Blood Lines (34 page)

‘My dear, I told you that your mother was a friend of mine, in fact it was she who introduced me to this tipple – we had many a fine night in Amsterdam. Of course, we were all a lot younger and more energetic in those days.’

I cleared my throat as a timely warning to Malcolm that I was present.

The owner came back with our drinks. Malcolm launched himself back into the chair and sighed whilst greedily sipping on his delicious-looking margarita. The diet Coke I had, whilst furnished with a slice of lime, didn’t exactly meet the mood of the fine old house.

‘Oh, my dear, those look simply delicious! What are they? Sadly, I have to be so careful of my digestion these days.’

The owner told McCoy that they were appetisers, choux buns made with olives. They were still warm, having just been taken from the oven. I bit into the light pastry and from the initial mouthful I prayed that they would disagree with McCoy’s delicate digestion. No such luck. The greedy old bugger had downed his share and mine before I had chewed my first bite.

‘Steady on, old chap, a girl’s got to watch her figure,’ Malcolm admonished kindly.

‘It’s all right for you – I don’t have a virile young lover to keep in shape for.’

‘Not even in prison?’ Malcolm asked, astonished.

I quickly turned my head and stared out of the sparkling windows, grateful that our diligent hostess soon arrived and showed us to our lunch table. The dining room had French windows that overlooked the pond and the swimming swans. Naturally, McCoy had taken the best seat, and consequently, if I wanted to see the swans, I had to crane my neck.

I had ordered the rough country pâté for a starter, whilst Malcolm and McCoy had asked for soup. When the dishes arrived, McCoy decided my starter looked more delicious and promptly took it. Yet again, I blurted out exactly what was on my mind.

‘I hear from Robert Girvan that you two got on famously; even now he doesn’t have a bad word to say about you.’

The thin blue lips stopped chewing. His rheumy eyes stared at me across the table. In an unguarded moment I saw a flash of pure dislike.

‘It was Robert Girvan I wanted to speak to you about.’

His voice was hushed and he leaned across the table in an intimate manner. I could see the broken veins in his nose, and the quarter-inch of grey roots showing through in his obviously darkened hair.

‘The favour I owe you? You want me to do something for Robert Girvan? I’m not sure he needs it – he’s on the up and I’m certainly not.’ Or I won’t be after this meal, I thought. McCoy had already ordered another bottle of French wine, which our hostess was decanting. We were alone in the dining room apart from her. McCoy gave me a look and I knew that he wanted me to be silent. All graciousness and smiles, he dismissed our hostess from the room. He checked over his shoulder once more before he spoke.

‘I don’t want you to do that little fucker any favours whatsoever. It’s completely his fault I’m in prison to begin with.’

This was news to me. ‘Robert spoke very highly of you, and, since your little foray into fraud resulted in him losing his practising certificate and being made bankrupt, I thought it was rather big of him.’

Malcolm’s kick to my leg came too late.

McCoy’s face turned puce as Malcolm rummaged in his pocket and produced a vial of tablets.

‘I knew, I just knew, that I’d be needing these. You silly old fool; you promised me that you wouldn’t get yourself excited going over these matters. Slip this under your tongue – it’s hawthorn and it’ll lower your blood pressure. I mean it, you’re not getting to talk again until you’ve followed my orders.’

McCoy meekly obeyed.

‘That’s better,’ approved Malcolm. ‘Now just wait a minute for it to take effect.’ His voice was low and caressing. I knew that tone well, healing and soothing; it wasn’t the one he used on me now.

‘You, missy, you know better. Or you should do.’

‘But I don’t know anything about this matter,’ I said, leaning over and whispering in Malcolm’s ear for fear of causing the stroke that seemed to be hanging over McCoy.

‘We have reason to suspect that Robert Girvan …’ began McCoy in a slow and measured voice, ‘reason to suspect … Oh, we bloody well know that Robert Girvan told Bridget Nicholson about my … dealings. Shall we say their plan was for me to end up in here and for Robert to become senior partner of the firm I spent the best part of forty years building up. They were too thick to work out the actual consequences of their actions. It wasn’t part of their plan that Robert would be made bankrupt, but he had no idea of the true scale of my …’ he coughed to clear his throat, before concluding, ‘transactions.’

