massively over-exposed to toxic debt. As a result it emerged from the global catastrophe smelling distinctly of roses, and its key staff were able to trouser their modest contractual bonuses without anyone batting an eyelid.
First Caley is popular with cops, and it values us as customers, so it wasn’t a surprise when Payne and I were told that Inspector John Varley did his banking there. Straight away, I put in a call to Morton; I didn’t give his secretary any details, only that I needed to consult him on a confidential professional matter. He took my call at once.
‘Thanks for speaking to me, sir,’ I began.
‘It’s my job, Superintendent Mackenzie. Give me a name and come to my office.’
I was taken well aback. I’d expected all sorts of ritual dancing. ‘Sir?’ I said, cautiously.
‘I know who you are, and what you do. You’re one of Bob Skinner’s close people but you’re not CID. You’ve got a bent cop, am I guessing right?’
‘Yes you are, sir; spot on.’
‘But you’re not discipline and complaints either, so this one is extra sensitive.’
‘True again,’ I conceded. ‘We need to look at bank records, to trace payments from a particular person who may be involved in organised crime.’
‘Is that person one of our customers?’
‘To be honest, I don’t know yet.’
‘I can find out for you. Give me his name as well.’
‘Will do, sir. When can we see you?’
‘Now,’ he exclaimed, with a laugh in his voice. ‘It’s Friday afternoon. Do you imagine I’m going to keep a police investigation waiting over the weekend?’
‘You’re not going to ask for a court order?’ I’d been expecting that he would; the Data Protection Act allows exceptions for police inquiries, but I knew from my CID days that most people like to cover their backs.
‘No,’ he replied firmly. ‘In this bank, decisions on the release of personal information are in the hands of a designated person, and that happens to be me. Give me those names now and get yourself along here; I assume you know where we are. By the time you get here I’ll have accessed all the records.’
I did what he asked. ‘Come on,’ I said to Lowell Payne as soon as I’d hung up. ‘We’re dealing with someone who knows what “urgent” means.’
The headquarters of First Caledonian Bank are located in a modest building in the big business park on the west of the city. Unlike the monster of which I’m still a customer, it doesn’t trumpet its existence, or build bridges across a main road into the city, or run stupid television advertising for no obvious reason. I’d never been there before and I was so impressed by its simplicity that I made a mental note to talk to Cheryl about moving our family banking.
Graham Morton’s office had a whiff of newness about it. He’d only been in post for a few weeks and I guessed that the place had been refurbished for his arrival. His desk was shiny, without a coffee ring in sight, and the carpet was thick and springy.
He was beaming as I introduced myself and my Glasgow sidekick. Morton struck me as a man who’d been re-energised by his new role. The word was that latterly in his career, Andy Martin, as his deputy, had been carrying him on his shoulders, and that his retirement notice had gone in on the same day that Andy was appointed to the Serious Crimes and Drug Enforcement Agency. I made my second mental note within fifteen minutes.
The table in his room was strewn with papers. ‘Everything’s on computer these days,’ he told us. ‘I thought it would be easier if I printed these out.’
‘How about Welsh, Mr Morton?’ Lowell Payne asked.
‘Not one of ours, I’m afraid.’
‘Pity,’ he grunted. ‘That would have made it even easier for us.’
The former chief smiled. ‘Too easy is bad for the soul,’ he murmured as he offered us seats at the table. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘tell me about Mr Varley. How bent do you think he is?’
I was happy to let Payne answer that. He was the seagull, you know, the guy who flies in, shits all over you and then flies away again, so he could deal with it with no issues of loyalty to the force, if not the man.
‘We don’t know,’ he said, bluntly. He ran through the events that had led us to Morton’s office. ‘It may be there’s no more to it than Varley digging a cousin out of an embarrassing situation,’ he admitted, ‘but it’s the words Welsh used. . “weighed in”. . that led the chief constable to set up our investigation. That and the fact that Varley’s lied to his interviewers about even making the call. We’re in no doubt that it was him, but he’s accused Cowan.’
‘Are you examining her bank transactions?’ That was a bloody good question, and one that I could not leave to the visitor.
‘No,’ I answered. ‘The investigators are satisfied that Varley did call Lafayette’s.’
I was on slightly wobbly ground, and we both knew it. To an extent, Mario and Andy were taking Cowan’s integrity on trust. If he’d still been in uniform, Morton might have pressed me further, but he didn’t. Instead he just nodded, then waved a hand in the direction of the printouts on the table.
‘There you are, gentlemen,’ he declared. ‘Current account statements for John and Ella Varley for the last three years. They have two; one seems to be reserved for household costs; mortgage, car loan, insurance, utility bills, council tax, dental plan all come off that, plus there’s a credit card that’s settled on it every month. It’s one of our Mastercard products so I’ve been able to access that too. I can tell you that it’s used for food and petrol, mostly. The household account is funded by monthly transfers from the other one. Both their salaries go into that. . she’s a civil servant, if you didn’t know. Their personal spending is modest, and they manage to save regularly, making irregular transfers into a high-interest deposit account that we offer our customers.’ He paused. ‘As I said, I’ve called up three years. I can and will go back as far as you like, but I can tell you that in what’s there, I don’t see a trace of payments from any Mr Welsh, or anyone resembling him. All their income comes from employment.’
I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or frustrated. I didn’t want another cop to be crooked, but on the other hand I’d been given a task and I hoped that it was going to be wrapped up very quickly, to my satisfaction and, more important, to the chief’s. From what Morton was saying, that wasn’t going to happen.
There was something else: I had a gut feeling about Varley, and so had Lowell Payne, for we had compared our impressions on the drive to the First Caley office. We were sure he was wrong. If we found nothing there, as it seemed we hadn’t, we were going to dig until there were no more holes left for us to make.
I looked at the Strathclyde seagull on my right and could tell that his thoughts mirrored mine. Then I looked back at Graham Morton, and I realised that he was smiling.
‘That was the bad news,’ he murmured, ‘now the rest. In addition to this absolutely routine account portfolio, the Varleys are clients of another of the bank’s departments. We don’t shout about it, but we have an international division. It’s based in the Isle of Man and it’s home to an offshore account in the name of E. Varley.’
‘E. Varley,’ I repeated. ‘As in Ella Varley? The inspector’s wife?’
He nodded. ‘The account details show the same address. It’s been active for eight years and the current balance is one hundred and thirty-seven thousand pounds. It was set up with a deposit of fifteen grand, and similar amounts have been paid in there every year since.’
‘Who by?’ Payne asked, eagerly if ungrammatically.
‘A corporate entity by the name of Holyhead Enterprises SL. That’s short for Societat Limitada.’
‘Spanish?’
‘Actually the language is Catalan; the company’s registered in Andorra and the transfers are made from a bank there.’
It’s not only great minds that think alike. So do those of opportunistic, cunning investigators presented with the possibility of foreign travel. I looked at Lowell, but he said it first.
‘What’s the handiest airport for Andorra?’
Detective Sergeant Lisa McDermid
