He tried to avoid her, tried to sideline her via his operational directives. Until today, hed thought it was working. Then the phone had rung. Assistant Chief Constable Lees, hed announced as he picked up the phone. How may I be of assistance?
Good morning, ACC Lees. My name is Susan Charleson. Im personal assistant to Sir Broderick Maclennan Grant. My boss would like to talk to you. Is this a good time?
Lees straightened up in his chair, squaring his shoulders. Sir Broderick Maclennan Grant was notorious for three things - his wealth, his misanthropic reclusiveness, and the kidnap and murder of his daughter Catriona twenty-odd years before. Unlikely though it seemed, his PA calling the ACC Crime could only mean that there had been some sort of development in the case. Yes, of course, perfect time, couldnt be better. He dredged his memory for details, only half listening to the woman on the phone. Daughter and grandson kidnapped, that was it. Daughter killed in a botched ransom handover, grandson never seen again. And now it looked as if he was going to be the one to have the chance finally to solve the case. He tuned in to the womans voice again.
If youll bear with me, Ill put you through now, she said.
The hollow sound of dead air, then a dark, heavy voice said, This is Brodie Maclennan Grant. And youre the Assistant Chief Constable?
Thats right, Sir Broderick. ACC Lees. Simon Lees.
Are you aware of the unsolved murder of my daughter Catriona? And the kidnapping of my grandson Adam?
Of course, naturally, theres not an officer in the land who -
We believe some new evidence has come to light. Id be obliged if youd arrange for Detective Inspector Pirie to come to the house tomorrow morning to discuss it with me.
Lees actually held the phone away from his face and stared at it. Was this some kind of elaborate practical joke? DI Pirie? I dont quiteI could come, he gabbled.
Youre a desk man. I dont need a desk man. Brodie Grants voice was dismissive. DI Pirie is a detective. I liked the way she handled that Lawson business.
Butbut it should be a more senior officer who deals with this, Lees protested.
Isnt DI Pirie in charge of your Cold Case Review Team? Grant was beginning to sound impatient. Thats senior enough for me. I dont care about rank, I care about effectiveness. Thats why I want DI Pirie at my house at ten tomorrow morning. That should give her enough time to acquaint herself with the basic facts of the case. Good day, Mr Lees. The line went dead and Simon Lees was left alone with his rising blood pressure and his bad mood.
Much as it grieved him, he had no choice but to find DI Pirie and brief her. At least he could make it sound as though sending her was his idea. But in spite of there being no appointment in the electronic diary system he had instituted for his senior detectives, she hadnt been at her desk. It was all very well, officers doing things on their own initiative, but they had to learn to leave a record of their movements.
He was on the point of marching back down to the CCRT squad room to find out why DI Pirie hadnt appeared yet when a sharp rap on the door was followed without any interval by the entrance of DI Pirie. Did I invite you to come in? Lees said, glowering across the room at her.
I thought it was urgent, sir. She kept walking and sat down in the visitors chair across the desk from him. DS Parhatka gave me the impression that whatever it is you wanted me for, it couldnt wait.
What an advert for the service, he thought crossly. Shaggy brown hair flopping into her eyes, the merest smudge of make-up, teeth that really could have done with some serious orthodontics. He supposed she was probably a lesbian, given her penchant for trouser suits that really were a mistake given the breadth of her hips. Not that he had anything against lesbians, his internal governor reminded him. He just thought it gave people the wrong impression about todays police service. Sir Broderick Maclennan Grant called me earlier this morning, he said. The only sign of interest was a slight parting of her lips. You know who Sir Broderick Maclennan Grant is, I take it?
Karen looked puzzled by the question. She leaned back in her seat and recited, Third richest man in Scotland, owns half of the profitable parts of the Highlands. Made his money building roads and houses and running the transport systems that serve them. Owns a Hebridean island but lives mostly in Rotheswell Castle near Falkland. Most of the land between there and the sea belongs either to him or to the Wemyss estate. His daughter Cat and her baby son Adam were kidnapped by an anarchist group in 1985. Cat was shot dead when the ransom handover went wrong. Nobody knows what happened to Adam. Grants wife committed suicide a couple of years later. He remarried about ten years ago. He has a wee boy who must be about five or six. She grinned. How did I do?
