Текст книги "Trail of Greed"

Автор книги: John Dysart

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter 21

The weekend permitted me to relax and reduce the level of adrenalin that I had been running on for the last four weeks. At my age I needed it. Thirty years ago it wouldn’t have been much of a problem but nowadays I was glad that I could enjoy a bit of peace and quiet.

Pierre and I had agreed that, even although I was back in circulation again, it was highly unlikely that there would be any more danger.

I had done what I thought was right. Purdy was gone. Dewar would assume I was gone too and, when he did find out that I had survived, he no longer had a reason to get rid of me because AIM was definitively in other hands now and he would just have to get used to the idea that he had lost a neat source of revenue.

We did agree, however, just to be on the safe side, that now that I was back, Mike and Doug would keep an eye on Dewar for a week or so. Mike was happy to do so as he would then be in Edinburgh while Sophie was there.

Sophie would do a good job for Ian and I would help him in any way I could if he needed it. Pierre and I could now perhaps plan that trip round Scotland that we had talked about.

On Tuesday afternoon I got a call from Ian to tell me that Sophie had arrived the day before and that he was most impressed with her. He had introduced her to all the staff and she was now hard at work.

“There is one other thing, Bob, which might interest you.”

“What’s that?” “Well you told me to keep my eye on Firkin, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and . . .?” “It so happens that I can’t anymore. He’s resigned.” “What do you mean – resigned?” “He came in to see me this morning and explained how he had worked very closely with Purdy and, now that he had left the company, he didn’t want to stay on. He regretted it but was leaving with immediate effect – he and a guy called MacLean who works with him. They both cleared off at lunchtime, which, according to their contract, they could. I just thought I’d let you know.”

“What does this guy MacLean look like? Big, muscles, crew-cut?”

“Yes. Do you know him?” “I think so – and thanks for the information.” I wished him luck and hung up. Firkin and No Name (MacLean) had immediately resigned the day after Sophie arrived to audit their IT systems? In the back of my mind I had suspected that they were the two who had grabbed me out of my garden and, if I was right, I didn’t much like the idea of them being on the loose again.

I felt I was back in a mist again, not knowing in which direction to go. The last time I had, thank God, picked the right direction. Maggie had told me afterwards that any other direction would have left me walking twice as far before I came to any civilization. This mist was pretty thick so I sat down to think it out with a good stiff whisky.

I still thought Purdy incapable of the mountain operation and I was sure it was Dewar who was behind it. If that was the case, and if Firkin and MacLean had done the kidnapping and dumping, it must have been on Dewar’s orders. Therefore they were working for him. Perhaps he had planted them in AIM to keep an eye on Purdy. That seemed to make sense.

Conclusion: warn Mike and Doug to watch out for any meeting between these two and Dewar. I phoned Mike straight away and gave him a brief description of the two. He was to let me know if he saw any meeting taking place and, if there was one, to try and get a sense of the relationship between the three.

Over the last three years I had gradually got used to being on my own. I had slid gently into a rhythm of life which I thought suited me. The last five weeks had completely upset that, but I realised that I had enjoyed it. Apart from the obvious danger I had gone through, there had been a purpose – a certain excitement. Sitting there, thinking back to my life before Pierre had knocked on my door, I realised that things had been a bit empty. Even the house felt, all of a sudden, empty. My thoughts drifted to the quieter, calmer part of the last few weeks – Maggie.

When I had gone back to return the trainers she had definitely been glad to see me – and had said so. We had spent two totally comfortable days together, happy in each other’s company. We had walked in the hills. We had explored each other’s histories, likes, dislikes and experiences. It had been a haven of peace without any hint of pressure or tension. On parting I think we both knew that we would see each other again.

There was a long way to go before anything more permanent might happen but already I was wondering how it would be like being a couple again. Maybe my house did need a woman in it. Liz had never lived here so there would be no ghosts.

Suddenly I wanted to make a move.

Sophie was doing her audit. Pierre had gone back to France for a couple of days. Mike was watching Dewar. There was nothing to keep me here.

I decided that I was going to do something about it. I heaved myself up from my chair, washed up my glass in the kitchen and went straight upstairs to pack a bag. Why sit being morose when I don’t have to be? I said to myself. With the house safely locked up, I knocked on Mrs. Clarke’s door to tell her I was going away for a few days, threw my bag into the back of the car and hit the road north.

