Unnatural Justice ob-7

by Quintin Jardine

  I raised an eyebrow as I glanced across at Jack; he was looking back at me, with half a smile on his face, as if he was making some pretty accurate guesses.

  "Why?"

  "They said that they no longer regarded the group as a suitable avenue for diversification."

  "Crap."

  "Maybe, but there's more. When I got back from court at lunchtime, I found letters waiting for me from the lawyers acting for Cornwell, Perry and Ravens, offering to accept our terms for withdrawal, if they can do so without publicity."

  "That'll be right. Have you spoken to Culshaw?"

  "Yes. He gave me a rather abrupt reply, but he said I should ask you what you thought."

  "Did he now?" I smiled as I looked across at Gantry. "I think we should remind them, in case they've forgotten, that we cancelled those agreements earlier this week. Have they presented those cheques yet?"

  "Yes. All three. This morning."

  "Fine. See they're honoured, then send them another five grand each as a gesture of goodwill, and leak the story to the press. But not through Alison Goodchild: I want you to call Arnott Buchan at the Sunday Herald and tell him that it's a present from me. Tell him also that we've made an agreed termination payment to Aidan Keane's estate of one hundred thousand pounds, and that the company will meet his funeral expenses as a gesture to his widow. You should clear all this with Phil first, of course, but he'll agree with me."

  "I'll do as you instruct," said Greg, but there was doubt in his voice.

  "It's the smart thing to do," I told him. "The Three Bears won't go away, not all at once anyway. For now they're a fact of Glaswegian life, so there's no point in rubbing their noses in their own mess. As for the payment to Keane's widow, that's good PR, no more, no less.

  We'd have spent that much defending an interdict hearing, and you know it."

  "I suppose so," he conceded. "I'll get it all rolling now."

  "Good, then do something else for me. Call Sir Graeme Fisher and tell him that I will expect his letter of resignation from the board of the Gantry Group to be in the hands of the acting managing director by close of play this afternoon. Statement to the Stock Exchange tomorrow morning, please."

  "What if he refuses to resign?"

  "Then he'll face a vote of no confidence at the next board meeting, and will be publicly humiliated. But it won't come to that; he supported Torrent, and he'll know the consequences now they've pulled out."

  "Golden handshake?"

  "Not a fucking penny."

  "Who succeeds in the chair?"

  "A representative of the minority shareholders. Me."

  "Jesus Christ, you can't appoint yourself chairman."

  "I think you'll find that I have the support of the majority shareholder," I reminded him. "And of another significant player in the company." I looked at Gantry again. "Isn't that right, Jack?"

  He gave that cackling, mirthless laugh of his again, and nodded. "For now, son, for now. After that, who knows?"

  "Oz." Greg's voice was a whisper in my ear. "Who are you with?"

  "Never mind. Get on with all that." I pressed the red button. The Lord Provost reached out a hand. I knew what he wanted and gave him the phone so he could be sure it was switched off.

  "No tape either," I said, taking off my antelope hide jacket and throwing it on the couch, then turning so that he could see there were no bulges beneath my tight-fitting tee shirt. He looked at my physique. "You've been working out, son, and no mistake. Better just drop your kegs, in case you've got a microphone strapped to your cock."

  I did as he asked; anything to make him start talking.

  "So you called off the Bears," I said, as I buckled my belt. "And bloody Goldilocks as well."

  "I had to. When poor silly Natalie panicked last night and came rushing straight here after you'd spun her your story, I knew the game was up. I knew full well that you'd tail her here, indeed that you'd probably done it before, and that you'd be on to me inside twenty-four hours. So I called the boys and told them to get here."

  "You must have been really pleased with Nat, with her falling for the crap I spun her. She took a nice photo when she left. A bit different from when she arrived, though."

  Gantry frowned. "That was unfortunate. Jock Perry will live to regret doing that. She told them what you had said, you see, that one of the three of them had turned over, and that it was probably either him or Kevin, since she guessed that Ravens had done the boy Keane. Perry was close to her; he gave her a backhander. I have to admit that you had even me wondering for a second." He tutted, four tuts, in fact.

