Murder on the Second Tee (14 page)

Flick said, ‘We have to see his mother again immediately.’ She looked at Gilsland, half blaming him for not using his initiative. ‘I know we’re bolting the stable door after the horse has bolted, but please make sure the CCTV in that corridor is properly set.’

Wallace said, ‘No one could have foreseen that there would be a second murder, ma’am.’

Baggo said, ‘Lance is right. What has happened was not on the cards.’

McKellar smiled wryly and shook his head. Flick sensed he blamed her and feelings of insecurity crowded in on her again.

Taking Wallace to Strathkinness, in ten minutes she was back at the Thornton’s home. The chiming bell was answered quickly, the door opening a fraction.

‘What do you want?’ It was the voice of a woman.

‘Police. We’re here to see Mrs Thornton.’

The door opened fully, revealing Grace Thornton, her face grim, still wearing her apron and clutching a sodden handkerchief.

‘We have to see you, I’m afraid,’ Flick said. ‘We don’t need to bother your husband.’ From the sitting room the voice of a Scottish football pundit boomed.

The unhappy woman sighed. ‘You’d better come into the kitchen, then.’ She led the way through the hall to the back of the house where there was a rich aroma of baking. A chocolate cake fresh out of the oven lay on the table, a bowl of icing beside it. ‘Bruce loved a chocolate cake,’ she said. Then tears ran down her cheeks and she began to weep.

Flick and Wallace stood awkwardly for a time, then Flick said, ‘We know you went to see him this afternoon.’

She nodded and stopped crying. ‘I thought you’d be back. Don’t tell Walter, please.’

‘Tell us what happened,’ Flick said.

She took a couple of deep breaths and sat on an unsteady wooden chair. ‘I was in town this morning and I ran into Archie Turnbull. He’s one of Bruce’s friends, and he told me Bruce was here, staying with that man in the Old Course. He even had the room number.’ She paused then continued, speaking slowly and carefully, her eyes never leaving the cake in front of her. ‘He’d seen Bruce on Thursday night and he wanted things to be better between us. Archie’s been coming round the house since he was a wee boy. Anyway, I met my friend for lunch, as arranged, and we spoke about it. It was the first time I’d mentioned it outside the family, and Walter won’t talk about it. I decided to go round and see Bruce, and beg him to give up that dreadful man and come and see us.’ Her whole body shook, she lifted her gaze as if for strength and stared at the wall ahead.

‘He was dressed as Santa,’ she continued. ‘And he said he would have to go in five minutes. I said my piece, and he just stood there. He said, “Why can’t you see this is how I am? I’ve fought it for years, but this is me. If it wasn’t Oliver it would be another man. And he’s good to me. You’d like him, if you gave him a chance.”’

‘Then?’ Flick prompted.

Her eyes darted round the room then she said, ‘I left. As I went he said, “I love you, Mum.”’

‘Did you see anyone, suspicious or not, in the corridor, ma’am?’ Wallace asked.

She shook her head. ‘No.’

Flick did not know what to do. Her instinct told her she had been given only part of the truth and the time of the visit meant there was a very narrow window in which anyone else could have committed the murder. Yet there was no mistaking the woman’s genuine grief, and to bring in a traumatised mother for questioning was a serious step, not to be done unless she was pretty sure.

‘Why didn’t you tell us earlier?’ Wallace asked.

‘Walter can’t cope with the whole business.’ She looked at him pleadingly. ‘When I got home I told him about meeting Archie and he started raging. I couldn’t tell him I’d seen Bruce. I would have told him, but much later. Please, does he have to know now?’

‘Not immediately,’ Flick said. ‘But whom did you meet for lunch when you talked about Bruce?’

‘Ina Campbell.’ She opened a drawer in the table and brought out a notepad and pencil. She wrote quickly and tore a sheet off the pad. ‘There’s her address and phone number,’ she said, pushing the paper towards Flick.

Flick took it and stood up. ‘That will be all for now, Mrs Thornton,’ she said formally. ‘We’ll see ourselves out.’

In the car she said to Wallace, ‘She won’t go anywhere. If it was her we’ll be able to find her when we need to.’

Wallace said nothing for a while then muttered, ‘I just can’t see her doing it, but if he said something really hurtful to her, you never know.’

Some journalists had remained beside the front entrance so they used the Pro’s Shop door again. In the conference room she found McKellar with a grin cracking his face. Beside him, Baggo was in a state of excitement.

‘Mr Parsley had some very rich clients,’ Baggo said after Flick had reported on their visit. ‘I called the man who left a message on his phone and who wanted to speak this afternoon about his bonds. I said, “The President, please.” I had guessed that XPB might stand for ex-president something, and I was right, but not ex-President Bush. “Bathalloppo speaking,” he said. He wanted to speak to Parsley and would not say what his business was, but I can guess that he wants cash. I said Mr Parsley was not available but had asked me to call. Bathalloppo was not impressed.’