When I arrived Maggie was as welcoming as I had hoped she would be.

Unlike the last time, there were a few guests in the hotel but that didn’t matter. They were mostly hikers or elderly couples, all of whom tended to go early to bed so we had our evenings together. I did a lot of walking which did my back no end of good. The hotel had a good stock of books and I was able to do a bit of motoring around in the glens and the mountains, appreciating the breath-taking scenery and the wildness and beauty of it all.

Saturday came round all too quickly. I had promised to check in with Mike to see how Sophie’s week had gone and to hear about his tracking of Dewar.

“Sophie’s week went fine. Ian McLeish was very pleased and he told her he would give you a call next week to let you know the reaction of the Board.”

“And Dewar?” I asked. “Disappeared,” said Mike. “Haven’t seen him since Thursday, so I reckon he’s gone off to Spain. I suppose he’ll be back but it looks like you don’t have anything to worry about anymore. And I haven’t seen the two guys you told me about.”

“Great. I’ll be back down tomorrow and, if you want, Sophie can take us out for a good meal on the fees she got from AIM. I think Pierre is due back tomorrow as well.”

Mike agreed and we hung up. Saturday evening there were no guests. Maggie and I had the place to ourselves. She rustled up a magnificent meal and we shared an excellent Burgundy. The night was one of gentle love-making – completely satisfying for both of us – and we drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms. How great it was to be able to give pleasure to someone again, I thought as my eyelids closed, Maggie’s gentle breathing ruffling the hairs on my chest as she snuggled up against me.

We were up fairly early and, after a good Sunday breakfast I volunteered to walk down to the village shop to get the Sunday paper. It was a fresh day and the cloudless sky promised a sunny morning. The sun was still low in the sky, creating strong light and shadow on the hillsides.

I picked up the newspaper, put it under my arm and strolled back up the village street to the hotel where I knew a cup of coffee would be waiting.

We sat down in the lounge and, as usual, I started with the sports section, handing the rest of the paper to Maggie. I had got as far as the first few football reports when Maggie looked up.

“Bob, have you seen this?”

“What?” “They’ve found a walker’s body up in the Cairngorms.” “Thank goodness that wasn’t me,” I said. “It could have been, if you remember.”

She handed it over to me to read. The headline read ‘Man’s body found in Cairngorms’. Underneath the headlines was a head and shoulders photograph of a man in his early fifties looking seriously at the camera. I started to read the article and stopped suddenly after five lines, stunned.

“Bloody hell,” I cried. “What’s up? Do you know the man?” asked Maggie. “Not personally. I’ve never seen him before but I know who he is.”

The article read:

The body of a man was discovered yesterday by two climbers in the Cairngorms. He has been identified as Mr Bill Dewar, SNP member of the Scottish Parliament for the constituency of Leith. The climbers discovered his body around ten o’clock in the morning as they were setting off to climb the 2,800 feet Ben Corachan. They immediately alerted the mountain rescue team which confirmed that when they found the body Mr Dewar had been dead for at least twelve hours. Initial conclusions have led them to believe that he died of exposure.

It seems to have been another tragic accident due to  walkers not taking the elementary precautions required when trekking in the Highlands.

Weather conditions had apparently deteriorated dramat ically on Saturday night with temperatures falling below the seasonal norm and mist and cloud cover had been very low.

Mr Dewar was fifty-four years old and lived in  Linlithgow. Son of a miner, Bill Dewar worked his way up the Labour Party for several years until, in 1992, he switched his allegiance to the SNP. He was known as a busy, if somewhat abrasive personality. He served on various parliamentary committees and was Chairman of the Committee for Urban Planning.

He leaves a widow and one daughter.

There was more detail of his political career but no surmising on anything other than that it had been an accident. His car had been found ten miles down the glen.

My initial reaction was one of relief. If this was the man that Purdy had been so terrified of and who had tried to get rid of me, then here was poetic justice. And also the removal of any threat to me.

I looked across at Maggie and said, “I think that this is the man that arranged for me to be dumped up in the mountains.”

