Murder on the Second Tee (15 page)

‘You have a mobile phone,’ Baggo said, smiling encouragingly. ‘I want you to switch it on, ring this number, put it in your trouser pocket then go into the bathroom and say something.’

‘What?’

‘Quote something. You must know a poem.’

Gerald did as instructed and closed the bathroom door behind him. Baggo pressed some buttons on his own mobile then flicked a switch on the black plastic box from which Gerald’s muffled voice could be heard. He was reciting numbers.

‘Prime numbers. He can go on for ages,’ Cynthia said.

‘It’s not as clear as I would like, but it will have to do,’ Baggo observed. He knocked on the bathroom door. ‘Right, you can come out now.’

‘211, 223, 227,’ Gerald said very quickly as he opened the door.

Baggo shook his head. He dimly remembered a king, perhaps James I, had been called ‘the wisest fool in Christendom’. Here was his twenty-first century equivalent. ‘Go to meet Forbes as you are,’ he said once Gerald had emerged. ‘If he wants to search you, or there’s any problem, you can put your hand in your pocket and turn the phone off before you bring it out. Forbes will not recognise my number and this box has sent a message to your phone so it will look as if the call to me is already over, though it is not. We might be dealing with dangerous people and your safety is paramount. You are to take no risks. If the conversation is not incriminating, so be it. Do not try to trap Forbes into admitting something. I, with other policemen, will be in the hotel, ready to come to your rescue should that be necessary. What will you say if you are asked what you have told the police?’

Gerald ran his hand through his hair. ‘I’ll say I told you nothing.’

‘Forbes is too smart to swallow that, I suspect. I think you might get away with saying that you helped with the LIBOR mis-reporting but know nothing about any other criminal behaviour. You can say you told us that Parsley handled a lot of deals himself.’

‘He did, actually.’

‘All the better. Keep as near to the truth as you can. First rule of lying.’

‘And the second is don’t get caught,’ Cynthia said. Baggo found her lively eyes and forceful personality attractive. How she had been snared by a wet fish like Gerald was hard to understand.

‘And the third is lie with confidence,’ Baggo added. While Gerald nodded sagely, Cynthia raised her eyes to the ceiling.

Wishing Gerald good luck, Baggo put his eavesdropping equipment in the computer case and left. He switched up the receiver’s volume in the police room. Cynthia was still giving her husband an ear-bashing.

* * *

Mark Forbes did not pretend he was pleased to see Flick and Wallace when he answered the door of his room. She had to stop herself from smiling when she saw how his full lips had swollen until, bulbous and red, they looked as if they were being squeezed like toothpaste out of his tiny mouth. He did not invite them to sit down and remained standing while she explained why they were there.

‘Lord Saddlefell was over-wrought, Inspector, and I have no wish to take the matter further. I regard it as an internal matter for our bank and I will not be pressing charges. Thank you for coming to see me, however.’ He appeared to be making an effort to form his words clearly.

‘It doesn’t work that way in Scotland, sir,’ Wallace said. ‘Once a crime has been committed and can be proved it’s up to the procurator fiscal to decide if it would be in the public interest to prosecute, whatever the victim says he wants.’

Momentarily taken aback, Forbes addressed Flick as if Wallace was not there. ‘I do hope you feel you have enough on your plate at the moment, Inspector. With people being murdered almost daily, I trust you won’t feel the need to get a conviction for petty assault which the victim is happy to forget.’

Ignoring the implied criticism, she smoothly got Forbes to agree the facts of the assault, which he did with ill-natured grunts. She took a picture of his injured face on her mobile phone then asked if there had been a motive for the attack.

‘I am now the chairman of the Bucephalus Bank, Inspector, and it is possible that Lord Saddlefell felt envious. I shall say no more.’

‘Did you really hear a voice in the corridor this afternoon saying “It’s Terry”?’ she asked.

Forbes raised his eyebrows as if shocked. ‘I believe I did, Inspector. I trust that you have no criticism of a member of the public helping the police, especially when they appear to be struggling in an inquiry that may be too complex for them.’

