Jeremiah's Bell

by Denzil Meyrick

  Was it really so long ago? It seemed like only a couple of years. But he knew he was about to get old – very old – and the thought saddened him.

  Strong wasn’t surprised when his mobile phone rang. He’d been expecting it after a distraught call from the secretary back in the office in Edinburgh to tell him that Blair Williams had been arrested. He’d enjoyed Karen’s discomfort, knowing full well it would multiply when she found out that her ‘other’ phone had been the cause of his incarceration, never mind what else that device contained. People were so careless with their property these days.

  ‘Mike Strong, how can I help you?’ He turned on the wipers to remove the film of snow covering the car’s windscreen.

  ‘It’s DCI Daley at Kinloch police office. I understand that you’re in the area on business, Mr Strong. I’d like to have a word with you at the office, if you’d be so kind.’

  ‘Yes, I am in Kintyre. But can I ask what business you have with me?’ Why make it easy for the police, he thought.

  ‘You may not be aware, but one of your partners was arrested a short time ago.’

  ‘Yes, I have been informed of that. While it shocks me in one way, in another I’m not surprised.’

  ‘Oh? Why not?’

  ‘He’s young and very careless. I’m only here trying to clear up the mess he caused in dealings with a client. But I can tell you more about that when I come to see you, DCI Daley – within the parameters of client confidentiality, of course.’

  ‘I’m investigating two murders, Mr Strong. I’ll decide about the nature of confidentiality. Will an hour or so be okay?’

  ‘Perfect. I’m looking forward to meeting you.’ Strong ended the call, a smirk on his face at the thought of Williams’s plight.

  He watched as Vito Chiase padded across the car park, huddled into his jacket, his grey hair already crowned with snow.

  ‘What the fuck? I’m dying of cold over here.’ He waved airily with his hand in a typical Italian American gesture.

  Strong wound down the window and handed him a piece of paper. ‘Put this address into your satnav. Make sure not to take the route through the town. It’s a cottage, booked and paid for. The keys are under the mat. Nobody will bother you. Keep your phone on. I have to go and see the police in Kinloch.

  ‘The cops are on to you? Oh, Marone!’

  ‘It’s nothing. I have everything under control. Think of the money, Vito.’

  ‘This joint better have some food and a fire. I’m freezing my nuts off.’

  ‘It has everything you need. Better get going; this snow is getting worse.’

  ‘Huh! This ain’t snow. Go to South Jersey – it’s like winter fuckin’ wonderland down there. I know all about snow, my friend.’

  Strong watched as Chiase hurried back to the car. In a few moments he was gone, as was the lawyer. Though he was heading to Kinloch police office.

  Daley picked up the call. ‘DCI Daley. Thanks for getting back to me so soon.’

  ‘Sure thing, sir. I’m Special Agent Jackowsky. I’m at Langley, FBI HQ. We’ve been having a look at Alice Wenger, as you asked.’

  Daley was pleased that this man sounded all business. He didn’t have time for small talk. Something told him that every moment counted; he had to get to the bottom of things, and quickly. ‘Have you turned anything up?’

  ‘Wenger herself, from what I have now, is clean as a whistle. She’s had a green card for thirty years. One thing: she’d been beaten up quite badly by an ex-boyfriend when she first arrived in our country, according to our records.’

  ‘Yes, she mentioned that,’ said Daley, disappointed that there wasn’t something more tangible on Alice Wenger.

  ‘I’ve got our field officers in Louisiana making enquiries. You never know what they’ll turn up.’ It was clear that Jackowsky had picked up on the deflation in Daley’s voice. ‘I do have some news for you about her business, though. Wenger Leisure, right?’

  ‘Right. What about it?’

  ‘They aren’t doing as well financially as it would appear. They’ve been filling losses – big losses too – with the IRS in the last couple or three years.’

  ‘And before then?’

  ‘They were flying high.’

  ‘Some kind of recession?’

  ‘We’re past all that over here. I don’t know about you guys in England.’

  Daley ignored the mistaken geographical reference and carried on. ‘So why the downturn?’

  ‘That’s what I personally am looking into for you. Give me twenty-four hours, I’ll have an answer.’

  ‘Thank you. This is much appreciated, I assure you.’

  ‘Don’t worry; it’s my job. Who knows, we might find something of interest to us. We’ll speak soon. Pleasure doing business with you, detective.’

  The call over, Daley looked again at Alice Wenger’s image on the whiteboard. He stroked his chin. ‘What do you know that I don’t know?’ he said aloud.

  The snow was still heavy as Strong parked his car by a lawyer’s premises and walked the few yards up the hill to Kinloch police office. He remembered dealing with that lawyer about twenty years ago. A pleasant man, he recalled.

  Having spent a lot of his career in police stations, the prospect of being in another didn’t bother him. Preliminary research on the DCI he was about to meet indicated that he was a meticulous, tenacious individual, but he’d come across lots of policemen like that. Though they worked hard, he usually found himself in a superior intellectual position. He’d made a career of it.