“How come?” she asked. I hadn’t yet told her all the details of our adventures. I had promised I would someday, when the whole thing was finished. So I gave her a rough outline about our AIM investigation and what we had found out about Bill Dewar and why I suspected he was the one who had tried to dispose of me for having scuppered his hen with the golden egg.

“Well if it was him he’s got his just desserts,” said Maggie, “And he can’t do any more damage. Stupid idiot. He knew the dangers of the mountains. Serves him right.”

I had other thoughts. I excused myself and got up. “I’m just going for a ten-minute walk. Got some thinking to do,” I said and went out of the hotel and up the path that Maggie and I had taken the morning after my rescue.

She had hit the nail on the head. Dewar knew the dangers. Why would he be so daft as to go rambling in the mountains himself? It didn’t make sense. What if it wasn’t an accident? What if someone had got rid of Dewar using the same method that they had employed to try to get rid of me? And what if the perpetrators had also been Firkin and MacLean?

This turned my previous theory on its head. If that was the case, then Firkin and MacLean had been inserted into AIM by someone else and for another reason. But what the hell could the other reason be? Who could have wanted Dewar removed and why?

I was due to go back down to Fife today so I would leave the issue until I could discuss it with the others.

Each goodbye was becoming a little more difficult for me. I happened to say this as I was about to drive off. She only nodded and said “I know” with a sad smile. But we had agreed that she would take a break soon and come down to Letham for a few days. I promised I would call her the next day and we would try to fix a date.

I was back home by five. I showered and checked with the hotel that Pierre was back. Mike and Sophie were staying there as well so we all arranged to meet up at seven.

When I went into the bar the other three had already arrived. Pierre, as usual, was looking neat and elegant. The new Mike (same guy but looking a lot more at ease with himself) perched on a bar stool with a protective arm round Sophie’s shoulders. And Sophie looking stunning in a short red shirt dress, which hugged her figure and showed off her tanned legs to perfection.

After welcomes and a quick drink we all settled down at a corner table, looking forward to partaking of whatever delights the chef could conjure up for us.

“Nice time in France then?” asked Mike. Pierre smiled and nodded, without offering any more explanation.

“And you? Bob – where have you been?” “Trying out the new motor for a few days,” I replied. None of them knew about Maggie and I wanted it kept that way – for the moment at least.

“And you, Sophie? I hope you didn’t have to work too hard for that nice fee that you’re going to use for tonight’s supper.”

“It was fine. Basically I just redid officially what we had already done before and tarted it up for presentation to the Board. Ian seemed very pleased and said he would be calling you sometime next week to let you know what they decide to do. And Mike and I did some sightseeing – just like tourists.”

We did ourselves proud as far as the meal was concerned. It was the first time for a while that we had all sat down together and it really felt like family. Mike and I looked at each other and I felt that he thought the same way. In fact his response to my glance was “Pity Heather and Oliver aren’t here.”

We all agreed and promised to include them the next time.

An excellent lobster bisque, a piece of Aberdeen Angus fillet, done to perfection, followed by a selection of prime cheeses – suitably accompanied by a couple of French wines chosen by Pierre and I was ready to break the news about Dewar. We ordered coffee and malts all round and I sat back and looked at this new family of mine.

“I have some news for you. If you are all at ease, I would like an opinion from each of you.”

I had caught their attention. “Pierre, you have just come back from whatever you were up to in France. Mike and Sophie have probably been staring into each other’s eyes all day. But I have read today’s paper. I’d like to read you an article.”

I pulled out the cutting I had taken that morning and read it out to them. When I had finished it I passed it round. Everyone reread it.

“Before you say anything, I have had time to think about it and I’d like to voice my thoughts. Very simply, here’s how I see it. We investigated AIM and discovered the fraud that Purdy was practising on its investors. During the process I was “warned off” by a certain Mr Firkin and his side-kick who, I have discovered, is a Mr MacLean.

“Purdy confessed, righted the wrong he had done and has cleared off. Someone then tried to get rid of me in the mountains – aided or abetted by the two men who grabbed me from my garden. Purdy also told us that someone had instructed him to bomb my car but was too scared to say whom. Then we found Dewar with more money than he should have. We thought that Dewar was blackmailing Purdy and that AIM was the source of his extra money.

