The Legacy (16 page)

Chapter 34

Sir James Briggs went down the steps and into the bar. It was doing a brisk trade. People were queuing to get served and most of the tables were full. He looked around him. He hadn't been here before but it looked familiar. He never really understood why pub chains decorated all their premises the same. He supposed it made economic sense but it meant that once you'd seen one of their pubs, you'd seen them all. He saw Highworth at the far end of the room. He was sitting in an alcove, reading a paper and sipping a glass of red wine. He looked out of place. They'd agreed to meet where nobody would recognise them but, ever the policeman, Briggs couldn't help but notice that they were ten or fifteen years older than the majority of the clientele and that, dressed in a suit, Highworth definitely stood out. Judging by the accents he could hear around him, Briggs reckoned that the pub was almost entirely full of Australians and New Zealanders. And, judging by the size of them, most of them, including the women, played rugby.

He eventually fought his way to the bar and ordered a pint of lager. Two minutes later, he made his way over to Highworth.

‘Charles,' he said, sliding into the seat opposite Highworth. ‘Thank you for meeting me. I have something that may be of interest to you.'

Highworth looked at Briggs. He knew him by reputation and had met him a couple of times at city functions but they weren't friends. He also didn't trust him. He was known as ‘Straight Jim' and Highworth wouldn't be surprised if he was wearing a wire to record the conversation.

‘What do you want?' asked Highworth, getting straight to the point.

‘A friend of mine has given me a file which links you pretty firmly to a fair number of very serious crimes. I believe there is enough there to put you away for a very long time. But I'm a reasonable man, close to retirement, and I think we might be able to do a deal.'

‘What sort of deal?' asked Highworth, eying Briggs closely.

Briggs handed a thin file across the table. ‘Have a look at that first,' he said. ‘It'll give you an idea of the sort of thing I'm talking about.'

Highworth opened the file and took out three or four sheets of closely typed paper. He started to read. ‘Where did you get these?' he asked when he'd finished. He tried not to show it but he was unnerved. The notes gave a very succinct summary of his involvement in Demon Toys. More worryingly, it also summarised ‘accidents' that had happened to some of the Tokifora staff and linked these to some of Highworth's investment activities. There was nothing concrete. Taken in isolation, both of the short case summarises, if that's what they were, could be dismissed as suspicious but not damning. But taken together, they were highly suspicious and amounted to pretty convincing circumstantial evidence.

‘There are lots more of those,' said Briggs, confirming Highworth's worst fears. ‘About thirty in fact spanning nearly twenty years. They tell a compelling story.'

‘What exactly do you want?' asked Highworth.

‘Ten million pounds,' answered Briggs. ‘I suspect I could ask for a lot more but I'm neither greedy nor stupid. Ten million is enough for me to ‘lose' the files and kill off any further investigation.'

‘Why are you doing this?' asked Highworth, still suspicious.

‘I'll give you the short version,' replied Briggs. ‘I'm due to retire next year. I've been passed over for the Met and my pension, though generous by government standards, is paltry compared to what you city boys get. Put simply, I want to enjoy my retirement and I can't do that on what Her Majesty is going to pay me. This is a one-off opportunity. It's now or never.'

‘Well that's honest at least,' said Highworth. ‘I need to think about it.'

‘I'll give you forty-eight hours and then I set the wheels in motion. You'll end up in gaol for a very long time if this comes to light. And just in case you get any funny ideas about lining me up with an unfortunate accident, I've left instructions in my office to release the papers in my safe should anything unexpected happen to me.'

‘What if you have a heart attack?' asked Highworth, almost humorously.

‘You'd better pray that I don't,' replied Briggs, sinking the remainder of his pint and standing up.

‘Damn,' said Highworth, watching Briggs walk away ‘Damn, damn, damn.' He realised that he was being out manoeuvred and he didn't like it. He also recognised that he couldn't kill his way out of this. He suspected that Knowles was behind it but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he had no real choice. He finished his wine and went outside. His car pulled up next to him. ‘Home,' he said to his driver. Simon put the Bentley in gear and pulled away from the kerb. Within a few minutes the big car was accelerating through the early evening traffic. Highworth sat in the back in silence. He had a headache and his clarity of thought had, at least for the moment, deserted him. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep but his mind was racing. Somehow he needed to find a way out of this. He started to examine all the options.

