Eye of the Raven (20 page)

It had stopped raining so he started walking uphill towards Princes Street. Edinburgh Castle stood high on its rock, wreathed in low cloud. The citizens scurrying below would come and go but it would go on oblivious. Discovering that David Little’s wife had worked for Paul Verdi had come as a bit of a shock to Steven and was still making him feel uneasy although he couldn’t think why. He supposed that there was no reason why staff in legal offices shouldn’t get perks just like any other people in commerce. They would probably get cheap conveyancing when they bought houses just as bank staff got cheap mortgages and airline staff cheap travel. So what disturbed him so much about Verdi having taken on David Little’s defence for that reason? he wondered.

The fact that Verdi was a crook was the obvious answer. Seymour had more or less confirmed what McClintock had suspected, albeit without giving away any of the details. He felt sure that Verdi had been ousted from the partnership. The state of play was now that the evidence against Little had come from a lab run by a drunk whom no one trusted and his defence had been conducted by a crook who’d been ousted from the profession. But the evidence was sound and there was little or nothing the defence could have done against that, he reminded himself. So why did he still feel uneasy?

The cold and damp was getting to his bones; he needed coffee and warmth. He had been walking on the south side of Princes Street, looking down at the well-kept gardens which sat in the shadow of the castle and where once there had been water but which had become so polluted with the detritus and sewage of the residents of the old town that it had had to be drained. A respectable front on a murky past, he thought with a wry smile as he turned away to cross over to where the shops were.

‘
Any spare change, mister?’ asked a boy huddled in the doorway of one of them. He couldn’t have been much more than eighteen years old and looked cold and miserable, wrapped up in a blanket as he was and with cold sores all along his bottom lip. Steven gave him a pound and a smile born more of embarrassment than warmth.

‘
He’ll only spend it on drink,’ rasped a passer by.

Steven almost retorted, ‘Shut up, you sanctimonious bastard,’ but he didn’t. He ignored the comment, got his coffee and sat down to look out at the rain, which had just started again. It was rare for him to feel so bad about humanity at this time of the morning – it usually took him till well after eight in the evening.

He recognised that if he were to continue trying to find out the reason for Verdi’s professional demise, it would mean tackling the man himself and he didn’t feel optimistic about the outcome of that. Why should Verdi tell him anything? He’d counted on Seymour’s weakness being his fear of losing his reputation but he’d managed to hold out. Verdi by all accounts had none to lose. Still, he reasoned, if you didn’t put the ferret down the hole you didn’t find out if the rabbit was there. He finished his coffee and called McClintock.

‘
Where do I find Paul Verdi?’

‘
Shit, you can’t be serious,’ said McClintock.

‘
Needs must,’ replied Steven. ‘You were right about his legal partners getting rid of him but I couldn’t find out what they had on him exactly.’

‘
And you think Verdi will tell you?’ exclaimed McClintock, as if it were the most ridiculous thing he could imagine. ‘Why should he, for Christ’s sake?’

‘
Maybe I can play one off against the other,’ said Steven. ‘Rattle their cages and see what happens.’

‘
You’ll get your arm bitten off,’ said McClintock.

‘
It’s worth a try,’ said Steven. ‘Just while I’m waiting for the lab result.’

‘
Try playing chicken on the East Coast mainline. It’s probably safer,’ said McClintock. ‘Why are you so interested in Verdi? I thought that bloke Merton had told you what you wanted to know. Why fly off at a tangent?’

‘
I think I’ve just worked that out for myself,’ said Steven. ‘The cases you showed me collapsed because of sloppy forensics,’ said Steven. ‘But I don’t think they were down to screw-ups in the lab.’

‘
Of course they were,’ insisted McClintock. ‘It’s all down there in black and white.’

‘
Oh yes, but I don’t think the screw-ups were actually screw-ups if you get my meaning,’ said Steven.

‘
Not really,’ said McClintock.

‘
I think they were deliberate,’ said Steven.