  "Topping Keane was a fucking stupid thing to do, especially straight after Nat had been here."

  "I thought you'd ordered that."

  "As you would, given the sequence of events. But I didn't. That was another example of Mr. Perry's impetuosity. He was always a fucking chancer that one, but this time, if I read the situation right, he may find that the other two take the view that he's too risky to have around any longer."

  "He'll be no loss to the city," I commented. "Any more than would the other two. But Jack, where do you hang with these guys, to have them running after you?" Then I remembered the story Susie had told me, about Jock Perry in the nightclub, the proposition, and then the champagne apology, 'when he found out who I was'.

  "Those three started life as my message boys, Oz," Jack said, casually.

  "They're still my fucking message boys."

  I sat down in the white leather armchair and made myself comfortable.

  Gantry followed my example and sat back in the swivel chair. He picked up two remotes from the floor beside him: as he pressed one, the Venetian slats levelled and the blinds rose, giving us the uninterrupted view of Glasgow that I knew so well. He pressed the other and Vivaldi segued into Dwight Yoakam. A perfect choice, I thought; we were, after all, in the Nashville of Europe.

  "Tell me, Jack," I said. "Fill me in on the whole story. But start with my first question, the one I asked earlier. How the fuck do you come to be here? Did you dig a tunnel? Is there a Jack Gantry replica doll in your room in the state funny farm?" As I gazed across at him, I was astonished to discover that for that moment at least, fascination had pushed my anger to one side. The man was hypnotic; whatever emotion you felt as you came into his presence it seemed impossible to sustain it. If you were depressed, he lifted you up; if you were enraged, he calmed you down. Sitting opposite him, I found myself totally intrigued.

  He shook his head. "No need. As Duncan started to say earlier, whatever you may have thought, and with some justification, I admit, I was never convicted of a criminal offence."

  He frowned. "It's true, as you'd have known if you'd read the right papers at the time, instead of the red-tops. After the unfortunate circumstances that led to my nephew's body being found in my deep freeze, I was examined by half a dozen of the top nutcrackers in the country. They agreed unanimously that I was suffering from schizophrenia, megalomania, delusions of adequacy, inflammation of the willie, and a whole list of other Freudian nonsense that boiled down to one thing. Whether or not I had done the things that the Crown Office suggested I had done, I had been insane at the time and still was. That meant, of course, that I could not stand trial."

  I nodded. It was a lecture, like being back at university.

  "Therefore," he went on, 'under Section 54 of the Criminal Justice Act, an examination of facts was held, at which I was not present, having begun treatment in Gartnavel by that time. This led to my formal acquittal on all charges. However, the Crown did manage to convince the judge that I represented a degree of danger to the public, and so I was committed to the State Hospital for treatment."

  He cackled again. "I was a good patient, Oz. I responded to the treatment they gave me, and after a year or so it was agreed that I had made sufficient progress to go back to Gartnavel. After a further period of treatment, my consultants expressed the view to Duncan Kendall, my Curator bonis… that's a loony's court-ap
pointed manager, if you didn't know… that I was fit to return to society."

  Jack nodded. "And quite right too," he muttered. I had a feeling that he really believed he shouldn't have been taken away from it in the first place. "Therefore," the lecture resumed, "Duncan, in accordance with the Mental Health Act, instructed a petition to the First Minister for my release. But my counsel also pointed out that all this time I had been a patient and a ward of the state, not its prisoner, and he argued that I was as entitled to have my medical confidentiality preserved as any other individual. This was referred to the Court of Session for a ruling on precedent, and at a hearing held in camera, three senior judges decided that my counsel was dead right. The case went back to the First Minister. As it happens, Seb McTigue, the present chief executive of this country, is a former Glasgow City councillor, and a former colleague of mine. But we go back longer than that; he was another of my message boys, before I spotted something in him and got him into politics. With my file on his desk, he was only too keen to confirm my release, and even keener that it be afforded the privacy I sought." The Lord Provost smiled at the recollection.

