by Cook, Alan
“But Cousin Jason did. Curious that he didn’t tell his granddad. Timothy has always confided in me, and continued to do so even after I moved here to take this job. He looked up to me, as the older brother. Unfortunately, he never actually took my advice.”
“That must have been frustrating for you.”
“Yes. The reason I know Cousin Jason was killed is because I follow international news stories. It goes with my line of work. We deal with firms in California, so I’m particularly sensitive to what’s happening there. In addition, I had a special interest in Cousin Jason, because, you see, I’ve met him.”
I was shocked. “You’ve met him?”
“Yes. He came to Timothy’s funeral. I talked to him at length. Before I go on, I need to ask you something. Something I haven’t talked to with anyone, including my parents. If you don’t know, you deserve to know since you’ve been investigating and have come all the way to Edinburgh to warn me.”
“Sounds serious. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Did you know Cousin Jason was involved in something shady he called a syndicate?”
Another shock. “Yes. But how do you know about that?”
“Ah.” Jason allowed himself a mirthless smile. “I told you Timothy didn’t like to work. He was always coming up with get-rich-quick schemes. When he mentioned them to me, as the level-headed member of the family I regularly shot them down. This one he didn’t tell me about until after he was hooked. He had a way of gaining people’s trust. Cousin Jason must have sensed this, because he told Timothy about his idea for the syndicate, which, as I’m sure you know, is a classic Ponzi scheme. With Jason’s help, Timothy started an Irish version of it.”
I was sitting there with my mouth open. “There must be disgruntled investors in Belfast.”
“Of course there are, although as a member of the family I’m not anxious to drink a pint with any of them. Do you want to hear my theory?”
“Definitely.”
“I think one of these disgruntled investors, as you call them, may have killed Timothy, and then followed the trail to Cousin Jason and killed him too.”
“I was assured by Jason’s girlfriend that the syndicate was being closed down and everyone was going to get their money back.”
“Cousin Jason and Timothy were operating the Irish syndicate independently of anyone else in America, as nearly as I can tell. Jason’s girlfriend may not know about it. Let’s take this one step further. The syndicate started operating in Belfast more than a year ago.”
“I think it’s only been in operating Los Angeles for a little over six months.”
“It may have started on this side of the pond first. And been in business long enough for people to lose money and thus be disgruntled.”
This put a whole new light on things. “So the killer may be Irish?”
“Us Irish have been known to commit atrocities. Just look at the IRA.”
“You’re one up on me. I never met Cousin Jason. Did you talk to him about the syndicate when he was here?”
“I had a long talk with him. I told him what I knew. I must admit he was very calm about it. He denied it was a fraud. He said it was a legitimate investment opportunity and there was nothing wrong with it. He also said he couldn’t run it here without Timothy, and that it would be shut down. He assured me all investors would get their money back.”
“I know that song. Jason’s girlfriend told me the same thing about the American version. Have any disgruntled investors come out of the woodwork?”
“None. At least none I’m aware of. But they may be taking their private revenge.”
We talked about that for a while, with me trying to absorb the ramifications of Timothy and Jason III being involved in the syndicate together. Finally, I decided we’d better get back to the immediate threat.
“I don’t think we should discount Tom Kelly.”
“You’re right. We’ll talk more about him. But Sarah promised to make lunch for us, and if we don’t return soon she’ll think I’ve run off with my American cousin.”
Jason took out a cell phone and called Sarah, telling her we were on our way back to the flat.
CHAPTER 26
“Tom Kelly is our cousin.”
I announced this to Jason as I sat at the small table he and Sarah used for all meals. Jason was holding the gurgling Timothy in his lap while Sarah served us sandwiches and cheese. I’d just checked my email on their laptop computer.
“Oh?” Jason’s raised eyebrows requested more information.