‘
Jesus Christ,’ breathed McClintock as realisation dawned. ‘You think that someone in the lab deliberately fucked-up so that Verdi could get his clients off?’

‘
In a word, yes.’

‘
Sweet Jesus,’ murmured McClintock, now sounding almost reverential. ‘No one came up with that one before. Are we talking about Ronnie Lee?’

‘
He’s certainly a strong candidate,’ said Steven. ‘Maybe he wasn’t as pissed as people made out. It probably took a great deal of deviousness and cunning to get the faulty evidence past the others in the lab and through to the court stage.’

‘
Where Verdi would be waiting for him with a cut of a big fat cheque that he’d got from his client,’ said McClintock.

‘
Exactly. It’s possible that Verdi and Ronnie Lee had a thing going. Lee would plant flaws in the evidence and Verdi would expose them. The same said clients would then pay out handsomely to both parties.’

‘
Jesus, it’s a thought,’ agreed McClintock. ‘It might also put Verdi behind Lee’s death. He might have got nervous when he heard you’d started asking questions up north.’

‘
That’s also possible,’ agreed Steven.

‘
But what has this to do with David Little?’

‘
Nothing,’ admitted Steven. ‘Apart from the fact that Verdi defended him and Little’s wife Charlotte was his secretary at the time.’

‘
I didn’t know that,’ admitted McClintock. ‘But at least you’ve found out why Verdi defended him.’

‘
Yep,’ said Steven, reminding himself that this is how he should have viewed the news himself instead of allowing it to fuel his feelings of uncertainty.

‘
Maybe this isn’t a job for a one man band anymore?’ suggested McClintock. ‘Why not talk to Santini?’

‘
Let’s keep things the way they are for the moment,’ said Steven. ‘At least until I’ve had a chance to talk to Verdi.’

‘
Okay,’ said McClintock. ‘Verdi lives in a gin palace in a place called, Silverton Gate. It’s a small, exclusive development of four or five houses by the shores of the Forth near Aberlady. His is called Aberlee. You don’t get much change from three-quarters of a million for one of these babies. It’s on the North Berwick road. Know it?’

‘
I’ll find it,’ said Steven.

Verdi’s business doesn’t really start running till the sun goes down so there’s a good chance he might be home in the afternoon,’ said McClintock. ‘Who says crime doesn’t pay?’

‘
Not me.’

‘
Be careful.’

Steven took a cab back to his hotel. He connected his laptop to the Sci-Med server via his mobile phone and checked for new mail. There wasn’t any. He checked his watch and saw that it was nearing twelve thirty. He didn’t want to arrive at Verdi’s place until after lunch time so he thought he’d grab a sandwich in the hotel bar before driving the twenty miles or so down to East Lothian. He caught up with the newspapers while he ate.

Ronald Lee’s murder had dropped from being front-page news a few days ago to a couple of column inches on page eight. Police were reportedly still searching the ground around Lee’s house and conducting door to door inquiries in neighbouring Grantown on Spey. The chief constable of the local force had rejected the idea of asking Strathclyde police for help with the investigation but the paper – which had made the suggestion in the first place – had somewhat undermined him by listing just how little there had been in the way of murder cases in his region in the past twenty years.

Steven slowed as he saw the sign ahead announcing Silverton Gate and signalled a left turn. There followed a succession of signs stressing the fact that this was private property and no through road to anywhere. The houses, when he finally reached them, were, as McClintock had suggested, very large and very modern. Stone had been used extensively in their construction to create an air of timeless respectability but Steven thought the Greek-columned portico on Aberlee a step too far.

Aberlee enjoyed a prime position, facing the sea and with views across to Fife and the hills beyond. It had a six-foot wall around it with security cameras mounted at each corner. High-railinged gates afforded a view of the front entrance at the head of a semi-circular drive surfaced with white granite chippings. A dark green 7 series BMW sat there, its fat front wheels turned out at a roguish angle.