Flick stared into his cold, unblinking eyes and said, ‘You have no idea how our inquiry is progressing Mr Forbes. And genuine assistance from members of the public is always appreciated. ’ Then she turned on her heel and left the room.

‘Arrogant bastard,’ Wallace muttered in a stage whisper before the door had closed behind him.

Flick, Baggo, Wallace and McKellar sat round the table in the police room, listening to the black box. ‘3259, 3271, 3299, 3301 …’ Gerald was making his way to Forbes’s room reciting prime numbers, presumably to keep calm.

They could hear a knock then, ‘Hello, Mark’. Gerald said this loudly, with forced jollity. ‘Ah, Nicola,’ he continued with less enthusiasm. The listeners strained to hear Forbes’s plummy tones but could make out, ‘Gerald, meet Webb van Bilt III, of Sulphur Springs’.

‘This could be interesting,’ Baggo whispered.

‘In view of the situation,’ Forbes said, ‘we have to be particularly careful about the security of our discussions, so I’m going to have to ask you to submit to a search, as the rest of us have already done …’ The sound went dead.

‘We’ve got to hear this,’ Baggo said.

‘Is there someone you can rely on among the staff?’ Flick asked.

‘To do what?’ Baggo asked.

‘To deliver something to that room. We’ve got a warrant to bug them.’

He thought for a moment. ‘Jimmy might help us. He’s a waiter and they’ll maybe have seen him round the hotel.’

‘Get him here, quick.’

Baggo dialed a number, asked for Jimmy and then spoke to him for a minute. ‘He’s coming, but what’s your idea?’ he asked Flick.

‘I’ve noticed that the best rooms have orchids in them. They’re grown in pots filled with little bits of bark that are dry at the top. I think Mr Forbes could do with a fresh orchid.’ She looked at the others. She was gratified by Chandavarkar’s smile, but the nods of approval from the two Scots felt like a victory.

Jimmy needed no persuasion. As Baggo launched into an explanation, Jimmy interrupted, ‘It’s cool, mate. I dinnae like these stuck-up shits. Forbes never says please or thank you and he’s aye complaining about something. I’ll happily plant a bug for you.’

Ten minutes later he was on his way, a fine purple orchid in his hand. A couple of inches under the surface of the bark chips, the electronic chip nestled.

The officers gathered round the black box, hoping that the ruse would work. Jimmy’s knock came across clearly.

‘Fresh orchid, Mr Forbes.’

‘I don’t need it. Go away.’

‘But all the rooms get one today, sir. That one on your table looks guy peely-wally.’

‘What did you say – peely-wally? What does that mean?’ – van Bilt.

‘It means needing a drink, sir. I’m usually peely-wally at the end of my shift.’

‘Hurry up then. We have business to discuss.’ – Forbes.

After some clicks and rustles, ‘As we were saying,’ – Forbes.

‘Yes, Gerald, how much do we have to pay to Webb’s people?’ – Walkinshaw.

‘Thirty-one million, eight hundred and sixty-five thousand pounds, to the nearest thousand.’ – Gerald.

‘And that money is available now in bearer bonds?’ – van Bilt.

‘Correct.’ – Gerald.

‘Why would it be risky to give it to those entitled now?’ – van Bilt.

‘Because as long as the bonds stay as they are we can attribute them on paper to anyone we like, even someone fictitious. If we’re being closely monitored, a transfer to, say, a drug baron might be very damaging evidence.’ – Forbes.

‘Gerald, can you think of any way we can pay Webb’s clients safely?’ – Walkinshaw.

‘No, not if we’re being watched by someone who understands what’s happening.’ – Gerald.

‘Right, you can go now.’ – Forbes.

A door clicked.

‘The Federal Reserve are very suspicious of both banks and they mean trouble. You Americans lock up far more white-collar people than we do here, and the extradition laws mean you can just reach over the Atlantic and pick up anyone you want if there’s an American angle. That’s why we have to be ultra-careful, at least till the danger’s past.’ – Forbes.

