Trail of Greed: Fighting Fraud and Corruption... A Dangerous Game (23 page)

“Bloody hell,” I cried. “What’s up? Do you know the man?” asked Maggie. “Not personally. I’ve never seen him before but I know who he is.”

The article read:

The body of a man was discovered yesterday by two climbers
in the Cairngorms. He has been identified as Mr Bill Dewar,
SNP member of the Scottish Parliament for the constituency
of Leith. The climbers discovered his body around ten o’clock
in the morning as they were setting off to climb the 2,800
feet Ben Corachan. They immediately alerted the mountain
rescue team which confirmed that when they found the body
Mr Dewar had been dead for at least twelve hours. Initial
conclusions have led them to believe that he died of
exposure.

It seems to have been another tragic accident due to 
walkers not taking the elementary precautions required
when trekking in the Highlands.

Weather conditions had apparently deteriorated dramat
ically on Saturday night with temperatures falling below the
seasonal norm and mist and cloud cover had been very low.

Mr Dewar was fifty-four years old and lived in 
Linlithgow. Son of a miner, Bill Dewar worked his way up
the Labour Party for several years until, in 1992, he
switched his allegiance to the SNP. He was known as a busy,
if somewhat abrasive personality. He served on various
parliamentary committees and was Chairman of the
Committee for Urban Planning.

He leaves a widow and one daughter.

There was more detail of his political career but no surmising on anything other than that it had been an accident. His car had been found ten miles down the glen.

My initial reaction was one of relief. If this was the man that Purdy had been so terrified of and who had tried to get rid of me, then here was poetic justice. And also the removal of any threat to me.

I looked across at Maggie and said, “I think that this is the man that arranged for me to be dumped up in the mountains.”

“How come?” she asked. I hadn’t yet told her all the details of our adventures. I had promised I would someday, when the whole thing was finished. So I gave her a rough outline about our AIM investigation and what we had found out about Bill Dewar and why I suspected he was the one who had tried to dispose of me for having scuppered his hen with the golden egg.

“Well if it was him he’s got his just desserts,” said Maggie, “And he can’t do any more damage. Stupid idiot. He knew the dangers of the mountains. Serves him right.”

I had other thoughts. I excused myself and got up. “I’m just going for a ten-minute walk. Got some thinking to do,” I said and went out of the hotel and up the path that Maggie and I had taken the morning after my rescue.

She had hit the nail on the head. Dewar knew the dangers. Why would he be so daft as to go rambling in the mountains himself? It didn’t make sense. What if it wasn’t an accident? What if someone had got rid of Dewar using the same method that they had employed to try to get rid of me? And what if the perpetrators had also been Firkin and MacLean?

This turned my previous theory on its head. If that was the case, then Firkin and MacLean had been inserted into AIM by someone else and for another reason. But what the hell could the other reason be? Who could have wanted Dewar removed and why?

I was due to go back down to Fife today so I would leave the issue until I could discuss it with the others.

Each goodbye was becoming a little more difficult for me. I happened to say this as I was about to drive off. She only nodded and said “I know” with a sad smile. But we had agreed that she would take a break soon and come down to Letham for a few days. I promised I would call her the next day and we would try to fix a date.

I was back home by five. I showered and checked with the hotel that Pierre was back. Mike and Sophie were staying there as well so we all arranged to meet up at seven.

When I went into the bar the other three had already arrived. Pierre, as usual, was looking neat and elegant. The new Mike (same guy but looking a lot more at ease with himself) perched on a bar stool with a protective arm round Sophie’s shoulders. And Sophie looking stunning in a short red shirt dress, which hugged her figure and showed off her tanned legs to perfection.

After welcomes and a quick drink we all settled down at a corner table, looking forward to partaking of whatever delights the chef could conjure up for us.

“Nice time in France then?” asked Mike. Pierre smiled and nodded, without offering any more explanation.

“And you? Bob – where have you been?” “Trying out the new motor for a few days,” I replied. None of them knew about Maggie and I wanted it kept that way – for the moment at least.