‘Okay, I get what you’re saying about Robert, but what was in it for Bridget?’ I asked.

‘Their intention was to amalgamate the two firms: Bridget intended to be the managing partner of the new one.’

‘And Alex Cattanach was the spanner in the works, because she was so thorough that, once alerted, she found every scam you had run over the last forty years?’

‘Exactly.’

There was a strange kind of pride in his voice, almost as if he admired himself and Alex for their attention to detail. He bore her no ill will – that was obvious – so I could cross his name off the list of likely attackers, plus the fact that he was in prison at the time. Indeed, he didn’t even seem that hostile towards me.

‘I’ve already exacted my revenge on Bridget Nicholson,’ he told me calmly.

I thought about it for a moment. God, it was all so obvious now.

‘You were the one who brought the video back in to play?’ I said.

McCoy nodded smugly. His face may still have been puce but it was shining now with malevolent pride as he picked up the story.

‘Tanya Hayder. I met her when she first started on the streets – a bonny, intelligent girl, excellent for “entertaining” my business clients. Until, of course, she fell too far down the slippery pole. I looked out for her – handed her a bob or two now and again, that sort of thing. I always knew about the video, but it was none of my business until that bitch overstepped the mark and made it so.’

‘How did you get a copy?’ I asked him. ‘Even if Tanya had one to start with, I can’t imagine that her erratic lifestyle would have allowed her to keep it.’

‘Tanya found out that Bridget had kept a copy in her desk drawer. A punter who she serviced through that bloody awful website told her that he’d seen a porno movie of her younger sister and asked if he could get her next time.

‘She was furious. She blamed her ruin on Bridget Nicholson. I don’t honestly think even she believed that, but she did say that Bridget caused the death of the young lassie who was in the video with her. Apparently she was new to the game, and only fifteen.’

‘But a video like that,’ I queried, ‘surely Bridget had it under lock and key? In fact, I’m surprised she even kept it.’

‘I’ve found that people always carry the seeds of their own destruction with them,’ Malcolm pronounced.

‘That’s certainly too true in my case, old chap,’ agreed McCoy. ‘In March, I got two lads from the prison to break in and steal it.’

‘I never heard that her office had been broken into,’ I said, puzzled. News of a theft from a solicitor’s office would have spread like wildfire round the agents’ room at the Sheriff Court.

‘I gave strict instructions that nothing was to be taken or disturbed other than the video. I made two copies – I gave one to Tanya and told her to keep it safe. The other I sent to Alex Cattanach, and I have the original.’

‘A sound plan,’ I agreed. ‘But something went wrong. If the video was taken in March then her career should have been over. Instead, she’s been offered a seat in the College of Justice.’

‘I know. Alex Cattanach was supposed to use the video to expose her. You can’t have a judge sitting on the bench with explosive material like this lying around.’ I wondered about McCoy’s naïveté – there had certainly been enough going around about my father over the years, but it hadn’t stopped people turning a blind eye and deaf ear to it. Or prevented him from getting to the top of the judicial tree.

‘At the very least I thought Alex would have a quiet word and Bridget would withdraw,’ said McCoy. ‘Alex did blackmail someone, which is why I think she was attacked – but I have no idea who it is and I want you to find out.’

‘Is that all?’ I didn’t try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

‘No – Robert Girvan is involved with someone else in something very shady. I’ve been hearing rumours – I don’t like him in the slightest but even I’m surprised how far he has sunk. Have you heard of a company called Tymar Productions?’ I leaned across and kissed him.

‘Maybe we can work together after all. What do you know about Tymar?’

‘Your boss, Roddie Buchanan, set it up. He’s placed your name on all the company registration documents and bank accounts. Tymar Productions is the reason Alex Cattanach was after you. Roddie has set you up nicely to be the fall guy whilst he, Robert Girvan and whoever else is involved in this reap the benefits. I’ve spoken to your secretary, Lavender, a lovely girl, and I’ve given her instructions on how to entice Roddie back to your office for a meeting. In fact, he should be leaving Geneva in a couple of hours.’

McCoy and Malcolm barely had time for a bite out of their handmade petit fours and a swig of coffee before I had bundled them back into the car and we were headed home.

I’d got more than I had dared to hope for. Suddenly, the bill didn’t seem too extravagant after all.

