Out of control

by John Dysart

  I described to him what had happened on the road to Lindores.

  “Why didn’t you report it to the police?”

  “Apart from Liam’s ankle, nobody was hurt and I had absolutely no evidence or witnesses. They would have had nothing to go on. But I’m sure Macek is responsible for my accident and Irina’s murder.”

  “But no proof?”

  “No, I met Macek when I went to LyonPharma’s Edinburgh office to speak to someone about the patent business. He must have made the connection between me and Liam through our surname. And if he thought I suspected him of Irina’s disappearance that would give him reason enough to want us out of the way.

  “In terms of evidence the only thing we have is a cryptic reference on his mobile phone which seems to us to be a relevant connection. And it seems logical. Irina was arrested by the police. Macek wouldn’t want any contact whatsoever between the police and her so he removed the possibility that she might talk. Either on his own initiative or on orders from further up.”

  “You said ’on his mobile phone’? How did you get that?”

  “Let’s just say that we found it.”

  Again eyebrows raised and furrowed brow.

  We had brought with us certain documents which I now pulled out of a folder and passed them, one by one, across to Ross.

  “These are the details of the company in Bucharest with the names of the two owners and directors.”

  He looked at them and put them to one side.

  “This is the list of phone numbers in the ‘Contacts’ section of Macek’s iPhone. As you will see the two men in Romania are listed.”

  I handed him the list.

  “This is an extract from Macek’s notes from the same source. We’ve also tried to guess what the letters might mean and added them. We could be wrong but you can see the letters IV are noted on the day before you discovered the body of Irina Vasilescu and BB on the day of my so-called accident.

  “We also have a statement from the ex-Sales and Marketing Director of LyonPharma in Edinburgh confirming that she was employed by them.”

  “And the last one?” he asked, indicating the final sheet of paper.

  “The man who is the Chief Executive of LyonPharma in France is called Bernard Dugain. Macek reports directly to him. He is the man who we know planned the theft of information from Bioscope. He has also purchased forty per cent of Bioscope’s shares from a venture capital company in Edinburgh and has made an approach to acquire the shares of the managing partners. We don’t know why but we think he wants control to eliminate any possibility of them kicking up a fuss. But the reason is irrelevant. I have a friend in France who obtained this information.” And I passed him the last piece of paper. He glanced at it for a moment, picked up the others and scanned them and sat back thoughtfully.

  “I see. So you think he is the orchestra leader?”

  “We do.”

  “Even if you are right this is not enough proof.”

  “I know, but we are hoping to get more.”

  “How?”

  “By using a bit of psychology.” And I explained what I intended to do and the part I wanted him to play.

  “If I can give you a reason to arrest Dugain and hold him for at least forty eight hours we have someone in the police in Lyon who is prepared to raid the offices of LyonPharma and hopefully find more evidence that would allow you to get a conviction either for drug dealing, trafficking girls or even for accessory to murder.”

  Ross thought for a few moments.

  “Mr. Bruce, I can’t stop you doing what you intend to do. It is certainly not illegal.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table, lips pursed, thinking it all through. We waited for a couple of minutes, not saying anything. Then he looked up at Sergeant MacLean questioningly.

  “Why not, sir?” he said. “It can’t do any harm and it might work. I’m prepared to go along.”

  “OK, let’s go for it. As you say, Sergeant, if nothing comes of it there’s no harm done.”

  He turned to me.

  “When is it to be?”

  “Next Tuesday at two o’clock at the Bioscope offices. You would need to be there well in advance.”

  “Sergeant MacLean, is that all right with you?”

  “No problem, sir.”

  “Before you go, Mr. Bruce, one last thing. Depending on what happens we’ll need to discuss with you what charges, if any, we think we can press and what we might need as evidence. I presume I can count on your assistance.”

  I assured him on that point. If we could nail that bastard I would help as much as I could.

  Chapter 22

  Pierre and I left and drove back to Doune which was starting to become our headquarters.

  I phoned Mike straight away to tell him that Inspector Ross had agreed.

  “Great. I’ve warned Mac and Doug and they’re up for it. Doug can get all the gear we need and I’ll call Helen to arrange for the installation over the weekend.”

  I then had to confirm to Helen that it was ‘all systems go’ and she promised to call me as soon as she had confirmation that Dugain would be there next Tuesday.

  Over supper I told Oliver and Heather.

  Heather had obviously been thinking about things while we had been away. In addition to her occasional grump about being eaten out of house and home I could feel she was a bit bothered. It took her until after supped to come out with it and even that needed a little pushing. Oliver and Pierre were through in the sitting room and I was helping with the washing up when I asked her what was bothering her.

  It turned out that she was worried. The other evening when I had asked everyone if we should go ahead with my plan she hadn’t wanted to be the odd one out.

  “Mike will do anything for a bit of adventure. We know that and fair enough. It’s up to him. But what about Sophie You bloody men. You’re so selfish and you never think about us women,” she said. “I know you. You’ve got this romantic sense of adventure and look where it got you last time. Again that’s up to you. But there’s Maggie to think about, you know. How does she feel about it?”