Steven walked over to the communicator set in the wall to the left of the gates and pressed the brass button. He pulled up his collar against the wind while he waited.

‘
Yes?’ asked a woman’s voice.

Steven asked if Verdi was at home.

‘
Who wants to know?’ asked the woman.

‘
My name’s Dunbar. I’m with the Sci-Med Inspectorate.’

‘
He’s busy.’

‘
So am I. Tell him please.’

Steven turned his back to the wind and pulled his collar up even higher.

‘
Yes, what is it?’ asked a man’s voice.

‘
I need to ask you a few questions, Mr Verdi.’

‘
What about?’

Steven was becoming tired of holding a conversation with a grating in a wall. ‘About your time as a partner with Seymour and Nicholson.’

‘
Christ, that was years ago.’

‘
We can talk here or at the local police station if you prefer,’ said Steven.

Verdi did not reply. Instead the electronic lock on the gate buzzed and the latch snapped open. Steven took this as his cue to enter and walk up the gravel drive. If he’d thought the Greek pillars a bit pretentious they paled to nothing when he came across the classical statues he could now see standing in the lawns. He half expected to do battle with a Minotaur guarding the entrance to Aberlee when a woman appeared there instead. She was dressed in a waxed cotton jacket, beige slacks and green Wellington boots. She was struggling to hold on to the door while simultaneously restraining two black Labradors who clearly sensed they were about to be taken for a walk.

The woman didn’t introduce herself. She simply said, ‘You’ll find him through there,’ gesturing with the angle of her head towards a ground floor room. With that she left and Steven entered, thinking that who was taking who for a walk was a moot point.

‘
Mr Verdi?’ asked Steven, knocking on the door, which was half-open.

‘
In here.’

Verdi was a small, fashionably dressed man with dark hair and an olive complexion that spoke of his family’s Mediterranean origins. He did not get up when Steven came in but he did look up from the papers on his desk, wearing a neutral expression. ‘I hope this won’t take long,’ he said.

‘
Shouldn’t,’ said Steven. ‘I’d like to know why you resigned your partnership with Seymour and Nicholson. I’ve heard their version, now I’d like to hear yours.’

Verdi’s eyes opened wide. ‘What the hell has that got to do with you?’ he said angrily.

‘
I’m just giving you a chance to defend yourself,’ said Steven. ‘These new-town chaps made some pretty damning accusations about you. I’d like to hear your version of events before I think about instigating proceedings.’

Verdi, who had been thrown off balance by Steven’s all-out assault, took a few moments to compose himself. Steven could sense that the initiative was slipping away from him with each passing second. Eventually, Verdi leaned across his desk and rasped in a low voice, ‘Just who the fuck are you?’

Steven showed his ID and Verdi slid it back across the desk to him as if it were of no interest. ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you. Get out.’

‘
Then what Seymour told me is true?’ said Steven.

‘
Seymour told you fuck-all,’ snapped Verdi. ‘Just like you’re going to hear from me. My private life has nothing to do with you or anybody else.’

‘
It does when it involves criminal activity,’ said Steven. ‘That’s really why you had to come off the new town gravy train, isn’t it?’

‘
No, I got sick of working with a bunch of public school toss-pots who spent most of their days sending notes to each other like kids in primary 6 so I left. All right? That’s all there was to it.’

‘
Apart from your deal with Ronnie Lee’s lab,’ said Steven.

Although he remained outwardly impassive, Steven felt distinctly unsettled by the dark look that appeared in Verdi’s eyes. It was the first indication he’d had of just how dangerous the man might be.

‘
I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Verdi coldly.

‘
I’m talking about your defence of three well-known criminals and the flawed forensic evidence you exposed to get them off.’

‘
The lab was incompetent,’ said Verdi. ‘If he hadn’t been wearing the right school tie, Lee would have been out on his arse years before.’

‘
Somehow, I don’t think he was
that
incompetent,’ said Steven.

‘
You’re pissing in the wind, Dunbar and I’m a busy man.’