by Alex Gray
Tannock had been expecting him but Lorimer hadn’t thought the man himself would come to meet him in reception. Looking upwards at an open-plan staircase, he saw a man hurrying down, holding the ends of his jacket around him as if self-conscious of that corpulent figure.
‘Hugh Tannock. Good to meet you, Superintendent.’
Lorimer felt a firm hand in his and saw that Tannock was looking up at him with an expression that was at once warm and curious. There was something about this short, middle-aged fellow that Lorimer immediately liked. He had no difficulty holding the Detective Superintendent’s gaze and the smile on that face made his eyes crinkle up at the corners, giving him the look of a benign and friendly priest. For a second Lorimer had a vision of Tannock clad in a brown habit, a simple cord tied around his rotund frame.
‘Let’s go upstairs, shall we?’ Tannock suggested, already ushering Lorimer back to the pine and steel structure that spiralled upwards. ‘I always like to show off the view from the top,’ he twinkled, as if confiding some secret to the tall policeman.
The room they entered had one wall completely made of glass, from which Lorimer could see the same view that he had so recently enjoyed from the Free French Cross.
‘Not the sort of thing one can fail to boast about, is it?’ Tannock sighed, rubbing his chubby hands as he stood looking over the expanse of hillside and water, glancing back at Lorimer to see what effect the magnificent vista might have on the policeman.
‘Must keep folk off their work,’ he murmured, giving the man a small courteous smile, but hoping to remind him that he, at any rate, was here on official business.
‘Or inspire them?’ Tannock suggested. ‘Shall we have some coffee while we talk about poor Ian, Superintendent?’
The man’s sudden change of subject showed he had judged the Detective Superintendent’s mood to perfection. He was no fool, whatever else he was, thought Lorimer, adding respect to that instinctive liking for the man.
Directing them to a pair of cream-coloured sofas placed so that they could look out over the river, Tannock waited a moment until his visitor was seated then pulled out a BlackBerry from his inside pocket.
‘We’re ready for coffee now, Mattie, thanks,’ he said then turned to Lorimer, ‘Unless you’d prefer tea?’
Lorimer assured him that coffee would be fine then watched as Tannock pulled his trouser legs up a little to prevent them from creasing, before sinking back into the squashy sofa opposite. It was a gesture at once old-fashioned and effete and made Lorimer suddenly recall the men from the war years who had been tutored in those same small, decorous habits.
‘You explained on the telephone that you wanted to talk to me about Ian’s death, Superintendent,’ Tannock began. ‘Has anything new come to light?’
His enquiry was at once grave and hopeful, Lorimer thought.
‘The previous Senior Investigating Officer in charge has retired, sir, and I have been asked to review the case.’
Tannock frowned. ‘Review? Doesn’t that suggest some degree of inefficiency on the part of this officer and his team?’
‘Not necessarily, Mr Tannock,’ Lorimer replied, crossing one leg over the other. But he was saved from giving any further detail by the appearance of an elderly woman bearing a tray of coffee and cakes.
‘There you are, gentlemen. Shall I leave you to pour, Mr Tannock?’ the woman asked, straightening up and obviously anxious to take her leave. Was she uncomfortable in the presence of the police? Lorimer wondered. It didn’t have to be a sign of a guilty conscience, simply an aversion to the sort of seriousness that warranted his presence there.
‘No, thank you, Mattie. That’s fine,’ Tannock assured her.
‘So what do you make of the whole sorry business, Superintendent?’ Tannock continued once the woman had left them.
‘I haven’t had time as yet to evaluate all that the primary reports showed, sir. But I would be grateful for anything you could tell me about the business here and Sir Ian’s involvement in it.’
Tannock leaned forward to set his cup down before replying.
‘Sir Ian was my business partner. We owned Jackson Tannock Technologies between us.’
‘And now?’
‘Ian and Pauline’s shares will be passed on to his son and daughter, naturally. Between them they now hold over thirty percent of the share capital.’ Tannock paused. ‘It will be worth in excess of eight hundred million, I should think. Euros, that is. We always deal in euros nowadays for our market investors.’