‘Who is Bathalloppo?’ Flick asked.

‘The ex-president of Congango, a tiny African state with lots of starving people and two huge diamond mines. He was ousted three years ago in a coup that was bloodless only because he escaped before anyone could catch him. It was said he took millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds with him.’

‘That doesn’t help us catch our murderer,’ she snapped.

‘But this might,’ McKellar said. ‘While he was Googling Bathalloppo one of your pals in London phoned. He said that none of the bank people have a record, but Saddlefell nearly had one. As a student he was charged with grievous bodily harm as you call it in England. He got off claiming it was self-defence. The victim was badly injured. The fight was over a girl. The trial was in Leeds Crown Court in 1982.’

‘Good,’ Flick exclaimed. ‘It’s not evidence, but it shows he can be violent. We’re on the right lines with him. Who phoned?’ she asked.

McKellar shook his head. ‘Tom something, maybe. I can’t remember. He was disappointed not to speak to you, but he was going off duty as soon as he finished the call.’

Flick tried not to show her irritation. She sat down and thought.

‘We’re going to detain Saddlefell for questioning. Now,’ she said.

When Flick told him that she was detaining him Saddlefell was incandescent. Secretly enjoying the display of impotent bluster that he put on, she knew she had rattled him, as she had planned. She did not want to attract attention from the press and, with Wallace and two constables, she led him down the spa stairway to exit by the Pro’s Shop door. As they approached the door one of the constables hissed that there was a cameraman outside. Quickly, Flick took off her coat and threw it over Saddlefell’s head before leading him out. A muffled ‘How dare you?’ could be heard as a series of flashlights went off.

In the interview room of Cupar Police Office Flick sensed pure, controlled aggression from her detainee as he glared across the table at her, mouth shut. His fists were clenched, resting as if in a boxing pose on the grubby formica. He demanded a phone call to his solicitor, which she was bound to permit.

The arrangements, made through Saddlefell’s London solicitor, took some time to put in place but she was told to expect Murdo Munro QC, a solicitor-advocate from Edinburgh, who would be with them in an hour. This pleased her. She had six hours in which to question her man, and waiting alone before starting might jangle his nerves.

Wallace was less pleased. ‘In the good old days we wouldn’t have to wait for a lawyer,’ he complained. ‘English courts mucking up Scots law,’ he added.

‘I basically agree with you, actually,’ Flick said. ‘I’ve always thought that lawyers in police interviews help the guilty and do no good for the innocent. But there were two very senior Scottish judges in the Supreme Court when they made that ruling.’

‘Aye, maybe,’ Wallace said. ‘Do you want a coffee, ma’am?’

They drank their coffees in silence then Wallace began to pace about the room. Flick hoped the delay might have the same effect on Saddlefell’s nerves.

‘I think this is him!’ Wallace exclaimed later, looking out of the window. They saw a shabby-looking Mazda draw up in front of the building. A small man with crinkly hair and wearing a puffa jacket got out of the passenger seat. Flick met him as he came in the front door. He smiled pleasantly and shook her hand.

‘I’m Murdo Munro, here to see Lord Saddlefell.’ He emphasised the ‘Lord’ and Flick thought she spotted a quirky smile flash across his face. ‘Thank you for waiting for me but I had to bribe my son to drive me here. Can’t be too careful with the drink, no?’

Flick sniffed but detected no whiff of alcohol. This was not the sort of lawyer she loved to hate. Under his jacket he wore an open-necked shirt and a stained jumper. He produced a small notebook and a biro from a pocket and asked what the case was about. As she told him he listened attentively and made notes. He gave no indication of what he thought of the evidence she had gathered. He thanked her again and stated very firmly he would need ten minutes with his client.

‘Seems a nice chap,’ she observed to Wallace. ‘I wonder how he can bear to represent the people he does.’

‘He’s deadly,’ Wallace replied. ‘He is incredibly polite and hardly ever raises his voice, but he knows the law backwards and wins over juries just by being reasonable.’

After Munro and Saddlefell had been together for ten minutes Flick and Baggo entered the room. She switched on the recording equipment and read out a full caution. As she adjusted the papers in front of her Munro spoke.

‘I have had a necessarily brief discussion with Lord Saddlefell in relation to these matters, which are very complex. It appears to me that you have no hard evidence against Lord Saddlefell on any charge, and that this is a sort of fishing expedition in which you hope he might say something that might be used against him later. While normally he would wish to assist police inquiries, on this occasion I have advised him to refuse to answer any question apart from giving such personal details as he is obliged to give. You have the power to keep him here for nearly five more hours, but in the circumstances I hope you will release him now as this interview is pointless. He tells me that he is already late for an important board meeting scheduled for seven pm and, as a courtesy, I shall inform you that I have instructions to make a formal complaint regarding his treatment this evening which has caused him embarrassment and distress.’