  "So I left Gartnavel," he said, 'and moved across the city, to this place. When I heard it was on the market, I had Duncan buy it for me, not to make any point to you or Susie at all, but because I've always liked it. I built it, remember: this conversion was a Gantry project.

  More than that, I was actually its first owner."

  "You were?" I exclaimed, taken aback.

  "Oh it wasn't in my name. Remember the woman who sold it to you and your poor late wife, son? She was an old girlfriend of mine. I set her up in this place, put it in her name, and then, when I became enamoured of someone else, and we split up, I let her sell it and keep the money."

  He held up a hand. "Incidentally, son, whatever I may have said when the balance of my mind was disturbed, I was not responsible for your wife's death. I admit that at the time I wanted to send the two of you a wee warning, but what my messengers actually did was a breach of my instruction. They've both paid for it since, anyway."

  He had strayed into an area that broke my trance. "And what about your nephew?" I asked bitterly. "I don't suppose you killed him, either."

  "Oh aye," he chuckled. "I did that all right. But it was genuinely self-defence, and almost accidental. He came to me demanding a ridiculous amount of money, and when I refused he came at me with a blade. It's a blemish on this city, you know, the number of our young people who carry knives. Anyway, the boy picked the wrong place. I had a rack of Kitchen Devils within reach and I used one to fend him off. He ran right on to it."

  I let it pass. He might even have been telling the truth. "So what's your status now?" I asked him.

  "Same as yours. My consultant comes to see me once a month, for a chat, and I'm still on light medication, supervised by Manolito, who really is a nurse, but I'm a free citizen, son, entitled to vote if I chose to register. But I don't. I'm only interested in politics when I'm running the show, and I'll never be seen to be doing that again."

  I waved a hand, abstractly. "And what about all this? All these trusts, all leading back to you? All these lawyers operating in vacuums? Did your Curator bonis set them up while you were inside?"

  "No, no. Duncan set those up for me years ago. Actually when he was appointed Curator, it was really just an extension of what he'd been doing for me all along, and still does. I was his first major client, and I may still be his biggest."

  He leaned forward in the chair, as Mr. Yoakam began, appropriately,

  "The Home of the Blues'. "It would be a great mistake to assume that the holding in the Gantry Group, which I put in trust for my daughter, represented all my wealth. It didn't, not by a hell of a long way. The bulk of it remains under my control, in a way devised by Duncan to preserve my anonymity in my business dealings. Would you believe I own two newspapers and a radio station? I'm not telling you where, but I do."

  "And you wanted to own the Gantry Group again as well, didn't you?"

  "I have a hankering for it, yes."

  "But why go about it this way, by plotting against your own company?"

  He stared at me: no smile, no cackle, only those cold blue eyes behind the fancy specs. "Since you'll never prove it, son, I'll tell you. I did it for Natalie, in part. Why Natalie?" His voice hardened appreciably. "Because, Oz, when I was in Carstairs, and then Gartnavel, the only people who ever came to visit me, apart from Duncan, and Kevin Cornwell, who's always been a friend… as well as a message boy… were James Torrent and his niece. I've been a sleeping partner in Torrent from its early days; I funded its growth with loan capital and I even had Joe Donn sign some photocopier contracts that were no more or less than a means of shovelling money to James by the back door. After he died, Natalie kept on visiting me. I've been a sleeping partner of hers for a while too, in a literal sense."

  "So you're the reason she ditched Ewan Capperauld?"

  "He did himself no favours. You actors are all Jessies at heart, you know."

  I laughed. "I wouldn't say that to Miles Grayson if I were you."

  Gantry cackled again, louder than ever. "Son, with Manolito behind me I'll say whatever I like to whoever I like, even that big pal of yours, Everett Davis."

  He was overmatching Manolito there, but I let it pass. "So for Natalie, you set out to break the Group," I challenged him. "You had that letter-bomb sent to the office." He rolled his eyes and looked at the ceiling. "You recruited your message boys and sent them to buy into New Bearsden, them and their own message boys."

