Illegal Tender (Three Oaks Book 12)

by Gerald Hammond

  ‘That’s true.’ Ian sounded surprised but I thought that he was faking it.

  ‘I couldn’t even offer you any descriptions — I tried to look the other way. Well, wouldn’t you?’

  Ian’s face stiffened as he fought back a smile. ‘I sincerely hope,’ he said, ‘that the situation will never arise.’

  ‘But I still don’t understand,’ Miles said plaintively. ‘If my father was killed in his car near here, why is the house all sealed up?’

  ‘I may as well tell you —’

  Miss McLure nudged her superior and looked towards me. I think that Ian had quite forgotten that I was still there.

  I said, ‘My promise of confidentiality still stands.’

  Ian nodded vaguely. His mind was still on dealing with Miles. ‘The combined opinions of the pathologist and the forensic science team support the view that your father was struck down elsewhere and immediately put into his car, driven to the nearest suitable piece of road and sent over the embankment. It was very nearly accepted as the accident it was supposed to simulate. I doubt if you’d want to hear any more details just yet.’

  ‘I think that I’m entitled to them,’ Miles said doggedly.

  Ian hesitated again. I could see his problem. The police practice is for information to be released at the last moment, if at all. Too much openness might give the inimical Detective Chief Inspector some more ammunition; too little might provoke a complaint from Miles with the same outcome. I began to see the logic in Ian’s policy of keeping his own counsel whenever possible and trying to resolve his cases before Edinburgh became involved.

  ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘We thought at first that your father might have been struck by a vehicle, but a mist of blood spots has been detected on the wall at the side of your house. DNA tests confirm that they were your father’s blood. As you know, the old lead pipes across the garden are in process of being replaced. There were several discarded pieces of iron water-pipe around the trench. They tested clean, but we found another piece in the water at the bottom of the trench. Any traces of blood were too faint for DNA typing, but there was a tiny piece of skin trapped in a split in the cut end.’

  ‘And that was his?’

  ‘Yes. Unfortunately, this all seems to have happened after lunch on Sunday, a time when the industrial estate is empty and the roads tend to be at their quietest. If there are any witnesses to say who may have been near your house at that time, we haven’t found them yet. So you’ll see that, though the assumption is that your father was killed outside the house, we’re keeping the interior undisturbed until we know a little more.’

  ‘I understand that,’ Miles said.

  ‘If you have any problem about accommodation for the night —’

  ‘No problem there, thank you all the same.’ Miles’s expression softened. ‘Beatrice Payne, who lives in the granny-flat upstairs, heard me speaking with your constable. She came out like the Good Samaritan that she is and offered me the spare bed in her boxroom for the night.’ He managed to sound like a paragon of virtue but I was ready to bet that the bed in the boxroom would not see him that night. ‘Tomorrow, I’d like access to some of my clothes.’

  ‘That can be arranged.’

  Miles shook his head as if to clear it and then turned to me. ‘It’s a lot to assimilate in a hurry and I’ll have to get my mind clear about running the business and getting it back on the rails. I hadn’t expected to have to pick up the reins in such a hurry. Could I come and see you tomorrow? I understand from Bea that you saved her bacon in my absence. I’ll thank you properly when I see you again.’

  ‘No need for that. I’ll come to you,’ I said. ‘In the morning?’

  ‘Give me until the afternoon. On top of everything else, I’m my father’s sole executor. And his heir.’

  Ian stiffened. ‘Do you have his will?’

  ‘It’s kept at the bank.’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Dornoch will be wanting a much more detailed statement from you,’ Ian told him. ‘That will take at least a morning.’

  ‘Then, could we make it Thursday? The day after tomorrow?’ Miles asked me.

  I had been hoping to wind up my business interests in the area and go home, at least for a few days, but I had no desire to tackle the long drive twice in quick succession. If I could settle matters with Cowieson Farm Supplies, in particular proving to my own satisfaction that any money produced by Miles did not derive from organized crime, another day or two in Newton Lauder might be well spent. I did not intend Agrotechnics to become involved in laundering drug money.

  ‘That should be all right,’ I said. ‘I’ll phone you.’