  I assured her that we had discussed it and, although she wasn’t too keen, she understood that I felt it was something I wanted to do.

  “I keep thinking about these poor girls. You should meet Ana. She’s a lovely wee thing and I hate to think what might have happened to her if we hadn’t got her out.”

  “And what will happen to her if your plan doesn’t work and these guys are still running around loose?”

  “We’ve thought of that. Sophie can fix her up with another job in another country where they’ll never find her.”

  I put my arm around her affectionately.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll all be fine, believe me.”

  We finished up with Heather partly convinced and trying to put a brighter face on things and we went through to join the others.

  I just needed one phone call from Helen to set things in motion.

  That call came the next day, late morning. She told me that Dugain had sounded pleased and was happy to come over and wrap things up. She also said that Mike had called and they had arranged to meet on Saturday morning.

  “I’ll be there as well,” she said. “I can always get on with some work in the lab.”

  I proposed to Pierre that we go back to Letham, pick up our clubs and get in some golf over the next couple of days. There were still some courses I wanted to show him.

  On the drive through he asked me, “Have you thought out exactly how you’re going to do this, Bob?”

  “Mostly,” I replied, “but there will probably be a bit of improvisation. We’ll see. Anyway let’s forget it for a couple of days.”

  So we did. The golf was good and the concentration it needs drove everything else out of our minds.

  Helen was organising documents and figures with her accountant and tax adviser for the supposed sale of her s
hares. Mike was gathering together the bits of equipment we needed and testing it in Forfar. Sophie, Ana and Liam were presumably safe up in Lochbervie with Maggie. The document I was waiting for from Antoine had arrived and Ross was getting in contact with his friend in the police in Lyon to brief him.

  I treated Pierre to nine holes of golf, nineteen twenties style, at KIngarroch. There had been an old private nine hole course before the war but it had fallen into neglect. Recently it had been resurrected and now you can play it again as it used to be but only with old hickory- shafted clubs. It’s a journey back into the history of golf as it was played at the beginning of the last century. A very humbling experience.

  David, who runs the place, supplied us with the clubs and a solid tot of whisky before we started and gave Pierre a short talk on the old traditions of the game and some very useful advice.

  “Slow yer swing doon, laddie. These shafts have got an awfy lot more whip in them than what yer used tae!”

  So we wielded brassies, cleeks and mashies for a couple of hours, returning to the clubhouse with a better understanding about what golf is all about. There must be something in it if it has survived for more than five hundred and fifty years, spreading out all over the world from its humble beginnings on the links at St Andrews.

  Pierre was astonished when I told him that the first written reference to the game dated from the middle of the fifteenth century when King James had issued a decree forbidding the playing of ‘gowff’. He wanted the young men of the country to practice their archery instead in order to defend the country.

  We ventured north of the Tay and played Rosemount and the next day managed to take in the delights of the Queen’s course at Gleneagles.

  By Thursday evening we were golfed out and decided to hit the road north the next day. I needed some relaxation before the showdown on Tuesday.

  I checked in with Mike and Helen before leaving and was assured that all was under control.

  I also received an unexpected call from Brian Dawson.

  “Just calling to let you know that I’ve just had a call from a friend who’s still at LyonPharma and it might interest you. Remember I told you that there was a new girl that had come over from France to work with Macek? ”

  “Yes.”

  “Well apparently she has disappeared. I don’t know when it was but seemingly one Monday morning she didn’t turn up and Macek is not a happy man. He’s rampaging around like a madman, interviewing all the staff and creating a hell of a fuss. I don’t know what’s happened to her but I thought you might want to know.”

  I said nothing except to thank him for the information.

  Would Macek think I had anything to do with it? I hoped not. I didn’t fancy being run off the road again. I decided that it was unlikely and put it to the back of my mind.

  The drive up was perfect. As I had my car back we were able to enjoy a quiet trip, hood down, enjoying the sunshine. Over the hills and up to Perth, round the city and up the A9 then off into the mountains and glens, the moving clouds giving us light and shadow and the road twisting its way round the hills, scattered with sheep and the occasional farmhouse.

  All was well at the hotel.

  I was delighted to see Maggie again. I had been with Pierre all week so I hadn’t been bored or lonely but I realised how good that welcoming hug and smile were and wondered if I would have been as content over the last week if I didn’t have this relationship. It suddenly came to me that I would be glad when this business was finished and we could be off on our cruise.

  However, first things first.

  I left the others to relax in their own way.

  Liam had taken to fishing and would hobble off to the loch with his rod, accompanied by Ana, and come back an hour or two later, quite happy but without a fish in sight which didn’t seem to bother him particularly. Pierre read and walked, sometimes with Sophie when she wasn’t helping Maggie.

  I contemplated the character of M. Bernard Dugain - what I knew from others and what I’d seen on the videos.

