‘It looked a clear foul, to me.’
She rises – and stands her ground, the green eyes unblinking, guarded.
‘And you are?’
It flashes through Skelgill’s mind that he could be a prospective parent about to donate a million pounds to the school. And there is no sign that she recognises him from their fleeting encounter before breakfast. Yet in her recalcitrance Skelgill feels some affinity – she is still emotionally in the heat of the battle – and he takes no offence. As he passes her the ball with one hand, with the other he slips his warrant card from his hip pocket and displays it casually. Her eyes rest on it for a moment.
‘I’m investigating the death of Mrs Scarlett Liddell.’
Now she looks at him – her features are benign but her gaze is penetrating – and she calmly waits for him to speak. He finds her silence a little unsettling.
‘I wouldn’t mind a word.’
‘In what way can I help?’
Skelgill realises he is acting upon impulse – and has no ready answer. He casts about as if he is afraid of eavesdroppers – and although no one is near he turns back to her and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. ‘What about this Hub café you’ve got?’
‘That’s fine, Inspector – provided you don’t mind trending on social media before you’ve put a cup to your lips.’
He makes a rueful face. He gets her point – manna from heaven for the schoolgirls’ gossip grapevine. He swallows.
‘I noticed there’s a new wine bar in that row of shops – down at Roseburn?’
Uptalk – now he’s doing it! He mentally chastises himself. Meanwhile the woman still has the look of one fending off a chancer hoping for a date – a mixture of disbelief that he would have the audacity to ask, and revulsion at the prospect.
‘I have to post the match report on the school website.’
Skelgill wrestles with his features – he does not want to show he is rattled – but suddenly the woman flicks the ball at him – instinctively he catches it left-handed in front of his heart. She smiles.
‘It was a foul. Maybe you can help me with the wording – since I was seeing red at the time. There’s free Wi-Fi in that bar.’
12. LALDHI MAHAL
Tuesday, 7.30pm
‘Sorry I’m late, Guv.’
Skelgill is looking at pictures on a menu, angling it as though a different perspective will illuminate the subject. And he makes curious facial contortions – as if straining to get his tongue around his back teeth. There is a plate in front of him on which lie a few crumbs of poppadum, perhaps the explanation. To one side is a half-drunk bottle of Indian lager – rare for him, but of course there is no cask ale on offer. For her part, DS Jones seems a little red-faced, there are rosy patches on her prominent cheekbones, she looks hot as if she has hurried, and has her jacket over her arm. A waiter comes up and takes it and helps her into the seat opposite her superior. Skelgill regards her questioningly.
‘I went for a drink with Will Liddell.’
That she blurts this out rather confessionally perhaps elicits an unreasonably accusing tone from Skelgill.
‘A drink?’
‘Oh – I just had water. They’ve got renovations in progress – the builders come in at 5.30pm and work through the night – so as not to disturb the employees. Someone started drilling into a wall – Will Liddell suggested we went down to a bar on the street below.’ She glances at Skelgill to see that he is glowering. ‘After Greenmire Castle – I thought he might become a bit more talkative?’
‘And was he?’
‘A little – ha-hah.’ Her laugh is of the nervous variety.
‘What?’
‘Little – and Liddell. You know what his firm is called – the holding company?’ (Skelgill shakes his head – he does not look particularly enamoured of the subject.) ‘Liddell Acorns Incorporated.’
‘Is that meant to be funny?’
‘Well – I suppose it’s quite clever – they invest in small businesses and help them grow into much bigger organisations.’
Skelgill’s retort is rather acerbic.
‘His ex told me that he’s just made a packet out of some website that was a front for escorts. Flogged it to an American crowd.’
DS Jones looks a little disconcerted.
‘Hmm – well – that never came up. They seem to be very ethical in what they’re trying to do. They identify craft operations where the founders have the technical skills – but not the capital or marketing expertise needed to expand.’
‘Jones – you sound like their PR girl.’
