Haddock reclined in his chair. ‘Did you have a continuing relationship with Anatoly Rogozin?’ he asked.
‘Only through our shared ownership of Wister Air,’ Spring replied. ‘Physically, that ended immediately after the robbery. For several years after that, I had no personal involvements. I didn’t want anybody getting close to me.’ She surprised the Scots by smiling. ‘Then I met Mary and discovered that I preferred batting for the other team.’
‘Did Ms Chambers know anything of this? Ever?’
‘Nothing. Ever. I swear.’
‘What happened to the Krugerrands you moved two years ago?’
‘Most of them are still in my safe deposit box in Edinburgh. Over the last couple of years I laundered some of them through my design business. I invented clients and sent them invoices which they settled. Those were the accounts that Mary saw, but not the tax man, ever.’
‘Did you know that your brother was planning to kill Anatoly Rogozin and steal his share in the business?’ Payne asked.
She gazed into the camera with a grin of open mockery on her face. ‘No, I did not, sir. And if I did, I wouldn’t be so fucking stupid that I’d tell you and put myself in handcuffs on the next Wister Air flight to Edinburgh.’
Haddock intervened. ‘Did you ever meet Terry Coats, the man who was killed with your brother?’
‘I never heard his name until you mentioned it.’
‘What about Aisha Karman?’
‘Who’s she?’
‘Miss Montell, she was your employee.’
Fifty-Eight
‘Did she take an active part in the robbery?’ June Crampsey asked.
‘I don’t know, but by her own admission she benefited from it,’ Bob Skinner replied, ‘so she’s done. Major Pollock will hold a press conference in Pretoria tomorrow, announcing that the bullion robbery investigation has been closed, twelve years after it began. He’ll announce Spring Montell’s arrest and hopefully he’ll incriminate her brother and Anatoly Rogozin.’
‘Why isn’t he doing it today? He has her confession.’
‘He thinks he knows who the contact in the Mint was. He’s arresting her now. Rogozin put himself about with the ladies, it seems.’
‘What can we report?’
‘I’m giving you a heads-up about Pollock’s announcement. Nobody else has that, so you can alert our South African correspondent, and be ready to run the story on our online edition as soon as it’s broken. But not before. Understand? Not before.’ He read her thoughts in her eyes. ‘I know, June, in theory we could run it now, but that would compromise my friends and me. Our rivals might make us the story if we did that; they’d accuse us of having insider information and they’d be bloody right. As it is, you’ll be ready as soon as Pollock has finished speaking tomorrow; I’m pretty sure you can watch him on a streamed South African news service. The fact is, if any journalist had followed up Montell’s murder and asked the right people the right questions, here and in Pretoria, they’d be where you are now, more or less. If the guy Darke was as good as he thinks he is and didn’t spend so much time pissing off senior police officers, he could have got there.’
The Saltire editor’s expressive eyes narrowed. ‘The same thought occurred to me,’ she admitted. ‘Where can we go with it tomorrow, after the South African’s made his statement?’
‘You can incriminate Griffin Montell, for starters. You can also tie him to Rogozin’s murder by saying that the police aren’t looking for anybody else in that context.’
‘What about the woman in Manchester?’ she asked. ‘Can we mention that?’
‘That’s less straightforward. Pollock won’t mention her in his statement because it isn’t connected to his investigation. When the story breaks, ACC Payne will be available to comment, either directly or attributably through the press office.’
‘Not Sauce?’
‘No. Lowell’s fronting up. You know the score, he won’t be able to tell you anything that hasn’t been reported to the Crown Office, but by that time the Rogozin case should have gone there. If he chooses to volunteer that police in England have evidence that links his death to an open homicide, that will open the door.’
‘Will he do that?’
Skinner raised his eyebrows. ‘That’ll be his decision, June. If he asks my advice, I’ll say do it, because it’ll deflect the media’s attention away from the big issue.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The fact that Sauce and his team still don’t have a fucking clue who killed Griff and Terry Coats.’
