The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) (14 page)

Craig thought for a moment. Why hadn’t he? He had a hunch. “Davy, check if Bwye ever had cameras and, if he had, when they were removed.”

Liam smiled; Craig was almost as cynical as he was. “You think Bwye planned the kidnap in advance.”

“I don’t think anything; I’m just asking the question.” He turned back to Davy. “I know you don’t discuss cases with Maggie, but has she said anything?”

Davy’s girlfriend was one of the few journalists that Craig didn’t dislike.

Davy smiled teasingly. “Now, you know w…we wouldn’t do that, chief, but…”

Craig smiled. “Spit it out.”

Davy leaned in conspiratorially. “She did mention that Diana Bwye visited The Chronicle’s offices last w…week.”

“Something for her husband?”

Davy shook his head vigorously. “No, that’s just it! She went into Ray Mercer’s office and s…spent almost an hour in there.”

Liam gawped at him. “When were you going to tell us this? I drove you all the way here this morning and you never said a word!”

Davy was indignant. “S…She only told me last night and I’ve had better things to think about s…since then.”

“Aye, and we all know what they are.”

Craig waved them down. “Davy, see what more you can find out on Mrs Bwye’s visit; I’d like to find out what it was about without alerting Mercer. He’s an unsavoury bugger so whatever they were discussing it probably wasn’t good.”

Davy nodded. “OK. I’ll see what Maggie can dig up.”

Craig could see Liam about to start another rant about Davy not keeping him informed so he cut him off. “Everyone’s got plenty to keep them busy. We’ll brief again at four.”

He headed for the door, not missing Liam deliberately dragging his heels.

“Liam, we’ve an interview to do.”

Liam glared at a smiling Davy so Craig emphasised his point.

“Now!”

Chapter
Ten

Derry Station. 11 a.m.

“Tell me again, Ms Ross. Exactly what did you see when you left Rocksbury last Wednesday evening?”

Bernadette Ross squinted in the interview room’s neon light, trying to make eye contact with Annette. She couldn’t and it was intentional. Annette was standing by the door, deliberately positioned so the light’s glare hid her face. She’d been pleasant when they’d met before, perhaps too pleasant; today would be different.

Ross’ voice squeaked back. “I told you. Mr Bwye had gone to the golf-club earlier and Mrs Bwye was sitting in front of a blank TV screen when I left. Then, as I went down the drive, Jane drove past me in her blue Mercedes.”

Annette leaned in. “Except that you told us the car was Jane’s and it isn’t registered to her. In fact it’s not registered to any of the Bwyes.”

Ross looked genuinely surprised. She spluttered out a defence. “I didn’t know that. Maybe…maybe it was hidden by Diana for tax purposes. I do know Jane doesn’t have the money to buy her own car and that she kept it secret from her father. She never drove it when he was around.”

“Doesn’t Jane work?”

Ross shook her head. “She’s supposed to be a student.” The emphasis was on supposed.

“Studying what?”

Ross shrugged. “Fashion. Although as far as I can see the closest she gets to fashion is buying it.”

Annette scented blood. She shifted so that Ross could see her face. “What does she use for money?”

“Mr Bwye gives her a small allowance and her mother sneaks her money when she thinks nobody’s watching.”

The meaningful glance that accompanied her words said there was more there if Annette dug.

“Money’s a bone of contention in the family?”

Bernadette Ross smiled slowly as if she was going to tease out her reply. A sharp look from Annette quickly changed her mind.

“The Bwyes are rich on paper, super rich even, but a lot of the money is tied up in Mr Bwye’s companies and it can’t be accessed unless there’s a directors’ vote…”

Annette interrupted. “How many directors are there?”

“Five in one company and six in the other. It takes a unanimous vote for money to be withdrawn and their agreement depends on -”

Annette interrupted, nodding. “Market forces. They won’t release money if it could impair the company’s chances of survival.”

“Or affect the share price. So liquidating funds in a hurry is difficult, sometimes impossible.”

It didn’t bode well for the ransom payment.

Annette had a hunch. “What happens in the event of Mr Bwye’s death?”

“The money passes to the next of kin. A lump sum is released to them; around forty per cent of the total and the rest remains in the companies. The same process applies when they die and so on.” Ross’ eyes widened. “You don’t think…”

“I don’t think anything. I’m just gathering information. Tell me more about Jane’s allowance.”