His sergeant grins bashfully.
‘Guv – like I say – I thought I was doing well getting him talking. He seemed quite keen to tell me about the company – it’s obviously going places. He said he got back on 10th of March from a month in Shanghai – he’s just established an investment office there.’
Skelgill is looking sceptical.
‘Sure it weren’t a smokescreen? I don’t mean China – I mean giving you all this corporate flimflam.’
A waiter ghosts up and pours water from a jug and asks DS Jones if she wants something else to drink, but she declines. Skelgill taps the menu.
‘We’ll go for this banquet – the Six Chillies.’
DS Jones waits for the man to retreat before she answers.
‘I don’t think so, Guv – I wouldn’t say he ducked any questions. He’s just economical with his replies. You saw that.’
‘I’m more interested in what he asked you.’
Skelgill’s gaze is penetrating – as if he knows something. It is at this juncture that DS Jones decides not to mention the very last thing that Will Liddell did ask her – whether she would care to dine with him, and quite persuasively so – and that he had just momentarily put his hand at the small of her back as he courteously chaperoned into the elevator. As such, her response is slow in coming.
‘I decided not to raise the subject of the pregnancy – and he didn’t allude to it – if that’s what you mean, Guv?’
Now Skelgill seems oddly indifferent to the answer. He casts about the restaurant, cursorily eyeing the other diners, and optimistically eyeing the kitchen.
‘Aye – that – whatever.’
DS Jones places her hands together and rests her chin upon her fingertips.
‘Has anyone asked you, Guv – if we’re suspicious?’
‘Aye – more or less. I reckon the women have definitely discussed it. I’d go so far as to say they’ve even worked out who we’re most likely to suspect. It’s hardly rocket science.’
DS Jones nods in agreement.
‘Circumstantially, Guv – it’s understandable. Assuming she did commit suicide – then everyone else most likely went about their innocent business – and in doing so, Will Liddell would apparently have been in her vicinity at the time it happened.’
But Skelgill is looking doubtful – distressed, even – as he has each time this analysis has been attempted.
‘We don’t know the exact time she died – if someone went in or out – invited or otherwise – crept away while Will Liddell was asleep – hid themself when he called her. We don’t know whose story’s accurate and whose isn’t.’
DS Jones’s face carries a look of resignation – that to make headway they have to find another route – their reason for coming to Edinburgh. She grins mirthlessly.
‘We needed a cracked wristwatch, Guv – on the bathroom floor – stopped at the time of the incident. Like there would be on a Murder Mystery night.’ She pauses – as a notion strikes her. ‘Imagine if there had been clues laid down and one of them fooled us.’
Skelgill glances away broodingly. It is a while before he picks up his original thread.
‘What else – about Will Liddell?’
DS Jones inhales to reply – but she is trumped by the arrival of the first course – a salver heaped with an assortment of appetisers – and Skelgill’s attention is diverted.
‘I
was warned about the portions here, Guv.’
Skelgill eyes her apprehensively – wondering what conversation she has had and with whom – but he already has his teeth into a pastry. DS Jones leans to one side and extracts her notebook from her shoulder bag.
‘Maybe I should work through it in chronological order, Guv – some of the points will make more sense that way?’
Skelgill scowls, as if he suspects she is skirting around the subject of Will Liddell – but it may simply be the unfamiliar selection of food that vexes him. He makes an indeterminate growl in his throat that DS Jones takes as a sign of agreement.
‘Okay – Derek Duff, first of all.’ She thumbs through the pages to the beginning of her notes. There is a numerical reference at the top that sparks some recall. ‘By the way, Guv – the number 12 bus from the hotel was great – it stopped literally outside his office.’
‘What sort of place is it?’
DS Jones takes a sip of water. She appears to have recovered her composure after a somewhat disjointed opening.
‘Well, Leith seems half trendy and half run down – the office falls into the latter category. A Victorian building – quite grand but stained with soot and the paintwork on the windows flaking. A shared entrance and an untidy hallway – poorly lit and a damp feeling – smelly carpets – you know?’