‘Then the Saltire must ask that question,’ she insisted. ‘Darke’s got to put it to Payne.’
He looked at her. ‘You know that I don’t like Darke,’ he admitted. ‘Your choice, but I don’t think his tone is right for the Saltire. However, he is where he is and you’re right, if anybody is going to ask that question it should be him, but . . .’
‘You’d like him to work that out for himself?’
‘Got it in one.’
‘Okay, this is how we’ll play it. I’ll pull Lennox Webster, Darke’s predecessor, back on to the crime team and brief her to do the story around the Pollock press conference. If it is available streamed, she can watch it. Then they can both handle the follow-up with Payne. If he doesn’t ask the big question, she will.’
Skinner grinned. ‘Sounds like a plan. Can I make another suggestion?’
Crampsey smiled back. ‘Make it and I’ll tell you.’
‘Have Lennox do an in-depth interview with Mary Chambers. Once her relationship with Spring Montell becomes public knowledge, and it will, the red-tops will be after her, big time. This is one time I don’t mind using my insider position, not in the slightest. I’ll speak to Mary first, then if she’s okay with it, put the two of them together. Agree?’
‘Very much so. It’s even worth a plane fare for Lennox if Ms Chambers chooses to stay in Pretoria. Sir, you’re starting to think like a journalist.’
‘I always did,’ he replied. ‘That’s why I was usually one step ahead of them when I was in the job.’
He stepped back into his office, checking his watch and thinking of calling Sarah to see whether she was free for lunch. His phone was in his hand when it sounded; he looked at the screen wondering whether she had beaten him to the punch but saw that the caller was not his wife, but his oldest son.
‘Dad,’ Ignacio said. ‘There’s a package here for you; it’s just been dropped off by a courier. It’s marked for your immediate attention. I had to sign for it on a screen, and I saw the sender’s name, Deacon and Green. I looked it up; it’s a law firm.’
‘Yes, I know it. Nacho, are you doing anything just now?’
‘Pilar and I are studying, but . . .’
‘Aye sure,’ he chuckled.
‘Seriously!’
‘Sure, I’ll believe you. Look, get dressed, get in your car, the pair of you, put it in the boot and bring it to me, here, to the Saltire office. Don’t open it. Get that? Don’t. There’ll be a couple of pizzas in it for you.’
Fifty-Nine
‘Chief!’ Noele McClair exclaimed. It had taken a few seconds for recognition to dawn; the woman on her doorstep was wearing jeans and a Barbour jacket, over a thick roll-necked sweater and her red-grey hair was ruffled by the wind. ‘Come in, for God’s sake. It’s blowing a hoolie out there.’
Margaret Steele stepped inside, relieved that she had been welcomed, that the door had not been slammed in her face. ‘Thanks, Noele,’ she said, softly, as she handed over her jacket and stepped into a warm sitting room. ‘I’ve come to apologise. I put you in a terrible position last week by asking you to come to Torphichen Place. I should never have done it; I wasn’t thinking clearly. The deputy chief went bananas when he found out. We had a similar experience the two of us, just as we were getting together. We used to be married,’ she explained. ‘You probably don’t know that. Mario was shot and I was there; I was quietly hysterical. I know you and Terry were at the
other end of your relationship, but I should have been much more sensitive.’
‘We were beyond the other end,’ McClair replied. ‘It was completely in the past. Terry had become pathetic; he was a loser, and I never actually wanted to see him again. Now I learn from Sauce that he might actually have been a murderer as well, because he was the last person seen with his bit on the side before she died.’ She paused, her hand moving to her lips as if she was making a belated attempt to stop her words. ‘God,’ she whispered, ‘listen to me, calling her that. The poor girl, she didn’t deserve that. Why was she killed, do you know? Does anybody?’
‘Not for certain, no. But I don’t know the detail of the case anymore. I’ve benched myself, Noele. I’m taking time off for a period of reflection, and re-bonding with my daughter.’