Lorimer swallowed a gulp of hot coffee, trying not to splurt it out in astonishment. Eight hundred million euros. The figure had been spoken as if it were nothing out of the ordinary in a climate of worldwide recession. If he’d been looking for motive in any shape or form, surely he had found it here?
‘What’, he paused, the catch in his throat making speech impossible till he swallowed once more, ‘what will they do with that kind of money?’
Tannock smiled. ‘Daniel is one of our younger directors here. He’s actually in charge of Human Resources, so I believe he will simply leave his money in the firm. For now at any rate,’ he added, nodding in a way that reminded Lorimer of a wise elderly owl.
‘He’s thinking of leaving the firm?’ Lorimer asked.
Tannock smiled thinly. ‘Not if he realises his original ambition, Superintendent.’
‘And that is?’
‘To take over from Sir Ian, of course. It was something that Daniel had tried to have agreed by both his father and me. That he would inherit Sir Ian’s place on the Board whenever retirement came.’
There was something in Tannock’s expression. Scepticism? Was he trying to say that the younger Jackson was greedy for that sort of corporate power?
Tannock was shaking his head. ‘Ian would never have retired. It wasn’t a word in his vocabulary.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘He couldn’t abide the thought of endless days of golf. No matter how much he enjoyed the odd game. Liked the cut and thrust of business too much.’
‘So Daniel had no hope of becoming heir to his father’s position unless he died?’
Hugh Tannock paled at the implication of Lorimer’s words. ‘That’s not what I meant, Superintendent. There’s nothing wrong with having a healthy ambition and his father respected Daniel’s views. Please don’t think along such lines…’ he broke off, squirming in distaste, the idea of patricide quite repugnant to him.
‘And the daughter?’
‘Ah, Serena.’ Tannock’s smile slipped a little. ‘She’s taken this very hard, I’m afraid. Very hard indeed. Quiet lass at the best of times, you know, but these days she’s…’ he stopped then glanced at the Super as if he’d said too much already. ‘Well, let’s just say that a sudden loss like this is extremely difficult to cope with. She’s not been back at work since the fire.’
‘Miss Jackson works here too?’
Tannock nodded. ‘Serena and Daniel were part of the firm, Chief Inspector. Rather like an extended family, I suppose. They never seemed to want to do anything else but work with their father.’
‘And Mrs Jackson?’
‘No. Lady Jackson didn’t come here all that much. Lots of other commitments, you see.’
Lorimer winced at his faux pas, though Tannock’s stress on the word Lady had been minimal.
‘And Miss Jackson, what is her role in Jackson Tannock, might I ask?’
Tannock looked at him through narrowed eyes and Lorimer wondered if the man thought this an impertinent question. Tough, he told himself. It was his job to ask awkward questions. And he hadn’t actually answered his initial question about Serena Jackson, he suddenly noticed.
‘Serena didn’t have a particular role in the firm as such,’ Tannock began, avoiding Lorimer’s direct look. ‘She was more of a sort of ambassador for us. Looked after the clients’ social arrangements and that sort of thing,’ he added in a way that Lorimer guessed was deliberately vague. Serena Jackson had acquired a sinecure within the firm by t
he sounds of it, he told himself. That was something his DI had failed to mention. Was she deliberately trying to play down her friendship with the Jacksons? It was odd, surely, when Martin could so easily have provided such background details.
The Detective Superintendent’s expression remained quizzical and in the ensuing silence Tannock shifted in his seat as if uncomfortable under that distinctive blue gaze. It was something that many hardened criminals had experienced in the confinement of a police interview room; something that could and sometimes did cause them to reveal things they’d have preferred to keep hidden.
‘Serena wasn’t really qualified to take over anything on the technical or financial side of the firm,’ Tannock said at last. ‘Lovely girl, though: a real asset to us in all sorts of other ways.’
Lorimer nodded his understanding. Serena Jackson was possibly a decorative part of the outfit, kept by her father, given nominal status and probably a grossly inflated salary. If she’d been a child sheltered from the harshness of the real world it was not surprising that she’d cracked up after the double tragedy of losing her parents: a tragedy that no amount of money could change.