  He shook his bald head. "No, just the three of them; the others were just a rumour."

  "Big deal. You recruited Aidan Keane, through Jock Perry, his bookie, as your inside fixer."

  "Well done, or was that a guess?"

  "A guess, but thanks for confirming it." I took another shot in the dark. "And you killed Joe Donn, because he found out that you were out and what you were up to."

  "Wrong there. Joe didn't have a clue that I was released. Anyway, he's the last man I'd have wanted dead."

  "Whatever," I said. "The real bottom line is you maybe did some of this for Natalie, but you did it for yourself too, and at the same time to stab Susie in the back."

  "Hardly. The millions she'd have got for her shares would have gone straight into her trust fund. I might even have let her keep it. But not now, though, and it's thanks to you, you clever big bastard."

  I shook my head. "They let you out too soon, Jack," I exclaimed, hoping, I suppose, to rile him. "Susie's trust fund is ring fenced."

  "Ah," he sighed, 'my poor lad, you're no' as clever as you think.

  Duncan," he called out, then leaned back, as the slim, silver-haired solicitor came into the room. "Tell the boy about Plan B," he instructed.

  "Certainly, Jack." Kendall smiled at me like a barracuda; I found myself wanting to rip his gills out. "The terms of the trust under which your wife is the beneficial owner of a majority shareholding in the Gantry Group specify that Mr. Gantry has passed this interest irrevocably into the control of his daughter, Susan, and in succession any children she may have." He paused, knowing that I had caught the emphasis placed on a single word, and letting me guess what was coming.

  "Regrettably," he continued, when he was ready, 'it has been alleged to Mr. Gantry that Susan is not in fact his daughter, but is a belated byproduct of his late wife's previous marriage to Mr. Joe Donn. It is unfortunate that Mr. Donn is himself recently deceased and thus unable to confirm this, but I do have evidence that your wife has referred to Mr. Donn as her father on a number of occasions."

  He took a breath, for effect, as if he was in court, although I knew that guys like him hardly ever stand up before a judge. They cover their bets by hiring specialist QCs. "To sum up," he concluded, "I have been instructed by Mr. Gantry to petition the court to wind up the trust on the basis of this…" He gave a light laugh. '… misconception. My petition will be heard, Mr. Blackstone, and the court will c
ertainly require your wife to provide a DNA sample. My advice to my client is that we will win and that the majority holding in the Group will revert to its rightful owner. The way it's constituted and worded, there can be no other outcome. We will argue that it would be wrong for us to leave it unchallenged."

  I took a long breath and looked at Jack. "There is another way of making the trust all legal and proper. You could adopt Susie, formally."

  He snorted. "What? After she returned my letters to her, and eventually had me barred from writing to her at the hospital! I should give her a hug and adopt her? You don't know me at all, boy."

  "She was rather pissed off at you," I pointed out. "Apart from killing her cousin, she also found out that you'd been using the Gantry Group nursing home division as a front to obtain prescription drugs for cutting and sale on the street. She also didn't like it that her cousin and his pals had been fencing the gear the poor punters stole to buy your heroin and jellies."

  "I warn you for the last time," Duncan Kendall exclaimed, dramatically, 'that my client has been formally acquitted of all counts against him."

  "And I warn you for the last time," I shot back, 'that if you annoy me any more than you have up to now, I will poke your eye out with a sharp stick." I didn't even bother to look at him. Instead I kept my eyes firmly on the Lord Provost. "Well?"

  "She declared me dead, son. She's burned her boats and the jetty they were tied to."

  I pushed myself out of the white chair and grabbed my jacket. I was well steamed and not even Gantry's hypnotic charm would have cooled me down: Also, I had to get myself out of Mr. Kendall's presence before I did something unfortunate. "You'll lose your anonymity, Jack," I warned.

  "No," he replied. "Because when you get out of here you'll take legal advice, and that advice will be to settle. Susie'll decide to become a full-time mother and she'll accept a bid for her holding from the Maplevale Trust. It won't be full value, but it won't be ungenerous."