  At a nod from Ian, WDC McLure escorted Miles Cowieson outside and no doubt got a good look at his car. Some secret signal must have passed between them, because she did not come back.

  ‘Is the new man giving you a hard time?’ I asked.

  Ian shrugged, unsmiling. ‘A hard time I could take. What I can’t take is him making rotten reports about me to the big cheeses. I’ve run across him before. Whatever I do is wrong. Do you reckon that Miles Cowieson’s alibi will stand up?’

  ‘I’d be prepared to bet on it.’

  ‘I think I just did. If he isn’t in the clear, I definitely told him too much. But I had to question him before he could cover up. Didn’t I?’

  ‘Of course.’ I could see that Ian was only seeking reassurance and trying to convince himself. ‘Who does Mr Dornoch suspect?’

  Ian looked at his watch and got to his feet. ‘Lord, I’d better go,’ he said hastily. ‘Wendy McLure will be waiting in the car. We were lucky to get her services. She’s a real whiz at this computer stuff.’

  He hurried out. I went to the door and watched the Land Rover drive away.

  I found Elizabeth in the sitting room. She looked up quickly as I came in. ‘Did I hear them leave?’

  ‘All gone,’ I said. ‘Miles Cowieson turned up.’

  ‘Duncan’s gone to bed.’

  I gave her a summary of what had been said but she listened abstractedly with her eyes out of focus. ‘You’ve got something else on your mind,’ I said. ‘Cough it up, Gooseberry. You’ll feel better.’

  She made a grimace. ‘Ian Fellowes,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have known him for Deborah’s husband. He seemed so hostile.’

  ‘It’s his job,’ I said. ‘Not to be hostile, I don’t mean that. But you can’t expect him to go easy on anyone just because he knows them socially. Was he accusing you of something?’

  ‘Not me. But he was asking questions about Duncan. When did he go out? Where did he go? And so on and so forth. Some I could answer and about some of them I only knew what Duncan had told me. When he’d finished I went to find Duncan. It was the first time I’ve ever seen him shaken. He was definitely worried.’

  ‘What had Ian asked him?’

  ‘He didn’t get as far as telling me in detail. But he’s sure Ian — or that Detective Chief Inspector, whatever his name is — suspects him of killing Maurice Cowieson because he — Duncan — thought that Mr Cowieson had stolen my money. Duncan knew that it couldn’t have happened that way but Ian could have thought that he thought that.’ Elizabeth paused and frowned. ‘Do you follow?’

  ‘I think so,’ I said.

  ‘Duncan just kept saying that Mr Cowieson couldn’t use a computer to save his life. Duncan went along to the office to fix something in Miles’s computer and Miles’s father told him he ‘couldn’t be doing with all this modern fiddle-faddle’. But Duncan was sure that Ian thought he was making it up.’

  ‘Ian’s not so easily fooled,’ I said weakly. ‘But Mr Cowieson Senior doesn’t seem to have had a high regard for the truth. He may have told somebody else that he was a computer genius.’

  Elizabeth was hardly taking in a word I was saying. ‘But what about this Detective Chief Inspector?’ she demanded. ‘Dornoch is it? He may be the one who thinks that Duncan’s guilty.’

  ‘They probably don’t
think any such thing,’ I pointed out. ‘It’s one of their ways of working. They throw a lot of accusations around and see who reacts. Anyway, thinking and proving are a long, long way apart.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Elizabeth was looking stressed beyond endurance. She drew a long and shuddering breath. I guessed that we were arriving at the nub of her worries. ‘Ian asked me what Duncan’s attitude was to having married a rich woman. He didn’t quite ask out loud whether Duncan had married me for my money, but very nearly.’ I saw that there were tears in her eyes. ‘Uncle Henry, what do you think?’

  ‘I think that he’s probably asking similarly provocative questions of a whole lot of people,’ I said. ‘It goes with the job.’

  She shook her head miserably. ‘No, no. I mean about Duncan. Is he really . . . I mean . . .?’

  I broke in to spare her any more embarrassment. ‘You mean, is he too good to be true?’ (Elizabeth nodded without speaking.) ‘I think we’ve all been wondering that, perhaps because he really is so free from envy that we weaker mortals find it difficult to believe him. You should know him better than anybody. You knew him at university. And you’ve married him. Was he always so laid-back? So content with his lot?’

