.
“I can get it. Hold on a minute.”
He was back on the line shortly. “I’ve got it here. What do you want to know about it?”
“It’s the envelope that interests me. It has a French stamp on it. Am I right that the postmark is legible?”
“Yes. I‘m afraid I can’t make out the date but it was posted from a place called ‘Saumur’. Is that what you wanted to know? I’ve no idea where that is.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to know. Thanks very much indeed. Will you be holding onto it?”
He confirmed that it would remain in the file. Irina’s other belongings had been recuperated by her parents but they hadn’t been interested in the letter.
I thanked him again and hung up, distinctly concerned. I knew where Saumur was. It was the nearest town to the home of Antoine de Clermont – about three kilometers away.
Chapter 8
Maggie received me with open arms – and they felt great.
Our meeting and her part in helping me recover from my ordeal in the mountains during the AIM affair had developed into a warm and loving relationship – but still with a geographical separation. We seemed to have both accepted the comfort of each other’s company but neither of us had yet brought up the thorny topic of ‘Where do we go from here?’ Pierre was right. It would have to be faced some time.
For me it had been three years since Liz had died, which was about the same length of time since Maggie’s husband had upped and left. I had finally got used to being on my own and adjusting. She had struggled on running the hotel because she needed the income.
It was a pure accident that had brought us together and I think we were both still just thankful that it had happened.