approximately, the current sale value of our stock is around four and a half million pounds.’
For an instant Martin felt his jaw drop and snapped it shut. Behind him he heard the sudden intake of Skinner’s breath and a gasp of surprise from Kwame Ankrah.
‘Four and a half-million,’ he repeated, keeping his tone matter-of-fact only with an effort. ‘Your customer profile may be top drawer, but nonetheless, how the hell do you come to be holding that level of stock?’
Mr Rarity smiled, and gave a tiny, slightly hysterical, little laugh. ‘Oh we don’t always carry that much. We just happened to be holding an exceptionally large quantity of gemstones today.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Two reasons, really,’ the little man squeaked. ‘We’re a key branch in that we wholesale precious stones for other retailers and craftsmen. On top of that we have a few customers who purchase unset diamonds and other stones directly from us. One of them had warned us to expect him tomorrow, and had told us that he wanted to invest at least two and a half million sterling in quality diamonds of one carat and upwards.’
‘Forgive me for asking,’ said Skinner, moving closer to the man, ‘but why would a buyer like that come to Edinburgh and to you, rather than going, say, to the diamond market in Antwerp?’
Rarity fidgeted from one foot to another. ‘I couldn’t say,’ he muttered.
‘I could. It is because some people do not want to be seen buying such quantities of precious stones. ’The DCC looked down at Kwame Ankrah, standing beside him. ‘In my country, indeed on the whole of Africa, it is usual for black money - if I may use the term - to be converted into precious metals and stones. Traditionally they are the best hedges against inflation.
‘Naturally enough, the people making such investments do not want to be seen trading on the main exchanges. So they buy from private jewellers. In my experience, though, African criminals usually go to Switzerland or Australia to convert their illegal money.’
The DCC looked at the little manager. ‘Where does your customer come from, Mr Rarity?’ he asked.
‘From St Petersburg.’ The answer was barely above a whisper.
‘And how does he pay you?’
‘In cash. Invariably in used US dollars. He carries it in a suitcase.’
‘A fucking big suitcase, I’ll bet. How often does he visit you?’
Rarity hesitated. ‘Usually twice a year,’ he answered, at last. ‘Certainly, for the last three years, it’s been twice a year.’
‘Spending how much?’
‘From memory, the least he’s ever spent was three million dollars. His biggest single purchase was of stones worth eight million.’
‘So if I guessed that this man has put ten million dollars a year across your counter, for the last three years at least, I wouldn’t be far off the mark?’
‘I suppose not.’ Something stirred within the little manager. ‘But in any event, it’s perfectly legal. A sale’s a sale. It’s not for me to ask any customer how he came by his money.’
Skinner exhaled hard, the breath whistling through his teeth. ‘So are you saying to me that if the people who’ve been knocking over banks in this area walked in here and put one and a half million pounds on the counter, you’d sell them diamonds, no questions asked?’
Rarity looked at the floor. ‘No. In that case, I suppose I’d alert you.’
‘But this chap’s a Russian, so it doesn’t count. Jesus! Do you have to clear transactions like these at Board level within your company?’
‘No. Managers have local autonomy.’
The DCC laughed, harshly. ‘I’ll bet. So that if there’s a can to be carried . . . Meanwhile, with a ten-million dollar boost to your annual turnover, you’re probably the company’s star performer.’
Rarity flushed.
‘What’s this man’s name?’ Skinner fired at him.
‘Malenko; Ivan Malenko.’
‘Do you have any proof that’s his real name?’
‘The first time he came here he showed us a passport.’
‘How does he communicate with you?’
‘By fax: always by fax, giving us about two weeks’ notice of his arrival, and the value and types of stones which he’d like to buy. I would put an order into our purchasing department and the gems would be delivered at least two working days in advance, to give me a chance to sort and evaluate them.’
Skinner looked at Martin and raised his eyebrows. ‘Who would see that fax, Mr Rarity?’ he asked.
The manager shrugged his narrow shoulders, bouncing the padding of his Chester Barrie suit. ‘Whoever picks it off the machine. It’s located upstairs in our general office.’
‘I see, so everyone on your staff would have known that you would have a large quantity of stones on the premises today.’
‘Could have known, Mr Skinner. I can’t say honestly that everyone would have.’
‘How large a staff do you have?’
‘Seven altogether, sir. Myself, Mrs Hall, who’s my deputy, two sales assistants, a craftsman, a trainee, and a book-keeper cum secretary.’
‘And where are they now?’
‘Upstairs in the general office.’
‘All of them?’
‘All apart from Nick Williams, one of the sales assistants. He called in sick this morning.’
Skinner looked at Pringle. ‘Dan, have . . .’
The Superintendent nodded. ‘I’ve asked for a car to call at his address and bring him in, sir, unless he’s really unfit to leave the house.’
‘That’s good.’ The DCC turned towards Martin, stiff in his uniform. ‘Andy, you can see where we’re headed on this. I’d better take Kwame here back to Fettes, then I’m off to PC Brown’s funeral. Check in with me around five- thirty, would you. I ought to be back by then.’
‘Okay, Boss. See you then.’
‘Excuse me, Mr Skinner.’ The Ghanaian had a gentle smile on his face. ‘Do you think it would be possible for me to remain here for a while? This is really what I am here to study, and with respect to your fine officers, it would be more worthwhile for me to observe your detectives at work than to be shown them.’
The big policeman laughed. ‘You’ll miss a good lunch, but that’s okay by me. You hang on with Andy and Dan for as long as you like. I’ll go back and entertain your escorts, and let them catch up with you later.’
Half turned towards the door, he looked at Martin. ‘Once you’re finished here, Superintendent, I’d like you to take Mr Ankrah back to Fettes and show him our intelligence operation. After all, he must see something of our resources. When you’re there though, have them plug into Interpol and see if they can come up with anything from Russia on Mr Ivan Malenko.
‘If we can do them a favour in the course of this investigation, why not. Unless he reads British newspapers, he should still arrive here tomorrow. Maybe we should give him a proper welcome.’
32
‘How was the funeral?’
‘How are they all?’ Skinner replied to Martin, as he stepped from the Chief Constable’s ante-room having changed, thankfully, out of his uniform. His estimate of the time of his return had been over-optimistic. It was ten minutes past six o’clock. ‘Never a barrel of laughs, mate; and this one, with a young woman involved, a police officer.Well, it was as you’d expect. Just like Harry Riach’s service yesterday, the whole town was there. His widow and sons turned out, too. Poor Annie’s family were very touched by that.’
He settled into the Chief’s well-worn chair as the Head of CID sat down opposite him. ‘So what’s happened since I saw you last?’
‘Quite a bit. For openers, I’m satisfied that this is the same organisation that’s been hitting the banks, and not a spur-of-the-moment, copy-cat affair. The description of the robbers, the way they handled themselves, the
