Black Mail (2012) (25 page)

‘I’m really sorry about this, Sue. You know how it is.’

‘It’s not your fault, Mum – and it’s not Dad’s fault either.’

‘Of course it’s not,’ Kay said. ‘But it’s a shame for Jamie’s sake that we won’t be together as a family at the panto.’

‘Why don’t you come anyway?’

‘I don’t think so. Thanks all the same. I wouldn’t enjoy it. I’d just be sitting there all night worrying about what’s happening at the City Chambers. I’d rather stay home and wait for news.’

‘I understand.’

‘You can pick the tickets up from the box office. They’re in your dad’s name – and they’re paid for.’

‘Thanks.’

‘It would be a shame to waste our tickets. Can you think of anyone who might be able to use them at short notice?’

’Sue hesitated. ‘There might be someone.’

‘Enjoy yourself – and send Jamie our love.’

‘I’ll give you a call as soon as I get back home. And try not to worry, Mum.’

There being no reply from his home number, Sue tried Tony’s mobile, tutting in frustration when she was switched to the messaging service. ‘Hi, Tony,’ she said. ‘It’s Sue. I realise this is very short notice but if you happen to pick this call up in time – and if you’ve nothing better to do this evening – how would you like to join me and Jamie at the panto? I’ll put in a word with the Principal Boy on your behalf – and I’ll even provide a spare seat for your coat. It’s at the King’s and it starts at eight. I’ll wait for you at the box office until the last minute. I hope you can make it.’

When Jim Cuthbertson heard the ping of a text message arriving he surreptitiously flipped open his phone beneath the level of the dining table. He read: ‘Mission accomplished successfully.’ With a satisfied smile he deleted the text message and called across the waiter to order large brandies for everyone at the table.

The night air was crisp when Tony O’Sullivan emerged from Òran Mór. While waiting to cross at the Great Western Road traffic lights he switched on his phone to check for any messages. There was only one. He kicked hard at the base of the traffic lights in frustration.

There was a stack of mail waiting for Charlie when he got to the office on Monday morning. On top of the pile was a brown envelope with a handwritten note from Pauline attached, explaining that it had been put into Pitt Street’s letterbox sometime over the weekend – and that it had been through security clearance. Charlie studied the envelope. ‘DCI Anderson’ in bold type – no address, no stamp. Slitting it open with his paper knife he spilled out the contents: a Christmas card of a festive scene – no message, no signature – and an unlabelled DVD. Picking up the disc he walked along the corridor to the lecture theatre. He turned on the television set and slipped the disc into the reader. As he stared at the images, the bile rose in his throat.

‘How was your Christmas, sir?’ Tony O’Sullivan asked as he walked into Charlie’s office.

‘It got off on the wrong foot on Friday night but it got a whole lot better after that.’

‘Was the panto that bad?’

‘I ended up not going.’

‘I guessed as much,’ Tony said with a wry smile.

‘Come again?’

‘I thought you’d manage to find some excuse to avoid a theatre full of screaming kids.’

‘Believe you me, screaming kids would’ve been vastly preferable to how I spent my Christmas Eve! Niggle called in a panic on Friday afternoon and sent me over to the City Chambers
post-haste
to resolve a hostage situation.’

‘I read about that in the papers. I didn’t realise you were involved.’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Niggle took a perverse pleasure out of ruining my evening.’ Charlie snorted. ‘When I got to the City Chambers I was told that Santa Claus, wielding a sawn-off shotgun, had taken four people prisoner in a downstairs office and was threatening to shoot them unless his statement was read out on the television news. Santa had apparently insisted on talking to me because I was the only person with whom he was prepared to negotiate the hostages’ release.’

‘How come? Did you know him?’

‘When I spoke to him over the phone line the negotiating team had set up, I’d no idea who he was. He told me he would pass the text of the message he wanted transmitted under the office door. When I read it, I twigged straight away. The statement was a warning to the Scottish people of the disaster that would befall the nation if all the nuclear power plants in the country weren’t closed down forthwith. That, together with the fact that he’d asked for me by name, meant it had to be Ian Mulgrew, a nutter who’s been running a one-man anti-nuclear campaign for the best part of twenty years – and I also knew there was no more chance of Mulgrew wielding a sawn-off shotgun than flying to the moon.’

