Unnatural Justice (Oz Blackstone Mysteries)

by Quintin Jardine

  So, you see, the entrance had to be secure not to prevent people from getting into the estate, but to prevent small people, like my reckless nephew Colin, Janet, and her wee brother eventually, from getting out.

  With that job done, Jay and I hit a few golf balls, then I headed back to the house to take Janet for a swim. At first I couldn’t find her, until I wandered towards the office conservatory and heard her chirping away us usual, but being ‘shoosh’-ed, by Susie. As I walked in, I saw that my wife was on the phone, and from the look on her face I did not fancy being the person on the other end.

  At once, I thought about her blood pressure. ‘Who’s that?’ I asked.

  She said a quick, ‘Hold on,’ then covered the mouthpiece. ‘Press. Sunday Herald,’ she whispered.

  I reached out a hand. ‘Gimme the phone.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Susie, you’re red in the face. Please give me the phone and make me happy. Take Janet to the pool and let me deal with this.’

  She shrugged, then gave me a quick smile. ‘I like it when you’re masterful.’ She handed me the phone.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, ‘this is Oz Blackstone. My wife’s pregnant and she isn’t taking business calls today. Now who is this, please?’

  ‘It’s Arnott Buchan, Sunday Herald, and she was taking business calls a minute ago.’

  ‘Not any more, Mr Buchan. You can either phone Alison Goodchild, our PR consultant, or you can try it on me. Susie’s effectively on maternity leave from now on.’

  ‘Do you speak for the Gantry Group, Mr Blackstone?’

  ‘I speak for my wife, mate, and she is the Gantry Group.’

  ‘That’s a sweeping statement. I don’t know if Sir Graeme Fisher would agree with you.’

  ‘I could give a fuck about that.’ Irony is almost as difficult to convey over the phone as on the printed page, but I think I managed it. ‘Do you want to carry on this discussion, or call Alison?’

  ‘No,’ said the reporter. ‘I’ll speak to you. It’s about the New Bearsden situation. I’ve spoken to the lawyers acting for the Three Bears.’

  ‘That’s not quite accurate,’ I pointed out. ‘Those three gentlemen are not the purchasers. For reasons best known to them, all three of the deals in question were done in their wives’ names.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Buchan, ‘but we both know the score, Mr Blackstone. It’s all about asset sheltering, isn’t it.’

  ‘Call me Oz, everyone else does. And you said that, not me. The fact is, I don’t care what it’s about. I only know that the publicity surrounding these purchases is harming the Gantry Group.’

  ‘Is that why your wife’s lawyer tried to bribe them to withdraw?’

  ‘Your lawyer wouldn’t even let you hint at that in print. Because of the tabloid furore we’ve found it necessary to ask these ladies if they’d be prepared to withdraw from their agreements, and we’ve offered them a small premium. Effectively we’ve offered to buy those plots back at terms advantageous to them.’

  ‘That may be how you put it, but all three of them, and I’ve spoken to them separately, claim that you’ve stigmatised them and their families.’

  I laughed; I didn’t mean to, it just came out. ‘That’s bloody rich. We’ve never discussed these purchases, other than in private. We’ve never said anything about these three people to any reporters. The offers that were made were and remain, on our part, confidential, lawyer to lawyer. The only people doing any stigmatising are you guys in the media, in the way you’ve run the story, and the three families themselves, in feeding you with quotes.’

  I paused. ‘Stigmata’s a dangerous topic for them anyway; I seem to remember a story a while back about a guy whom your sister newspaper, the Herald, said had fallen out with Mark Ravens. Does it ring any bells with you?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I’ll bet it does. They found the guy alive, but nailed to a wall in a flat in Paisley. Crucified. A crown of barbed wire jammed on his head. He’ll bear the stigmata, the marks of the Cross, for the rest of his life.’

  ‘What are you saying to me?’

  ‘Nothing you can ever print. I’m just telling you not to get fucking sanctimonious with me, mate. Now what do you want to say to me? What’s the bottom line on this story?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Buchan, ‘I take your point. What I was in the middle of telling your wife is that all three families . . .’