She thought it was time to play good cop again. She rang for coffee and took a seat, waiting till John Ellis had brought it through before restarting.

“OK, Jane’s allowance.”

Ross sipped her coffee, grateful that she was no longer being treated like the enemy. “Jane’s twenty-one next week and that’s when most of her rich friends get access to their trust funds, but Mr Bwye likes to keep his family on a short leash, so he set thirty as Jane’s inheritance date.”

Annette shook her head, imagining the arguments in the Bwye’s house.

“He’s a self-made man who grew up poor so you can understand why he doesn’t want her blowing it and then coming back for more.”

Annette understood. “How much of an inheritance are we talking about?”

“Ten million pounds when she’s thirty.”

Annette wished she could whistle, knowing that Liam would be giving a loud one about now. It made her arguments with her kids about pocket money seem tame. She settled for an “I can see why Jane wouldn’t be happy.”

Ross nodded but tempered it with a caveat. “Remember that there are a lot of gold-diggers out there who would marry Jane just for her money. Mr Bwye is weeding them out as well.”

“I can see that. But still, it can’t have made him popular at home. What did Mrs Bwye say?”

Ross smiled, thinking of Diana Bwye. “She’s a gentle soul and she loves her husband despite all his faults, so she mainly tries to keep the peace…”

“And slips Jane money on the side. I see.” Annette thought for a moment. “Tell me more about the car.”

Bernadette Ross was insistent. “Jane is the only one who drives it.”

“Even though it isn’t registered to the family.”

Ross shrugged. “I don’t understand that. Maybe it was registered to one of the family businesses?” She thought better of the idea immediately. “No, it can’t have been. Mr Bwye would never have allowed it.” Something occurred to her. “Perhaps it’s registered as a staff car but Jane was insured on it. Have you seen the prices for insuring anyone under twenty-five independently?”

“So Jane might have been named on a staff policy but only she drove it.”

Ross nodded. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Diana could have done that, but I’m positive Mr Bwye didn’t know Jane had it.”

“And you’re sure that you saw Jane in the car last Wednesday; it couldn’t have been anyone else?”

Ross hesitated just long enough to tell Annette what had happened. She’d seen the car, a car that only Jane drove, and assumed that she was the one driving. Annette pressed harder.

“Did you actually see Jane behind the steering wheel?”

Ross’ silence answered no. It wasn’t the answer Annette had wanted; it meant that they had no sightings of Jane Bwye that evening, but at least now they knew.

“OK. When did you last see Jane before then?”

“The evening before; Tuesday. She was sitting on the settee reading a magazine when I left.”

“So you didn’t see her at all on Wednesday?”

Annette’s tone was accusing and Ross leapt to her own defence. “No, but that’s not unusual. I arrive early and Jane sleeps late; she’s usually out clubbing or whatever they do nowadays, the night before. I work all morning in the study with Mr Bwye, cook brings me something for lunch, then we work again until around five. Unless Jane is in the main room when I’m leaving I mightn’t see her for days.”

Annette sighed. It was perfectly logical and completely useless to them. “Did you at least see her car on Tuesday?”

Ross’s mouth opened and shut silently then she shook her head, adding. “But that’s normal too. Jane wouldn’t have had the car at the house if there was any chance that her father might have seen it.”

“So where was it kept the rest of the time?”

Ross spoke hesitantly as if she was afraid of giving another wrong answer. “There…there are some old out-buildings… Mr Bwye never visits them.”

It was something but not much. Annette sipped at her drink and then changed tack.

“OK, the main room. You said the whisky decanter was out of place; you’re sure?”

This time Ross’ nod was emphatic. “Positive. Mr Bwye is the only one who drinks whisky and he’s fussy about putting it back.”

“So we should only find his prints.”

Ross looked puzzled. “I would think so, although the cleaner comes in three times a week so you might find hers as well.”

Annette prayed that the prints wouldn’t match either of them; if they didn’t then they might be their perp’s. Time to approach the subject she least enjoyed asking about: sex. If Liam was watching now he would be rubbing his hands in glee.

She leaned in conspiratorially; to the outside world it would look like two friends exchanging a secret and that was exactly the effect she was hoping for.

