Bonnie Jack

by Ian Hamilton

  I should get dressed, he thought. But I’d probably wake Anne, and I’d rather see what I’m dealing with first. How bad can it be? What can they have written about us?

  He sat impatiently at the desk for a couple of minutes, then stood and went to the room door. He watched the elevators through the eyehole. Finally one stopped at the floor and a bellboy stepped out, carrying two newspapers. Jack opened the door and held out his hand. “Thank you. I don’t have any cash on me right now. I’ll give you a tip later in the day,” he said as he took the papers.

  He carried them to the desk and sat. The Tribune was a tabloid. Its front page that morning had a banner across the top that read “rangers versus celtic predictions.” Across the bottom another banner read “tory politician’s love nest funded by public money.” The rest of the page was taken up by two stories. On the left side, accompanied by a large photo of a burning building, was the headline “dockside warehouse goes up in flames — arson suspected.” On the right were two smaller photos. One was the old shot of McPherson that Georgie had found; the other was of Jack. It was a corporate photo that went into the annual reports and was used by the company’s publicity team. Under the photo the caption read, “‘Bloody’ Jack Anderson.” Jack read the headline, “shock of family reunion with millionaire yank son kills elderly Glaswegian, See full story on page 2.”

  The knot in Jack’s stomach tightened as he turned the page and began to read.

  American multi-millionaire and insurance business tycoon ‘Bloody’ Jack Anderson came to Scotland less than a week ago to look for long-lost family members. Among others, he found his father, Douglas McPherson, an eighty-two-year-old Glaswegian he hadn’t seen in over fifty years. Hours later McPherson was dead and the police are asking questions.

  Mr. Anderson, the CEO of Pilgrim Insurance of Boston, was born in Scotland but was adopted and sent to America when he was a boy. He returned to this country to visit a sister, Moira, who lives in Irvine, and that in turn led him to a brother, Harry Montgomery of Edinburgh, and a second sister, Georgina Malcolm, also of Edinburgh. Mrs. Malcolm was formerly of Bearsden and is the wife of the alleged investment fund swindler Atholl Malcolm. She was never implicated in any of her husband’s dealings.

  Mr. Anderson did not know of his father’s existence until he arrived in Scotland. When he discovered it, he, Mr. Montgomery and Mrs. Malcolm decided to track him down.

  Mr. McPherson had led a troubled life. In the 1960s he was convicted of manslaughter after killing a man in a pub brawl, and while in jail he killed another inmate and received an additional sentence. But since his release from prison, McPherson had an unblemished record and, according to friends, was enjoying a peaceful retirement. On Thursday night past that peace was shattered.

  On that night, Mr. Anderson, Mrs. Malcolm, and Mr. Montgomery went to the Tartan Rover pub in the Gorbals. They knew Mr. McPherson frequented the pub and had been told beforehand that he was on the premises. They found him there and without warning they confronted him.

  Witnesses say Mr. McPherson reacted poorly to the surprise and took particular umbrage with Mrs. Malcolm. They had a short, angry exchange. Hands were raised, and at that point witnesses say Mr. Anderson became involved. Seconds later, Mr. McPherson fell to the floor. He was later declared dead at Glasgow Infirmary.

  The Strathclyde Police have not laid any charges, but Mr. Anderson was held overnight for questioning. Mr. Anderson’s lawyer, Duncan Pike, declined our request for an interview.

  Speaking for the Strathclyde Police, CI Arthur Henderson said, ‘This was a series of tragic events. First reports are that Mr. McPherson died of a heart attack, but we have no way of knowing what caused it. We are carefully reviewing what went on at the pub, and we’ll make a decision in the next few days as to whether further steps need to be taken. All we can say is that it is a sad day when the reunion of a father with his children ends in such a tragic manner.’

  “Fuck!” Jack shouted.

  “Fuck what?” Anne said from the bedroom.

  He handed her the newspaper. “Read this. I have to call Duncan Pike. I only hope he’s working on a Saturday morning.”

  Anne frowned, looked at the front page, and gasped.

  Jack dialled the number for Pike. When he heard a woman answer, he said, “This is Jack Anderson. I need to speak to Duncan.”

  “One moment, please.”

  “Good morning, Jack. I imagine you’re calling about the Tribune,” Pike said, almost exactly a second later.

  “I am. What kind of garbage is this?”

  “It’s exactly the kind of garbage the Tribune specializes in, and our best course of action is to ignore it completely.”

  “You don’t think other newspapers will pick it up?”

  “Given your involvement, it’s possible the financial press might give it a mention, but I’m sure it would be no more than a snippet.”

  “I don’t want any snippets.”

  “I understand that, but it’s out of our control.”

  Jack stared at the article. “The story is filled with innuendo. It makes it seem as if I had something to do with his death. It implies that you’re ducking questions and that the police are trying to figure out what they can charge me with. This is not what I expected when I spoke to you last night.”

  “That’s how the Tribune operates. They were careful to ensure that nothing they’ve published is actually libellous. And any effort on our part to clarify or correct the record will only extend the story’s life,” Pike said. “If we say nothing and do nothing, it will die a natural death.”

