solicitor client is on pretty shaky ground.’
‘Very,’ she agreed immediately. ‘In fact we admitted negligence ages ago. The problem is the quantum, the amount of damages. The insurance company started off with an offer of seven hundred thousand. Bernard Grimley wants five million.’
‘Eh? Why are they so far apart?’
‘It’s a matter of wishful thinking. Grimley never made more than twenty-five grand in profits in the three years he owned the place. He’s forty-three, so the insurers did their sums based on likely income till his retiral, plus the costs of the work, plus loss of potential profit on the sale.
‘But the basis of Grimley’s argument is that the new bar was the missing link that would have helped him turn Merryston House into a five-star country house hotel. He’s projected vastly increased income, and a sale value of millions.’
The meal at an end, Andy rose from his seat and picked up the bowls. ‘But the planners wouldn’t have let him build the extension anyway. Doesn’t that flatten his case?’
Alex followed him into the kitchen and watched as he reached down to open the dishwasher door. ‘We think that it damages it,’ she agreed. ‘But Grimley’s argument is that if he’d been given proper advice, he’d have found another, unspecified, solution. From what we can tell, the judge seems to be impressed by it.
‘He’s had all sorts of witnesses. Architects, hoteliers, even a doctor to give evidence about the damage to his health resulting from the negligence. He’s an old acquaintance of yours, in fact. Doctor Banks.’
She frowned. ‘There was quite a commotion during his evidence. He was excused from the witness box to go and attend to one of the judges who’d collapsed on the Bench.’ She paused. ‘I heard later that he had died.’
‘That’s no surprise with Banks in attendance!’ said Andy, his vivid green eyes flashing. ‘If I never meet that man again it’ll be too soon. He must have loved being the centre of attention, the glory-seeking wee bastard.
‘What was he like as a witness in your case?’
His partner wrinkled her nose, as she considered her answer. ‘He was okay, I suppose. He just gave a straightforward opinion as the pursuer’s GP that during the course of the dispute, he had suffered from stress, anxiety, depression and raised blood pressure, requiring continuous medication.
‘He didn’t say anything that we could argue with. I reckon he did Grimley’s case quite a bit of good.’
Andy stood straight once more, still with dishes in hand, and looked at her. ‘It sounds to me, from what you’re saying, like you’re going to lose.’
She frowned and nodded. ‘The truth is that we expect to. We’d have gone to arbitration, but the other side wouldn’t accept anything short of a full Supreme Court hearing. So now it’s a matter of how much the judge decides the claim is really worth. Our guess is one and a half million, but you never know. Grimley could wind up getting the whole five.’
Her fiance chuckled. ‘Just like winning the lottery. What’s he like, this Grimley bloke?’
‘A bit rough-hewn, I’d say. And sort of fly with it; a bit of a chancer. He’s got shifty little eyes, and he doesn’t like looking at people directly. I don’t like him much.’
‘Are we likely to have known him?’
‘Does he have a criminal record, d’you mean? Not as far as we know. He’s certainly never declared any convictions. He made the money to buy Merryston House in the pub trade in Glasgow though, in a part of the South Side where you wouldn’t go after dark, but we can’t found any defence just on that.’
‘No,’ said Andy, ‘but still . . .’
He slid the plates into the dishwasher and closed its door with a bang. ‘Anyway, enough of Mr Grimley, and of the Hole in the Wall Gang. Shop talk’s over for the evening.’ He reached out and drew her to him, with a smile. ‘Now let’s do our best to rid ourselves of the tensions of a stressful day.’
5
‘When DCS Martin says first thing in the morning, he really means it, doesn’t he.’ Maggie Rose glanced at the clock on the wall of the briefing room at Police Headquarters in Fettes Avenue. It showed fifteen minutes after eight a.m.
She and Detective Superintendent Mackie were seated at a long conference table with ten other officers, CID commanders and deputies from the other five Divisions of the force. All of the others had helped themselves to coffee from Thermos jugs on a tray by the long window, but Rose had taken a glass of water, her preference at that time of day. She glanced around, conscious of the fact, as she always was at such meetings, that she was the only woman in the room.
The officer seated on her right leaned over towards her. ‘What’s this about, Mags? Any idea?’
She looked round at him. Detective Superintendent Dan Pringle was bleary-eyed. There were nicks on his chin, as if he had shaved with a shaky hand, and even his heavy black moustache had a tired look about it. ‘Can’t say for sure,’ she replied, ‘but we reckon . . .’
She stopped in mid-sentence as the door swung open, and the blond figure of the Head of CID strode into the room, accompanied by the fresh-faced young Detective Constable Sammy Pye, of his personal staff, and by the familiar bulk of Detective Sergeant Neil McIlhenney, DCC Bob Skinner’s executive assistant.
‘Morning all,’ called Andy Martin, his tight-cropped hair shining under the neon light as he stood at the head of the table, flanked by his two companions. ‘Everyone got coffee? Good. I’d have laid on bacon rolls as well, but the canteen can’t handle big numbers this early.’
He took off his navy blue blazer and hung it across the back of his chair, then lowered himself into it. ‘Okay, if you’re all sitting comfortably then I’ll begin.’ He nodded to his right, then to his left. ‘Sammy’s here to take a note of this meeting. Neil, as you all know, is Mr Skinner’s Vicar on Earth.’
There was laughter round the table, as McIlhenney genuflected quickly. Martin stilled it by holding up a hand. ‘How many of you are wondering what this gathering is about?’ he asked.
Around the table, eight hands rose, some of them hesitantly.
‘Is that right?’ said the DCS, softly. ‘Then I’m disappointed. I suggest to all of you guys that you pay more attention to what’s going on outside your own Divisions, if only by reading the
‘If you had done, then you’d know that over the last three months there have been three major armed robberies in this force’s territory, two of them from banks and one from a building society. Total funds liberated, one million, two hundred and seventy-three thousand pounds. Oh yes, and thirty-four pence. Total funds recovered, twenty-two thousand six hundred and seventy pounds.Total number of arrests, one . . . Nathan Bennett, who was stupid enough to drop his credit card at the scene of the first raid.
‘These robberies have been spread around our area, at random, and without any obvious time pattern. The first was in Dalkeith, three months ago, as I said, where the Bank of Scotland was held up. The second of the subsequent crimes took place last week in Edinburgh, and the third was in Colinton on Monday.
‘In case you’re wondering, there have been no similar robberies in other force areas during this period. I’ve checked. For the moment at least, these people are concentrating on the Edinburgh area.’
He paused. ‘Questions or observations?’
‘Need there be a connection?’ asked Pringle.
‘You’ve had two on your territory, Dan, one of them right in the middle of George Street,’ Martin retorted as quick as a flash. ‘You tell me whether they’re connected.’
The gruff detective nodded. ‘I’d say that those two were. The physical descriptions don’t tally, but in each case there were three robbers, all of them armed with shotguns, and in each case they made the staff hand over the video tapes from the security system. However, I can’t say that all three are linked.’
‘I can,’ said the Head of CID, with emphasis. ‘I’ve been looking at the big picture . . . which is, after all, my job.
‘Let’s consider the common factors. There have been three men on the team at each robbery; enough to get the job done, but not so many that they’re getting in each other’s way. In each case they’ve worn different types of face masks.
‘Witnesses have said that every man has been armed with a sawn-off shotgun. They have all said that they were left in no doubt that they would be used if necessary. Fortunately, they haven’t been . . . so far, at least.