“Frances, my friend who’s a forensic genealogist, received the DNA test results for him. He has the same Y or male DNA as Cousin Jason’s grandfather, who we also tested. All the male Boyds have this DNA, including you. Tom is probably descended from the first Jason, who was born in the nineteenth century. We’re all descended from him.”
“So my namesake sired a bastard. I’m not surprised. The Boyds always were a scurvy lot.”
Sarah frowned as she sat down with us. “That’s not true. If it were I never would have married you.” She put a hand on Jason’s arm and turned to me. “He’s been badmouthing his relatives ever since he found out his brother was involved in that syndicate.”
“Every family has its black sheep. Which, by the way, is an appropriate phrase here where we grow sheep by the carload.”
Sarah asked, “Who is this Tom Kelly, anyway?”
“Speaking of black sheep. Tom Kelly is someone Cynthia has created out of thin air who can now claim to be a Boyd. The question is, what are we going to do about old Tom, since he’s arriving here this afternoon? Cynthia, please explain to Sarah who Tom is.”
I gave her a quick synopsis, leaving out a few key points, such as my break-in of his house and conjecture about him being a murderer. I mentioned he probably wanted to meet Jason and Sarah. Jason, who as I was beginning to understand said pretty much whatever he thought, had apparently decided not to beat around the bush about Tom with Sarah.
“Cynthia thinks Tom may have a grudge against the Boyds. Although we’re almost certain he didn’t kill Timothy, he’s on Cynthia’s list of suspects for Cousin Jason in Los Angeles. Now don’t get upset, Sweets. We’re going to head him off at the pass, as they say in American westerns. I’ll meet him at the airport and try to find out what he’s up to.”
Sarah and I objected vehemently to this, Sarah because she was afraid for Jason, and I because if something happened to him I would feel responsible. After some heated arguments from Sarah who could be very loud for such a petite woman, I got the floor while Jason was trying to quiet crying Timothy, frightened by the noise. I’d had a quick change of heart.
“Actually, that’s not such a bad idea. He won’t be able to try anything at the airport. We know he won’t have a weapon on him because of the security checks he’ll have gone through. And I’ll be with you.”
“You?” Jason looked befuddled. “I don’t want to put you in danger. And as I understand it, he doesn’t even know you’re Cynthia.”
“Well actually, he does.” When I’d talked to Jason about Kelly I’d left out the part about my break-in of his house and being identified by the police. I didn’t want him to think I was a hoodlum. “He found out after we met at his house. It’s about time he and I had a heart-to-heart talk. Besides, you need someone who can identify him.”
I’d about given up hope of getting Grandma’s money back or of having Tom prosecuted for that scam. He lived a very orderly life in Los Angeles where he was in complete control of his environment, but here he would be out of his comfort zone and his compulsion for order wouldn’t be satisfied, leaving him vulnerable. It was a good place to find out the truth about him.
***
I offered to help Sarah clean up the dishes after lunch, although I’m not very domestic, but she said she could do it faster by herself. Jason took me to the living room, still carrying young Timothy, got on the laptop, and opened up an email account he said was his brother Tim
othy’s.
“When Timothy was killed and I went to Belfast for his funeral, I checked out his computer and found his email password. I looked at the emails he had stored. There were a couple between him and Cousin Jason in the U.S., but they didn’t mention anything about the syndicate. There weren’t any emails between him and investors, either. The two were apparently very careful about leaving an electronic trail. I think they communicated with each other mostly via a phone hookup through the Internet.”
“I assume the police in Los Angeles checked out Jason’s email there.”
“Undoubtedly. But I suspect they didn’t find anything. I had Timothy’s email account transferred to my service provider for a nominal monthly fee, to see if he would receive anything that would give a clue to his murderer, but he hasn’t. I guess since his death is common knowledge, that was too much to hope for.”
“Have you found a list of investors?”
“No. I couldn’t find any information stored on his computer or in his flat. I didn’t tell the police about the syndicate because I didn’t want to blacken the Boyd family name and I doubted it would help find the murderer.”
