Designer Crime

by Allen Whitehead

  As they stood in the car park, Joe recognized a dark-haired woman on the opposite side of the road, watching from a distance. She saw his look and immediately turned and began to walk quickly away.

  'I'll catch you all up,' he called to Sam and the others as he stepped off the pavement and hurried after her.

  He caught up with Madalina at the corner of the next street. It was clear that she had been weeping and mascara was running in dark streaks down her cheeks.

  'Madalina, you don't have to run away. We know you cared about Keith. Come with me. I'll give you a lift to the crematorium and I'll bring you back here afterwards.'

  'I loved him,' she sobbed. 'I meet lots of men and they want me, but always they want to have control ... women like me, they just want to use us. But Keith was different – kind and gentle. I loved him.'

  'I know it. I believe you.'

  'They say I have to get the punters to buy me drinks, and get them to spend lots of money. Keith didn't – he wanted to spend time with me. He … he made me feel good.'

  'I think he must have loved you too.'

  'You really think so?' Tears welled up in her dark eyes again and she wiped her nose with a wet tissue.

  'Yeah, I do.'

  'It's all Carlo's fault,' she said bitterly. ''cause he owed him all that money. Carlo's a bastard – a shit – and he thinks he's so clever. I spit on him!'

  'You can't blame Carlo for Keith's death, though, surely?'

  'He is to blame! He just lets the debts grow bigger, the bastard ... so he can get them in his power. It makes him feel big, but really he's like a kid himself. He spends loads of time messing with his computer, Googling his friends and sending them stupid e-mails. We think he wants to be an outlaw, like his big hero – the Jackal.'

  'Carlo wants to be what? “Carlos the Jackal”?'

  'That's right, an' yet he doesn't even know who the Jackal really was. He thinks he was some kind of outlaw on the run from international police. Stupid ignorant little bastard!'

  'Come with me to the crematorium, Madalina.'

  'No, I can't. His family will be there. They won't want to see me.'

  'Keith was important to you, and you were to him. You've more right to be there than any of them.'

  She shook her head. 'No – you've been kind, Joe, listened to me, but I really shouldn't be seen talking to you. Go now and catch up with your friends.'

  Madalina turned and walked quickly away.

  * * *

  'You're a dark horse, Joe,' smiled Fraser. 'How come you know the lovely Madalina?'

  They were back in the office, in the basement studio, where Julia Blair was busy talking on the phone to a curtain walling technician.

  'I met her once – you know – when you were in the hospital.'

  Fraser gave him a knowing wink. 'So you did – I'd forgotten about that. You'd better not let Sam find out though.'

  'She was very upset, man. She was in love with Keith.'

  'Nah! No way. She got paid to tell him she was, but Carlo paid her to fuck him.'

  Joe shook his head. 'Look, it might have started out that way, Fraser, but her tears were for real. I'm sure of that.'

  'Ah, you're a soft touch Joe.'

  'I'm telling you. She hates Carlo's guts. She said he fantasizes about being “Carlos the Jackal”.'

  'Aye?'

  'Yeah, only he thinks the Jackal was some kind of international outlaw.'

  'And he wasn't?'

  'No! Of course he wasn't. He was really a “political” terrorist … He was from Venezuela and he bombed places in France in an attempt to help the liberation of Palestine. It's just about as far removed from being a casino owner as you can get!'

  'Well, anyway, Carlo's a bloody unpleasant bugger, I know that. And he knows some other ruthless fuckers as well.'

  Joe switched on his computer and watched it warm up. 'Madalina said that he spends a lot of his time on a laptop too.'

  'Lap dancer, more like!'

  Joe laughed. 'No, I'm serious. She said that he spends loads of time on the computer, surfing and e-mailing his friends.'

  Fraser shrugged. 'Well ... That's one side of the man that I've never seen.'

  * * *

  On Thursday lunchtime, in Raphael's restaurant, as soon as the waiter had left after taking their orders, a grim-faced George Henderson looked around the table.

  'I've just come from the bank where I've had an uncomfortable hour with the bank manager. Head office have told her that they're reducing our overdraft limit.'