Skelgill nods. She could be describing one of his favourite pubs. He chews pensively as she continues.
‘Coming full circle for a moment – I couldn’t help drawing the comparison when I went to Liddell Acorns’ HQ – that Derek Duff is like a poor man’s version of Will Liddell.’
‘His missus is mithered about how they’ll pay the school fees. They’ve got three more bairns coming down the tracks.’
DS Jones frowns reflectively.
‘Strangely enough, Guv – he was quite happy-go-lucky. That was another contrast with Will Liddell – and yet he must be financially secure – if he never lifted another finger.’
‘What does Derek Duff do, jobwise?’
She glances at her notes, written in shorthand; she grins.
‘It’s a marketing business. He called it “freebies and fantasies” – you know – when you find a plastic shark swimming in your cornflakes – or you can win a trip to Barbados with your sunblock?’
Skelgill’s countenance darkens.
‘It’s all gimmicks as far as I can see.’
‘I’m not even sure Derek Duff believes it works – but he seems to be scraping by on it.’
‘Does he employ any staff?’
‘He apologised for having to let me in himself – he said his assistant is on maternity leave. He kept using the term “we” – I didn’t press him on it, Guv – but I suspect he’s a one-man band.’ She breaks off, and her gaze drifts away in the manner of one musing over some deeper feeling. ‘But, you know – he was consistently effusive about Will Liddell.’
Skelgill does not respond immediately, and so DS Jones takes the opportunity delicately to spear a vegetable pakora.
‘Happen Will Liddell feels sorry for him.’
DS Jones’s fork hovers over the chilli dip.
‘In what way, Guv?’
‘They knocked about at uni – still regular drinking partners according to Suzy Duff.’ He waves an onion bhaji in the air between them. ‘If it was obvious to you in five minutes that Derek Duff’s on his uppers – it must be plain as day to Will Liddell. So he helps him out.’
‘You mean – like paying for the trip to Greenmire Castle?’
Skelgill shrugs.
‘Aye – and he subs folk who obviously don’t need it. Pay for the lot of them – saves Derek Duff feeling bad. Not like free school dinners – they make the poor kids pay with tokens so all their rest know their parents are skint.’
DS Jones is intrigued that her boss has seen it this way – that he has homed in on this charitable motive. Then it occurs to her that he might be speaking from experience.
‘Did you know Derek Duff was a professional footballer, Guv?’
‘Aye – I heard that – from Muriel Liddell. Career cut short by injury.’
‘There’s a framed shirt on the wall of his office, and some faded press cuttings. He said he left university halfway through – got injured in his second season – never finished his studies. Will Liddell went on to get a First and a Masters in Business.’
Skelgill contrives a wry smile.
‘Happen the boot was on the other foot.’
‘What do you mean, Guv?’
‘Now it’s Will Liddell who’s cock of the walk. But back in the day Derek Duff would have been the big cheese – footballer’s pay packet, flash car, pulling the birds – his best mate’s a student, hard up – so maybe he was the generous one.’
DS Jones is nodding.
‘He strikes me as that sort, Guv – and a bit of a dreamer. He probably would splash cash on his mates. And he has obviously remained good friends with Will Liddell.’
‘What about the affair with Scarlett Liddell – reckon he took Derek Duff into his confidence?’
Now DS Jones’s expression becomes uncertain. She flicks back over several pages of her notes.
‘That whole aspect, Guv – he’s got a good line in charming flannel – he was convincingly vague.’
‘Such as?’
‘I asked him if it was a surprise when Will Liddell split up with his first wife. His answer was along the lines of, Will looks a plain ordinary guy – but if you see him on his phone in a café – you think he’s booking a taxi – he’s probably buying a company. I guess it was a roundabout way of saying that Will Liddell is a dark horse – and that he admires him for it. When I pushed him, he just said Will Liddell was very good at compartmentalising – he wouldn’t burden someone with his problems.’