  ‘Are we speaking Sicilian here?’

  ‘Nice one, but no comment . . . that all three families have rejected your offer. They intend to proceed with their purchases, on the basis that, as respectable business people, they have as much right as anyone else to live on what you yourself claim will be the finest modern housing development in Scotland. Their solicitors have also told me . . .’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ I interrupted him. ‘Are you saying there’s been collusion here? Are the three acting in concert?’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, Oz, they’re acting separately. I’ve asked each of them that same question, and they’ve all denied it.’

  ‘As they would.’

  ‘Maybe, but it’ll be down to the Gantry Group to prove otherwise. What they’ve each said . . . individually . . . is that they’re not prepared to back out at any price. They’ve also said that if the Gantry Group attempts to withdraw from the agreements unilaterally, or tries to pull any tricks like redesigning the development to take these three plots out . . .’

  ‘Damn it!’ I thought. That had been an option under discussion.

  ‘. . . they will go straight to court to seek interdicts preventing them. I should tell you that each of the three lawyers expressed complete confidence that they would be granted.’

  That was our legal advice too, but I wasn’t going to tell the Sunday Herald that.

  ‘Can I ask you a few formal questions, Oz?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘First, can you confirm that such offers were made to the three buyers?’

  ‘Yes, in the terms I expressed to you earlier. In the light of media coverage, which I’m sure the families found as unfortunate and embarrassing as we did, we’ve offered to buy the plots back, at a premium.’

  ‘What’s your reaction to the rejection of that offer?’

  ‘If that’s true, and it won’t be till our lawyers hear from their lawyers, I’d say that it’s unfortunate too.’

  ‘Finally, in the light of their threat to go to court, what does the Gantry Group intend to do next?’

  ‘The board will discuss that next week.’

  ‘Will New Bearsden go ahead?’

  ‘Too bloody right it will.’

  ‘What about Sir Graeme Fisher’s investigation?’

  ‘What happened to “finally”?’

  ‘There are always a few more.’

  ‘The investigation’s over.’

  ‘Has it resulted in any disciplinary action?’

  ‘Go and take a look outside the New Bearsden site office, or the Gantry Group HQ building. If you see any heads on poles you can run the photo on page one.’

  ‘I’d heard that one of the heads might belong to a guy called Aidan Keane.’

  ‘You’ve been drinking in the wrong pub, then. Aidan’s resigned, but he’s neither suspected of anything nor accused of anything.’

  ‘I hear he’s got a new job, though. He won’t start for a few weeks, and it’s not official, so much as I’d like to I can’t run it.’

  ‘What’s that, then?’ Suddenly I was interested.

  ‘Mr Keane’s going to be property manager for a pub chain called Caiystane Inns.’

  ‘Never heard of them.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have expected you to. But if you look it up, you’ll find that the chairman and managing director is a Mr Mark Ravens.’

  I whistled. ‘Thank you for that, Arnott,’ I told the journalist. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and see if I can find a pole.’

  Chapter 30

  I filled Susie in on most
of my conversation, but I didn’t tell her about Aidan Keane’s rumoured new employer. That information I kept for Phil Culshaw, when I phoned to ask him if he could take over as acting managing director with immediate effect. Susie had agreed that they could manage without a formal handover, and that if there was anything on which he needed her advice he could either call her or drive out to the estate.

  He and I discussed Aidan Keane, then we linked in a three-way conference call to Des Lancaster. The poor old project manager had been enjoying a quiet day in his garden till we ruined it for him.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ he exclaimed when I told him about his departed lieutenant.

  ‘It came from a journalist, but I don’t think he’d have volunteered it if he wasn’t pretty sure of his sources. I gave him some straight answers; I think it was his way of thanking me.’

