Cradle to Grave (44 page)

‘Can you think back, Nico? Did you see anyone going in after him?’

Nico shook his head and MacNee’s sudden hope died. Then he went on, ‘But there was a lady in a hood watching him from up there.’

Now he was indicating the rising ground beside the rough road leading on to Keeper’s Cottage. It was flat at the top and anyone standing there could certainly be seen from Nico’s position here, and could certainly see into the spinney below.

‘A lady?’ Lisa Stewart? She had admitted to him that she was out that afternoon, taking the Buchan child for a walk. ‘A lady with a toddler in a pushchair?’

‘No.’ Nico was definite. ‘Just a lady by herself. It was funny. She looked just like our old nanny, only our nanny had red hair and her hair was brown.’

MacNee’s car had just disappeared down the drive when Cara Ryan came hurrying out of the house. ‘Nico! Nico! Oh, there you are! Listen, sweetheart, this is terribly important. Did you take the computer that was in our bedroom under the bed?’

Nico’s blue eyes were limpid with innocence. ‘No, Mummy,’ he said.

It was only after she had asked him again another couple of times, got the same answer and gone away that he glanced towards the den. He knew they would search his bedroom once they realised it had gone, but it was safe here. He always sneaked it back in when there was no one about and then he could play with it. He was getting quite good at
Grand Theft Auto
now.

Jan Forbes was working at her laptop in the Telfords’ private sitting room where she could be undisturbed. She always spent a few hours in the morning keeping on top of administration, essay marking and emails, and the Telfords were meticulous about not interrupting her.

Eleven o’clock was coffee time, though, and when Susan appeared with a tray, she was looking worried.

‘I gave the cleaners instructions not to go into Lisa’s bedroom this morning so she could have her sleep out, but there’s still no sign of her. I just wondered if I should maybe tiptoe in and see that she’s – well, all right.’

Jan met her eyes with perfect understanding. ‘Listen at the door, maybe,’ she suggested. ‘If you don’t hear her moving about, you could give a wee soft tap that wouldn’t wake her if she was still asleep and then just put your head round the door.’

Susan departed, and Jan waited for her return with just a little niggle of anxiety. Stupid, probably, she told herself. Though the doctor had said the sedative he had given her was very mild, it was perfectly possible that it had laid her out. And of course the young had that enviable ability to sleep in for hours that you lost as you got older.

When Susan came back, it was clear from her face that Jan’s worst imaginings had been unfounded. But she was still looking concerned, and was holding a wad of notes in her hand.

‘She’s gone. Taken all her things and just gone. Left the money for her stay, look.’

‘Very organised. That sounds as if she’s all right, anyway, though I’d have liked to know where she was going. Still, if she didn’t want to tell me . . .’ Jan shrugged.

Susan was inclined to be indignant. ‘There was no need for her to sneak off like that. We wouldn’t have stopped her doing what she wanted to do. And it would have been nice if she’d thanked you. She’d have drowned if it wasn’t for you.’

‘Oh, that doesn’t matter. I’m not entirely sure how grateful she was anyway. Lisa’s had a sad, difficult life and I don’t think conventional courtesy has featured in it much. She seemed very fragile last night. I just hope she knows what she’s doing.’

‘Should we tell the police, do you think?’ Susan suggested. ‘You said she told you they wanted to know exactly where she was.’

Jan considered for a moment, then said no. ‘I promised her I would keep her confidence as far as possible. If the police want to speak to her, of course we must tell them what’s happened, but they didn’t ask either you or me to keep them informed.’

Susan, in awe of Jan’s superior intellect, allowed herself to be convinced. ‘And if that man from the press turns up, I’ll tell him I never heard of her,’ she said with a little more relish. ‘Now, I’ll let you get on. And drink that coffee before it gets cold.’

But after her friend had left, Jan sat staring into space for a long time, thinking about a damaged, vulnerable girl who had turned her back on the offer of friendship that might have helped her sort out her life.