  Elizabeth half closed her eyes. As she recalled her courtship days she even smiled. ‘Yes, I think he was. It didn’t seem to bother him that he never had two pennies to rub together. Well, none of us did. Some of us —’ she flushed suddenly ‘— yes, like me, some of us became rebels and made our parents’ lives a misery. And grandparents’.’

  ‘Come off it, Gooseberry,’ I said. ‘You never made your grandfather miserable. He loved you dearly right up to the end. And Duncan has never shown any sign of grudging you your money. He even refused a settlement. I can’t reconcile that with him resenting anything. If he did, you’d have known before anybody else did. But, be fair, you never thought about it until Ian Fellowes put the thought into your head.’

  ‘But that’s what’s so awful,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘It did enter my head. Duncan never behaved any way except perfectly but I couldn’t help wondering, now and again . . .’

  She got to her feet and bolted out of the room. A little later, I heard her go up to bed.

  I thought that I had put her doubts out of my mind, but I woke up suddenly in the night to the recognition of Elizabeth’s real worry. Duncan’s refusal of a marriage settlement might be the action of an honourable and unworldly man. But there was another possible explanation. He could have been playing for higher stakes. There had been many examples in history of men who had married for money and in due course killed their brides.

  Chapter Eight

  As it developed, the Wednesday of that week was so taken up with other discussions that I would have had no time to fit in another with Miles Cowieson.

  First, Ralph Enterkin wanted a word with me and rather more than a word. I could combine that visit with another trip to Edinburgh, so I borrowed Ronnie and the Range Rover again and went down to Ralph’s dusty office in a tall, stone building overlooking the Square in Newton Lauder. As fellow trustee, he had a right to be apprised of everything which might possibly affect Elizabeth and the estate. The health of Agrotechnics undoubtedly fell within that definition so that it was necessary, while honouring my promise to Ian by reminding Ralph of the confidentiality of the trustee-to-ward relationship, to spell out all that I knew about both the murder and the fraud.

  ‘You’re going to have to call up the floating charge,’ he said when I had finished.

  ‘We gave his father a fortnight,’ I said. ‘In writing. It may not be legally necessary, but it seems only fair to give his heir the same margin.’

  ‘If he comes up with the money —’

  ‘He’d better have a damned good explanation of where it came from,’ I finished for him.

  He pulled the extraordinary face which, with him, accompanies deep thought. ‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ he said. ‘It seems highly probable that one of my clients will be charged with the murder.’

  This was interesting. Could Ralph really be so far ahead of the rest of us? ‘Which one?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know which one,’ he said testily, ‘and if I knew I could hardly tell you. These people are nearly all clients of mine — except for the unfortunate Maurice Cowieson, who isn’t around any more. I seem to remember defending him from a drunk driving charge many years ago, but since then my acquaintance with him has been limited to pursuing him on behalf of young — and some not-so-young — ladies who have felt themselves to be wronged and negotiating a settlement when possible. Sadly, breach of promise suits are almost impossible in today’s climate, so that it was usually necessary to make mention of such matters as indecent assault.’ He frowned absently. ‘What was I talking about? I seem to have strayed.’

  ‘You were telling me — or not telling me — which of your clients you expect to be charged with murder.’

  ‘I’ll have a better idea as soon as one of them phones for an urgent appointment.’

  My years in banking taught me the knack of reading upside down. It had been very useful on occasions when some plausible character had been trying to obtain more credit than he was worth. Ralph’s diary was open on the desk and for early that afternoon I could make out an entry. Allardyce, it read.

  When we had exhausted our discussion, Ralph wanted me to join him for lunch — at the expense of the estate, of course — but I made my excuses and escaped to the Range Rover. I had other fish to poach — literally, because the pub that we stopped at for lunch had some quite respectable fresh salmon on the menu despite the approach of the breeding season.

  I invited Ronnie to join me at table. Servants often know more of what is going on than their masters. I asked him what news and rumours he had heard.