‘Sounds like a maybe. Besides, Suzy Duff reckons Derek Duff had wind of something – that Will Liddell was getting divorced and had a younger girlfriend.’
DS Jones nods reluctantly. She might have cause for feeling that Skelgill was unreasonably holding back this information. She contrives a defence of her powers of interrogation.
‘Having met them both, Guv – I can completely see why one is successful and the other isn’t. I don’t for a minute think Will Liddell would tell Derek Duff – or anybody, come to that – something that might jeopardise his position – however insignificant a point it was – or however much he trusted the person. I have to admit – he’s quite an impressive character.’
Skelgill looks up sharply from his plate. Spontaneously, it seems, DS Jones stretches, raising her arms and bending them so that her thumbs brush her shoulders. Her silky white blouse reveals something more of her figure. Skelgill’s eyes flicker. She looks like she is expecting him to say something – but when he does not she resettles herself in her chair and regards him questioningly. Now her silence prompts Skelgill to speak.
‘You not having more of these veggie things?’
DS Jones smiles sweetly.
‘I’m pacing myself, Guv – you know what these banquets are like – the courses just keep coming. You finish them.’
Skelgill makes a pained face, but does not demur in deed.
‘What about the relationship between Scarlett and Will Liddell?’
‘Derek Duff said Will Liddell was happier than he’d known him for years – even if he didn’t expressly show it.’
‘What did you make of that?’
‘Well – again – having just spent time with Will Liddell – I kind of understand what Derek Duff means.’ She pauses to brush at her hair on one side with her fingertips. ‘He is very measured – but I imagine if you know him well – perhaps know him of old – then you could probably read the more subtle signs.’
Skelgill swallows and then takes a swig from his bottle of lager, and makes a face that suggests he does not enjoy the taste.
‘So – what – nothing from Derek Duff to set the heather on fire?’
DS Jones loo
ks somewhat crestfallen. She bows her head and reviews her notes.
‘I asked him again about Friday and Saturday. He admitted to overindulging in alcohol and that he didn’t really have his wits about him, a good part of the time. He repeated his previous statement – that Scarlett Liddell had appeared fine to him – and that on Saturday he was in his suite between afternoon tea and when Mike Luker gave him a knock at about five past seven. I asked whether his wife had left her room – or had specifically been to speak with Scarlett Liddell – he said he was fairly sure she hadn’t – but that he might have had forty winks.’
At this juncture there materialises a flurry of waiting staff in smart white outfits – and like stage conjurors they whip away used plates and replace them with new ones, and begin to lay down a fresh selection of food. Skelgill’s gaze darts about like a wolf straining to pick out the straggler from a herd. DS Jones watches him with a glint of amusement in her eyes – but he seems to detect her attention.
‘I’m listening.’
She grins.
‘Mike Luker, then, Guv?’
Skelgill nods, having resumed his demolition of the food.
‘He seemed uneasy.’
‘Aye?’
‘You know what you always say about skeletons in closets – even when it’s nothing to do with the case?’
‘He is a financial advisor, Jones.’
‘Well – that was the explanation I assumed. I guess when you specialise in tax avoidance you’re never going to be comfortable sitting across a desk from a police officer. I asked him how he got to know Will Liddell. He said it was through the wives and the girls being at the same school – parents’ evenings, dinner parties – they inevitably talked about business – and at some point Will Liddell started to use him formally for financial advice – effectively became one of his clients. He said that was just over five years ago.’
‘They say you should never mix business with pleasure.’
DS Jones ponders this aphorism. Is it a necessary evil?
‘I rather suspect Mike Luker saw an opportunity at an early stage – he affects indifference – but there’s an underlying hunger in his manner. Will Liddell must have seemed a golden goose – business expanding rapidly and cash pouring in.’
Detective Inspector Skelgill Boxset 4 Page 11