place was. Getting out was the best thing I ever did.’
‘ Sounds like it,’ said Steven. ‘You’ve no idea where the reports might be?’
‘ If they’re not in the lab case files, none at all,’ said Merton. ‘Sorry.’
Steven relaxed and said, ‘Mr Merton, I think that’s all I needed to know. You’ve been most helpful.’
TWELVE
It rained heavily on Thursday morning, giving the city a dark, gloomy, depressing air as Steven’s taxi made its way slowly through Edinburgh’s morning traffic to the new town premises of Seymour and Nicholson. He’d decided not to drive because of likely parking problems and knew he’d made the right decision when congestion forced them to halt yet again at the West End of Princes Street. The clatter of the taxi’s idling diesel engine vied with the sound of the rain on its roof as clouds of cold exhaust from neighbouring vehicles drifted upwards in the chilly air.
‘ What’s this prat doing’?’ growled the driver as the bus ahead seemed to take an eternity at the stop ahead. ‘How long does it take to hand out a few tickets for Christ’s sake?’ grumbled the man.
‘ There’s no hurry,’ said Steven.
‘ Maybe no’ for you, pal, but ah’ve got a livin’ tae make,’ snapped the driver.
Steven abandoned his calming initiative.
The bus eventually moved off to ironic cheers from the taxi driver and they continued down into the Georgian new town.
‘ Abercromby Place, you say?’ said the driver.
‘ That’s right,’ said Steven, adding the number.
‘ I think that’s at the far end. It bloody well would be…’
The cab turned into Abercromby Place where the driver leaned forward over the wheel to look up at the numbers as they moved along. He had slowed to a crawl, which annoyed a Volvo driver behind who couldn’t get past because of parked cars. He tooted his displeasure, which set off the cab driver on another rant. ‘What’s your problem pal?’ he yelled out the window, and then turning to Steven, he added, ‘See Volvo drivers? They’re all the bloody same. Think they own the bloody road.’
Steven adopted a neutral smile and got out. He paid the driver, aware that they were still holding up the car behind.
‘ No hurry, pal. Let the bugger wait,’ advised the driver.
Steven gave the man a ten pound note, told him to keep the change and stood on the pavement for a moment as the cab drove off slowly with the Volvo estate only inches from its bumper and its driver gesticulating furiously.
Steven turned away from social interaction in the city and looked up at the imposing blue door of Seymour and Nicholson. It stood tall and wide at the head of a flight of stone steps flanked by recently-painted black iron railings. A polished brass nameplate on the wall at the side cited the names and credentials of those who worked within.
The door was slightly ajar so Steven pushed it open and passed through an inner, tiled porch and then through a frosted glass door where he was met with the smell of air that had been dried-out by electric heaters.
‘ Can I help you?’ asked the young girl who appeared at a sliding glass panel. Steven saw this as a test of his theory that the person asking this question never could.
‘ I wonder if I might have a word with either Mr Seymour or Mr Nicholson.’ Steven asked, knowing that the reply would be, as indeed it was, ‘Do you have an appointment?’
He admitted that he didn’t and showed her his warrant card.
‘ One moment please,’ said the girl, peering at the card as she walked away with it.
Steven could hear whispering female voices while he waited. He heard an older woman finally say, ‘I’ll deal with this, Marlene and the girl reply, ‘Yes, Mrs Woodgate.’ His theory remained intact.
Mrs Woodgate appeared at the sliding panel, all glasses and blue-rinsed hair and asked, ‘You’re some kind of policeman?’
‘ You could say,’ agreed Steven.
‘ Can I ask what this is about?’
‘ Fire regulations,’ lied Steven.
‘ Fire regulations?’ repeated the woman, sounding alarmed.
Steven nodded. ‘There’s a problem.’
‘ I see, well, I’ll just see which one of the partners might be available first.’
‘ Thanks.’
Steven only had to wait a couple of minutes before the woman reappeared and pressed a button to release the electronic door lock, which allowed him to enter the offices proper. ‘Mr Seymour will see you,’ she said, leading the way up carpeted stairs to an elegant room, which had three tall Georgian windows, all looking out on to Abercromby Place. A tall silver-haired man got up from his desk to greet him.
‘ I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Doctor,’ he smiled, showing even white teeth. He reminded Steven of advertisements for holidays in the sun for the over fifties. ‘I don’t think I’ve come across the Sci-Med Inspectorate before.’
‘ No reason why you should,’ replied Steven, saying briefly what they did.
‘ But I understood there was a problem with fire regulations,’ said Seymour, sounding puzzled and looking concerned in an exaggerated way.
‘ My business is not for your outer office,’ said Steven. ‘It concerns a man named Paul Verdi.’
Steven could have sworn that Seymour paled slightly but after faltering for a moment the urbane smile returned and Seymour said, ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there; Mr Verdi is no longer with us. He left some… let me see; it must be seven years ago at least.’
‘ But he was a full partner in the firm?’
Seymour conceded with a shrug. ‘He was, but after a deal of heart searching, Paul felt that he’d had enough of law. I think he felt frustrated by its… constraints. He decided to embark on a change of career and went into business for himself I understand; the sort of move that takes courage.’
Steven paused before saying, ‘So Paul Verdi gave up a full partnership in an old established city law firm… to do what exactly?’
‘ I think there was some talk at the time of involvement with health clubs, gymnasiums, keep-fit, that sort of nonsense,’ Seymour added with what he obviously thought was a disarming smile. ‘Not my cup of tea at all although I believe they’ve become very popular. The truth is we’ve completely lost touch with one another. These things happen; people move on.’
‘ So you’d be amazed to learn that Paul Verdi runs a number of sauna parlours in the city?’ asked Steven.
Seymour looked uncomfortable. ‘Why are you really here, Doctor Dunbar?’ he asked.
‘ Paul Verdi was by all accounts a very successful criminal lawyer and yet he gave it all up to run a chain of knocking shops,’ said Steven. ‘Make sense to you?’
Seymour winced at the vulgarity, his mouth set into a tight, thin line. He said, ‘Mr Verdi’s business interests are of no concern to me or this firm. You still haven’t answered my question; why are you here?’
‘ I’ll be frank with you, Mr Seymour,’ said Steven. ‘I think Mr Verdi left under a cloud. I’d like you to tell me what that cloud was. I think it may have some relevance to a case I’m working on.’
Seymour considered for a moment before saying, ‘It would be true to say that we had a difference of opinion over certain matters.’
‘ What matters?’
‘ Paul was very successful but there was a question mark over how he went about things. He wasn’t…’
Steven filled in the gap with a silent, ‘One of the old school.’
‘- conventional in his handling of certain cases,’ completed Seymour.
‘ Could we be talking about witness intimidation, Mr Seymour?’