‘How did you handle it?’

‘I went into the City Chambers and hammered on the office door. I told Mulgrew that if he didn’t open up I’d have the door smashed down. He went quietly after that. His sawn-off shotgun turned out to be made of wood.’

‘Weren’t you taking a bit of a chance? He might have had a gun and been prepared to use it.’

‘When you’ve been around as long as I have, you get to know your customers. Mulgrew knew there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of his statement being transmitted to the nation. The hostage grab was just a publicity stunt to get his campaign reported in the papers.’

‘Why did he ask for you?’

‘He told me it was because he knew I’d figure out it was him – and I wouldn’t send in the heavy squad to blast him out.’

‘It takes all sorts,’ O’Sullivan said. ‘By the way, I got the information you were looking for about Ramsay’s trip to Asia. He went on a cruise to Malaysia in June, stopping off in Singapore and Bangkok.’

‘That figures,’ Charlie said. ‘There was a Christmas card and a DVD waiting for me when I got to the office this morning.’ Charlie indicated the disc lying on his desk. ‘Believe you me, you don’t want to watch it.’

‘Ramsay?’

Charlie nodded. ‘Interfering with a wee Asian lassie. I reckon Mike Harrison must have somehow managed to get his hands on that DVD and used it to blackmail Ramsay. Are you up to speed with what happened in The Horseshoe on Friday night?’ Charlie asked

‘Only what I read in the papers. That Ramsay overdosed.’

‘Not one of your run-of-the-mill overdoses – he injected himself with a mixture of cocaine and heroin that would have killed several horses. Did you know he left a suicide note?’ Charlie added.

Tony raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t read about
that
in the papers.’

‘You won’t. It was found in his jacket pocket. In it, Ramsay accepts full responsibility for hiring McAteer to kill Mike Harrison and he says that Laura Harrison was little more than an innocent bystander.’

‘How very convenient for Mrs H!’

‘Great minds think alike.’

‘Could the suicide note be genuine?’

‘What we know is that there’s a copy of it filed on Ramsay’s computer at work, that it was printed out on the laser printer in his office, and the signature looks like his usual scrawl. The handwriting boys are examining it but the condition Ramsay was in on Friday will make it difficult for them to prove whether or not he actually signed it.’

‘What’s your gut feeling?’ Tony asked.

‘For a start, there are no fingerprints on the note or on the envelope. Why would anyone writing a suicide note go to great lengths to keep his prints off it? Besides, I don’t reckon Ramsay’s been in any fit state over the past few days to construct a coherent suicide note.’

‘Which leads us to …?’

Charlie nodded. ‘The one person who had ready access to Ramsay’s office and his computer. A convenient suicide by Ramsay and a full confession plays right into Jim Cuthbertson’s hands.’

‘Do you reckon he was responsible for Ramsay overdosing?’

‘I’m sure he was. But I’m equally sure we’ll never be able to prove it. Talking of Cuthbertson, I got a call at home last night from Niggle to let me know in no uncertain terms that he didn’t consider my attitude towards Cuthbertson to be, and I quote: “sufficiently respectful towards one of Glasgow’s leading businessmen”.’

‘Ouch!’ Tony suppressed a grin. ‘Where do we go from here?’

‘I’ve invited Cuthbertson across this morning to clear the air,’ Charlie said, looking at his watch. ‘He should be here any time. You’re welcome to stay.’

‘I’ll get the coffees in.’

Jim Cuthbertson nodded curtly to O’Sullivan as he walked into the office and sat down facing Charlie. ‘What is the situation now?’ he demanded.

‘Nothing has materially changed,’ Charlie stated. ‘I’ll be asking the procurator fiscal to proceed with the charges against your daughter.’

‘Surely Ramsay’s suicide is a clear indication that he was the guilty party?’

‘Suicide?’ Charlie gave a puzzled look. ‘What makes you think Ramsay’s death was anything other than an accidental overdose?’Cuthbertson hesitated. ‘Because of the size of the dose Ramsay injected, the press are speculating that it’s more likely to have been suicide rather than an accident – and if that turns out to be the case, surely that has to be taken into account when considering what charges should be brought against Laura?’