Lisa took the money from the ATM, then looked at her watch. She’d spent a long time over her breakfast and it was late enough now for them to realise she had left Rowantrees Hotel. They might even have phoned the police. She should get herself on a train before they started looking for her.

She’d planned to go to the High Street for her shopping, but Lisa spotted a funny, old-fashioned ladies’ outfitter with cheap jeans in the window; she could get knickers there too, and it would be quicker. She crossed the road and went in.

Twenty yards behind her, a dark-haired man stopped and swore, much to the indignation of a passing Dumfries matron. He walked past on the other side, then crossed to look in the uninspiring window of the gents’ outfitter next door, as if the display of socks, ties and checked flannelette shirts were of absorbing interest.

Still no sign of her. He went back to the other side of the road, parked himself beside the entrance to an office and lit up a cigarette. He smoked it as slowly as he could, but when it was right down to the filter, she still hadn’t emerged. He dropped the butt and viciously ground it out with his foot.

Was she trying on clothes, maybe? The window display didn’t suggest much that would detain a young woman.

A sudden cold thought gripped him. Abandoning caution, he dived across the road and looked in the window. Instead of the dingy interior he had expected, he could see right through to a street behind.

He was sure she hadn’t seen him. Unintentionally, probably, his quarry had left by a door on the far side. He wasn’t paid the sort of money he always demanded to make mistakes, and this one was elementary.

He swore again, this time earning a scandalised ‘Well, really!’ from two young mums passing with buggies. He ran back to the car.

22

‘I need a pot of yellow chrysanthemums,’ DI Purves said, as he parked outside the superstore in Girvan.

DI Fleming smiled. ‘Present for the wife?’

‘Not exactly, though if I pay for it myself, she might get it in the end. No, it’s so Dave can recognise us. We’re meeting here because you’re a busy woman who has to combine business and running the home. So you’d better buy some stuff.’

‘Bread and loo rolls,’ Fleming said, following him in. ‘We’re forever running out. Meet you in the café.’

There was a woman she recognised standing near the entrance, scanning the news-stand. She was looking towards the door, but as the two officers came in, her eyes slid away and she bent to pick up a magazine and flipped it open.

One of theirs, on duty, obviously. What was this operation doing to the budget, and what would have to be cut to pay for it, Fleming wondered, as she collected her groceries. She added milk to her short list – they were always running out of that too – then went to the checkout.

The café was fairly quiet. An elderly man and woman were sitting by the window, staring out in silence and ignoring each other as they sipped their tea and ate pastries. Two women, with piles of shopping bags on the floor beside them, were having an animated conversation, punctuated by bursts of laughter, and there was a little group of young mothers round a corner table with assorted offspring. It was hard to imagine any of them taking any interest in the elaborate charade that was about to be performed at the table where DI Purves was sitting.

He half rose as Fleming approached. ‘That’s what you told me to get, isn’t it?’ he said, indicating the pot of yellow flowers.

Entering into the spirit of the thing, Fleming sighed. ‘I did say pink, but never mind.’ She dumped her purchases on the floor and sat down.

There was a tray with three little pots of tea and three mugs on the table, along with a couple of packets of biscuits. ‘I thought I’d take a chance on tea,’ Purves said. ‘OK?’

‘Fine.’ Fleming picked up one of the pots and filled a mug, peering dubiously at the colour of the liquid. ‘I hope his won’t be cold. I wonder how long he’ll be.’

‘Four minutes, give or take,’ Purves said.

She hadn’t expected so precise an answer. ‘You’re certainly keeping tabs on him. I saw young Thomson at the magazines on the way in.’

‘We don’t take chances with stuff like this. So far so good, anyway, and none of this lot look alarming. We’ll just have to check on anyone who comes in afterwards. Ah! That looks like our man now.’

Fleming watched as Purves got up and walked over to a slight man with a row of earrings in one ear, looking hesitant at the entrance to the café. She heard him say, ‘Dave? Ah, good. I’m Bob, Mrs Hay’s foreman. You’re right on time – she’ll like that.’