“We presumed that when Dewar found out that I was responsible for cutting off his source of cash he got me dumped in the mountains for revenge.

“So far that all seemed to hang together. Although I didn’t tell you this, I thought that probably Firkin and his colleague (I didn’t know his name at the time) were the two who kidnapped me and that they were Dewar’s inside men at AIM. Then Ian MacLeish called me last week to tell me that these two had suddenly resigned from AIM the day after Sophie started working there.”

I paused for a sip of my whisky and went on. “Now we find that Dewar is dead – supposedly an accident – from exposure in the mountains – exactly the same method that was used to, hopefully, dispose of me. For me this doesn’t make sense. If Dewar chose that method to get rid of me then he must be stupid to go off and die that way himself. In other words I don’t think it was an accident. I think Firkin and MacLean got rid of Dewar.”

“Shit!” – that was Mike. A thoughtful look – that was Pierre. “Merde!” – that was Sophie. “So my question is: If I’m right, why did someone need to get rid of Dewar? And who? Was it Firkin and MacLean themselves or were they acting for someone else?”

The first reaction was from Sophie. “One thing is for sure. We need to find out because we need to know if Bob – or any of the rest of us – is still in danger.”

Mike, instinctive as always, jumped in. “We need to track down this Firkin and MacLean and find out if they are linked to someone or if they are acting on their own. I can do that with Mac and Doug.”

“To be honest, I think they are acting on orders. I’ve met them. Remember they were the two that took me off to a meeting after the conference. They didn’t seem to me to be the type of guys who were controlling anything. They felt like subordinates.”

Pierre, meanwhile, had said nothing. He was not one to blurt out his first thoughts. He was looking pensive, listening to what we had to say – clearly weighing up his own view.

I looked across at him and raised my eyebrows in a question. He shook his head slowly, a faint smile on his lips.

“Possible,” he admitted. “Let’s suppose that there is someone else further in the background. Then there must be other machinations going on behind which are important enough to warrant the removal of Dewar as soon as the cards started tumbling down after the disappearance of Purdy. N’est-ce pas?”

I didn’t comment. It looked like the whole story wasn’t over yet. Something was floating around in the back of my brain. It was some kind of half-formed thought – as if I had missed something. It was as if there was one piece of the puzzle that I needed in order to connect everything up. I felt that I knew or had seen something which was significant but I didn’t know what it was, or why.

I decided to stay the night at the hotel. The wine with the meal and the several whiskies consumed with the coffee made it sensible not to risk driving.

I left them to it, explaining that I was tired after the long drive and the excellent meal.

“See you all in the morning,” I said and took myself off up to bed.

I couldn’t get to sleep at first. Thoughts of Firkin and MacLean, of mist in the mountains, of Maggie were all jumbled up in my head.

Chapter 22

I awoke refreshed after a decent night’s sleep in the luxury of one of the hotel’s bedrooms. Showered and shaved I went down to breakfast to find Mike and Sophie in deep discussion over eggs and bacon and toast. Pierre had apparently not yet made an appearance.

Mike informed me that he had been in touch with Doug and they were both going to spend a few days in Edinburgh to try and keep an eye on our two targets. Sophie was clearly not too happy about this, sensing perhaps some danger for Mike but he reassured her that there was no problem. He and Doug could look after themselves if there was any trouble.

He asked me if I could find out an address for either of them.

“Sure,” I said “I’ll call Ian MacLeish. They must have some information in the personnel department.”

I called him straight after breakfast and gave Mike the two addresses he had supplied. Mike had arranged for Sophie to go and stay with Heather for a couple of days where she could help with exercising the horses and he set off for the capital as soon as he could.

Pierre came down for a late breakfast after they had gone and I shared a cup of coffee with him. I brought him up to date on what Mike and Sophie were doing.

“Well, there’s not much we can do for the moment,” said Pierre. “What do you fancy doing over the next few days? Let’s do a bit of touring. I need a guide. We’ll take our clubs and go off up north. I fancy visiting a few distilleries and I’ll foot the bill. After what you’ve been through you need a break. How about it?”

It didn’t take me long to decide. We set off that morning on the strict understanding that no discussion was allowed on the subject of Purdy, Dewar and the rest.

