The whole thing might have appeared absurd, but it didn’t. Instead it showed the sort of graceful elegance that comes with good design, and that sense of solid permanence — was that meant to evoke a subliminal notion of trustworthiness and integrity? Was it Lorimer’s early training as an art historian that made him see such things so dispassionately? he wondered. Or had the years of policing turned him into a hard-bitten cynic, refusing to accept the message that this building and its creators were trying to convey?
Tannock had been expecting him but Lorimer hadn’t thought the man himself would come to meet him in reception. Looking upwards at an open-plan staircase, he saw a man hurrying down, holding the ends of his jacket around him as if self-conscious of that corpulent figure.
‘Hugh Tannock. Good to meet you, Superintendent.’
Lorimer felt a firm hand in his and saw that Tannock was looking up at him with an expression that was at once warm and curious. There was something about this short, middle-aged fellow that Lorimer immediately liked. He had no difficulty holding the Detective Superintendent’s gaze and the smile on that face made his eyes crinkle up at the corners, giving him the look of a benign and friendly priest. For a second Lorimer had a vision of Tannock clad in a brown habit, a simple cord tied around his rotund frame.
‘Let’s go upstairs, shall we?’ Tannock suggested, already ushering Lorimer back to the pine and steel structure that spiralled upwards. ‘I always like to show off the view from the top,’ he twinkled, as if confiding some secret to the tall policeman.
The room they entered had one wall completely made of glass, from which Lorimer could see the same view that he had so recently enjoyed from the Free French Cross.
‘Not the sort of thing one can fail to boast about, is it?’ Tannock sighed, rubbing his chubby hands as he stood looking over the expanse of hillside and water, glancing back at Lorimer to see what effect the magnificent vista might have on the policeman.
‘Must keep folk off their work,’ he murmured, giving the man a small courteous smile, but hoping to remind him that he, at any rate, was here on official business.
‘Or inspire them?’ Tannock suggested. ‘Shall we have some coffee while we talk about poor Ian, Superintendent?’
The man’s sudden change of subject showed he had judged the Detective Superintendent’s mood to perfection. He was no fool, whatever else he was, thought Lorimer, adding respect to that instinctive liking for the man.
Directing them to a pair of cream-coloured sofas placed so that they could look out over the river, Tannock waited a moment until his visitor was seated then pulled out a BlackBerry from his inside pocket.
‘We’re ready for coffee now, Mattie, thanks,’ he said then turned to Lorimer, ‘Unless you’d prefer tea?’
Lorimer assured him that coffee would be fine then watched as Tannock pulled his trouser legs up a little to prevent them from creasing, before sinking back into the squashy sofa opposite. It was a gesture at once old- fashioned and effete and made Lorimer suddenly recall the men from the war years who had been tutored in those same small, decorous habits.
‘You explained on the telephone that you wanted to talk to me about Ian’s death, Superintendent,’ Tannock began. ‘Has anything new come to light?’
His enquiry was at once grave and hopeful, Lorimer thought.
‘The previous Senior Investigating Officer in charge has retired, sir, and I have been asked to review the case.’
Tannock frowned. ‘Review? Doesn’t that suggest some degree of inefficiency on the part of this officer and his team?’
‘Not necessarily, Mr Tannock,’ Lorimer replied, crossing one leg over the other. But he was saved from giving any further detail by the appearance of an elderly woman bearing a tray of coffee and cakes.
‘There you are, gentlemen. Shall I leave you to pour, Mr Tannock?’ the woman asked, straightening up and obviously anxious to take her leave. Was she uncomfortable in the presence of the police? Lorimer wondered. It didn’t have to be a sign of a guilty conscience, simply an aversion to the sort of seriousness that warranted his presence there.
‘No, thank you, Mattie. That’s fine,’ Tannock assured her.
‘So what do you make of the whole sorry business, Superintendent?’ Tannock continued once the woman had left them.
‘I haven’t had time as yet to evaluate all that the primary reports showed, sir. But I would be grateful for anything you could tell me about the business here and Sir Ian’s involvement in it.’
Tannock leaned forward to set his cup down before replying.
‘Sir Ian was my business partner. We owned Jackson Tannock Technologies between us.’
‘And now?’
‘Ian and Pauline’s shares will be passed on to his son and daughter, naturally. Between them they now hold over thirty percent of the share capital.’ Tannock paused. ‘It will be worth in excess of eight hundred million, I should think. Euros, that is. We always deal in euros nowadays for our market investors.’
Lorimer swallowed a gulp of hot coffee, trying not to splurt it out in astonishment. Eight hundred million euros. The figure had been spoken as if it were nothing out of the ordinary in a climate of worldwide recession. If he’d been looking for motive in any shape or form, surely he had found it here?
‘What’, he paused, the catch in his throat making speech impossible till he swallowed once more, ‘what will they do with that kind of money?’
Tannock smiled. ‘Daniel is one of our younger directors here. He’s actually in charge of Human Resources, so I believe he will simply leave his money in the firm. For now at any rate,’ he added, nodding in a way that reminded Lorimer of a wise elderly owl.
‘He’s thinking of leaving the firm?’ Lorimer asked.
Tannock smiled thinly. ‘Not if he realises his original ambition, Superintendent.’
‘And that is?’
‘To take over from Sir Ian, of course. It was something that Daniel had tried to have agreed by both his father and me. That he would inherit Sir Ian’s place on the Board whenever retirement came.’
There was something in Tannock’s expression. Scepticism? Was he trying to say that the younger Jackson was greedy for that sort of corporate power?
Tannock was shaking his head. ‘Ian would never have retired. It wasn’t a word in his vocabulary.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘He couldn’t abide the thought of endless days of golf. No matter how much he enjoyed the odd game. Liked the cut and thrust of business too much.’
‘So Daniel had no hope of becoming heir to his father’s position unless he died?’
Hugh Tannock paled at the implication of Lorimer’s words. ‘That’s not what I meant, Superintendent. There’s nothing wrong with having a healthy ambition and his father respected Daniel’s views. Please don’t think along such lines…’ he broke off, squirming in distaste, the idea of patricide quite repugnant to him.
‘And the daughter?’
‘Ah, Serena.’ Tannock’s smile slipped a little. ‘She’s taken this very hard, I’m afraid. Very hard indeed. Quiet lass at the best of times, you know, but these days she’s…’ he stopped then glanced at the Super as if he’d said too much already. ‘Well, let’s just say that a sudden loss like this is extremely difficult to cope with. She’s not been back at work since the fire.’
‘Miss Jackson works here too?’
Tannock nodded. ‘Serena and Daniel were part of the firm, Chief Inspector. Rather like an extended family, I suppose. They never seemed to want to do anything else but work with their father.’
‘And Mrs Jackson?’
‘No. Lady Jackson didn’t come here all that much. Lots of other commitments, you see.’
Lorimer winced at his faux pas, though Tannock’s stress on the word Lady had been minimal.
‘And Miss Jackson, what is her role in Jackson Tannock, might I ask?’
Tannock looked at him through narrowed eyes and Lorimer wondered if the man thought this an impertinent question. Tough, he told himself. It was his job to ask awkward questions. And he hadn’t actually answered his initial question about Serena Jackson, he suddenly noticed.
‘Serena didn’t have a particular role in the firm as such,’ Tannock began, avoiding Lorimer’s direct look. ‘She was more of a sort of ambassador for us. Looked after the clients’ social arrangements and that sort of thing,’ he