  ‘I can see it now,’ said Des, slowly. ‘Aidan acted as a negotiator sometimes; he closed the deal with Cornwell, and that was why Sir Graeme asked him some heavy questions, but he had nothing to do with Perry or Ravens, so he was stood down as a suspect. But when I think about it, he was in a position to keep the three sales files well apart, to cut down the chances of any connection being made.’ He sighed. ‘On top of that there’s his writing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Phil.

  ‘There’s a master lay-out of the project on a wall of the sales office; every time a sale’s made, the buyer’s name’s supposed to be written on that particular plot. Aidan was responsible for making sure it was kept up to date. The trouble is, his blooming handwriting is very close to being illegible. For example, on the board, “Ravens” looked more like “Rawlings” and “Cornwell” and “Perry” looked like they were spelt with an “a” rather than with an “e”. Oh dear.’ Lancaster sighed again, even more deeply. ‘Sir Graeme will have me this time, when he hears this.’

  ‘No he won’t,’ I told him. ‘Fisher’s had a week to look at that board himself, and ask questions about it. You’re in the clear, Des.’

  ‘I don’t know, Oz. The truth is, I’m almost at the end of my rope with this job. I think I may well chuck it anyway.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Phil. ‘How would you feel if . . .’ He floated the idea of the job swap with Brian Shaw that Susie had discussed with me.

  ‘Do you think Brian would go for that?’ Des exclaimed, not quite managing to disguise his eagerness.

  ‘I wasn’t planning on asking him,’ said the acting managing director, dryly.

  We were better prepared for the breaking of the Sunday Herald story than we had been a week earlier. Our QC had given us a plan that covered every contingency, including the one that had developed, and a copy had been given to Alison Goodchild, for her to use as a briefing book.

  It said that the company would act in the best interests of all its shareholders, and reserved the right to take any action it considered appropriate. Effectively that meant reserving the option of cancelling the three sales and taking the chance that the threat of court action was a bluff, knowing at the same time that if it wasn’t, the likelihood was that we were in for a kicking.

  What I was not prepared for was the verbal kicking I received from Sir Graeme Fisher once the story had appeared in print.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re up to, boy?’ he shouted at me, as I sat at the breakfast table with a slice of toast in one hand and the phone in the other. ‘You’re not a director of this company and you don’t speak for this company. What’s this nonsense you’re quoted as saying? “My wife is the Gantry Group?” You’re making it look a damned laughing stock, and you’re making me look a laughing stock.’

  I kept my face straight through his tirade, because Susie was sitting across the table and I didn’t want her to get wind of what was happening.

  ‘You don’t need any help there,’ I told him, smiling.

  His tone went up a notch or two, attaining incandescence. ‘You impertinent young . . .’

  ‘Shareholder is the word you’re after, I think.’

  ‘Then listen, shareholder. If your wife is stepping down as managing director, for whatever reason, the first body that has to be told is the Stock Exchange, not the Sunday bloody Herald. You’ve broken a fundamental rule, son, but it’s me who’s going to have to apologise for it. Do you know what I’m thinking now? I’m thinking that it might be in the best interests of the company, by which I mean all the shareholders, if rather than allow your wife to go on maternity leave, I suspend her formally from duty because of the way she’s handled this crisis. Allowing you to speak to the press is reasonable evidence, as I see it, of a serious lack of judgement on her part, justifying such an action on mine. I propose to take independent legal advice . . . not your pal McPhillips . . . and if he agrees that I have a right to do that, I will.’

  I wasn’t sure whether Susie sensed what was happening or not, but she chose that moment to slip off her stool at the breakfast bar, gather Janet up in her arms, and leave the room.