Flick did not know what to say. A strong sense of foreboding gripped her, numbing her brain and squeezing her stomach. Pretending to ignore what Munro had said she asked, ‘Did you not lie to us about when you went to bed on Thursday night, claiming you went in earlier than was in fact the case?’

Saddlefell sat back, arms folded in front of him, lips clamped shut and with a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

After a full minute of silence that felt like five she asked, ‘Did you visit the room occupied by Davidson and Thornton shortly before Thornton’s body was found?’

Another silence.

‘Did you kill Thornton by mistake, believing him to be Davidson?’

Another silence. Saddlefell began to smile. Munro kept a poker face but wrote in his notebook.

Baggo nudged Flick’s knee and shook his head at her.

‘Interview terminated. You’re free to go,’ she spat, switched off the recorder and swept out of the room.

Saddlefell shook his head in mock sadness and got up.

‘Do you want a lift to St Andrews?’ Munro asked. ‘I’m afraid it’s just an old Mazda and I can’t vouch for some of the things my son leaves in it.’

‘Yes, that would be all right,’ Saddlefell said, a hint of doubt in his voice.

‘Before you go,’ Baggo said, ‘we are amassing evidence regarding illegal activity in your bank. Those who were not involved in that activity and who learned of it only recently should consider helping us. That’s all I will say now.’ He looked pointedly at Munro, who raised an eyebrow.

‘Let’s get to St Andrews. I need to be at that meeting,’ Saddlefell said and they left.

* * *

Still in Cupar, Baggo found Flick at her desk, head in hands.

‘We have to think,’ he said.

Holding back tears, she looked up at him.

He said, ‘We must put our heads together or neither of us will get anywhere. Come on, Inspector ma’am, let us go through all the evidence now and see what we know.’

And so they did. Baggo started by giving a detailed account of his discussions with Gerald and Cynthia Knarston-Smith. Testing the water as far as tricky topics went, he told her about the photograph and pulled it out of his pocket.

‘Wow!’ she said as she examined it. ‘But it hasn’t been properly logged,’ she protested.

‘Knarston-Smith would not have told me all that he did without this,’ he replied. ‘And as soon as it becomes official it will cease to be effective leverage. If necessary I can add it to the log later.’

‘Not on my watch,’ she said. ‘One bit of planted evidence can destroy the whole case, and if you add it later, who will believe you found it when and where you said you did? Did you seize the computer case?’

‘No, but I can tomorrow.’ Her promotion had not made her more flexible. He made a mental note to take care if he wanted to use the photograph as evidence. There was no way he would tell her the truth about his sex with Walkinshaw or the saga of the money clip.

They talked about Belinda Parsley and her affair with Forbes then went on to Lord Saddlefell, Sandi Saddlefell, Simon Eglinton, Eileen Eglinton, Nicola Walkinshaw and Oliver Davidson.

They agreed that for Thornton’s murder his mother Grace could not be ruled out. They discounted Sheila Anderson as the CCTV gave her an alibi for both murders and she seemed most unlikely anyway. Sandi Saddlefell, Eileen Eglinton and Cynthia Knarston-Smith ended up at the bottom of the list of suspects.

Baggo repeated that taking a trophy from Parsley was a strange thing for a frenzied, non-sexual killer to do. He did not want Flick to give the money clip too much importance.

‘I’ve asked the constables to track down the chambermaid who told Osborne about the clip,’ she said. ‘But what on earth was he really doing here anyway?’

‘I spoke to him briefly to tell him I had been kicked out of the police so he would not blow my cover. He said he was here, paid by the bank, to find out who murdered Sir Paul and Parsley while being discreet. In other words, the bank hoped the killer would be caught quickly without the sort of investigation which might uncover the money laundering.’

‘It would be just like him to plant something like a money clip on his prime suspect,’ Flick mused.

Baggo felt the small metal object warm against his thigh and changed the subject. ‘I wonder why they are having that board meeting,’ he said.

The phone on Flick’s desk rang. It was McKellar, who had been left at the hotel to keep his ear to the ground. She listened intently, astonished at what she heard.

‘We’d better get back to the hotel. McKellar’s arrested Saddlefell. He’s assaulted Forbes.’

* * *

‘I’d do it again. The bastard stitched me up.’ Saddlefell thumped the table in what was now known as the police room and glared at Flick, then at Baggo and Wallace. ‘And you lot helped him.’