Sarah came bustling into the room with a baby carrier. “You can’t spend all your time while Cynthia’s here playing detective, especially since she’s never been to Edinburgh before. We have one of the nicest days you’ll ever see here. It’s perfect for a tour of the Castle.”
In preparation for my trip, I’d read about the famous castle that overlooks Edinburgh. I’d been in Scotland a number of times before because I’d walked what’s called the End-to-End, from John O’Groats in northeastern Scotland to Land’s End in southwestern England, although my walking partner, Janet, and I hadn’t passed through Edinburgh. Unfortunately, my memories of that trek were confined to descriptions from a log Janet kept and her pictures. She lived in England and we corresponded regularly by email.
I was interested in British history, and Edinburgh Castle embodied that. “I’d love to see the Castle. How do we get there?” I knew the answer before Jason spoke.
He grinned. “We walk, if your ankle can manage it.”
He put the straps of the carrier over his shoulders and they plopped Timothy into it.
“We walk to the places close by and take the bus to those a bit farther away. We use the car mostly for going out of town. I have a theory that the Scottish people who live in the cities are more fit than those who live on the farms because they walk a lot more. The farmers drive everywhere in their cars or their John Deere tractors.”
***
Jason and I rode in his car to the airport. We didn’t want to take the bus because we weren’t sure what was going to happen and we needed as much flexibility as possible. It was after dark. Tom’s flight wasn’t the most convenient. He’d probably shopped online for the lowest fare between Los Angeles and Edinburgh.
I’d enjoyed the tour of the Castle. Its ramparts provided good views of the city and the Firth of Forth. Much of the history within its walls was of the period before England took control of Scotland. I got the impression the Scots were yearning for the good old days. Scotland had recently reconvened its own parliament, but its powers were limited.
Before we left the house, Sarah cornered me while Jason was tending to Timothy, which he did on a regular basis. She gave me a searching look.
“I’m depending on you to keep Jason safe from this Tom Kelly. Jason can be a hothead. You appear to be a calming influence.”
She didn’t know the things I’d done that suggested I wasn’t really a calming influence. However, I promised her. I told her I thought it was a good idea to confront Tom immediately on his arrival, so we wouldn’t have to worry about what he was up to. I also said he seemed to have what Rigo called OCD, including an obsession with order he couldn’t satisfy while he was here in Edinburgh, and that might make him vulnerable.
Sarah was interested in that. “I’m studying psychology, myself, working on becoming a therapist. I think you may be right. He’s out of his controlled environment. Perhaps you can use that to your advantage. He’ll also be tired and have jet lag.”
I wasn’t used to sitting on the left side of the car and not driving, but I knew I’d driven during the two years I lived in England. I watched Jason shift with his left hand. I could do that. Although I was glad I wasn’t driving here at night. While he drove, we tried to put together a plan of action.
We left the car in a parking lot within easy walking distance of the modern looking terminal building. Tom’s plane was coming directly from Chicago, so he’d have to go through passport control here. We headed for the doorway with a yellow sign that said “International Arrivals” over it. Inside, a small crowd of people awaited with noisy anticipation the appearance through swinging doors of passengers from Tom’s flight. Jason surveyed the situation and gestured with his hand.
“If you wait behind that potted tree, he won’t see you, what with all the people. I’ll greet him and introduce myself. When you follow us to the car, stay out of sight.”
“How will you know him?”
“I think I can pick him out from your description, but I’ll look at you for confirmation. I’ll stand there on the edge of the crowd where I can see both you and the passengers spewing out.”
The passengers straggled rather than spewed out, and after some time watching them I wondered if Tom was really on the flight. I didn’t remember his seat assignment, but he’d probably be sitting in the back of the plane, which meant he’d be slow going through passport control and claiming his luggage. Have patience.
