by Daly, Bill
‘The bastard! What kind of state is Laura in?’
‘I haven’t seen her. I was up in Aberdeen when she phoned me yesterday. She sounded frightened – and very confused. She can’t reconcile the fact that Mike knew about her affair with Ramsay – yet he carried on at home as if nothing was wrong.’
‘Given what Mike’s temper was like, I can see what she means. You say she’s been arrested?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are they holding her?’
‘Cornton Vale. I’m going up to see her this morning. Do you want to come along?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ll pick you up in half an hour.’
Bjorn Svensson pulled on his knee-length, Paisley pattern dressing gown as he came out of the bathroom, whistling and towelling his head briskly. ‘You look stunned,’ he said, eyeing Helen’s glazed expression as she sat at the kitchen table with the phone still clasped in her hand. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘You’re not going to believe this!’ she said, wide-eyed.
Bjorn sat down and listened in silence while Helen recounted the conversation she’d just had with her father. When she’d finished, he got to his feet. ‘Come through to the lounge,’ he said, retying the cord of his dressing gown and draping his towel around his shoulders. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
The large lounge was sparsely furnished: beige fitted carpet, a rectangular, chrome and glass coffee table and a white leather four-piece suite with several black scatter cushions. Helen sat down on the low-backed settee while Bjorn remained standing.
‘Simon Ramsay tried to shaft me yesterday,’ he stated.
‘What?’
‘He turned up at the bank and threatened to expose my fiddle if I didn’t help him out.’
‘The bastard! What kind of help was he looking for?’
‘Fifty thousand quid’s worth.’
Helen sprang to her feet. ‘What the hell does he think he’s playing at –’
‘Let me explain,’ Bjorn said, easing her back down onto the settee and sitting beside her. ‘This is a lot more complicated than you think.’
‘More complicated?’ Helen looked totally confused.
‘You remember Mike and Laura went on a cruise to Thailand last summer?’
‘How could I forget? Laura almost bored me to death with her interminable holiday snaps.’
‘They went on that cruise with Simon and Jude,’ Bjorn continued. ‘When they put into Bangkok, Mike and Simon went ashore to have a few beers, but they had an argument and split up. Mike wandered around the city centre on his own and he stumbled across a brothel. The woman in charge tried to interest him in having sex with underage kids, but he didn’t want to know. They got talking and she told him that her clients liked to have their sex sessions recorded as a souvenir and she told him that she often made additional copies without the clients’ knowledge. She offered to sell some of these to Mike and he ended up negotiating to buy a batch of DVDs and arranging to have them shipped back to Glasgow. He saw it as an opportunity to make a killing by editing the recordings and selling them on to paedophile organisations. However, when the discs arrived a few weeks later, Mike was astonished to find that one of them was a film of Simon having sex with a young Asian girl.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ There was total disbelief in Helen’s voice. ‘How on earth do you know all this? How are you involved?’
‘Mike came to me for technical advice. He was desperate for money and he’d decided to screw Simon for every penny he could get out of him – there was no love lost between those two, let me tell you. Mike offered to cut me in for ten percent if I’d show him how to transfer images from a DVD to a PC-compatible format so he could send Simon a sample image by email.’
‘And you agreed to help him?’
‘When he showed me what Simon was doing to that kid I didn’t even ask for a cut. That bastard really is sick. I went round to Mike’s place one night when you were in Rio and I transferred a few images from the disc to his computer. I also set up a Hotmail account for him in the name of Liam Black and showed him how to include an image as an attachment to an email. I even knocked up a voice synthesiser for him to use when he phoned Simon so his voice wouldn’t be recognised.
‘To really get Simon going,’ Bjorn continued, ‘Mike sent him an email from the Hotmail account, including an image of him interfering with the young girl, just before he went to the birthday dinner. Simon must’ve been at his wits’ end. He phoned me at work the following day and asked me if an email could be traced back to the originator and I scared the living daylights out of him by offering to go round to his house to check it out for him.’
‘Laura didn’t say anything about this to Dad.’
‘She doesn’t know about it.’
‘Then how on earth did she get mixed up in all this?’
‘Simon needed to get his hands on some serious money to stop the blackmailer blowing the whistle – Mike was demanding fifty thousand quid – so I reckon he went to Laura for help in raising the money.’
‘But Laura told Dad that a blackmailer had sent Simon a photo of them in bed together.’
‘I reckon Simon must have invented that story because he knew there was no way Laura would help him if she knew the real reason he was being blackmailed.’
‘But Laura told Dad that Simon showed her the photo of them screwing in the Hilton – the one the blackmailer was supposed to have sent. Where on earth could that have come from?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘But … of course!’ Helen said, snapping her fingers. ‘That would explain why Mike didn’t go ballistic with Laura. Mike was blackmailing Simon because he had a recording of him interfering with a young girl in Thailand, but he knew nothing about Simon and Laura having an affair. But Simon wouldn’t want the blackmailer to be paid off,’ she continued. ‘With a recording like that in his possession he knew the blackmail demands would never stop. He needed to have him killed, so he talked Laura into hiring a hit man. This is incredible!’
‘It was almost me who got killed.’