“And you, Sophie? I hope you didn’t have to work too hard for that nice fee that you’re going to use for tonight’s supper.”

“It was fine. Basically I just redid officially what we had already done before and tarted it up for presentation to the Board. Ian seemed very pleased and said he would be calling you sometime next week to let you know what they decide to do. And Mike and I did some sightseeing – just like tourists.”

We did ourselves proud as far as the meal was concerned. It was the first time for a while that we had all sat down together and it really felt like family. Mike and I looked at each other and I felt that he thought the same way. In fact his response to my glance was “Pity Heather and Oliver aren’t here.”

We all agreed and promised to include them the next time.

An excellent lobster bisque, a piece of Aberdeen Angus fillet, done to perfection, followed by a selection of prime cheeses – suitably accompanied by a couple of French wines chosen by Pierre and I was ready to break the news about Dewar. We ordered coffee and malts all round and I sat back and looked at this new family of mine.

“I have some news for you. If you are all at ease, I would like an opinion from each of you.”

I had caught their attention. “Pierre, you have just come back from whatever you were up to in France. Mike and Sophie have probably been staring into each other’s eyes all day. But I have read today’s paper. I’d like to read you an article.”

I pulled out the cutting I had taken that morning and read it out to them. When I had finished it I passed it round. Everyone reread it.

“Before you say anything, I have had time to think about it and I’d like to voice my thoughts. Very simply, here’s how I see it. We investigated AIM and discovered the fraud that Purdy was practising on its investors. During the process I was “warned off” by a certain Mr Firkin and his side-kick who, I have discovered, is a Mr MacLean.

“Purdy confessed, righted the wrong he had done and has cleared off. Someone then tried to get rid of me in the mountains – aided or abetted by the two men who grabbed me from my garden. Purdy also told us that someone had instructed him to bomb my car but was too scared to say whom. Then we found Dewar with more money than he should have. We thought that Dewar was blackmailing Purdy and that AIM was the source of his extra money.

“We presumed that when Dewar found out that I was responsible for cutting off his source of cash he got me dumped in the mountains for revenge.

“So far that all seemed to hang together. Although I didn’t tell you this, I thought that probably Firkin and his colleague (I didn’t know his name at the time) were the two who kidnapped me and that they were Dewar’s inside men at AIM. Then Ian MacLeish called me last week to tell me that these two had suddenly resigned from AIM the day after Sophie started working there.”

I paused for a sip of my whisky and went on. “Now we find that Dewar is dead – supposedly an accident – from exposure in the mountains – exactly the same method that was used to, hopefully, dispose of me. For me this doesn’t make sense. If Dewar chose that method to get rid of me then he must be stupid to go off and die that way himself. In other words I don’t think it was an accident. I think Firkin and MacLean got rid of Dewar.”

“Shit!” – that was Mike. A thoughtful look – that was Pierre. “Merde!” – that was Sophie. “So my question is: If I’m right, why did someone need to get rid of Dewar? And who? Was it Firkin and MacLean themselves or were they acting for someone else?”

The first reaction was from Sophie. “One thing is for sure. We need to find out because we need to know if Bob – or any of the rest of us – is still in danger.”

Mike, instinctive as always, jumped in. “We need to track down this Firkin and MacLean and find out if they are linked to someone or if they are acting on their own. I can do that with Mac and Doug.”

“To be honest, I think they are acting on orders. I’ve met them. Remember they were the two that took me off to a meeting after the conference. They didn’t seem to me to be the type of guys who were controlling anything. They felt like subordinates.”

Pierre, meanwhile, had said nothing. He was not one to blurt out his first thoughts. He was looking pensive, listening to what we had to say – clearly weighing up his own view.

I looked across at him and raised my eyebrows in a question. He shook his head slowly, a faint smile on his lips.

“Possible,” he admitted. “Let’s suppose that there is someone else further in the background. Then there must be other machinations going on behind which are important enough to warrant the removal of Dewar as soon as the cards started tumbling down after the disappearance of Purdy. N’est-ce pas?”