  The change in my tone of voice must have surprised Fisher, just a little. ‘Now listen to me, you old bastard,’ I hissed. ‘Get your ego in check and remember your place. If you don’t assure me right now that what you’ve just said was all bluff and bullshit there will be a special board meeting before this day is out. I will attend that meeting as my wife’s proxy and the only item on the agenda will be your resignation as chairman.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘On the grounds that I don’t fucking like you. If you think I’m not serious, just try me out. Now I’ll tell you two things. One, if you ever call me “boy” or “son” again, your age won’t stop me slapping you silly. Two, if you ever threaten my wife again, nothing will protect you. Now this is what you’re going to do. You’ll instruct our brokers to make a statement to the Stock Exchange that Phil Culshaw has taken over as acting chief executive of the group during Susie’s absence on maternity leave, but that she will be available to him for consultation and advice. That’ll impress the analysts. What you’ve just proposed would scare the crap out of them, and the bankers and every independent shareholder.’

  I had to pause for breath; that’s how angry I was. ‘You’ve got five seconds,’ I continued, ‘to let me hear you say “Yes”, or I call Greg as company secretary and have him call that meeting. And don’t waste one of those seconds thinking I’m bluffing. One, two . . .’

  Fisher said, ‘Yes,’ on the count of four, although it came across as if he was choking.

  ‘Sensible,’ I said. ‘By the way, what do you think of Aidan Keane as the mole?’

  ‘He’s a hot-head, but I’m certain it wasn’t him.’

  ‘Wrong.’ I hung up on the Knight of the Realm.

  ‘Was he indeed?’

  I looked over my shoulder; Susie was standing in the doorway.

  ‘How much of that did you hear?’

  ‘I came in on “I don’t fucking like you”. I’ve been wanting to say that to him since the first day he took the chair. He’s got to go.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, not now he’s got the message. It would be a bad move at this point. You have to show unity. The share price will take a big enough thumping tomorrow as it is.’

  Chapter 31

  I wasn’t wrong about that: when the market opened next morning all the week’s small recovery had been wiped out and a further ten per cent had gone from the company’s value, knocking the shares below their original flotation price of one pound.

  I was in Middlesex when I found this out. Paul had scheduled an early start for the second week’s shooting. I knew it wouldn’t be a brilliant opening, but I wasn’t prepared for Ernie Nichols, my broker, phoning me to ask if I was sure I still wanted to buy Gantry shares.

  ‘Of course I do,’ I told him. ‘This crisis will all be sorted in a couple of days.’ Optimism was essential, I felt, even though I didn’t feel much.

  ‘It’s not a bright picture,’ he warned me. ‘If sales on your new
development are as poor as they were last week . . .’ That statement could have been lifted from a master-class in diplomacy. There hadn’t been any sales; a hastily put together market research programme had told us that in addition to public concern about living next door to gangsters, many potential buyers had been put off by the fear that if they bought in New Bearsden they might come under police scrutiny themselves.

  ‘The analysts aren’t too keen on your wife’s decision to step aside either. They feel that it sends the wrong message. Even at this stage you couldn’t persuade her to stay in post, could you?’

  I told Ernie that I was the guy who’d insisted that she step aside, and that he should stick to buying and selling. He did that, okay. By midday I’d acquired another hundred thousand Gantry shares from small private investors who’d lost their bottle.

  But the small fry weren’t the only ones to head for the hills.

  I was on-set in the afternoon when I had a message to call Phil Culshaw, whenever I could. I was between takes, so I called him on my mobile at the office. ‘What are you doing just now?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing. Why?’

  ‘I meant are you shooting funny scenes or heavy drama?’

  ‘The latter.’ And how: my character and Ewan’s were having their final confrontation.

  ‘That’s all right then. What’s the worst thing that could happen to the company in the present situation?’

  ‘Saddam Hussein and Osama Bin Laden could buy adjoining villas?’

  ‘Worse than that.’

  ‘George W Bush fancies a weekend retreat in New Bearsden?’

  ‘You’re getting there. Sapphire’s selling out. Angela Rowntree called me this morning. She told me that she doesn’t see the situation being resolved any time soon, if ever, so she’s taking what she can get right now and investing elsewhere.’

  ‘So why haven’t her shares come on the market?’ I asked. ‘Ernie Nichols would have told me if they had.’

  ‘She’s accepted a private offer, and you’re not going to like it when I tell you who the buyer is. Not that you can’t guess.’