‘What!’
‘I’d agreed with Mike that I’d go to Kelvingrove Park to pick up the money. Mike wanted to stay on at Ronnie McGavigan’s place for breakfast after the poker school so he would have a cast-iron alibi for the time the money was handed over. However, I opted out because the handover clashed with my mother’s birthday party. Mike tried to talk me out of making the trip to Sweden, but when I told him I was adamant he decided to pick the money up himself. When you phoned me in Stockholm and told me Mike had been shot in Kelvingrove Park I nearly had a heart attack.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ The colour ebbed from Helen’s cheeks. ‘Is there any way this can be traced back to you, Bjorn?’
‘I don’t think so. Mike and I exchanged a few emails. Nothing incriminating, just arranging times and places to meet. To be on the safe side I told Mike to delete those emails, as well as the one he sent to Simon, and I showed him how to erase the DVD images completely from his computer.’
‘What happened to the DVD?’
‘I’ve got it. Mike didn’t want to keep it in the house in case Laura stumbled across it.’
‘So Simon talked Laura into hiring someone to kill Mike – and now he’s leaving her to carry the can?’
‘That’s what it looks like. Once the blackmailer had been dealt with Simon thought his problems were over, so he washed his hands of Laura.’
‘He really is a first-class prick!’ Helen seethed. ‘But that doesn’t explain why he was threatening to blow the gaff on your fiddle.’
‘I couldn’t bear to see the smug bastard get away with it so, to scare the living daylights out of him, I sent him another email yesterday morning, purportedly coming from Liam Black, demanding fifty grand. Mike told me he’d nicknamed Simon “Pervert”, so I used that name in the message. When he got my email he came scuttling round to the bank and tried to ta
lk me into paying a dodgy cheque from his firm into my bank account and transferring the money to him. When I poured cold water on that idea he turned nasty and demanded that I give him fifty thousand quid or else he threatened to expose my scam.’
‘Did you give him the money?’
‘You have got to be joking! I played along with him and told him he’d get the money today in order to give me time to unravel my program changes and make sure they couldn’t be traced, then I phoned him last night, using the voice synthesiser. He tried to persuade me to accept the money in instalments but I said that wasn’t good enough and I told him I was going to expose him in the newspapers. I wouldn’t imagine he got much sleep last night.’
‘I’ve got to tell Dad and Laura about this, Bjorn. They have to know what Simon’s been up to. And so does Jude. I’ll call her straight away.’
Charlie Anderson had to drive round the block twice before he found a parking place at the bottom of Woodlands Terrace. Rummaging around in the glove compartment for change, he fed a few coins into the parking meter before trudging up the hill to Park Terrace. When he rang the Ramsays’ bell Jude came to the door, a cup of coffee in one hand, a cordless phone in the other.
‘I’ll have to go now, Helen,’ she said into the mouthpiece. ‘Inspector Anderson has just arrived. I’ll call you later. Thanks for letting me know about that.’ She cut the connection.
‘Sorry to disturb you so early, Mrs Ramsay,’ Charlie said. ‘I was hoping I might catch your husband before he left for work.’
‘Simon didn’t come home last night.’
‘Where was he staying?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ She shrugged. ‘And, to be quite honest, I couldn’t care less.’
‘Perhaps I could come in for a minute?’ Charlie said, blowing into his gloved fists and huddling into his overcoat.
‘Of course! How rude of me.’ Jude stood to one side to allow him to step across the threshold before closing the door behind him. ‘Would you care for a coffee? I’ve just made a pot.’
‘That sounds like an excellent idea.’
Charlie tugged off his overcoat and gloves as he followed Jude into the kitchen. Presented with a mug of coffee, he sat down, blowing on the piping liquid and warming his hands on the mug.
‘I don’t know who I’m upset with more, Inspector, Simon or Laura.’ Jude took a seat on the opposite side of the table. ‘You sort of expect it of husbands, don’t you?’
Charlie raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you?’
‘But not of sisters. I could perhaps have accepted a drunken one-night stand, but the fact that the two of them have been going at it hammer and tongs for the past couple of years is more than I can stomach.’
‘Have you spoken to Laura about it?’
‘I heard her side of the story from Dad.’ Jude averted her eyes. ‘I’ve no wish to talk to her about it.’
‘Do you believe her version of events?’
‘If by that you mean, do I believe Simon put her up to hiring McAteer to kill Mike, the answer is yes.’
‘Is that based on feminine intuition?’ Charlie enquired as he stirred two lumps of brown sugar into his coffee. ‘Or hard facts?’
Jude paused. ‘Simon was out of the house at the time Mike was killed.’
Charlie froze in mid-stir. ‘Really?’
‘He told me he’d nipped out to the shops to buy cigarettes because he’d run out, but that was a lie. I found a half-full carton of Marlboro in his desk drawer.’
‘Why didn’t you mention this before?’
‘My sister wasn’t under arrest before.’
‘If Laura’s telling the truth, then your husband received an email from a blackmailer. On the other hand, if he’s telling the truth, no such email exists.’
‘What are you driving at?’
‘If we had access to your husband’s computer we might be able to establish the facts once and for all.’