I didn’t comment. It looked like the whole story wasn’t over yet. Something was floating around in the back of my brain. It was some kind of half-formed thought – as if I had missed something. It was as if there was one piece of the puzzle that I needed in order to connect everything up. I felt that I knew or had seen something which was significant but I didn’t know what it was, or why.

I decided to stay the night at the hotel. The wine with the meal and the several whiskies consumed with the coffee made it sensible not to risk driving.

I left them to it, explaining that I was tired after the long drive and the excellent meal.

“See you all in the morning,” I said and took myself off up to bed.

I couldn’t get to sleep at first. Thoughts of Firkin and MacLean, of mist in the mountains, of Maggie were all jumbled up in my head.

I awoke refreshed after a decent night’s sleep in the luxury of one of the hotel’s bedrooms. Showered and shaved I went down to breakfast to find Mike and Sophie in deep discussion over eggs and bacon and toast. Pierre had apparently not yet made an appearance.

Mike informed me that he had been in touch with Doug and they were both going to spend a few days in Edinburgh to try and keep an eye on our two targets. Sophie was clearly not too happy about this, sensing perhaps some danger for Mike but he reassured her that there was no problem. He and Doug could look after themselves if there was any trouble.

He asked me if I could find out an address for either of them.

“Sure,” I said “I’ll call Ian MacLeish. They must have some information in the personnel department.”

I called him straight after breakfast and gave Mike the two addresses he had supplied. Mike had arranged for Sophie to go and stay with Heather for a couple of days where she could help with exercising the horses and he set off for the capital as soon as he could.

Pierre came down for a late breakfast after they had gone and I shared a cup of coffee with him. I brought him up to date on what Mike and Sophie were doing.

“Well, there’s not much we can do for the moment,” said Pierre. “What do you fancy doing over the next few days? Let’s do a bit of touring. I need a guide. We’ll take our clubs and go off up north. I fancy visiting a few distilleries and I’ll foot the bill. After what you’ve been through you need a break. How about it?”

It didn’t take me long to decide. We set off that morning on the strict understanding that no discussion was allowed on the subject of Purdy, Dewar and the rest.

We drifted gently though the hills of north Fife and crossed over the Tay by the road bridge leading into Dundee. I was able to point out to Pierre the other famous Scottish railway bridge – this time a replacement of the original one which had suffered a catastrophic accident on a cold December night in 1879. During high winds, gusting up to eighty miles an hour, the bridge had collapsed while a train carrying an estimated seventy-five people was crossing. The train and a large section of the bridge disappeared into the night waters of the Tay. There were no survivors.

Travelling with Pierre was a “no expenses spared” experience. We planned to play Carnoustie the next day so we checked in for the night at the Carnoustie Golf Hotel, on the edge of the golf course and a couple of hundred yards from the beach. A bracing walk on the fine white sands preceded a relaxed meal and an early night in anticipation of doing battle with the famous links course.

We had no trouble getting a tee off time the next morning.

We went to pay our green fee and when the professional discovered that Pierre was French he looked up and winked at me.

“Wait a minute,” he said and disappeared into the back office to emerge a minute later with a pair of green wellington boots which, with a deadpan face, he handed to Pierre. “You’ll probably be needin’ these then,” he said.

Pierre, recalling the story of his famous countryman who had lost the British Open on the last hole by trying to play out of the Barry Burn in his barefeet, took the joke well.

“No thanks,” he said. “I’ll make sure I lay up short.” Carnoustie is a tough challenge to anyone’s golf but we got round it without disgracing ourselves and headed off the next day to Speyside. The weather was perfect. A sunny day, the occasional scudding clouds breaking the monotony of the blue heavens and painting the hills and mountains with shadows which moved across their slopes and crags so that every second the image was different. A photographer’s paradise.

Glenshee, Braemar (a stop for lunch), past Balmoral and on through Tomintoul to Granton on Spey. I was much more familiar with the west coast which, as a boy, we had explored extensively, so this was new country to me and I enjoyed the discoveries as much as Pierre.