Suddenly, there he was, walking alone, carrying a small bag, and rolling a single suitcase behind him. He walked tentatively, not sure of himself, trying to become familiar with his new surroundings. I looked at Jason but he wasn’t looking at me. Then he turned and inclined his head toward Tom, and I gave him a nod and thumbs up.
Jason confronted Tom just as he cleared the group of people waiting for the passengers. For a moment Tom looked like a scared rabbit, and I wondered whether he was going to run. However, he had no place to run to, and he couldn’t move very fast with the suitcase and carryon bag.
Although Jason was considerably larger than Tom and could appear intimidating, he gave Tom the Boyd smile and extended his hand. Tom appeared to relax a little. They stood talking for a minute while I waited, impatiently. Would Tom go with him? Then they turned and headed for the exit. Jason’s charm was working. Somehow, Jason had gained control of Tom’s suitcase, so there was nothing Tom could do but follow him.
I followed too, but at a discreet distance. Jason engaged Tom in spirited conversation. There wasn’t much chance he’d turn around. It was as if Jason had Tom hypnotized. What story was he telling Tom to explain how he’d found out about him? Jason had told me he’d mention Tom’s DNA test results and dazzle him with bullshit while welcoming him to the family.
They exited the terminal. I did the same a few seconds later, along with several others so I wouldn’t be conspicuous. When I didn’t see them, immediately, I crossed a roadway and entered the parking lot. Then I saw the pair ahead of me, walking between the cars, dimly lit by lights on tall poles. They were headed toward Jason’s car. When they reached his car I waited behind a double row of vehicles diagonally across the aisle from them in the shadows while Jason opened his trunk—which I remembered was called the boot here—and placed Tom’s suitcase inside.
Tom instinctively went to the right side of the car. He realized his mistake and walked around the front of the car to the left side. The doors were still locked. As Tom waited, Jason gave an “oh shit” movement and spoke rapidly. I was too far away to hear what he said, but the plan was for him to invent a reason they had to go back to the terminal—for Tom to make an ATM withdrawal, get a bus schedule, whatever.
He talked fast and furiously, but Tom wasn’t buying it. I could see him shaking his head. In desperation, Jason started walking toward the terminal. Tom followed him, voicing l
oud objections, rather than being left standing outside a locked car alone in a strange country. As soon as they cleared the parking aisle I went between the cars I was hiding behind and hotfooted it across the aisle to Jason’s car.
Unknown to Tom, Jason had left the trunk unlocked. I opened it, turned on my recently purchased small flashlight that replaced the one I’d left at Tom’s house, and stuck it in my mouth. I had to work fast.
Tom’s suitcase showed wear. He’d done some traveling with it before. It was a good thing suitcases couldn’t be locked anymore. The bag had a number of zippers. This wasn’t going to be easy. I unzipped one zipper and found an empty compartment. I zipped it again. I pulled the suitcase part way out of the trunk and with some effort flipped it over. Fortunately, it wasn’t terribly heavy. Tom had packed light. On the second try I managed to unzip the twin zippers leading to the main compartment.
I pulled up the top part of the suitcase and gazed at the neatest packing job the world has ever seen. Each piece of Tom’s clothing was rolled and set precisely in place. I was searching for a weapon. If I moved his clothes around, I’d never get everything back in the same position. Being the person he was, he’d immediately know someone had been in his suitcase. Maybe we could blame it on airport baggage screening.
The most obvious weapon was a knife, but that could easily be hidden in one of the items of clothing. Did I have to squeeze each piece, individually, to see if something hard lurked inside its folds?
I heard a shout and belatedly realized it was Jason shouting. I looked up and saw someone bearing down on me, running at full tilt. A ray of light from a pole touched the face of the runner and I recognized Tom. I dropped the top of the suitcase and frantically tried to work the zippers.
Tom reached me and hit me with his carryon bag. That knocked me against the side of the trunk opening. I staggered to maintain my footing. Tom took a look at me.
“You! First you trash my house and now you follow me here and steal my suitcase.”