There seemed to be no dispute about what had happened. Saddlefell had got back to the hotel to find that the meeting was over. After a brief word with Eglinton he had gone looking for Forbes and found him drinking champagne in the Fourth Floor Bar with Walkinshaw. Forbes had stood up and Saddlefell had punched him twice, once to the solar plexus and once to the face. Although groggy, Forbes insisted he was fine, but the bar manager had summoned McKellar.

‘How do you think we helped him?’ Flick asked indignantly.

‘You got me out of the way at the time of that meeting.’

‘I didn’t know about the meeting till you told us. What happened at it?’

Saddlefell breathed deeply and shook his head. ‘You must know about the chairmanship.’

Baggo interjected, ‘Lord Saddlefell, we do not know what you are talking about. Honestly.’

‘Honestly, we don’t,’ Wallace added.

Saddlefell looked from Baggo to Flick and shrugged. ‘In view of recent events, I considered it essential that we should have a properly appointed chairman immediately and I called a meeting for seven o’ clock this evening to elect one, hopefully myself. As I was with you in Cupar, only Forbes, Nicola, Simon and Oliver attended. Forbes insisted the meeting should go ahead and produced a proxy I had given him months ago for a different meeting and a different issue. But the proxy was so widely phrased that it enabled him to count me as voting with him on any issue if I was not there. So he steamrollered it through. Nicola proposed him, Oliver proposed Simon. It was three against two and now he’s chairman of the bank. I’ll check with my lawyers, but I suspect there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.’

Baggo and Flick exchanged glances. It had been Forbes who had heard ‘It’s Terry’ in the corridor before Thornton was killed. He had used the police to become chairman. Baggo was not surprised but Flick was furious.

She said, ‘This assault will be reported to the procurator fiscal, who will decide what to do. You’re free to go, Lord Saddlefell, but I advise you to keep out of Mr Forbes’s way. If you were to assault him again we’d have to take much stronger action.’

Wearily, Saddlefell rose and left the room. ‘You know, a bit of me feels quite sorry for him,’ Baggo said.

‘But we’re no closer to finding our murderer,’ Flick replied.

As the three detectives sat thinking, Baggo’s mobile rang. He listened then said, ‘Stay where you are. I’ll be with you in five.’ After ending the call he explained, ‘Forbes, the new chairman, has summoned Knarston-Smith to a meeting in his room at nine-fifteen. I’m going to see him before he goes there.’

‘We’d better interview Forbes about that assault,’ Flick said to Wallace. ‘It won’t take long.’

* * *

Baggo found Gerald and Cynthia in their room, the atmosphere thick with conflict. She was looking daggers at her husband while he sat on the bed twitching and running his hands through his hair. She turned to Baggo, her expression full of anger and despair, but said nothing.

‘Thank you for calling me,’ Baggo said to Gerald.

Gerald shrugged.

‘I will need to know what is said at this meeting,’ Baggo continued, ‘and this is where you can do yourself a lot of good.’

Cynthia snorted with disgust.

‘You can dig yourself out of the hole you dug for yourself,’ Baggo said.

‘Or into your grave,’ Cynthia turned on her husband, her fists clenched. ‘Remember, two people have been killed. I could kill you myself,’ she added, her voice catching.

‘I’ll tell you what’s said,’ Gerald said meekly.

‘But you could do more,’ Baggo told him. ‘I would like you to wear a bug so we can hear and record everything. That would provide terrific evidence if Forbes said anything incriminating.’

‘You’d incriminate yourself as well,’ Cynthia said sharply.

‘We’ve already got plenty evidence against him, Mrs Knarston-Smith,’ Baggo said. ‘If he helps us he helps himself.’

‘So he might not go to jail?’

‘That would not be up to me, but that would be possible.’

Cynthia searched Baggo’s face then turned to her husband. ‘You fool, you total bloody idiot,’ she hissed.

Gerald recoiled as if he had been slapped. Baggo reckoned he had spent most of the day as a verbal punch-bag. ‘Forbes is paranoid about secrecy. He’s been known to check people for bugs in the office,’ Gerald said, his voice rising in alarm.

Baggo was glad he had brought his computer with him from Cupar. He opened the case and from one of its many pockets produced a flat metal chip about half an inch square, some wires and a small plastic box. Trying to lighten the atmosphere, he held up the chip and said, ‘Imagine I am Q in a James Bond film. This is what I would like you to wear. It will be very difficult to find.’

‘Not if he checks my clothes. As I say, he’s paranoid and very careful.’

Baggo looked at him. He was entirely unsuited to the sort of role he was needed for. He was an inoffensive, timid guy, brilliant at maths but otherwise, as his wife said, an idiot. Although his hair had reminded Baggo of the new Q in
Skyfall
, he was no 007. It would have to be Plan B.