‘But as Gerald has told us, there’s nearly thirty-two million pounds owing to clients of my bank. And they haven’t gotten to be where they are by waiting patiently.’ – van Bilt.

‘They have a lot to lose too if the Federal Reserve comes down hard on us. They may have to learn patience.’ – Forbes.

‘That’s just not the way they do business, and they’re ruthless, as Sir Paul found out.’ – van Bilt.

‘Killing him was a mistake. I hope you don’t think either of us had anything to do with it.’ – Walkinshaw.

‘I don’t know what to think, lady. I just know some real mean guys are looking for their money, and when I tell them you have it, they’re gonna come over the pond and kick your asses real good.’ – van Bilt.

‘We could sweeten the pill with a bit of interest when we do pay out.’ – Forbes.

‘Not gonna save your ass.’ – van Bilt.

‘Webb, they trust you. You can make them see reason.’ – Walkinshaw put on her seductive tone.

‘They see their own reason, which is: you owe them money, you pay them money.’ – van Bilt.

‘How long are we going to have to be careful?’ – Forbes.

‘The Feds don’t quit easy. They’ve been known to spend five years investigating something.’ – van Bilt.

‘Sorry, Webb, but you’re going to have to tell your clients that they’ll have to wait for their money. When we do pay, we’ll add interest. And if we go down, they’ll finish up with nothing.’ – Forbes.

‘I guess we’ve taken this as far as it’s gonna go. Please get your numbers guy to work out a way to give my clients their money, even if the Feds are looking over his shoulder.’ – van Bilt.

The officers heard a door click then two deep sighs.

‘Mark, we’re between a rock and a hard place. Thank goodness for Venezuela.’ – Walkinshaw.

‘I wonder who did order Sir Paul’s hit. It wasn’t you, was it?’ – Forbes.

‘Of course not. You maybe? If in doubt, blame Terry Saddlefell.’ – Walkinshaw.

The door clicked again. Silence reigned.

Baggo said, ‘That was interesting, but no admission of having been involved in whatever was going on from the start.’

Wallace asked, ‘Will that box record everything the bug picks up?’

‘Yes.’ Baggo grinned. ‘We will know tomorrow if Mr Forbes snores, and perhaps if Mrs Parsley does too. And it should all be admissible evidence.’

‘I wonder what Walkinshaw meant by her reference to Venezuela,’ Flick said, ‘apart from their extradition policy.’

Baggo said, ‘Or non-policy. It is the current destination of choice for sleazeballs who want to go off the radar. But it is not a place I would go to get away from gangsters. Personally, I’d take my chances with the Feds. Right now I’d better go and get a statement from Knarston-Smith. There may have been something important said before the orchid was delivered.’

* * *

Walkinshaw and van Bilt had been in Forbes’s room when Gerald arrived. Forbes had got straight down to business and interrogated him on the transactions between Bucephalus and Sulphur Springs. Gerald’s powerful photographic memory had enabled him to quote dates and figures, complete with percentage profits on selected deals.

‘There was nothing beyond what was on that memory stick I gave you,’ he said. ‘Forbes didn’t want anything on paper with you about, and none of them took notes.’

‘Did you get the impression that they realised we know as much as we do about the financial crimes?’ Baggo asked.

Gerald ran his hands through his hair. ‘I’m pretty sure they don’t. They think that if they act legally they should be alright.’

‘Did anyone say something that showed they had been involved from the start?’

Gerald scratched his chin, ignoring or not seeing Cynthia who was nodding her head furiously. ‘’Fraid not,’ he said gloomily. ‘I hope I’ve been helpful?’ he added.

Baggo didn’t have the heart to further dent his confidence. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you have.’

Out in the corridor he could hear Cynthia. ‘Idiot!’ she shouted.

‘Where are you going to stay tonight?’ Wallace asked Baggo as they packed up for the day.

‘I haven’t thought,’ Baggo said. ‘I suppose there will be plenty B and Bs happy for off-season trade.’

‘You can stay with us,’ Wallace said. ‘Jeannie is always happy to meet new people and we can chat about the case over a dram. I have an eighteen-year-old Glenmorangie that will help you think.’