‘If Simon had received such an email I’d credit him with having enough nous to have deleted it by now.’
‘It’s still worth checking.’
‘Do you know how to do that?’
‘Quite frankly, I wouldn’t have a clue where to start. I’d need to take his computer back to Pitt Street and let one of our boffins loose on it. Of course, I don’t have a warrant.’ Charlie broke off and sipped at his coffee. ‘I couldn’t remove a computer from these premises without the owner’s permission.’
‘This house, and everything in it, Inspector, belongs to me.’
As soon as he got back to his car Charlie phoned O’Sullivan. ‘Get a search warrant authorised for the Harrisons’ house, Tony. I want Mike Harrison’s computer shipped to Pitt Street as soon as possible.’
‘Hi, Sue – just calling to say thanks for the grapes.’ Tony held the mouthpiece of the phone down low to avoid it brushing against his nose.
‘It would appear that my chilli con carne’s reputation has spread further than I thought.’
‘Come again?’
‘Or were you just too scared to pit your measly football knowledge against Jamie’s?’
‘How about I hang up and call back and we start this conversation again?’
‘You could at least have phoned to say you couldn’t make it, Tony,’ she said tetchily.
‘I’m not with this.’
‘You mean – you mean you didn’t get my note?’
‘What note?’
‘I left a note for you in the fruit bowl on your bedside table, inviting you round for dinner last night. I asked you to give me a call if you wouldn’t be able to make it.’
Tony exhaled noisily. ‘I never saw any note. They woke me up in the hospital at five o’clock and told me I could go home. Everything had been cleared away, including the fruit bowl. As far as I remember the only thing on the bedside table was my watch.’
‘Sod’s law strikes again! What did you get up to last night?’
‘I picked up a takeaway and went back to my flat to watch the telly. By the way, have you ever tried the pakora from The Balti Club in Woodlands Road? It’s fantastic! There must be at least twenty different fillings to choose from.’
‘You’re not doing my chilli con carne’s complex any favours.’
‘Sorry, Sue. I don’t suppose …’ Tony hesitated. ‘It’s a silly question, but I don’t suppose you’re free tonight by any chance?’ ‘Afraid not. Christmas Eve is panto night. Family tradition. Big treat for Jamie. We’re going to see Jack and the Beanstalk at the King’s.’
‘Do you like pantomime?’
‘I love anything to do with the theatre. I used to be involved in amateur dramatics before Jamie came along and panto is a great excuse to let your hair down. There’s nothing I like better than sitting near the front in the stalls and screaming out “Behind you!”with the best of them. How about you?’
‘When I was a kid the panto at Ayr Gaiety was the highlight of my Christmas – until I got disillusioned. When I was eight, the Principal Boy turned down my proposal of marriage. I haven’t been back since.’
‘One ticket – for tonight, you said?’ Tony nodded in confirmation. ‘It’s virtually a sell-out,’ the girl at the King’s Theatre box office said as she checked her computer screen, ‘but I should be able to find you something. There are always a few singles dotted around. Stalls or circle?
‘Stalls, please.’
‘Here we are, front stalls, row Y. Would that be okay?’
‘Anything nearer the front?’
She scanned her screen. ‘Sorry. That’s as good as it gets.’
‘I’ll take it,’ he said, handing over his credit card.
‘You didn’t have to lug across the whole kit and caboodle, sir. The hard drive would’ve been enough.’
Charlie eyed the serious-looking, bearded constable who had just walked into his office. ‘I wouldn’t know a hard drive if I found one in my porridge, Donald.’ He indicated the seat opposite. ‘Did you find anything of interest?’
> ‘All the data that’s readily accessible is innocuous enough,’ he said as he sat down. ‘A few spreadsheets, emails, business letters, family photos. But some of the images that had been deleted are dynamite. A veritable pornographer’s paradise – most of it, but not all, paedophile in nature.’
‘How did you manage to access the images if they’d been deleted?’
‘When you issue a “delete” command on a computer all that happens is that the entry on the file allocation table, effectively the pointer to that particular file, is suppressed and the space is flagged as available for re-use. The data itself isn’t removed until it’s overwritten by another file. If the storage on a PC isn’t heavily used, deleted files can remain on the hard drive for some considerable time.’
‘How can you access the files without the pointers?’
‘It’s all a bit technical. If you’ve got a spare couple of hours I could take you through the basics.’
‘Aye, right!’ Charlie waved his hand back and forth in front of his face. ‘Will you be able to print out the stuff he tried to delete?’
‘The images are being run off downstairs even as we speak. I’ll bring them up as soon as they’re ready.’
Tony O’Sullivan walked into the office as Donald Porter was getting to his feet. ‘Looks like you’ve been in the wars, sir,’ Porter said, eyeing Tony’s face.
‘If you’re hoping to pick up observation credits for your sergeant’s exam, Donald, forget it!’
‘No need to take it out on Constable Porter, Sergeant,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s not his fault you got cuffed with your own handcuffs.’
‘Why don’t you announce that over the tannoy, sir? One of the cleaners might not have heard the story.’
‘What do you think, Donald?’ Charlie winked at Porter. ‘Would that be worthwhile?’