Chapter Forty-Three

‘Did you get it?’ I asked Joe when I met him in the lobby of Lothian and St Clair first thing the next day.

‘Of course I got it. Anybody can get into your house without a key. We’ve warned you about that before.’

I opened the door to Lavender’s office. I had stayed at hers the night before after I had brought Malcolm back from Castle Huntly. We’d had a lot of plotting to do, and I also managed to sleep a lot better at her flat than at my own place.

‘Where is he?’

‘He’s in the loo,’ Lav answered. ‘He can’t contain his excitement.’ She was sitting at her desk pretending to type. I wasn’t sure about Roddie but I knew for certain Lavender was having difficulty controlling herself. She was wired – a nervous smile kept flicking across her face.

‘You’re supposed to be sad,’ I hissed.

‘Oh, don’t be an idiot. Roddie can’t imagine anyone being sad at your downfall. In any event, you know Roddie; he’s so up his own arse that he doesn’t know what time of day it is unless it concerns him.’

Glasgow Joe was keeping shootie at the door. I think we would have been better with a smaller lookout. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the air. Everything was ready for Roddie’s showdown with me when I supposedly returned to the office from a consultation with an advocate in Parliament House.

On McCoy’s instructions, Lavender had contacted Roddie to come back to Scotland because I was about to be charged with the murders of Tanya Hayder and Donna Diamond. Lavender had stated the firm was about to go tits over arse when the press heard about it, and she was sure that the only person who could lead us out of this was him.

This appealed to his vanity, and the anticipated pleasure of seeing me carried off in handcuffs was one that he could not resist. He’d caught the first available flight out of Geneva; he even soiled himself by travelling economy, so eager was he to see my downfall.

Jack Deans was coming to the office in five minutes as an appointment had been arranged with Roddie. Jack was acting as if he had a scoop, a breaking news story about my arrest. He wanted Roddie’s comments on what it was like to be the business partner of a serial killer. Roddie was only too delighted to oblige. I could only assume that someone had told him that Jack and I had a broken relationship and that Jack too was out to get me – the past that Roddie and the journalist shared didn’t exactly make for a blooming friendship, but, as far as I knew, men could always bond over a wrong woman and what she had done to them.

The corridors of Lothian and St Clair bustled, with everyone unaware of what was being planned. Anna, the junior, immaculately and expensively coiffed as usual, flirted with Martin, the young trainee, at the water cooler. She had switched her attentions from my junior partner, Willie, when his wife found out. Lothian and St Clair was a den of iniquity in more ways than one.

Lavender’s phone rang.

‘That’s Andy the doorman. I ordered a basket of muffins for Roddie’s meeting with Jack. Can you sneak down and get them, Brodie?’

I was only too pleased to get moving; the adrenalin was pumping round my body and, because I wasn’t fleeing or fighting, I felt jittery. I took the stairs and ran down them, taking some two at a time and jumping from the third step down onto the landings. It was childish but I felt gleeful about my encounter with Roddie. Of course, he had no intentions of telling me about Tymar Productions but I was certain I could find a way round the road block he presented. After all, I had Joe.

Roddie was completely unaware that we knew about Tymar. Lavender and her hacker friends had worked out one password, and she wanted to confront him with it; but my way was much sweeter. Bridget Nicholson had no idea that we knew she was linked to Tymar; she was only concerned with appearances – how it would look when the video was leaked over the Internet. She might even have thought that it would increase her business – I wouldn’t have been surprised if it did.

‘Have one,’ I said, offering the basket of muffins to Andy the doorman. He was practically drooling at the mouth and I didn’t blame him, even if I had other things to occupy me. If there had been no evidence and Bridget hadn’t been daft enough to record that video, then she would be sitting pretty right now, telling me to sod off.

Lucky me.

I took a muffin and started up the stairs. It looked nicer than it tasted. I took my time and, as I chewed, considered my meeting with Bridget. She had stated that she hadn’t wanted to appear in the video either and, despite me wanting to deny it, there was something in the timbre of her voice that made me believe her. But if her appearance was against her wishes then who had forced her into it? There appeared to be only one answer: the camerawoman, the one who was smart enough not to leave clues and still have an identity that evaded me.