‘The procurator fiscal will examine the evidence and decide how to proceed.’ Cuthbertson half-opened his mouth as if to
protest. ‘However, you might be interested to know,’ Charlie added, ‘that Ramsay left a suicide note.’

Cuthbertson moved forward onto the edge of his chair. ‘Did he? What did it say?’ he asked eagerly.

‘Well, when I say he left a suicide note, what I should say is that a forged suicide note was planted on his body.’ Cuthbertson furrowed his brow. ‘No one writing a suicide note wipes it clean of prints,’ Charlie said, ‘which opens up the possibility, or should I say, the probability, that Ramsay didn’t commit suicide. It’s much more likely that he was murdered.’ Charlie could see the sweat glistening on Cuthbertson’s forehead.

‘Who would want to murder him?’

‘Perhaps someone who wanted to make sure he carried the can for Mike Harrison’s murder?’ Cuthbertson shifted uncomfortably on his chair. ‘I will, of course, be making the note available to the prosecuting counsel and your daughter’s defence lawyers,’ Charlie said, ‘but I doubt if any of them will see fit to produce it during Laura’s trial. That would open up a completely new can of worms – and almost certainly initiate a full enquiry into the circumstances surrounding Ramsay’s death.’

Cuthbertson glared long and hard, Charlie holding his stare without blinking. Getting slowly to his feet, Cuthbertson turned round and walked out of the office.

‘Game, set and match, sir,’ Tony said as Cuthbertson tramped down the staircase.

‘Game and set, perhaps,’ Charlie said. ‘But there are still some loose ends – I don’t like loose ends.’

‘What’s bothering you?’

‘On the fifteenth of December Mike Harrison sent Ramsay an email with the paedophile picture attached. That’s beyond any
reasonable doubt. But the second ransom demand from Liam Black was sent on the twenty-third of December, by which time Harrison was dead. That means there’s another “Liam Black” out there – someone who knew about the hold Harrison had over Ramsay.’

‘The person who sent you the Christmas card?’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘Any idea who that might be?’

‘Someone close enough to Harrison to know he was trying to blackmail Ramsay. Someone who knew enough about computers to be able to use Harrison’s “Liam Black” Hotmail account. Someone who was capable of routeing the second email
half-way
round the world so its origin couldn’t be traced. Someone who showed Harrison how to delete not only – what did Porter call it? – the file something-or-other?’

‘The file allocation table,’ Tony said.

Charlie nodded. ‘But also overwrite the data on the hard disk. Not many candidates spring to mind.’ Tony started whistling the opening bars of ‘Mama Mia’. Charlie nodded. ‘Hard to see past him.’

‘Should we pull him in?’

‘All we’ve got by way of evidence is a deleted email from “Liam Black” on Ramsay’s computer, with little or no prospect of identifying the source.’ Charlie shook his head. ‘Trying to pursue it would be a complete waste of our time, to say nothing of the taxpayers’ money.’ Getting stiffly to his feet, Charlie massaged the base of his spine with both hands. ‘Some you win, Tony. Some you lose. Without Cuthbertson’s diversionary tactic of a forged suicide note coming into play, at least Laura Harrison will get a fair trial. On the other hand, Cuthbertson will walk away from
organising Ramsay’s murder because there’s no way we would ever be able to pin it on him. If you can’t get the best possible result, sometimes you have to settle for the best result possible.’

‘Pragmatism rules!’

‘At least the chief constable will be pleased.’ Tony raised an eyebrow. ‘He’ll take an accidental overdose on the stats rather than an unsolved murder every day of the week.’

Lying stretched out in his cell in Barlinnie, Billy McAteer read the newspaper report about Simon Ramsay overdosing in The Horseshoe, the speculation being that he had committed suicide because he was implicated in Mike Harrison’s murder. It was with a tinge of disappointment that he got to his feet and weighed the Roman candle in his fist before tugging open the slit in his mattress and slipping it back inside.

Bill Daly was educated at St Aloysius’ College and Glasgow University. He now lives and writes in the south of France.
Black Mail
is his first crime novel.