‘There's a way out of this,' he said to himself, ‘I just need to find it.'

Chapter 35

Harry was on the roof terrace when he heard the phone ring. He ran downstairs to his study and answered it just as the answerphone was starting to kick in. It was Ellie. He'd spent a lot of time with her when he and Camilla had been together so he knew her well. He was shocked at her description of what had happened to Camilla and he agreed that this was no coincidence.

‘I'll get the next flight out,' he said to Ellie. ‘She phoned me a few days ago. She was obviously scared and I suggested she go and stay with you. To be honest, I thought she was in shock. I thought a few days on Dartmoor with you would calm her down but it looks like she was right to be concerned.'

‘I went to see her this evening,' said Ellie. ‘She's still unconscious and badly bruised. Her leg's broken but it's not too bad. A clean fracture which the doc says should mend OK. I know she'll be happier once you're here as the police aren't taking this seriously at all. They think she just slipped and fell. If it hadn't been for the climbers, she'd be dead. What worries me now is that if someone did try and kill her, once they know she's alive they might try again. I've left Sarah with her but if someone is determined to get her, I'm not sure what Sarah and I will be able to do about it.'

‘Just make sure that she's not alone. Talk to the police again and if they haven't done so already, insist that they speak to the London police. They'll see the connection eventually,' said Harry, though he was far from confident that the two different police forces would put two and two together. Harry had worked with the police when he was in the Army and he remembered only too well how difficult it could be to get different police authorities to work together. It didn't seem to be a problem for the most high profile crimes as Scotland Yard would invariably take the lead, but Harry suspected that Camilla's accident was a long way from being high profile.

Once he'd spoken to Ellie, Harry spoke to the airline and managed to get a flight to Heathrow that evening. He then booked a taxi to take him to the airport and spent the hour before it arrived packing his bags. There was just enough time to send an e-mail to Lucy before the taxi arrived. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd be able to do when he got to London but he knew that he couldn't just sit here in Nepal whilst the two women in his life who meant anything to him were struggling thousands of miles away. As he rushed around packing his bags, he smiled as he thought of what one of his old bosses used to say to him when he was in the Army. ‘Don't confuse activity with progress, Harry. Sometimes, the best decision is to decide not to do anything at all.' Harry didn't doubt that this was sometimes true. But in this case, he knew he had to do something.

The flight from Nepal was uneventful. He slept most of the way, arriving at Heathrow in the early hours of the morning. He collected his bags and went to the Hertz desk to hire a car. Whilst he waited in the queue he used his phone to check his e-mail. Lucy had replied. She was sorry to hear about Camilla but was delighted that he was coming to UK. She included her mobile number in the e-mail and asked him to phone her when he landed. Harry's mood immediately lifted. He'd hoped that Lucy would be keen to see him and it appeared that she was. He was still smiling when the girl behind the Hertz desk asked him what sort of car he wanted. Knowing that he would be heading straight down to Dartmoor and that, according to Ellie, the weather would be unlikely to improve over the next few weeks, Harry asked for a Land Rover. The girl was apologetic and explained that the nearest thing they had left was a new Range Rover. Though the daily rate was more than he wanted to spend, Harry agreed. It had been a long time since he'd driven a really decent car and he was looking forward to the drive down to Dartmoor and then, if Lucy agreed, up to Edinburgh. He caught the courtesy bus and headed out of the terminal and towards the rental car parks. The Range Rover was waiting for him at the Hertz car park. It was black with tinted windows and a cream leather interior. He doubted whether it had ever seen a muddy field or a wet dog in its short life. ‘Soon change that,' thought Harry as he thanked the Hertz representative for showing him the car's controls and closed the driver's door. Within a few minutes, he was heading away from Heathrow and towards the M25, the orbital motorway that circles London. It was still early and the roads were reasonably clear. Provided he got out of London before the rush hour started, he reckoned it would take him about four or five hours to get to Ellie's house. His plan was to stop after a few hours to phone Lucy, get some breakfast and confirm his arrival time with Ellie.