  'But we've had an eighty grand limit for the last four years,' said Neil frowning. 'and it isn't that long ago that it was renewed.'

  'I know, and she says she's not happy with what they're telling her, but her hands are tied. She's been told to drop the limit to forty thousand. We've got to get some fees in pronto, or the bank are threatening to pull the plug on us.'

  'I knew that might happen – I said so,' said Liz quietly.

  'I thought we were a bit under the eighty,' Paul added.

  'We are, but we've got a VAT payment to go out in the next couple of weeks. Then there's a bill for the new computers and software to be paid and, after that, the monthly payroll.'

  'So, what – you're saying that we're in the shit?'

  'Not quite. We've spent a lot of hours on the Old Town project recently, especially Fraser, Joe and you Paul. If we could get a fee note out to KRS or Cormacks soon, that could make a big difference. Any chance of that?'

  'I'll see what I can do, but I'm not confident. Smythe's asked for several big changes to the layout and, if they insist on them, it'll mean a brand new Planning Application. So, in fact, we're taking several steps backwards and that means we are even further away from the next fee stage.'

  Neil thumped his fist down hard on the table. 'What a bloody awful mess! The Practice is up shit creek, and really it's all down to that bloody casino. I'm not pointing the finger at you Fraser. You were a stupid bastard and you've had to learn your lesson the hard way – but here we are, all about to go down the plughole just because of Carlo Gratz's greedy damn casino!'

  'What's done is done.' said George unhappily. 'We can't do anything about that.'

  'He cares fuck all about anyone else.' Neil said grimly. 'I'd just like the chance to get back at him. Kick him in the balls for a change.'

  * * *

  Liz had called at the supermarket on her way home and was unloading the shopping when Steven came in. She lived in a comfortable Victorian house in the Morningside area of the city with her son. Her husband Donnie had initiated their separation six years earlier when he abandoned the pair of them to set up home with Jean – a Secretary who worked alongside him in the same Council-run Social Care Department. The affair had been going on for two years, supposedly in secret, but Liz had her suspicions that he was being unfaithful and the announcement came more as a relief than a disappointment.

  She was a naturally dynamic and energetic woman and, from that time on, she had concentrated on providing Steven with every opportunity to develop and succeed in his life. Although Donnie had agreed to pay maintenance for Steven, she had flatly refused to sell their house and her finances were stretched by the hefty mortgage commitment, and so the chance to join the new Practice offered by Paul and Neil had been gratefully accepted. She had repaid their faith in her by working fast and hard on every task she was given.

  'Hi, mum,' Steven called, dropping his school-bag and jacket on the floor.

  Liz put her head round the kitchen door. 'Hang them up, properly … I've got some mince so I'm going to make shepherd's pie. You've got time to do some of your homework before we sit down.'

  He came through to join her in the kitchen, and leaned back against the table. 'Mr Garcia said he's organizing a trip to Spain in October. I can go, can't I mum? We'll be going to Madrid and Barcelona – he was telling us all about it. It sounds fantastic!'

  Her face dropped. 'Oh, I don't know about that, Steve. Money'
s a bit tight just now.'

  He looked aghast. 'But everyone's going – Justin said he had a great time when he went to Barcelona last year.'

  'I ...er … I was thinking we might go down and visit your Grandma in the October break.'

  Liz's mother suffered from dementia and was in a residential Care Home in Wakefield.

  'You could still go. She doesn't recognize me now anyway. She called me Howard!'

  'It isn't her fault.' she protested. 'I'll think about it. You go and start your homework – we'll talk about it later.'

  'Oh, yeah. I know what that means. It means I won't be able to go … It's not fair – everyone else's going!'

  'I didn't say no – I said we could talk about it later.'

  'Yeah, but I know you. You'll just find another excuse!

  He went out slamming the door.

  * * *

  On Thursday, Joe sat at his computer trying once again to amend the plans for the offices – increasing the lettable areas by reducing circulation areas, storage and toilet areas while still achieving minimum Building Regulation requirements. It was a task that he had already completed on several occasions, but the demands of Cormack's Quantity Surveyors seemed to change on a weekly basis. He sighed and went to make himself a coffee. Julia was in the kitchenette waiting for the kettle to boil.