‘Do you have family yourself, sir?’ Lorimer inquired. It was not an idle question. He wondered if any Tannock offspring had been treated like the two Jackson kids.
‘Three, actually.’ Tannock smiled with genuine pleasure. ‘One’s a consultant anaesthetist in London, one’s making a fortune in Texas and the other runs a publishing house.’
‘You must be proud of them.’
‘I am, Superintendent. And Sir Ian was just as proud of his two children,’ Tannock added quietly, his shrewd glance showing that he hadn’t missed the import of Lorimer’s questions.
‘It might sound a little melodramatic, sir, but did Sir Ian have any enemies?’ Lorimer asked, changing the subject.
‘I don’t know, Superintendent, and that’s the truth. Ian and I had known one another for many years. Our partnership had grown much closer since we formed the business, naturally. But I wasn’t privy to all of his financial dealings, you must understand, just to those that affected Jackson Tannock.’
‘He had other businesses?’
‘Oh, yes. Ian had what you might describe as a varied portfolio. Some of his assets were in overseas companies pre-dating the launch of Jackson Tannock and demanded comparatively little of his time, but they were lucrative nonetheless.’
‘And you think there may have been something in one of these companies that could have engendered enough hate to cause his death?’
Tannock sat up suddenly, alarmed at the brutality of Lorimer’s question.
‘I didn’t say that, Superintendent. Nor did I at any time imply such a thing!’
‘But it is a possibility?’ Lorimer added quietly.
‘How would I know?’ Tannock threw his hands in the air. ‘Ian didn’t confide such things to me. Ever. And if there had been something troubling him I think I would have been the first to notice.’
Lorimer nodded, wanting to say Yes, Mr Tannock, I think you would. This man was a perceptive sort, he guessed, and would be good at reading the people who came into his orbit.
He sighed then shook his head. ‘We have to try to understand what sort of person would deliberately begin a fire when two people were inside that house. So we naturally look for a reason.’
The two men looked at one another for a long moment, then Tannock sank back into the squashy settee.
‘We thought it must have been kids from Port Glasgow. A stupid dare that went wrong,’ he muttered. Then once more he caught Lorimer’s gaze. ‘But you wouldn’t be here just now if that was what you thought. Right?’
‘It looks increasingly like a case of premeditated murder,’ Lorimer told him. Okay, that was perhaps stretching the truth a little, but he had a hunch that Dodgson’s evidence was going to turn up trumps. He could suggest something to provoke a reaction. See what way Tannock would jump.
‘I don’t know, really, I don’t. To kill a man who’d done so much good in his life. And an innocent woman,’ he tailed off, his voice beginning to show the first signs of real emotion.
Lorimer watched as the man took a folded white handkerchief from his inside pocket and blew noisily into it. He had seen lots of people simulate grief before. But this seemed quite genuine to him. Suddenly the trappings of wealth, the glorious view from this huge window, were diminished by the bowed figure before him who had lost his business partner. And more than a business partner, Lorimer realised. From the way he looked right now it was clear that Ian Jackson had been this man’s friend.
‘C’n I speak tae Mr Lorimer?’
Maggie frowned for a moment then, as she recognised his voice, her face creased into a huge smile. ‘Flynn!’ she exclaimed. ‘How are you?’
‘Aye, awright. I wis wantin tae speak tae the man. Is he in?’
‘Not at the moment, Flynn. Can I get him to call you back?’
‘Aw, away catchin crims, is he?’ the voice replied, a hint of humour making Maggie smile.
‘I’m just going out myself, Flynn,’ Maggie said, then paused. Mum had helped this lad when he’d been down on his luck. ‘My mum’s in hospital,’ she told him.
‘Mrs Finlay? Whit’s wrang? Naethin serious I hope.’
Maggie bit her lip then took a deep breath. ‘She’s had a stroke, I’m afraid. We don’t know how long she’ll be in…’
‘Hey, that’s terrible, man!’ Flynn said. ‘Are ye goin therr on yer own? I’m up the town the now. Here, I can get a bus and be over and see her masel, if ye want. Whit ward’s she in?’