Chapter 36

Lucy and Isobel were up early. After they'd seen the solicitor the previous day, they'd gone into town, ending up at a piano bar called Fingers until the early hours of the morning. It was hidden away in a basement on one of the side streets that led up to George Street. She always seemed to end up at Fingers after a night out in Edinburgh. The live music was invariably good and it had a particularly late licence. It also seemed to attract an eclectic and interesting group of people; lots of older students, artists and media types as well as high earners from the financial institutions. There had been a blues band playing; an exceptionally versatile female singer and guitarist supported by a pianist and alto saxophone. They'd played a fair amount of Nina Simone - which had suited Lucy's mood - as well as some of the less familiar songs by Muddy Waters. The girls finished the evening doing Tequila Slammers with a couple of post grads from Edinburgh University.

‘What's the plan?' asked Isobel, wandering into the sitting room in pull-ups and t-shirt.

‘Well Harry's flying in to UK this morning which is the best news I've had for a few days,' replied Lucy.

‘So am I going to be with Lucy the love-sick puppy or Lucy the tough minded go-getter this morning?' asked a mischievous Isobel, smiling at her friend as she gratefully accepted the coffee that Lucy had again made her.

‘A bit of both,' replied Lucy. ‘I want to try and track down the man that Dad met the night he was stabbed. I'm not quite sure how to do this but Dad said in his letter that he was an ex-Army type and that he thought he was based in London. Now that Harry's here, he might know how we go about tracking down an old soldier called Richards.'

‘Luce, your Dad was very clear. He said you were to leave the country for a few months and that on no account were you to try and track Richards down.'

‘I know,' replied Lucy. ‘But think about it Isobel. I can't just go and hide. Where would I go? How long would I go for? And all the time I'm hiding, I'd be asking myself what happens if he finds me? I think the best thing to do is to try and find him and then somehow lead the police to him. I don't think I'm safe until he's out of the way.'

Isobel was pleased that the feisty redhead she knew and loved was back with her but she had her doubts about the wisdom of the two of them trying to track down the man who had most probably killed Lucy's dad.

‘OK. I agree you have to do something but promise me we won't do anything too dodgy until Harry's with us. He must have some old Army friends he can call on to help us.'

‘Agreed,' said Lucy. ‘I want to start by finding out about the money in the offshore accounts. The more money we have access to, the easier I suspect it will be to track this chap Richards down. Murdo McLeod said he'd contact the friend of his who arranged Dad's offshore accounts for him. He said he'd try and get me an appointment this morning at eleven thirty. I've got the address and the chap's name. He's called Timothy Warton. McLeod said we could trust him but he suggested we should keep what we now know of Dad's activities to ourselves. It's all a bit dodgy this isn't it? No wonder my Dad liked to get up in the hills to clear his head.'

Lucy went to her room to get her mobile and phone Kate. She realised that she hadn't spoken to her since they'd been together at the hospital. She'd decided she was going to keep the details of how her father earned his money to herself at this stage but she wanted to tell Kate what the solicitor had said about the money he'd left her. She also wanted to pick Kate's brains about funeral arrangements. Unless the police changed their minds about the circumstances, it was likely that the body would be released within the next few days and she wanted to get the funeral over and done with as soon as possible. ‘No point delaying the inevitable,' she thought to herself.

Kate was shocked that Lucy's father had left her half a million pounds. She'd have been even more shocked, thought Lucy, if she'd known just how much he had managed to amass during his clearly very profitable second career as an assassin. But, as she had decided she would, she kept this to herself. Lucy thought that Kate was trustworthy but the less people that knew what her father did, the better.