‘Much the same as I’m doing with Harry.’
‘How’s he taking it?’
‘Not great. He’s struggling to get used to not seeing his dad again. We think kids are durable, but they’re not.’
Steele nodded. ‘I know. Stephanie came home crying from nursery one day. She’d been asked by a well-meaning helper to tell the other kids what she remembered about Stevie. She remembers nothing, because he died before she was born. All I can do is show her photos, and I don’t even have many of them, because we weren’t together long.’ She paused, looking at the floor for a few seconds before re-engaging. ‘I’ve got a second motive for coming here today. Bob Skinner told me something that’s disturbing me.’
‘That I’m chucking the job?’ McClair ventured.
‘Yeah, that. I’m sorry if you feel he broke a confidence, but . . .’
‘I don’t. At the time I’d have shouted it to the street, if it had been awake.’
‘Did you mean it?’
‘I don’t know. I really don’t know,’ she admitted.
‘Well, while you’re deciding . . .’ Steele smiled. It occurred to McClair that she had never seen her do so. ‘I’m on sick leave; it will probably turn out to be permanent, but I can still do stuff, or tell Mario to do it. I’m going to transfer the station inspector from Haddington into Griff Montell’s old job in Torphichen Place, and I would like to move you there, on promotion of course. While you’re considering your future, it might help you to do so in less stressful surroundings than CID. It’s an office job, and it’s just over the hill.’
‘Maybe I’m over the hill too.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ she said. ‘This experience, and my thoughtlessness, hasn’t killed you, so it can only make you stronger. The job and its location, are ideal for a single mother.’
‘Can I ask you one thing, chief?’ McClair ventured. ‘Are you suggesting this to clear your conscience?’
Steele nodded. ‘In part, yes; I’ll admit there is that, but most of all, it makes eminent sense. You’re eligible for promotion, your appraisals are all first class, and you can be spared from CID.’
McClair’s face twisted into something that might have been a grin, but then again might have been an expression of anguish. ‘In that case, yes, thank you,’ she murmured. ‘I really thought I was back in the lifeboat with Griff, having been tipped over the side by Terry. Now I’m paddling as hard as I can to stay afloat. You’re right, chief. If I have a reason to get up in the morning in addition to my son, it can only do me good, so if you can make that opportunity happen, I’ll be very pleased and grateful. Now, my mother left me one of her speciality quiches. It’s not great, but would you like a chunk?’
‘I’d love it, on condition that you stop calling me “chief”. I’m trying to distance myself from that. Call me Margaret; everyone else, apart from my sister, calls me Maggie or Mags, when I really do prefer my name as it was given.’
Sixty
He gazed at the brown envelope that lay on his desk, labelled, as Ignacio had said, ‘Sir Robert Skinner. For immediate attention’. It was secured by a metal clasp, and whatever it contained was bulging its sides. He picked it up and shook it, for a second time, then felt it, gently. Laying it back down, he called the young intern from Girona whose services he shared with June Crampsey. ‘Can you get me John Deacon, please, Artic? He’s a partner in Deacon and Green, the law firm. You might remember, they annoyed me with a vexatious defamation claim last year, just after you joined us.’ He replaced the phone and he waited, gazing at the two messengers. ‘A mystery,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t like mysteries.’
‘I thought that solving mysteries was what you did,’ Pilar ventured.
He grinned. ‘That doesn’t mean to say I have to like them. Some of them turned out to be very messy. I’m glad they’re behind me . . . at least I thought they were.’
As he spoke the phone rang. He snatched it up. ‘Mr Deacon for you,’ Paco announced.
‘Thanks.’ He waited as the call was connected. ‘Mr Deacon, Bob Skinner here. I gather you’re the source of a package that was delivered to my home an hour ago.’
‘That’s correct,’ the lawyer confirmed.
‘And you can vouch for its contents?’