  Despite his roiling emotions, Jack saw the logic in Pike’s position. “The other thing that angers me is the police had to be the primary source for this. I mean, all those details could only come from one place.”

  “I have zero doubt that the police were the source. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Pike said. “In fact, I think it could be a very good thing.”

  “How so?”

  “I suspect that Henderson was considering bringing an assault charge against you. I don’t think in the end he would have, but Duff’s revised statement took the decision out of his hands,” Pike said. “Henderson likely suspects we got to Duff, and I’m guessing that annoyed him enough that he decided to embarrass you by going to the Tribune. In the process I think he’s sending a very clear signal that there won’t be any charges.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then why don’t I feel better?”

  “Anyone would be upset at having their picture splashed across the front page of a paper like the Tribune,” Pike said. “But by tomorrow morning there’ll be a different picture and you’ll be forgotten.”

  “So you want me to do nothing?”

  “Exactly. I want you to say and do absolutely nothing,” Pike said. “Ignore the Tribune, don’t take calls from any other media, and don’t fret about what the police will do.”

  “Well, I’ll try.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do just fine, but if you have any further doubts, I’m here.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said, and ended the conversation.

  Anne stared at him from the sofa. Her face was pale and her mouth sagged. “What did he say?”

  “He said to say and do nothing, that it will all pass in a day,” Jack said. “He also told me he’s sure no charges will be laid against me. That story in the Tribune is the police’s way of taking revenge on us for turning Duff.”

  “Then it isn’t nearly as bad as this story looks?”

  “That’s what Pike insists.”

  “Then why are you so down?”

  Jack picked up the newspaper. “I’m not used to things like this. I’ve spent my entire career building a reputation as someone who is responsible and dependable. This story makes me look unhinged. I mean, w
hat kind of man springs that kind of news on an eighty-two-year-old and then ends up involved in his death?”

  “I don’t think this will hurt your reputation, if that’s your main worry,” Anne said. “There’s a perfectly good explanation, after all, and your friends and business acquaintances know what kind of man you really are. They’ll give you the benefit of any doubt.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that,” Jack said. “I do have enemies, both inside and outside Pilgrim. A lot of people would love to see Jack Anderson get knocked off his high horse. This story could provide them with ammunition.”

  “Even if you’re right — and I don’t think you are — what are the chances that people back home will see this story?” Anne said. “It’s a Glasgow tabloid, for goodness’ sake. And Pike did say it would be a one-day item.”

  “I’d like to believe no one at home will see this, but I can’t count on it. The question is, should we give our family and friends and my board a heads-up?”

  “The moment we do that, they’ll go looking for the story. Then who knows who they’ll talk to, and so on and so on. You could make things worse,” Anne said. “If Pike says it will be history by tomorrow, then we should trust his judgement and ignore it.”

  “I’m afraid that my board will hear about this from someone other than me.”

  “What if they do? You have an explanation. You’ve done nothing wrong. Pike says there won’t be any charges.”

  “Even if I’ve done nothing illegal, it’s still rather lurid. It could call my judgement into question.”

  “What does it matter what the board thinks?” Anne said. “You’ve already resigned. Are you afraid they’ll ask you to make an early exit?”

  Jack closed his eyes and shook his head. Was this the time to tell her? Nothing was definite. Why muddy the waters even more? “I’m not convinced that trying to ride this out is the best approach, but you’re right, the other option has its own set of pitfalls,” he said, and smiled wanly.

  “I think Pike understands this better than us. Let’s listen to him.”

  Jack nodded. “He could be right. Maybe the story will die a natural death. After the past few days I figure I’m owed some luck,” he said. “Now, I promised Harry I’d call him back.”

  Anne sighed. “Call Harry, but don’t make any plans with him or Georgie for today. You and I will spend it together. Another good long walk is what we need,” she said. “We’ll have dinner with them if you want, but I just think we need some time together.”

  29

  They spent the morning walking through the Old Town again, and after lunch they visited the National Museum of Scotland.

  Anne chatted a good deal of the time. Jack listened but didn’t really hear. He couldn’t shake his thoughts about the Tribune story and continued to be torn about his decision not to notify Pilgrim. He checked his watch constantly, taking five hours off Edinburgh time and conjuring mental images of activity at the office. Since becoming president, he had made a practice of going to the office on a Saturday morning so he could tie up the week’s loose ends and prepare for the coming one. Most other members of the executive team and their key staff followed his lead. So unless his absence from the office had dramatically changed everyone’s work habits, he imagined Pam would be arriving soon to sort the overnight faxes and mail. Norman Gordon would arrive shortly thereafter. His office was separated from Jack’s by Pam’s, and most Saturday mornings he’d walk over to Jack’s to compare notes on the week. With me not there, I wonder who he’ll talk to, and what the subject of conversation is going to be? Could it be me? Jack wondered.

  The longer the day went on in Edinburgh, the more Jack thought he had made a mistake by not contacting Don Arnold or Ross Goldsmith. He should also have warned Pam. Anne had made some good points, but he was becoming convinced that he had let his emotions overrule his common sense. Was it just wishful thinking to believe that the Tribune story wouldn’t find its way across the Atlantic? Nothing travelled faster than bad news. By three o’clock he’d decided he had to know if his bad news had travelled to Boston.