Having spoken to Kate, Lucy showered, dressed and confirmed the arrangement to meet Murdo McLeod's financial friend later that morning. She couldn't help thinking about her father but she felt better knowing that she was now doing something to try and bring his killer to justice. ‘You knew I'd do this, Dad,' she said to herself, looking towards the ceiling as she spoke. ‘I'm assuming you're up there and not down below, though given what you've been doing for the last few years that might not be a safe assumption,' she said under her breath.

‘Come on then,' she said to her friend.

‘Where are we going?' asked Isobel, absentmindedly scanning the TV channels in the hope of finding something interesting to watch.

‘First stop is the police. I want to see whether they've made any progress. Then we're going to see the dodgy banker bloke that McLeod recommended. I've checked with McLeod's office and the meeting with Warton is still on for eleven thirty. Then I'm going to buy you lunch in a particular pub I want to visit.'

‘OK,' said Isobel, picking up her Barbour jacket as she followed Lucy out of the door. Although she was deeply sad about the circumstances, Isobel had to admit that she was rather enjoying this. It was certainly more interesting than trying to find a job, though she recognised that she would have to give her future employment her full attention in a few weeks. That or face being unemployed.

The taxi dropped them outside the police station and, after several minutes of discussion, the desk sergeant eventually showed them to an empty office and told them to wait until he had found the detective dealing with her father's murder. She was surprised how similar the office was to the ones they always showed in detective programmes on TV. A plain table with two chairs arranged either side. The walls were empty except for a couple of health and safety signs. One helpfully explained the correct procedure for lifting large boxes and the other told them where the nearest fire exits were and which part of the car park they should assemble in should the building have to be evacuated. Eventually, the door opened and a tall man in a light grey suit entered the office.

‘Hi, my name's Detective Constable Jake Douglas. I'm leading the investigation into your father's murder,' he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite the two girls. Isobel reckoned that he was in his late twenties and about six foot three. Handsome in a rugged sort of way, his nose had obviously been broken in the past and he had a few scars above his eyebrows. She noticed the size of his hands and the way that the sleeves of his suit jacket were stretched tight over his upper arms. ‘A rugby player,' she thought to herself, smiling at him in her most engaging way.

‘Hello,' said Lucy. ‘My name's Lucy Masters and this is my friend Isobel Johnson. Can you tell us whether you've made any progress?'

‘Hi,' said Isobel, extending her hand for him to shake. He took her hand and shook it. His grip was firm but she noticed that he was careful not to squeeze her hand too hard. Isobel also noticed that he didn't wear a wedding ring but that he had a small signet ring on the little finger of his left hand.

‘I'm so sorry about your father,' began the detective. ‘I'm also sorry that I'm not able to add too much to what I think you already know. It seems your Dad was attacked outside of a pub and that his wallet was taken. Nobody saw anything and there was no CCTV covering that part of the street. There have been a couple of similar incidents in the last few months but, to be honest, we don't know whether there's any connection or not. We've put feelers out to see if our informants can tell us anything and we've pulled a few of the most obvious suspects in for questioning but I am afraid that at the moment we have no real idea who attacked your father.'

‘Detective, my Dad was a very tough man. He was a Para and had been for about thirty years. He knew how to look after himself and I can't believe that he'd have allowed someone to mug him. It just doesn't add up,' said Lucy. ‘There's got to be more to it. I know you won't believe me but I think someone deliberately killed him. I know his wallet was stolen but you see that in the movies all the time. They do it to make it look like a mugging.'

‘OK, Miss Masters,' said the detective slowly. ‘But do you know of any reason why anyone would want to kill him? Was he in debt? Had he been seeing someone he shouldn't have been?' The Detective looked Lucy in the eye as he questioned her. ‘I'm not saying you're wrong but we need a motive. His wallet was missing and sadly that might have been motive enough for someone. Is there anything else you can think of that might explain why someone would want him dead?'

Lucy paused before replying. ‘No, I don't think so, I just can't believe that he would be stupid enough to get himself mugged.'