The girl behind the counter looked at them incuriously and then went back to her conversation with the kitchen staff.

Fleming recognised the man at once. He was a petty criminal, with a minor record; the only time he had been in real trouble was when he was charged with driving the getaway car for a bank robbery. He was identified, but Fleming discovered there had been irregularities in the administration of the identity parade and, to the distinct displeasure of the arresting officer, had disclosed this to the defence. Since the man had in all probability been guilty, he certainly did have reason to be grateful to her.

By the time they reached her, she had the documents spread out on the table. She got up. ‘Dave. Thanks for coming. And I need a good timekeeper, so you’ve made a fine start.’

If anyone was interested, it was a good cover story for the man’s obvious nervousness. When Fleming shook his hand, she could feel that he was trembling, and he kept licking dry lips as she asked routine questions about his journey.

They were at a table in the far corner of the café with no one near them, and no one at any of the other tables had even turned their head. The elderly couple got up and left, still in silence, and a woman arrived with two noisy children demanding cokes and burgers.

After a couple of minutes Purves said, ‘Let’s not waste time. What have you got to tell us?’

Yet again Dave licked his lips. He looked towards Fleming and said, ‘You’ll see me right, won’t you, miss? Won’t let them drop me in it?’

‘No, I promise they won’t. They’re being very careful of you – you can be sure of that.’

He gave her a long, measuring look, then sighed. ‘I’d rather trust you than the rest of them. And I suppose I’ve done it now, anyway.’

He began his story. He had been a driver for Gillis Crozier, chauffeuring guests when he was at Rosscarron and at other times collecting goods that came in to Stranraer on the Irish ferry. They were always boxes of American DVDs, Dave said. He would be told what the name and address on the packages would be and given the appropriate documentation, but whatever the address was, he had to take the delivery to Rosscarron House if Gillis Crozier was there, or to a post office to be sent to his London office if he wasn’t. Then a couple of weeks later, maybe, the same goods would go back to Ireland, but to a company with a different name from the one they had come from.

‘You could maybe think it was just business,’ Dave said, ‘but I was aye given instructions I was not to do this and I was not to do that and I was to keep my gob shut, or else—’ He looked nervously over his shoulder as he said that, as if the threatened retribution might be on hand.

‘Carousel fraud?’ Purves said, and Dave nodded.

‘There was a big case a wee while ago and I realised.’

Carousel fraud – Fleming remembered reading about the case too, and she knew there was serious money involved, but she had only the haziest idea of how it worked. She’d have to ask Purves for elucidation on the way home.

‘I was getting real scared,’ Dave went on. ‘Lloyd’s in on this and he’s one of the big bosses in Glasgow – you don’t get across him. I’d driven him sometimes, and Driscoll would come on the ferry from Ireland for meetings and I’d driven him too. There were foreigners at the house sometimes, as well.

‘So they all knew me, and I knew quite a wee bit about them. If you’re a driver, folk just forget you’re there. When I heard you lot were asking questions, I knew I’d need to get out. They’d give me a going-over just as a warning not to say anything – they’re like that. They might just make sure I couldn’t.

‘And then yesterday I saw Badger Black in Kirkluce.’ He gave an involuntary shudder.

The two officers looked at him blankly. ‘The name doesn’t mean anything to me,’ Purves said, and Fleming shook her head.

‘It wouldn’t. He’s the best,’ Dave said. ‘Hitman – never been caught or even questioned. Costs a bomb. But if he’s here, he’s here to do business. There’s someone they’re wanting rid of.’

He had no idea who it might be. Purves went on asking questions, getting details of times and places, but Fleming hardly heard another word he said. She was remembering the look of fear in Hepburn’s eyes as he stood staring at the one-way panel, heard again his words to her:
I really, really want you to change your mind. For your own sake. I’ll even say please.