  ‘Deil a word,’ he said. ‘They haud their gabs while I’m around.’ He scowled ferociously. ‘They’d bloody better. I’ll no stand for gibble-gabble aboot the mistress. But I’ve een in ma heid. Yestreen, I was in the Canal Bar wi Mary. Allardyce the builder cam in an nae bugger wad look at his skook. There wis neither hishie nor wishie gin he turned and went oot.’

  If the denizens of the Canal Bar fell silent and looked away when Allardyce entered, there must be some word going around, but whether that had to do with being defrauded, or murder, or something new I was damned if I could guess.

  ‘How do you get on with Mr Ilwand?’ I asked him.

  We had known each other before Duncan came on the scene, so Ronnie was prepared to be quite open. ‘He’s a guid lad,’ he said. ‘He suits the mistress fine.’

  ‘He seems very relaxed, very laid back,’ I said. ‘Most husbands would feel awkward or even envious if their wives had all the money but it doesn’t seem to embarrass him at all. Or is that just a front?’

  ‘Not a bit of it.’ Ronnie shook his head. ‘He disna gie a damn aboot siller. When he’s few pounds in’s pootch, he buys the mistress a wee gift. He’ll hae a birthday suin an the mistress was axing him whit he’d like an he couldna think on a thing. She wis ettling tae gie him another motor. She asked would he no like to tak her car and she’d get a new yin but he said he wis used wi the yin he’s got an, oniewey, he couldna get on wi automatic gears.’

  ‘He’ll be carried up to heaven on a pale pink cloud, one of these days,’ I said. Being impatient and short-tempered and not having always been virtuous (until advancing years made any other course barely worth the energy required), I sometimes feel that excessive virtue is a waste of good temptation.

  I had a doze in the back of the Range Rover during the rest of the journey to Edinburgh.

  My session with Gordon Bream was even more exhausting than that with Ralph Enterkin. Gordon was doubly interested in the well-being of Agrotechnics. I was able to assure him again that Elizabeth would easily meet her obligations. His only interest in the death of Maurice Cowieson was its possible effect on Cowieson Farm Supplies Ltd and thus indirectly on Agrotechnics. Word had, as usual, found its way
into the media and the fact that the apparently accidental death was under investigation by the police was known. DCI Dornoch, fortunately, when pressed for a statement, had managed to hint that the interest of the police was in such questions as whether dangerous driving or sloppy vehicle maintenance might be to blame, so that media interest was at a very low level.

  Gordon, however, was not put off by such red herrings and I had the difficult task of outlining the legal position and probable prospects without quite breaking my promise to Ian. Fortunately, Ralph Enterkin had read me a lecture which increased my rudimentary appreciation of the legalities and I was able to persuade Gordon to adhere to my plan, giving Miles Cowieson the remainder of the period we had allowed his father, leaving him in charge meantime. We would look very hard at the origins of any money that he produced, failing which we would call up the floating charge. Whether we would continue Miles’s employment as sales manager could be decided in the light of his performance in the interim, but I had brought with me Miles’s list of proposals for injecting fresh life into Cowieson Farm Supplies Ltd. We also agreed, reluctantly, that Cowieson’s debt to McQueen and Allardyce would have to be settled.

  It was time to regularize the decisions we had made in the names of our fellow directors. We produced a minute confirming our decisions, prepared formal notes to Colin Weir and to Agrotechnics confirming the position and tidied up the remainder of the paperwork. Maintaining a perfect record of transactions and decisions may be tedious and usually a total waste of time but, when things go wrong and the lawyers move in, such a record can be worth far more than its weight in paper money.

  At last I was free and Ronnie drove me back to Newton Lauder. As we slowed to turn off the main road, I glanced incuriously at a small police car which had stopped at the junction and was waiting for the traffic to clear. As we made our turn, the lights of an oncoming coach played into the car and I saw that the driver was WDC McLure. It look me a second to recognize her. She was in uniform, very spruce. The poor light made it difficult to be sure but an improvement in her appearance suggested that she was carefully but discreetly made up. A gap opened and I heard tyres yelp as she spurted out. Turning my head I saw that the blue light was flashing and she was bullying her way through the traffic.