‘And?’
‘I’d imagine you’d like it to stay that way.’
‘Which entails cooperating with you?’ Meiklejohn stretched out her arms. ‘In what way have I not been cooperating?’
‘Craigentinny golf course,’ Clarke said, leaning forward a little. ‘Late at night, a meeting arranged in the car park – why?’
‘Sorry, whose meeting is this?’
‘Your friend Salman. Something to do with the planned takeover? Something Salman had to see for himself?’
‘I know nothing about it.’
‘Stewart Scoular was heading the team. Don’t tell me he never discussed it with you? Your father was in the mix too, Issy, and we think you act as his representative.’
‘Which means,’ Fox added, ‘that you know more than you’re telling.’ He held a photograph in front of her face. ‘Any idea whose car this is?’
‘Not mine.’
‘Whose, then?’
Meiklejohn scrunched up her eyes as she studied the photo. ‘Are you serious? It’s just a blur.’
‘A blur that’ll soon have a licence number. What type of car does Stewart Scoular drive?’
‘He doesn’t see the point.’ She saw that a bit more explanation was required. ‘Living in the city – plenty taxis, decent public transport.’
‘So he doesn’t own a car,’ Clarke stated. ‘What if he’s invited to a party at, say, Strathy Castle?’
‘He’d rent something suitable, a Merc or an Audi.’
‘No lifts in Mr bin Mahmoud’s Aston?’
Meiklejohn gave a snort. ‘Bit cramped.’
‘Roads up there would be tough on an Aston anyway – wouldn’t look good when he had to hand it back,’ Clarke agreed.
‘Hand it back?’ Meiklejohn sounded puzzled.
‘It’s leased – didn’t you know? Same goes for the DB5 in London. The house here is owned by the Mahmoud family trust, but the London penthouse is a rental. Not what you’d call a fortune in any of the bank accounts we’ve found.’
‘And credit cards going unpaid,’ Fox added, ‘in danger of maxing out.’
Clarke was studying Meiklejohn. ‘This is coming as a surprise?’
‘Sal was loaded.’
‘Maybe at one time, but his father’s situation had altered things; a lot of the money was untouchable.’
‘That can’t be right.’ Meiklejohn was shaking her head. Clarke leaned further across the desk towards her.
‘Why’s that?’
‘He was about to sign up to The Flow.’
‘The Flow?’ Fox echoed.
‘That’s the name Stewart gave it – actually my father’s idea. The company is being incorporated this week or next.’
‘The Flow is the country club project near Naver?’ Clarke watched.
Meiklejohn nodded. ‘It’s been proving a difficult sell, the financial climate being what it is – Brexit and so forth. Stewart has some promises from America and Hong Kong, but even so … ’
‘How much did Salman intend contributing?’
‘Ten or thereabouts.’
‘Ten million?’ Fox shared a look with Clarke: where the hell was he going to get that kind of money?
‘Father was over the moon when I told him.’
‘Lord Strathy stood to turn a decent profit from the project?’ Clarke asked.
‘The trust did, certainly.’
‘And the trust is what keeps everything afloat?’
Meiklejohn nodded again.
‘So with Salman’s death … ’
She expelled some air. ‘In Stewart’s words: we redouble our efforts.’
‘Which in your father’s case meant heading off for a few days with his married lover?’
‘The ways of the flesh always take precedence where my father’s concerned.’
‘So a major investor has just been killed and your father doesn’t hold a meeting or a conference call? Doesn’t consider cancelling his plans so he can comfort his daughter, who’s just lost a good friend in shocking circumstances?’
‘You have met my father? I didn’t imagine things?’
‘What about the murder of Keith Grant? When did he learn of that?’
‘Probably at the same time he found out from the media that he was supposedly missing.’
‘And what did he say to you about it?’
‘Not a damned thing.’
Fox shifted a little, signalling that he had a question of his own. ‘The scheme hasn’t died with Mr bin Mahmoud, though?’
Meiklejohn considered this. ‘I see what you’re saying – someone was trying to scupper The Flow?’
‘Bit drastic if they were,’ Clarke cautioned.
‘Or else,’ Fox added, ‘the meeting that night was with someone Salman thought was good for the money – a loan perhaps.’
‘I keep telling you, Salman had money.’
‘Paperwork says otherwise – unless you know where he might keep a chunk of it hidden?’
Meiklejohn shook her head.
‘Would Stewart Scoular know?’
‘I can’t see Sal confiding in him.’
‘Mr Morelli, then?’
Meiklejohn shrugged. ‘You’ve got me thinking, though. Plenty competitors out there to add to cranks like Keith Grant and Jess Hawkins.’ She folded her arms determinedly and made eye contact with Clarke. ‘I’m sure you’re wrong about Sal’s finances. The ten mil was a lock. He’d promised me and there’s no way he wasn’t going to deliver.’
‘He didn’t though,’ Clarke said quietly. Thinking: someone made sure of that …
They took Brillo for a walk across Leith Links. Clarke threw a ball for the dog to retrieve while Fox called Gartcosh to see if Robbie Stenhouse had made any progress. When Clarke turned towards him, Fox shook his head at her. She made a kicking motion with her right foot.
‘Siobhan wants me to remind you,’ Fox said into his phone, ‘about that football match – tickets and drinks on her if we get a quick result.’ He listened for a further few seconds, nodding to himself. ‘I know you will, Robbie. That’s why we all worship you as a deity.’ He ended the call and gave a sniff. ‘To be fair,’ he explained to Clarke, ‘the man is as thorough as he is scrupulous – and there’s no shortage of cameras in Edinburgh for him to check. One small nugget, though … ’
Clarke tossed the ball again. ‘Any time you’re ready.’
‘Sticker in the rear window, he thinks it might say Avis.’
‘A rental car?’
‘In which case we’re looking at someone who’s either just visiting or doesn’t have a car of their own.’
‘Or they do, but they don’t want to use it,’ Clarke added. ‘Issy seemed so certain Salman had funds available. Is there something we’re not seeing?’
‘His reputation might be enough to