Maggie could have hugged him. Flynn’s presence was exactly what she’d like tonight. And she bet that her mum would as well. Glancing at her watch, Maggie told him the visiting times and described the ward her mum was in.
‘Aye, jist in thon main block. No so very far frae where I was, right?’
Flynn’s words brought it all back to Maggie, then. She’d been away in Florida, her husband all on his own here at home. There had been the murder in Glasgow Royal Concert Hall and Flynn, a young homeless lad who’d hung about the place, had been seriously injured during the ensuing investigation. After his discharge from the Southern General, Lorimer had taken him home to look after him, something that the childless school teacher had resented at first. But it had been Maggie’s choice to be away from Scotland that winter and Flynn had become almost part of the family by the time she returned. Her mum, in particular, had had a soft spot for the lad and they’d kept in touch ever since. Now he worked for Glasgow Parks Department over on the south side of the city, not too far from his flat in Govanhill.
Maggie put the phone down thoughtfully. She hoped the boy wasn’t in any sort of trouble. He’d been in with a bad crowd, dealing in drugs, but the accident had given Flynn some sort of sense of his own mortality, Lorimer had told her, and so he’d changed his ways, big time.
Joseph Alexander Flynn pocketed his mobile phone thoughtfully then gave a grin that could only be described as wicked. The phone in his pocket had cost him a week’s wages after ‘losing’ the one that DCI Lorimer had given him as a Christmas gift. That had been fun, Flynn remembered, holding up the policeman’s plane with a fake bomb scare at Glasgow Airport. He wouldn’t get away with that sort of thing now, though, he told himself, recalling the attempted terrorist firebombing some time afterwards that had trebled security in and around the building.
Poor old Mrs Fin, he mused, recalling the bossy old lady who had done her best to fuss over him when he’d first moved into the wee flat he now called home. Maggie Lorimer’s mum was a warrior and no mistake; she’d not take kindly to being stuck inside a hospital, that was for sure. Raking in his other pocket, Flynn found a few pound coins. He’d enough for his bus fare and more. Och, why not? Turning into RS McColl’s, the young man searched the rows of sweeties to see what might take his old pal’s fancy.
The number twenty-three bus travelled from the city centre all the way ou
t to the countryside and the town of Erskine. It wasn’t a place Flynn had ever been to but he knew it was where the famous hospital for ex-servicemen and women was located. Maybe, he thought, gazing out at the darkened streets, he’d hop on this bus one weekend and stay on till the final terminus, just to see what it was like. For now, all the views he could see were of shuttered premises each side of the street, with an occasional glimpse of the huddled masses across the river. The bus turned this way and that until it came to the road that ran parallel to the Clyde, stopping near the complex known as the Quay to disgorge a few passengers on their way to the cinema or casino. Then, trundling along past the famous Angel building — its winged figure towering loftily over the intersection of two main roads — the bus headed along through the newer flats of Govan, past the glass edifices of the BBC and Scottish Television until it snaked its way around Govan Town Hall and the old dockyards. It was too dark to see the water but Flynn could make out the light on top of the Science Centre, a red needlepoint against the cobalt sky.
When they reached the stop nearest to the Southern General, Flynn wasn’t surprised to see most of his fellow passengers rise to follow him. Visiting time would bring families from all over the city, he supposed, noticing a wee lassie holding her mammy’s hand and jigging beside her, singing some song that only she could understand. Maybe they were going to see a granny? Or was the wee one’s daddy in the hospital? Flynn quickened his step, anxious suddenly to see old Mrs Fin for himself.
PC Dodgson had been first on the scene, so it was only natural that the new SIO should ask to be taken up to Kilmacolm with him. But, thought Rhoda Martin, the new Super wasn’t giving her the place she ought to have in this review team. Why not ask her to join them? She seethed, watching as the dark blue Lexus headed out of the backyard and out of sight. Dodgson was a typical wee arse licker, just like that cow Clark. If she didn’t watch out they’d both be over Lorimer like the proverbial rash. And where would that leave her? Stepping back from the window, DI Martin heard her name being called.