Its not a contest, Inspector. Lees felt his hands closing into fists and lowered them below the desk. It appears that there may be some fresh evidence. And since you are in charge of cold cases, I thought you should deal with it.
What sort of evidence? She leaned on the arm of her chair. It was almost a slouch.
I thought it best that you confer directly with Sir Broderick. That way there can be no possibility of confusion.
So he didnt actually tell you?
Lees could have sworn she was enjoying this. Ive arranged for you to meet him at Rotheswell Castle tomorrow morning at ten. I need hardly remind you how important it is that we are seen to be taking this seriously. I want Sir Broderick to understand this matter will have our full attention.
Karen stood up abruptly, her eyes suddenly cold. Hell get exactly the same attention as every other bereaved parent I deal with. I dont make distinctions among the dead, sir. Now, if thats all, Ive got a case file to assimilate before morning. She didnt wait for a dismissal. She just turned on her heel and walked out, leaving Lees feeling that she didnt make many distinctions among the living either.
Yet again, Karen Pirie had left him feeling like an idiot.
Rotheswell Castle
Bel Richmond took a last quick look through her file on Catriona Maclennan Grant, double-checking that her list of questions covered all the angles. Broderick Maclennan Grants inability to suffer fools was as notorious as his dislike of publicity. Bel suspected that he would pounce on the first sign of unpreparedness on her part and use that as an excuse to break the deal she had brokered with Susan Charleson.
Truth to tell, she was still amazed that she had pulled it off. She stood up, closing her laptop and pausing to check her look in the mirror. Tits and teeth. You dont get a second chance to make a first impression. Country house weekend, that was the look shed gone for. Shed always been good at camouflage. Another of the many reasons she was so good at what she did. Blending in, becoming one of us, whoever the us happened to be, was a necessary evil. So if she was sleeping under Brodie Grants baronial roof, she needed to look the part. She straightened the Black Watch tartan dress shed borrowed from Vivianne, checked her kitten heels for scuffs, pushed her crow black hair behind one ear and parted her scarlet lips in a smile. A glance at her watch confirmed it was time to head downstairs and discover what the formidable Susan Charleson had lined up.
As she turned the corner of the wide staircase, she had to jink to one side to avoid a small boy careering up. He brought his flailing limbs under control on the half-landing, gasped, Sorry, then hurtled on upwards. Bel blinked and raised her eyebrows. It had been a couple of years since shed last had a similar small boy encounter and she hadnt missed it a bit. She carried on down but before she reached the bottom, a woman wearing cords the colour of butter and a dark red shirt swung round the newel post then stopped dead, taken by surprise. Oh, sorry, I didnt mean to startle you, she said. You havent seen a small boy go past, have you?
Bel gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. He went thataway.
The woman nodded. Now she was nearer, Bel could see she was a good ten years older than shed first thought; late thirties, at least. Good skin, thick chestnut hair and a trim build gave the illusion a helping hand. Monster, the woman said. They met a couple of steps from the bottom. You must be Annabel Richmond, she said, extending a slender hand that was chilly in spite of the comfortable warmth trapped inside the thick walls of the castle. Im Judith. Brodies wife.
Of course she was. How could Bel have imagined a nanny so perfectly groomed? Lady Grant, she said, wincing inside.
Judith, please. Even after all these years married to Brodie, I still want to look over my shoulder when someone calls me Lady Grant. She sounded as though she wasnt just saying it out of fake humility.
And Im Bel, apart from my by-line.
Lady Grant smiled, her eyes already scanning the stairs above. Bel it is. Look, I cant stop now, I have to capture the monster. Ill see you at dinner. And she was off, taking the stairs two at a time.
Feeling overdressed in comparison with the chatelaine of Rotheswell, Bel made her way back down the stone-flagged hallways to Susan Charlesons office. The door was open and Susan, who was talking on the phone, beckoned her in. Fine. Thank you for organizing that, Mr Lees. She replaced the phone and came round the desk, ushering Bel back towards the door. Perfect timing, she said. He likes punctuality. Is your room to your liking? Do you have everything you need? Is the wireless access working?