Baggo was delighted. He had taken to Lance Wallace and he wanted to bounce ideas off someone intelligent. He had wondered if the inspector might have made the offer, for the sake of old Wimbledon days if nothing else, but it had always been difficult to get close to her.

‘Let’s check on Forbes before we go,’ Baggo said, pressing a button on the black box. They heard male and female grunting then Belinda Parsley said, ‘Kissing’s horrible with your mouth like that.’ ‘Saddlefell will regret this,’ was Forbes’s muffled reply.

‘Shall I leave it on?’ Baggo asked the constable left to guard the police room and maintain a presence in the hotel.

‘No thanks, Sarge.’ The young man blushed.

‘It might be a hit on YouTube one day, particularly if someone takes some pictures to go with the soundtrack,’ Baggo said, pretending to be serious as he switched off the speaker and checked the machine was still recording.

‘Come on or that Glenmorangie will evaporate,’ Wallace said, leading Baggo to his car. He added, ‘Don’t underestimate the gullibility of a young copper. If he goes out snapping …’

‘I’ll blame you as you are his sergeant,’ Baggo retorted.

They both laughed.

* * *

Inspector Fergus Maxwell was sitting with his feet up, a third glass of sauvignon blanc at his elbow, when Flick arrived home. He turned down the volume on the television, which was showing an American golf tournament, and rushed to the kitchen to heat up the lasagne he had prepared hours earlier. He asked if she wanted a drink.

‘Yes but I can’t,’ she said, tears in her eyes.

He took her in his arms. ‘You obviously need a glass of wine and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have one,’ Fergus whispered. ‘I told you, that professor of toxicology insisted there’s nothing wrong with pregnant women in good health having the occasional small glass. Remember, I played with him in last month’s medal? He kept on going on about the nonsense talked about babies these days. I sometimes wonder how the human race evolved to where it is without all these gurus. Sorry. How was your day? Not good?’

‘Midway between that and bloody awful. And I feel as if I’m going to cry whenever anything goes wrong.’ She didn’t add that, as someone who did things by the book, on this particular evening she found her husband’s Jurassic Park views particularly irksome. ‘And I just want water, thanks,’ she added.

He hugged her close then said, ‘You go and get comfortable then come back here. I’ve done lasagne with avocado salad. And I’ve opened a nice chianti so I’ll pour you a little, as well as your water of course. After we’ve eaten we can talk. Oh, and your dad phoned. You were on the national news and he’s chuffed to bits. So am I, by the way.’

A wan smile lit her face slightly. ‘I’ll ring him now,’ she said.

Her father answered on the second ring. His familiar, cheerful South of England vowels immediately lifted her spirits. Her press conference had impressed him, at least. Gently, she explained that real life was quite different to detective novels. She was not about to put a hand to her brow, tell everyone she had been an imbecile, gather the suspects in the parlour and unmask the murderer. ‘I just go where the evidence leads me, Dad,’ she said more than once. She checked that he was looking after himself. A widower in his late sixties, he was increasingly content with his own company. Flick worried that he might become isolated, even living in a suburb of Maidenhead. His account of visits to Waitrose sounded too glib for her liking but before she could press him she was on the back foot, telling him that she was managing to keep warm and well as the Scottish winter approached. Putting the phone down, she wished she could break the news about his first grandchild due in the summer, but she and Fergus had agreed to keep that secret until twelve weeks had passed.

Fergus brought in the food and they sat together on the sofa in the warm sitting room, the golf tournament playing silently in the background as they ate, plates on their laps. Flick felt better with every mouthful. ‘Delicious, darling,’ she commented as she devoured the savory mince and
al dente
pasta.

He beamed. As a bachelor, canteen food and carry-outs had been his staple diet. After marriage, encouraged by the various cookery programmes on the television, he liked to prepare the meal, except in summer when evening golf exercised a stronger pull. He wished Flick was more relaxed about cooking. She could produce some excellent dishes but lacked confidence. It was his mission to build up that confidence, and not just in the kitchen.

‘He’s a real gentleman,’ Fergus commented, his mouth full, nodding at the screen.