‘I can.’
‘It might have been helpful to call me before it was dispatched; that way it would have come to the right place, important if it’s as urgent as the label implies. What is it? Who’s trying to make a quick buck out of the Saltire this time?’
‘That has never been the motive of any of my clients, Sir Robert, and certainly not this one.’
‘Who is that?’ Skinner asked. ‘I need to know before I open the package. I don’t have a scanner in the office. Why have they sent whatever it is through you anyway?’
‘That was my client’s choice.’
‘What’s in the envelope?’
‘I don’t know. I’m simply obeying my client’s instructions.’
‘You don’t fucking know?’ he roared. Facing him, Pilar gasped, alarmed. Ignacio winced. ‘You’ve just told me you could vouch for it!’
‘Do I detect a touch of paranoia, Sir Robert?’ The solicitor’s voice carried more than a hint of a sneer.
‘You detect experience, Mr Deacon,’ he snarled, ‘the effect of a lifetime of dealing with people whose every move had malice aforethought . . . and quite a few of them were lawyers. Listen chum, you’d better pray that there’s nothing harmful in this package. If there is, and you had it delivered to my home . . . Do you have the faintest idea of how angry I will be, when I descend on your office?’
‘You’re not a police officer any longer,’ Deacon blustered.
‘That won’t fucking stop me, although I will have a couple of them with me just to keep you safe. Now, before I decide to bypass you altogether and go straight to the Law Society with a complaint about your irresponsibility, tell me, who is your client?’
‘Was, Sir Robert. Who was my client,’ the lawyer replied, his attitude adjusted. ‘He was Mr Terry Coats. I’m sure the name means something to you. On Monday morning of last week, he called at my office. He was unannounced, but I agreed to see him. He gave me that package and instructed me that in the event of his death, whatever the circumstances, I should have it delivered to you. I would have done it sooner, but my wife and I brought in the New Year in New York. We flew last Monday afternoon and this is my first day back in the office, which is why you haven’t received it before now. It was only when I got back to Edinburgh yesterday afternoon and caught up with the newspapers that I found out that he really had died. Look, if you had issues with Mr Coats, I’m sorry.’
‘I’ve had a couple in the past, but they’re history. Okay, Mr Deacon, I’m about to open the package. I’m intrigued now; if I need to speak to you again, I’ll call you back.’ He replaced the telephone in its cradle. ‘Kids,’ he said, ‘just step out into the corridor for a second, just to be safe. I don’t really think this is anything nasty. I felt like tearing that bastard a new one, that was all.’
‘Dad,’ Ignacio exclaimed. ‘Are you sure?’
He smiled. ‘Yes, I’m sure, on you go. From the feel o
f it I’m pretty sure I know what it is.’
The pair stepped outside. In spite of his certainty, he ignored the metal clasps that closed the envelope and slit it at the other end. He shook out the contents; two items fell on to the desk. A voice recorder, which he had anticipated, and a key, which he had not. ‘Well, well, well,’ he murmured. ‘Terry Coats speaks from beyond the grave. Okay,’ he called out. ‘You can come back in now.’
‘What do you think will be on it?’ Ignacio asked, as he saw the recorder.
‘I’ve no idea,’ his father replied, ‘but I don’t want you two here when I play it.’ He took his wallet from his jacket, extracted five twenty-pound notes and handed them across the desk. ‘There’s a table in the Bar Italia; that’ll cover anything you’ll fancy. Nacho, no drink, you’re driving. Pilar? You barely look old enough, so if you want a glass of anything alcoholic, you’d better have ID. Thanks, both of you.’
She gazed at him. ‘Can’t we listen to it?’ she entreated.
He laughed. ‘Rolling those eyes might work on my son . . . it worked with me for his mother, which is why he’s here . . . but I’m an old dog now; I know all the tricks. Go on, the pair of you, enjoy your lunch.’
The Roots of Evil (Bob Skinner) Page 24