Its all perfect, Bel said. Lovely view too. Feeling as if shed wandered into a BBC2 drama scripted by Stephen Poliakoff, she allowed herself to be led back through the maze of corridors whose walls were lined with poster-sized photographs of the Scottish landscape printed on canvas to resemble paintings. She was surprised by how cosy it felt. But then, this wasnt quite her idea of a castle. Shed expected something like Windsor or Alnwick. Instead, Rotheswell was more like a fortified manor with turrets. The interior resembled a country house rather than a medieval banqueting hall. Substantial but not as intimidating as shed feared.
By the time they stopped in front of a pair of tall arched mahogany doors, she was beginning to regret not having thought of breadcrumbs.
Here we are, Susan said, opening one of the doors and leading Bel into a billiard room panelled in dark wood with shutters over the windows. The only light came from an array of lamps above the full-size table. As they walked in, Sir Broderick Maclennan Grant looked up from sighting down his cue. A thick shock of startling silver hair falling boyishly over a broad forehead, eyebrows a pair of silver bulwarks over eyes so deep set their colour was guesswork, a parrots bill of a nose and a long thin mouth over a square chin made him instantly recognizable; the lighting made him a dramatic figure.
Bel knew what to expect from photographs but she was startled by the crackle of electricity she felt in his presence. Shed been in the company of powerful men and women before, but shed only felt this instant charisma a handful of times. She understood at once how Brodie Grant had built his empire from the ground up.
He straightened up and leaned on his cue. Miss Richmond, I take it? His voice was deep and almost grudging, as if he hadnt used it enough.
Thats right, Sir Broderick. Bel wasnt sure whether to advance or stay put.
Thank you, Susan, Grant said. As the door closed behind her, he waved towards a pair of well-worn leather armchairs flanking a carved marble fireplace. Sit yourself down. I can play and talk at the same time. He returned to study his shot while Bel shifted one of the chairs so she could watch him more directly.
She waited while he played a couple of shots, the silence rising between them like a drowning tide. This is a beautiful house, she said finally.
He grunted. I dont do small talk, Miss Richmond. He cued swiftly and two balls collided with a crack like a gunshot. He chalked his cue and studied her for a long moment. Youre probably wondering how on earth you managed this. Direct access to a man notorious for his loathing of the media spotlight. Quite an achievement, eh? Well, Im sorry to disappoint you, but you just got lucky. He walked round the table, frowning at the position of the balls, moving like a man twenty years younger.
Thats how Ive got some of my best stories. Bel said calmly. Its a big part of what successful journalism is about, the knack of being in the right place at the right time. I dont have a problem with luck.
Just as well. He studied the balls, cocking his head for a different angle. So, are you not wondering why Ive chosen to break my silence after all these years?
Yes, of course I am. But to be honest, I dont think your reasons for talking now will have much to do with what I end up writing. So its more personal curiosity than professional.
He stopped halfway through his preparation for a shot and straightened up, staring at her with an expression she couldnt read. He was either furious or curious. Youre not what I expected, he said. Youre tougher. Thats good.
Bel was accustomed to being underestimated by the men in her world. She was less used to them admitting their mistake. Damn right, Im tough. I dont rely on anybody else to fight my battles.
He turned to face her, leaning on the table and folding his arms over his cue. I dont like being in the public eye, he said. But Im a realist. Back in 1985, it was possible for someone like me to exert a degree of influence over the media. When Catriona and Adam were kidnapped, to a large extent we controlled what was printed and broadcast. The police cooperated with us too. He sighed and shook his head. For all the good it did us. He leaned the cue on the table and came to sit opposite Bel.
He sat in the classic alpha male pose: knees spread wide, hands on his thighs, shoulders back. The world is a different place now, he said. Ive seen what you people do to parents who have lost children. Mohamed Al Fayed, made to look like a paranoid buffoon. Kate McCann, turned into a modern-day Medea. Put one foot wrong and they bury you. Well, Im not about to let that happen. Im a very successful man, Miss Richmond. And I got that way by accepting that there are things I dont know, and understanding that the way to overcome that is to employ experts and listen to them. As far as this business goes, you are my hired gun. Once the word gets out that there is new evidence, the media will go wild. But I will not be talking to anyone but you. Everything goes through you. So whatever image reaches the public will be the one you generate. This place was built to withstand a siege and my security is state of the art. None of the reptiles gets near me or Judith or Alec.