‘Who?’

‘Phil Mickelson. Look, he’s signing autographs while waiting on the tee. He really knows it’s the public who ultimately pay his wages.’

She glanced at the screen. She knew she must overcome her instinctive coolness about golf if she was to live happily in St Andrews, particularly married to a man whose passion for rugby, which she shared, was being replaced by a growing addiction to golf. ‘He’s the one who’s left-handed, isn’t he?’ she asked.

‘Quite right, darling.’ Fergus hoped to make his wife a golfer one day. ‘If you’re not going to, I might as well have this.’ He reached for her wine glass and set it beside his. He took the dirty plates through to the kitchen and returned carrying mugs of tea.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asked gently.

‘Yes, I think I do.’

‘Well let’s have everything. Just explaining it all to me will help sort things out in your head.’

She got up and fetched a sheaf of notes from her briefcase. When she returned the television was off.

‘Shoot,’ said Fergus.

So she did, going through everything relevant that had happened or been found or said, not always in chronological order, but including her likes, dislikes, suspicions and fears. She told him about the divisional commander, Chandavarkar, Wallace, McKellar and Osborne. He listened without interrupting, his face giving no clue as to his thoughts. When she finished she saw how much information she had to work on. One way or another she had learned a lot about this mysterious, deadly bank. ‘Well?’ she said after a silence.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘That’s all rather a jumble. Different things have been flying at you thick and fast all day, so of course they’re mixed up now. I think you should try to step back, look for the essentials. Let’s take the crimes themselves,’ he added quickly before she could interrupt. ‘They are both brutal and, I would judge, unpremeditated. Forbes and Walkinshaw may be up to their arm-pits in money laundering, and fully capable of murder, but they would plan a murder down to the last detail if they were going to commit it themselves. Or, more likely, pay someone else to do it, making sure nothing would lead you to their door. So let’s put them to one side, for the moment anyway. Davidson might have killed Parsley because of the homophobic bullying but I can see no reason for him to kill Thornton. They seemed to be getting on fine and Thornton was just about to take Davidson’s place as Santa. I suppose Thornton’s mum might have suddenly decided to kill him, but she clearly loved him and he would have had to say something terribly wounding to make her snap.’

‘I felt she was hiding something, but I couldn’t see her killing Bruce. I can see Davidson killing Parsley, though. Do you think we might have two killers?’

Fergus shook his head. ‘Two deaths linked by time and place and killing method, a violent method, too. No, my money would be on a single killer.’

‘If it was one of the directors that means Saddlefell or Eglinton.’

‘Right. Eglinton had a relationship with Parsley – friendship, I mean. Might he have felt betrayed by Parsley’s financial crimes? He had the best opportunity to kill him.’

Flick said, ‘But Eglinton told Chandavarkar he first heard about the money laundering at the board meeting this morning. That’s something we can check with the others. So why should he spontaneously kill his best friend? And why kill Thornton? It couldn’t have been mistaken identity with him as he had been there when Davidson changed his plan to play Santa and meet him instead.’

‘So Eglinton has opportunity but no motive that we can see. Saddlefell keeps cropping up. He had opportunity and he has a temper on him, as I think our killer must have, but why should he kill Parsley or Thornton?’

‘Parsley because of the financial crimes. Maybe they were worse than Saddlefell had been led to believe. If Thornton opened the door wearing the Santa suit, Saddlefell might have thought he was Davidson, who was threatening to blow the whistle, so a case of mistaken identity.’ Flick was reluctant to drop Saddlefell as the prime suspect.

‘But what doesn’t ring true with that scenario is the way he called in Osborne to find Sir Paul’s killer. And he must have got Osborne to hurry here when Parsley was killed. That would be odd if he had just killed Parsley, and maybe even ordered Sir Paul’s death too.’

‘We both know Osborne’s a fool.’

‘But not everyone does. Remember how he collected all the credit for solving the literary agent murders? That credit should have gone to you and Baggo. Have you spoken to him?’

