‘I feel that you have a duty to the law as well,’ the superintendent countered. ‘This is a criminal matter. Last week we were satisfied by your senior executive’s, and by my predecessor’s, study of the papers you provided, that Whetstone was guilty, and we reported that to the fiscal. He looked at the file in his turn and agreed with us. However, what Murphy Whetstone told us this morning has persuaded us that we should take a second look. You can forget your auditors, sir. This is our investigation.’
As she finished, Stevie Steele frowned. From the moment of Fraser’s unexpected appearance he had sensed that there was something wrong with the picture, something else behind the chief executive’s patently obvious anxiety. All at once, he realised what it was.
‘Where does Aurelia Middlemass fit into your structure?’ he asked. ‘I thought she was Mr Easterson’s number two in Commercial Banking. If that’s right, why isn’t she here?’
The banker’s face reddened noticeably. ‘You have the advantage of me, Inspector,’ he replied. ‘That’s a question I’ve been asking myself, all morning. Aurelia didn’t come into the office this morning. She doesn’t have any holidays booked, and even if she had, I’d have asked her to cancel them in the current circumstances. Her secretary’s called her, I’ve called her myself. Neither of us has had any reply on her home phone or her mobile. I don’t know where the hell she is.’
‘That’s another complication,’ said Chambers. ‘All the more reason for us to be involved here. I’d like the official request to come from you, Mr Fraser.’
‘You have it. What else do you need?’
‘Two things. Actually the first is only a suggestion, but it’s one you might find appropriate. Since there are only you and Mr Easterson in the line above Mr Whetstone and Ms Middlemass, it might be in the bank’s best interest if you relinquished executive duties during this investigation to your other deputy.’
‘I tend to agree,’ Fraser admitted. ‘What’s the other thing?’
‘I need all the papers relating to the Bonspiel Partnership. The folder Ms Middlemass gave us last week was only a copy. We need the originals to see, if we can, whose sticky fingers are all over this thing.’
‘I only hope they are Whetstone’s. Frankly it would suit me best if it was him all along.’
‘I’m sure it would, although finding his prints on the documents won’t be conclusive by itself. If anyone was setting him up, they could have done it with blank paper that he had handled. We’ll need more than that.’
‘Where will you get it?’
Mary Chambers smiled. ‘Let us find Ms Middlemass first. Maybe she’ll be able to tell us.’
53
‘My love, I hear what you’re saying to me,’ Bob Skinner told his wife. ‘I appreciate that as soon as your thing loses the protection of total impersonality, it becomes very, very difficult. And I promise you that if old Joe Hutchinson was available, we would not be having this conversation.’ He paused. ‘I don’t like being seen, personally, to give you police work. I’m scrupulous about leaving that to the judgement of others. Yet here I am: that, and the fact that I’ve driven out here to talk to you about it, when I should be back at Fettes helping young Crossley and Ruth cancel Proud Jimmy’s cocktail party, must tell you how serious I am.’
She stood in the big glass-walled room gazing out to sea. ‘I don’t know if I can, Bob. What about that woman in Glasgow? Couldn’t she handle it?’
‘She was my second choice after the Prof, Sarah. I called her, but she’s out of town at a conference; ironically, it’s in New York. I can’t, I wouldn’t, I won’t entrust this autopsy to anyone who isn’t top-drawer. I know that it appears to be routine, but I have to report to the commissioner of the NYPD on this, and I need to be one thousand per cent sure of every piece of information I give him.’
‘Bob,’ she protested still, ‘I knew this man. He’d be more than an empty vessel lying there on the slab. He’s someone I’ve talked with, eaten with, laughed with, and all less than forty-eight hours ago. All the time I was working I’d be hearing his voice. Have you any idea how difficult that would be?’
‘Yes, I have. Now will you call on every scrap of skill, strength and professionalism you have and do it for me? Today?’
She turned. ‘Are you giving me a choice?’
‘Yes. You can let me down.’ He saw her flinch. He started to form an apology, but knew that it would be an empty gesture, for he had spoken what he saw as the truth.
‘I couldn’t do that again, could I?’ she said. ‘Very well. Where have they taken the body?’
‘The Western General.’
‘That’ll do. You’ll need to give me time to line up an assistant, a student if I can get one. Plus I’ll want one of Arthur Dorward’s photographers, and I’ll want a police witness.’
‘I’ll ask Neil to do it.’
‘The hell you will!’ she snapped at him. ‘You’ll be there. If you’re laying this on me, then I’m laying it right back on you, honey. I know you hate these things, but you will not delegate this one.’
‘If that’s what you want,’ he said lamely. ‘You fix up the student and I’ll call Dorward.’
Skinner left her to use the phone on the sideboard and went upstairs to use the unlisted line that was reserved in the main for Internet access. He made the call to Arthur Dorward at Howdenhall, then phoned his own office. ‘Do you have that phone number for me?’ he asked Ruth Pye.
‘Yes sir,’ said his secretary. She read out a New York City number. ‘That’s the direct line of the chief of Department. I told his assistant that you need to speak to him as a matter of urgency. He’s in his office now, waiting for you to ring him. There’s one other thing, sir, that’s come up since we spoke last. The head of CID’s been on; he asks if you’d get in touch with him as soon as you have a moment, on his cell phone, since he could well be travelling back to the office when you do.’
‘Did he say what it’s about? The Belgian investigation, I suppose.’
‘Yes. He said there’s been a development.’
‘Bugger it! That’s all I need. Okay, Ruthie, I’ll get to him later.’
He hung up, then made the New York call. The chief of Department was the most senior sworn officer in the NYPD, reporting only to the appointed commissioner. His secretary picked it up, but put him through at once when he identified himself. ‘Good morning, Chief Skinner. This is Ralph Lovencrantz speaking.’ The voice was smooth and cultured, with just a hint of Massachusetts twang; it was also cautious.
‘Good morning, Chief,’ said the DCC. ‘This call should really have been made by my chief constable, but he’s out of town, and it can’t wait for his return. I have some bad news for you, concerning one of your officers.’
‘That can only be Colin Mawhinney; I can’t think of another who’s in Scotland at the moment. What’s happened?’
‘He was found this morning in a dock near his hotel; drowned.’
The chief of Department’s sigh carried three thousand miles. ‘I knew you weren’t going to tell me anything good; I just hoped it wouldn’t be the worst. Were you at the scene yourself?’
‘Yes.’
‘So how did it look to you? Did he fall, was he pushed, or did he jump?’
‘If I said it looks as if he jumped, would you be surprised?’
‘Is that an official question?’
‘Was yours?’
Lovencrantz’s laugh was humourless. ‘
‘Has he had any time off since?’
‘Oh yes, but not voluntarily. Just before Christmas of that year, he finally had a breakdown; his counsellor reported that he was in a very fragile emotional state. At that point, I intervened, and ordered him to take some