We drifted gently though the hills of north Fife and crossed over the Tay by the road bridge leading into Dundee. I was able to point out to Pierre the other famous Scottish railway bridge – this time a replacement of the original one which had suffered a catastrophic accident on a cold December night in 1879. During high winds, gusting up to eighty miles an hour, the bridge had collapsed while a train carrying an estimated seventy-five people was crossing. The train and a large section of the bridge disappeared into the night waters of the Tay. There were no survivors.

Travelling with Pierre was a “no expenses spared” experience. We planned to play Carnoustie the next day so we checked in for the night at the Carnoustie Golf Hotel, on the edge of the golf course and a couple of hundred yards from the beach. A bracing walk on the fine white sands preceded a relaxed meal and an early night in anticipation of doing battle with the famous links course.

We had no trouble getting a tee off time the next morning.

We went to pay our green fee and when the professional discovered that Pierre was French he looked up and winked at me.

“Wait a minute,” he said and disappeared into the back office to emerge a minute later with a pair of green wellington boots which, with a deadpan face, he handed to Pierre. “You’ll probably be needin’ these then,” he said.

Pierre, recalling the story of his famous countryman who had lost the British Open on the last hole by trying to play out of the Barry Burn in his barefeet, took the joke well.

“No thanks,” he said. “I’ll make sure I lay up short.” Carnoustie is a tough challenge to anyone’s golf but we got round it without disgracing ourselves and headed off the next day to Speyside. The weather was perfect. A sunny day, the occasional scudding clouds breaking the monotony of the blue heavens and painting the hills and mountains with shadows which moved across their slopes and crags so that every second the image was different. A photographer’s paradise.

Glenshee, Braemar (a stop for lunch), past Balmoral and on through Tomintoul to Granton on Spey. I was much more familiar with the west coast which, as a boy, we had explored extensively, so this was new country to me and I enjoyed the discoveries as much as Pierre.

The required visits to a few of the well-known distilleries the next day resulted in us accumulating several cases of prime malt which would only just fit into the boot of the car – the back seat having to be occupied with the golf clubs. We had the rest of the cases shipped down to Fife.

I had promised Pierre two more rounds of golf so we did Nairn and Royal Dornoch to round off a week of marvellous escapism.

On the drive back down the A9 my thoughts started to turn to the Lowlands and, having put everything out of my mind for five days, I became impatient to get back in touch with Mike to find out how his week had been.

I had left him my key so when we got back to Letham mid-afternoon he and Sophie were comfortably ensconced in my living room.

We unloaded the car and Pierre handed over the case of whisky that he had bought for Mike and the (rather expensive) Celtic brooch he had bought for Sophie.

Pierre enthusiastically described our trip while I sat comfortably, thinking again how much our lives had changed since he had arrived. I glanced over at Dad’s photo and winked at him. He was still smiling back at us, as if watching and approving.

Sophie cooked us a superb supper. They had been down to the coast the day before and she had gone crazy in the fish shop in Anstruther. A seafood salad was followed by sole in a sauce that she had dreamed up from whatever she could find in my kitchen. She hadn’t found all she needed so had gaily gone round to Mrs Clark to borrow some herbs. My larder was raided for a dry white wine and we settled down to as good a meal as Pierre and I had had all week.

Meanwhile, while she was putting all this together, I broached the subject of Mike’s week in Edinburgh.

“Not a lot to report I’m afraid. I followed Firkin and Doug took on MacLean. They just seemed to be going about normal business. A bit of shopping, quite a lot of time spent in their respective homes. They only got together twice as far as we could make out. Once was just a meeting in a pub in the High Street. The second time they met a guy who I think I’ve seen somewhere before but I can’t remember where. I must admit I didn’t like the look of him. They met him for lunch in an Italian restaurant down in Leith. As you said you wanted some idea of any relationships they might have Doug and I went in and sat well away from them, but where we could see their table.”

“What did this man look like?” I asked. “A professional type, I would say. He was a bit overweight, dressed in a suit and tie and looked about fifty, going bald and he seemed to be the one who was in control of the situation. Firkin did most of the talking. MacLean hardly said anything and the other guy listened and asked the odd question. You got the feeling that it was a serious business meeting.”