  “I want to go back to the hotel,” he said abruptly to Anne as they stood in front of a Robert the Bruce exhibit at the museum. “It’s already ten in the morning at home, and I want to know if things are quiet.”

  “I’m sure they will be.”

  “I keep thinking I was unrealistic to hope that story could be contained here.”

  “We’ll go back to the hotel,” Anne said.

  “No arguments?”

  “You’ve got that look on your face that tells me I’d be wasting my breath.”

  Anne had to hurry to keep up with him on the return walk. When they reached their suite, he unlocked the door and went in ahead of her. She looked past him and saw the message light on the phone blinking. “Maybe Harry or Georgie called,” she said.

  Jack picked up the phone and accessed his calls. Anne watched him closely. His face was grim, and she suspected there was more than one message. “Well?” she said when he finally put down the receiver.

  “So much for wishful thinking,” he said. “There are two messages from Pam asking me to call her. Ross Goldsmith also called twice, saying he needs to talk to me. He sounded distant. Don Arnold wants to talk to me. Norman Gordon said he was just touching base and if there’s anything he can do to help, all I have to do is ask.”

  “I guess the Glasgow Tribune has a wider readership than Duncan Pike believes,” she said.

  He tapped the middle finger of his right hand on the desk as he thought about whom to call first. Then it struck him that they hadn’t heard from any of the children. “Anne, I suspect I’m going to be tied up here for a while, but it just dawned on me that the children probably don’t know what’s going on. Let’s not leave it to strangers to tell them. Why don’t you go downstairs and call them.” He was about to add don’t alarm them but ate his words. Anne knew better than he did how to talk to the kids.

  “That’s a very good idea,” she said.

  “Before you do, though, let me phone Duncan Pike. He might have an update from the police.”

  “I’ll go to the bathroom while you do.”

  He dialled Pike’s office and was put on hold. Three minutes later he was still on hold and getting agitated when the receptionist came back on the line. “Mr. Pike apologizes for the delay. He’ll be right with you,” she said.

  “Jack, your timing is impeccable,” Pike said a few seconds later.

  “How so?”

  “I was on the other line with Superintendent Gillespie of the Strathclyde Police. Glasgow is part of the Greater Strathclyde jurisdiction and Chief Inspector Henderson reports to Gillespie. He had kicked your case upstairs for a final decision. Fortunately Gillespie and I are on very good terms, so I was able to speak to the man directly,” Pike said. “He just informed me that the medical report says McPherson died of a heart attack, and that his heart was in such poor condition it was a wonder he hadn’t died years ago.”

  “So no charges?”

  “No charges. Duff’s statement made it clear that McPherson initiated whatever violence occurred, and not even the most zealous of prosecutors could justify charging a man for coming to the rescue of his sister,” Pike said. “That last phrase is a direct quote from the superintendent.”

  “That’s a relief, though I have to say this Tribune story has put a sour edge to it.”

  “Forget the Tribune.”

  “Will the police issue any kind of statement saying that I’ve been cleared?”

  “You were never charged, so technically there’s nothing to clear. And they don’t normally put out statements about the outcomes of pub brawls. If they did, they’d have to enlarge their staff.”

  “I understand that, but I have associates in the U.S. who might need to be reassured that I’m blameless in all this.”


  “I’ll speak to them if you wish,” said Pike.

  “You’re my lawyer, so you’re hardly neutral. Would the superintendent talk to them?”

  “Who exactly do you have in mind?”

  “The chairman of my board, and maybe the vice-chair.”

  “That might be arranged.”

  “Thank you. I’ll let you know if they request that,” Jack said. “Now you and I have a bill we need to settle.”

  “I’ll send it to the hotel.”

  “I’ll make arrangements to have it paid before I leave Scotland.”

  “Excellent. Well, I have to say it’s been enjoyable doing business with you, but hopefully our paths will never cross again.”

  “Amen to that,” Jack said, and ended the call.

  “Amen to what?” Anne asked from the bathroom door, where she’d been listening to his conversation.

  “There will be no charges. The medical report confirms that McPherson had a bad heart that caused his death. The police have determined that he initiated the violence and I was simply and naturally defending my sister. Pike even thinks he might be able to get the police superintendent to affirm that to my board.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  “And now you have something definite to tell the children.”

  “I already had something definite. They don’t know yet that they have an uncle, another aunt, and three cousins over here.”

  Jack shook his head. “What a week.”

  “And it isn’t over yet,” Anne said, walking over to the desk. She put her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed him. “Call your chairman and calm him down. I’ll let the kids know that you’re okay and that our family has just doubled in size.”

  Jack waited until Anne closed the door behind her before reaching for the phone. He called his direct line. “Mr. Anderson’s office,” Pam answered.

  “It’s me,” he said.

  “Oh, sir, I’m so glad to hear from you. It’s been crazy here this morning.”

  “I meant to call earlier, but I had some family business to attend to,” he said, as low-key as he could manage. “What’s going on?”