  She smiled at him as he joined her, but flushed and looked a little embarrassed. 'Joe, I've ... er ... been wanting a word.'

  'Okay?'

  'You know when you all went to Keith's funeral?'

  'Yeah?'

  'Well, when you came back … you and Fraser were talking about it ... and Carlo's casino.'

  'Were we?'

  'Yes … I wasn't really eavesdropping. I just overheard what you were saying.'

  'That's okay. It wasn't a secret or anything.'

  'No ... but we all knew that Fraser had got into trouble at the casino ... with gambling and that.'

  'And?'

  'I've never been to a casino. I've never really wanted to. Anyway gambling doesn't really interest me – it just seems to be a way of losing money … And there's no way I'd ever want to go to Carlo's after the way they hurt Fraser. They are no better than criminals.'

  Joe nodded. 'Well, I've got to agree with you there, Jules. Gambling's a mug's game.'

  'I suppose I was still a bit curious, though, and yesterday while I was eating my lunch, I was just messing about on the computer ... and I had a look at Carlo's website … it's 'carloscasino.com.'

  Joe frowned, wondering where the conversation was heading.

  'I wasn't thinking of going or anything, Joe!' she protested. 'I was only messing about, but I heard you say to Fraser that Carlo spent a lot of time surfing ... Well, I was just thinking to myself – I bet he uses Google or Outlook and he's so full of himself his e-mail address has got to be carlo@carloscasino.com … so I typed it in an account box, and it was right and it asked for a password.'

  Joe's eyes widened. 'Yeah, so what?'

  Julia bit her lip then blurted out, 'You said to Fraser that he's obsessed with Carlos the Jackal ... so – just for fun – I typed in 'jackal' which didn't work, then 'Jackal' with a capital and that didn't either, but then I tried Jackal2 which did, and it opened his e-mail account! I couldn't believe it – only three goes.'

  'You've hacked into his e-mail account?'

  'I didn't hack anything.' she said vehemently. 'I was just messing around and I guessed it. I ... er ... I thought you might be interested.'

  'Why would I be interested?'

  'I wondered if we could get back at him. He's despicable, setting people on to beat Fraser up like that. Someone should make him pay for it.'

  'You'd better be careful, Julia.' Joe said earnestly. 'These are not good people. You saw what happened to Fraser – you could get yourself hurt if he ever found out.'

  She shrugged and nodded, turned and went back to her desk carrying her mug of coffee. Joe filled his own mug and slowly returned to his seat. He put the coffee down on the desk, sat down, looked thoughtful for a moment, glanced quickly around, logged on the internet and then typed carlo@carloscasino.com.

  * * *

  Chapter 7 July

  Mist rolled in off the Firth of Forth, covering everything with a suffocating layer of dampness. It was not cold, though, so shoppers were wearing thin summer clothes that stuck to their skin in an unpleasant clammy way.

  The office windows at CAT Architects were wide open and the damp filtered through, adding to Joe's depression as he tried for the umpteenth time to re-plan the Old Town development. His phone rang.

  'Hi Joe,' said Paul. 'We're in the conference room. Can you come up and join us?'

  He saved the drawing that he'd been working on and went upstairs. In the conference room were Neil, Liz and George, sitting in their usual seats around the table, with Paul and Fraser standing together looking out of the window. They were all looking glum.

  'Hi guys. What's up?'

  'Come in, Joe,' said Paul turning around. 'Fraser and me – we've just come back from Cormacks ... one of Smythe's breakfast meetings.'

  'Oh aye. Bad news then?'

  'I'm afraid it is. He started out by saying the usual – that the figures still didn't stack up, and then he said that the fee we'd agreed with Keith was too high, and they wanted us to “look at it”.'

  'That's them looking at the interim fee note that you sent them is it?' asked George.

  'Yeah. I sent them one following our last meeting.'

  'And then,' said Fraser butting in, 'He put a drawing on the table showing a total re-draw of the layout. It didn't have a title block on it – but I'd be really surprised if it hadn't been drawn by Dom Franklin's boys.'