“Did he look as if he was their boss?” “Yes,” answered Mike. “He was certainly the dominant personality in the discussion.”

I glanced at Pierre, “Any thoughts?” Mike went on. “I managed to get a photo of him.” He passed over to me a slightly blurred shot that he had obviously taken in the restaurant. I recognized Firkin and MacLean and confirmed this to the other two. I was the only one of us who had met them. “That’s them,” I said and passed the photo to Pierre.

He looked at it for a minute. “We’ve seen that other man before. Isn’t he the lawyer who was at the conference and who used to have lunch with Purdy?”

“Yes, that’s him. A man called Gavin Reid. We presumed he was Purdy’s lawyer.”

“And do you think he could be the Mr Big behind all this?” asked Mike. “I must say I didn’t like the look of him. I followed him for a bit after he left and there was something I didn’t like about the way he thrust himself past people as if they weren’t there. As if he was above everybody. He had a kind of a supercilious look as he wandered along and he’s got a weak, cruel face. I even saw him kick a cat out of the way as he was walking and he looked as if he enjoyed doing it. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes. I’ve met him – briefly – once before. And then I also saw him at the conference.”

“If he is the man who got Firkin and MacLean to get rid of Dewar and tried to get rid of you we’d better do something about it. All three of them are wandering around on the loose. They could do anything.”

Sophie announced supper and we left the discussion to enjoy the food.

I said little during the meal and let Mike hold centre stage, regaling Sophie and Pierre with tales of Scottish history and anecdotes of his soldiering days around the world.

I enjoyed the food and the wine and thought about Gavin Reid.

During our coffee the conversation came back to Firkin, MacLean and Reid.

“I’ve been wondering about this lawyer, Reid.” said Pierre. “He and Dewar must have known about each other. Lawyers are one of the main sources that asset management companies use for finding investors aren’t they? If he and Purdy were working together – and Reid was getting his share – he had every reason to be mad at you for bringing down the house of cards. That would give him a motive for getting rid of you.

“And if Dewar was blackmailing Purdy he would know about that as well. It strikes me that Reid had every interest in Dewar disappearing as well to make sure his connection to Purdy never got out.”

I was only half listening. Suddenly, while Pierre had been expounding his theory, a piece of lateral thinking had hit me.

Ideas sometimes come into one’s brain sideways. I’ve often been aware of my capacity for lateral thinking and, if anything, I’ve tried to develop it. I’ve always let my brain drift and not keep to the straightforward route that logic tries to dictate. I had read Peter Drucker’s book on the subject when I was younger and had always appreciated the value of letting one’s mind roam.

Strange thing the brain. It must have been working away, without my knowledge and then brought up to the surface a message “Hey, Bob, what if . . .?”

It had to do with the similarity of my adventure in the mountains and Dewar’s death. Something in that newspaper article that, at the time, hadn’t seemed of much significance but . . .

Had I just found that elusive information that had bothered me a few nights before?

I had made a rather weird connection that, at first sight, seemed ridiculous but, the more I thought about it, and the more I thought about the characters involved, the more I started to wonder if, perhaps, I had an explanation for the whole scenario. If I was right, then things were a lot more serious than any of us had thought. And I didn’t like the idea of that at all.

I didn’t voice my thoughts to the others. I would sleep on it, review the issue again the next morning and then decide what to do.

Pierre was watching me. “You look very thoughtful, Bob,” he said. “Care to share with us?”

I declined. “Just thinking,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

He seemed a bit put out but shrugged his shoulders and said, “OK, but if you do want to knock some ideas about, let me know.”

At this stage I had no intention of voicing my theories to the three of them. If I was right we had already had two murder attempts – one of which had fortunately been unsuccessful. I didn’t want any of the others exposed to a similar threat.

As I only had one spare room Pierre went back to the hotel for the night. I retired early and left a very domesticated Mike helping Sophie to do the clearing up. They seemed to have hit it off in a big way and I was happy for them both.

I retired to bed but couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed and chatted in my mind to Liz and Maggie in about equal proportions. I thought again about Dad and Pierre. I then reviewed my theory concerning Gavin Reid and his two cowboys. It still seemed to make sense.