‘Regrettably it happens all the time,' said the Detective. ‘Someone goes into a pub and orders a pint. They get their wallet out to pay and someone stood next to them gets a great opportunity to see how much cash they're carrying. We all do it without thinking about it. Did your father usually carry a fair amount of money?'

‘I don't think so,' replied Lucy. ‘He was a careful man. He grew up in one of the roughest council estates in Glasgow and spent years in the Army working in some of the world's most dangerous places. He was just too streetwise to make such a silly mistake. And the doctor at the hospital said it looked like he'd been stabbed by someone who knew what they were doing.'

‘Miss Masters, last year there were ninety-seven murders in Scotland. Of these, just over sixty percent of the victims were killed with a knife or other sharp instrument, compared with less than forty percent in England and Wales. Lots of youths carry knives here and most of them know how to use them. It's part of the culture I'm afraid. The doctor that spoke to you would know this if he'd been here for a while so I suspect he's probably new to Scotland. I am really sorry about this but you have my word that we'll keep looking for whoever did this. It'll be no consolation but there are only seventy-seven unsolved murders on file in Scotland even if we go back as far as 1866. We'll get the bastard that did this but it'll take time.'

‘Thank you,' said Lucy. ‘I just wanted to make sure that you were taking this seriously and not just brushing it off as one of those things that happens in a capital city.'

‘You have my word,' said the Detective. ‘But if you think of anything at all that might help us, please let me know.' He gave Lucy a card with his name and contact details on it. ‘Phone me anytime. My direct number is on the back, as is my mobile. And if we get any leads, we'll let you know straight away.' He stood up and shook hands with both Lucy and Isobel.

‘Do you play rugby?' asked Isobel, letting go of his hand.

‘Yes,' replied the Detective. ‘I play for Heriots. Why?'

‘Just wondered,' replied Isobel. ‘You look like a rugby player.'

The Detective smiled at her. ‘You should come and watch a game sometime. We play every Saturday at the Stadium in Goldenacre. It's up from the Botanical Gardens, you can't miss it.'

‘I might just do that,' replied Isobel, still smiling.

The Detective led them out of the building, said farewell and went back inside.

‘Tart,' accused Lucy once the door had closed behind him. ‘We're here to talk about my father's death and you start flirting with the copper leading the investigation. You're unbelievable!'

‘I'm sorry,' said Isobel, genuinely contrite. ‘I know I shouldn't have but I just wanted to hear him say something. His voice was great!'

‘I'll admit he was rather nice in a strong sort of caveman way,' replied Lucy. ‘He's definitely an improvement on your usual sort.'

Isobel laughed. ‘He was nice wasn't he? Why didn't you tell him a bit more about your Dad?'

‘Not yet,' replied Lucy. ‘I agree we might have to but I want to see if we can do a bit ourselves first. I'm still not sure how the police are going to react when they learn what Dad did to earn his money, even if the people he killed weren't very nice. But if we do decide we need to tell the police more, then I promise that we'll talk to that chap first. And you can phone him and make the appointment,' added Lucy, prodding her friend in the ribs.

The Detective went back to his desk. The meeting wasn't quite what he had expected. He wasn't making much progress with the murder and, if he were honest with himself, he wasn't optimistic that things would get any better. The facts and figures he'd given the girls were true but this appeared to be a straightforward mugging in the sense that someone had simply killed the man to get his money. It might not have started like that. If the man was as tough as the daughter suggested, then the Detective could see that he might have tried to have a go at the mugger. The mugger might have threatened him and asked him to hand his wallet over and the father might have tried to resist, causing the mugger to stab him even though that hadn't been his original intent. But there was also something about the girls that didn't seem quite right. It was almost as if they were keeping something from him. He made a mental note to contact them in a few days time to see whether they had had any thoughts on why someone might have wanted Lucy's father dead. It was a long shot but they were nice girls, particularly the shorter one, and he would be quite happy to spend an hour or so talking to them again, even if it didn't take the case any further forward. He couldn't be sure but he felt as though the shorter of the girls had been flirting with him. Perhaps she would turn up at one of his rugby matches.