  'So what did you say to that?' Liz asked.

  'I didn't say anything. I was too taken aback – it was Paul. I've never seen him so angry. He told Smythe that he was a nasty conniving little shit, and he could stick his drawing up his arse – and said that if he wanted … he'd be happy to do it for him!'

  'Very diplomatic,' said George.

  'About time,' Neil smiled.

  Paul shrugged. 'I took one look at the layout and thought about the scheme that Fraser and Joe had spent so long working up. What it's turning into now is a million miles away from the concept that won us the competition. And I was thinking – do I really want to spend the next few years of my life with that slimy little git yapping at my heels? The answer was “do I hell” and so I resigned our commission.'

  'That's a bit extreme, Paul,' George said, shaking his head.

  'No it isn't!' Neil exclaimed. 'The Practice has been dancing like puppets to Cormack's tune for long enough. Paul has shown a bit of integrity here, and I'm right behind him. We're good architects and we've got to believe in what we are doing – otherwise we might as well pack up right now.'

  'But we've been counting on the Old Town project,' protested George. 'We need the cash to keep coming in regularly, particularly with the recent expenditure on IT equipment. Without fees from that job, the bank could easily force us into administration. I can't see where else we'll get the cash to carry on.'

  'It is a bit worrying,' agreed Liz.

  'We'll get through it, one way or another,' Paul said quietly. 'I'm afraid that some of the new staff are going to have to lose their jobs, but I'm not going back on what I said to Smythe ... Look – if someone else wants to go cap in hand to Cormacks and try to recover the job and carry on – I won't stand in their way.'

  'Well I'm buggered if I'd go cap in hand to that bastard. Not after the way he treated Keith,' said Neil.

  A cloud of silence descended on the room, like the mist in the Firth of Forth – everyone around the table avoiding each others eyes.

  'Thanks for that, Neil,' Paul said finally. 'I suggest that we all go away and have a think about it, and we'll meet up again at lunchtime. Try a bit of brainstorming and see what comes up.'

  At that, the meeting broke up, and with heavy hearts
they all slowly went back to their desks, reflecting on a rapidly changing situation.

  * * *

  Liz's personality was normally that of a small bright-eyed woman, whose tiny figure belied a character of fierce determination. Today, though, she sat down at her desk and picked up the mail that had been left in her in-tray by Alison. She sighed, then tossed it back into the tray, and was sitting with her head in her hands when Paul came in.

  'Gosh it's clammy today ... er ... Are you alright, Liz?'

  'Yes.' she said, shaking her head. 'Yes, I'll be fine. I'm sorry Paul – don't worry about me. I'm just a bit tired. I was up at five to take Steve to the Commonwealth Pool, and when I picked up the mail, I just couldn't face working through it. I don't want you to take it personally, though. I don't blame you for your outburst at Cormack's. You've worked your socks off, trying to keep that project on track, and I'm sure that it was a deliberate manoeuvre … They were probably trying to goad you – like they did with Keith. I have to say, though, I am a bit worried.'

  When Liz's relationship had broken up after ten years of marriage to Donnie, his girlfriend became pregnant and wanted him to get a divorce. She persuaded him to hire the services of a solicitor friend of hers, who advised Donnie to claim everything that he could.

  Liz's hurt pride meant that she didn't raise any real objection to the proposed unfair settlement. She fought hardest for the custody of Steven who at the time was six years old. Nevertheless, it had been a messy divorce, and she managed to keep hold of the house, and some of the furniture, only by taking out a large mortgage, and she worried every time there was any suggestion that interest rates were about to be increased.

  When Steven had been born, Liz hadn't returned to full-time work, but had stayed at home and practised her skills only on small architectural projects – new kitchens, bathrooms and house extensions. So, when the breakup occurred, she had lacked confidence in seeking full-time employment. Paul had known her from university days, however, and when he and Neil were thinking of setting up a new practice together, he heard that she had split from Donnie, and immediately offered her a job. Neil and he had never regretted it, for she was an extremely hard worker, intelligent and very popular with her fellow workers.