‘To Osborne? No. McKellar told me he’d caused a disturbance at the hotel’s Christmas Fayre. Apparently Davidson had asked for a large gin and tonic to be beside his seat as he gave out the presents. Osborne’s been off drink and when he played Santa he drank the gin and tonic. Then he went wild and supposedly assaulted a little girl. When the girl’s father saw police in the hotel he wanted to get us involved but the manager sweet-talked him out of it. What are you laughing at?’

‘That man can’t help making an arse of himself.’

‘Well he was my boss for too long for me to see the joke. I couldn’t believe it when I realised he had been brought into this case.’

Fergus saw she was angry. He held her hand. ‘Darling, I don’t find your problems at all funny. I just find Osborne funny in an appalling sort of way. But seriously, tomorrow morning you should talk to him. He’s got a good copper’s nose and he’s been coming at this from a different angle. He’ll know he’s in disgrace so you’ll be able to play the “I’m in charge” card for all it’s worth. It might even be fun, if you can make him squirm.’

‘Maybe.’ Flick sounded as doubtful as she felt. She would rather avoid Osborne altogether.

Fergus said, ‘Let’s look at the non-director suspects. Baggo probably gives Knarston-Smith an alibi for Thornton’s killing, and anyway, if he had just agreed to help the police would he rush out and kill someone? Of course he must have felt wronged by Parsley and terrified that he might show Cynthia that photograph, so he has to be a possible for his murder. Anderson can be excluded as the CCTV shows she was in her room at the material times. I think the bankers’ wives are unlikely. Belinda Parsley was all set to use divorce to free herself so why resort to homicide? Now, Eileen Eglinton was out about the time Parsley was assaulted, and she’s one of those who could have killed Thornton but why should she want to kill either of our victims? Could she have been very angry with Parsley for some reason?’ He paused.

‘As we know, Simon says he didn’t know about the financial crimes till today, so assuming she didn’t know about them beforehand, what else could have angered her enough to kill Parsley? Besides, she’s left-handed and we have a right-handed killer,’ Flick said, glad to add to Fergus’s analysis.

Fergus said, ‘I can’t see Sandi Saddlefell or Cynthia Knarston-Smith killing these people.’

‘I agree. It would help if we could see a clear motive for someone with opportunity.’

‘Something made our killer attack really viciously, probably something that made him react almost instinctively.’

‘Him?’

‘I believe so. More men than women bludgeon people to death. That’s official,’ he added, glancing sideways at her, ‘as gender equality hasn’t reached bludgeoning.’

For a moment he thought he had hit the wrong note then she smiled and cuffed his ear, misshapen after his rugby career.

‘That’s a statistic that could change soon,’ she said.

‘What about the rooms?’ Fergus asked. ‘You haven’t told me where they are in relation to one another.’

‘The Knarston-Smiths are in a room overlooking the golf course but in the spa block from which they can exit without going through the lobby. And they can go along corridors to the main part of the hotel. On Thursday night Knarston-Smith could have gone to his room then gone out again without us knowing. The only CCTV camera which would have picked him up wasn’t working. The rest are in a first-floor corridor in the main block. All the directors have superior – God, how I hate that word …’

‘Why?’

‘Because Lady Sandi Saddlefell can’t stop using it. She must be the stupidest, most affected person I’ve ever met.’

‘I can think of a few who might give her a run for her money. Anyway, what superior things do the directors have?’

For the first time that evening Flick laughed. ‘Rooms, you clot, rooms with balconies looking out over the golf course. As you go from the spa direction, they are next to each other in this order: Walkinshaw, Forbes, Davidson, who has been moved as his room is a crime scene, Saddlefell, Eglinton and Parsley. The lift is opposite Forbes’s room and Anderson’s room is beside the lift, facing the back. Why do you ask?’

‘To get a mental picture. You know, assuming Thornton was alive when his mum left him, his killer moved quickly and decisively. He,’ he smiled, ‘or she must have a steady nerve.’

‘You’re right, and this has helped me get my thoughts in order. But I feel we need a game-changer, a smoking gun leading us to the killer and proving the case.’

‘How are you getting on with your squad?’