  I had seen anger in people before. I had felt anger and knew that it was an emotion which one learned to control. It could be positive and channelled. I knew that much. But I also knew that at the extreme end of the spectrum it can sometimes turn into rage, the effects of which could be remarkably different.

  Brian Dawson’s description of how Dugain had behaved at their sales conference was undoubtedly rage. And I knew that someone in a state of rage can easily lose much of his or her capacity for rational thought and reasoning. They become out of control. Their normal thought processes go out of the window and they are perfectly liable to say things that, if they had retained control, they would never say.

  I’d seen it in kids when they are young. The dreaded tantrum. Liz and I had taught Callum to control his anger. But not all parents did or could. It was quite understandable, therefore, that someone who had not acquired the habit of controlling his anger could easily be susceptible to occasional fits of rage given the right circumstances. Put this into a man with an over-inflated ego, used to getting his own way, and the result was likely to be pretty explosive, especially when faced with a threat to his pride, position, or status.

  I knew nothing of Dugain’s background and I didn’t really care but I hoped my reading of the man was right.

  I wanted him to explode in rage at the meeting and it was my job to make it happen.

  We drove down on Monday afternoon to stay overnight with Heather and Oliver.

  Heather was still a bit twitchy about what I was planning to do and the next morning before we set off I was treated to an extra tight hug and a “be careful.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” I assured her. It was an automatic response – maybe I should have thought a little more about it.

  Chapter 23

  Pierre and I arrived at Bioscope’s offices around eleven. We were welcomed by Richard and a slightly nervous Helen.

  Richard had no idea what was planned but it was clear that Helen had done a great job persuading him that selling some of his shares was the right thing to do. He was sociable for five minutes or so and then disappeared off into his lab to get on with some work. I went to find Mike closeted in the small room next to the meeting room playing with a computer screen and some recording equipment. “Everything is absolutely fine,” he said. ”Come on, we’ll do a test. You go next door and sit at the table and sing the first verse of ’Waltzing Matilda‘. I’ll set things going then you can come back and see the results.”

  Not having any argument to counter his suggestion I did as I was told. I came back and watched the playback. Apart from the singing it was perfect.

  Then we both went through to the meeting room and he showed me how they had installed the cameras in the ceiling, disguised as spotlights. The microphone had been incorporated into the projector that always sat on the table. If need be there were backups hidden behind the screen. I was impressed. Nothing was noticeable.

  Back in the little box room he had put three extra chairs for Ross, Maclean and Pierre – a bit cramped but it would do.

  Satisfied that all was ready I proposed that we all went out for a bite of lunch, planning, to be safe, to be back a good hour earlier than Dugain was expected. Helen knew the general idea of what I wanted to do but not exactly how I thought I could achieve it. I told her it was better she didn’t know. That way she would appear more natural.

  Helen’s team had been asked to come at one o’clock so that I could review the various documents that were necessary. Her lawyer, a Mr. Cameron, arrived first. He had come through from Glasgow. We chatted pleasantly and he showed me the deeds of transfer that he had prepared.

  Her tax advisor and accountant arrived together. They were local, from Stirling, and knew each other well. We were introduced and Mr. Cameron went off with Hamish Duff, the accountant, to make sure that all the papers were in order. I stayed outside in the sun with Ian Potts, the young t
ax specialist, discussing the weekend’s football results. He and I had nothing to prepare.

  Inspector Ross and Sergeant Maclean had arrived earlier and were in the small recording room with Mike and Pierre. None of the others were aware of their presence.

  Just before two a car arrived and parked in the visitors’ slot. Two men emerged.

  This was the first time that I had ever seen Bernard Dugain. He was taller than I had thought. He must have felt a little cramped after his journey because he stretched himself while the other man who had been driving scuttled round to the boot of the car and extracted two briefcases. Rather than handing one to Dugain he carried them both himself and dutifully followed behind as Dugain loped up to the front door and went in. A brief glance in our direction but not even a nod or a ‘Good afternoon’.

  I waited while Potts finished his cigarette and we followed them in.

  In the meeting room Helen had apparently already introduced Dugain to Cameron and Duff who were sitting back down again at their papers. The man who had accompanied Dugain was also sitting at the table on the opposite side pulling files out of one of the briefcases and arranging them on the table in front of him. I wondered who he might be. Dugain was standing at the window, his hands in his pockets and his back to the room, presumably admiring the view.

  Helen turned as we came in.

  “Hi, Bob. Come and meet our visitors.” Dugain turned as we went towards him. Half a head taller than me, his pale grey eyes looked down at me through his small round glasses.

  “Bob, this is Mr. Dugain, the Chief Executive of LyonPharma,” and turning her head to him, she said “Mr. Dugain, this is Mr. Bob Bruce, my financial adviser.”

  We shook hands. His grip was light, his fingers long and thin and he withdrew them quickly as if not being very keen on physical contact. I watched his eyes very carefully as my name was mentioned and thought that I saw the slightest of expressions flit across them – as if, perhaps, he had recognized the name?

  The man at the table was introduced as the Managing Director of LyonPharma and he made such an impression on me that I can’t even remember his name.