“You mentioned that Mr Bwye’s study was his private space and you and he had the only keys?”

Ross knew where Annette was heading and considered her response carefully. On the one hand she owed Oliver Bwye loyalty, on the other they were trying to save his life and anything that she knew might be important. She nodded and then volunteered. “He brought in women sometimes.”

Annette’s eyebrows shot up; she’d expected it to take longer to extract the information. They also shot up at the logistics. The house was open plan so how on earth… Ross saw her question.

“Through the back door. Only he had the key. I believe he locked the door to the main room and then let them in at the back.

Neat.

“Often?”

Ross shrugged. “Fairly often if his cash withdrawals were anything to go by.”

Annette’s curiosity overcame her professionalism. “How much did he pay them?”

Ross pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Far too much. The withdrawals ranged from five hundred to two thousand pounds.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I imagine the cost depended on what they did for him.”

Two thousand! They were both in the wrong job.

“I thought it was disgusting but at least he never asked me to arrange their visits.”

Annette’s heart sank. That meant she wouldn’t know how to contact the women. She asked the question anyway.

“Do you know who they were?”

Ross sighed and nodded. “Yes, well no, not by name, but they all came from the same place. I think he used it because it’s supposed to be clean.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s called The Kasbah; ridiculous name. It’s an escort agency in the centre of Derry.”

Not quite what the founding fathers had imagined when they’d set down roots; or maybe it was, just not their wives’.

“Was there anyone long term; a mistress?”

Ross looked indignant. “Absolutely not! Mr Bwye loved his wife.”

Between hitting her and screwing escorts he had a funny way of showing it, but they didn’t have time for the debate.

Annette nodded. “So you didn’t see any sign that he was planning to leave her?”

Ross sat up straight, with a prim expression on her face. “None. He was a religious man. A church elder.”

Annette almost laughed out loud. What sort of religion said it was OK to assault and be unfaithful to your wife? She answered her own question. Practically all of them, if their male practitioners were anything to go by. She focused back on the discussion.

“OK, we’ll chase up The Kasbah.” She slid a pad and pen across the table. “I need any women’s names you may have overheard, and please make a separate list of Jane’s friends and their known haunts.” She stood up to leave and then had another thought. “Do any of Mr Bwye’s business acquaintances visit the house?”

Ross was emphatic. “Never. They always conduct business at his office in town.”

Annette gawped at her. “He has another office and you didn’t think to mention it!”

Ross realised her mistake and back-pedalled furiously. “It isn’t his office, he works from the house. It’s just a room I hire if he needs to hold a meeting. A firm in town rents out the rooms by the session; morning or afternoon.”

Business centres; common practice everywhere. Annette gestured tiredly at the paper.

“Write down the address.”

She left the room knowing they’d just acquired several more days’ elimination work.

****

Andy gazed at the muddy shore and then ruefully down at his shoes. They were his good ones, black and shiny. But their glamour wasn’t the problem; the problem was that they were brogues, with dozens of perforations punched into the leather just waiting to suck in mud. like it was what they’d spent their entire lives waiting for. Teresa would kill him when he got home.

He glanced around for a saviour: a pair of shoe covers, or an abandoned pair of wellington boots. But there was nothing, just a bunch of uniformed policemen in waders grinning at the smart-ass detective’s shiny feet.

Andy never pulled rank. It was a useless ploy and people inevitably got their revenge on you in other ways, and at a time when you least expected it. But their vengeance would be nothing compared to his fiery wife’s if he ruined his shoes, so he called over a young officer who looked about the same shoe size as him.

“I need your waders, hey.”

The P.C. stared down at his boots and then at Andy’s shoes, repeating the sequence until it had lost its comic value. Then he shook his head and folded his arms, playing to his wader-clad audience.

“Can’t, sir. I’m on search detail.”

Andy gestured for him to remove the boots, aware that the others had downed tools and were watching to see what came next.

“OK, I’m relieving you for the day. Now give me the waders.”

The boy glanced at his feet and then at the gathered cops, weighing up the price of betrayal against a nice cup of tea in the warm. The tea won. He changed in a nearby squad car, handed Andy the waders gleefully and drove off in search of tea and a scone. Andy donned them to a chorus of “shame” and “officer class” but he didn’t care. His brogues were safe and so was his dinner. The troops’ revenge would come some other day.