  The desk sergeant was courteous and efficient, commenting on the weather as he showed Strong through to a familiar scene: a CID office with detectives busy at their desks. The buzz in the place made it obvious that they were dealing with urgent business. He recognised the ebb and flow of police procedure.

  Strong was shown to a partitioned-off glass box sitting in the centre of the room, blinds down so that no one could see inside. The desk sergeant knocked quietly, opened the door and introduced the lawyer to a tall, rather grey-faced and gaunt-looking man behind a large desk. His clothes hung off him as if he had been ill or on a crash diet. Ill, thought Strong, as he was invited to take a seat; the lines and hollow eyes were good enough indications of that. He noted that two whiteboards had been turned round so that he couldn’t see what they displayed. So this detective was at least smart enough to do that – he’d known many who weren’t.

  ‘Mr Strong, thank you for coming in.’ Daley shook his hand with a tight grip.

  ‘It’s my pleasure. Personally, I’m mortified that Blair Williams has been arrested. I don’t know any details, so I’d be grateful if you could fill me in.’

  Rather than answer directly, Daley asked a question in return. ‘I spoke to Mr Williams a while ago. He was very keen to implicate you in any investigation into his actions. Why would that be?’

  Strong ran his hand through his silver hair. ‘He’s been out of his depth for a while with the affairs of a client of ours. I’d rather not go into details, but it’s fair to say he should have informed me of what was going on long before he did.’

  ‘That client being the late Nathaniel Doig?’

  ‘Yes. I’m prepared to confirm that, though the exact nature of the wishes of our deceased client must remain confidential.’

  ‘As you know, Mr Strong, if I deem it necessary I’ll seek a warrant compelling you to reveal the details of those “wishes”.’

  ‘That’s up to you, DCI Daley. However, in the meantime we are where we are.’

  Daley nodded and consulted his notes. ‘Are you aware that your partner Blair Williams has dealings in Glasgow?’

  ‘No, I was not. We have our hands full with our part of the world without branching out into Glasgow.’

  ‘But you took on a client from Kintyre?’

  ‘That is a long-standing arrangement made by our client with a late colleague of mine, a lawyer named Hardacre. For whatever reason, he saw fit to inform young Williams
of the case before he died. He should have come to me, the senior partner.’

  ‘Why do you think he didn’t?’

  ‘I don’t know. Hardacre was very ill – cancer. He had a brain tumour; I can only imagine this malady affected his judgement.’

  ‘We believe that Blair Williams arranged for an assault on a visitor to this area. Does that surprise you?’

  Strong raised his brows. ‘In recent weeks, much of what Blair Williams gets up to has surprised me. But I must confess, this revelation is a bit of a shock.’

  ‘So you know that he’s been having an affair with your secretary.’ Daley looked down at his notes. ‘One Karen Milne, I believe.’

  Strong sighed. ‘Yes, I was aware of this . . . relationship, DCI Daley. Rather tawdry for a married man with children and a lovely wife. But he’s a grown man. I might be senior partner, but I’m not the keeper of his morals.’

  ‘So you didn’t see this affair as a source of potential problems for your firm?’

  ‘I did, as a matter of fact. A marriage break-up – well, it can make the best of us unstable. I’m sure you agree. Especially a junior member of staff.’ He smiled at Daley, letting him know that he’d done his homework. ‘I had intended to have a word with him, but events rather got in the way.’

  ‘We are in possession of a mobile phone that we believe was used to arrange this assault. It was found at his home. I believe you visited there recently.’

  ‘Indeed I did. I had to find out how much he knew about our client before making the trip to Kinloch.’ Strong rubbed his chin as though thinking what to say next.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I did think he seemed rather jumpy – not himself, if you know what I mean. I put it down to the fact that he’d made such an arse of the things I’m now forced to deal with. But in the light of what you tell me, well, it’s obvious why he looked rather stressed.’

  ‘I see.’ Daley consulted his notes again. ‘Mr Williams has been interviewed by our colleagues in Edinburgh. He is of the opinion that you planted the phone in his lounge on the night of his visit.’

  Strong laughed. ‘How ridiculous! From what you tell me, I imagine this device is the source of your information pointing to his affair with Ms Milne. I assume that it contains intimate conversations of one kind or another. How on earth would I come into possession of such an item?’

  ‘Yes, we did wonder about that, too. Mr Williams also told us that you withdrew a considerable sum of money from the company coffers recently. Would you care to elaborate?’

  ‘I have a company credit card. Why on earth would I want to withdraw funds in cash?’

  ‘Mr Williams tells us that you told him it was in connection with your visit here.’

  ‘Sounds to me as though young Blair has lost the plot, or is involved in some nefarious project to which I am certainly not privy. I would have thought what was contained on his phone, not to mention his handling of our late client’s affairs, would be enough to confirm that he’s hardly to be trusted.’

  Daley paused, looking Williams straight in the face in silence for a few moments. The lawyer met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘Are you aware of a gentleman named Vitorio Chiase?’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like a chap from Morningside, does he? No, I have no knowledge of such a person. What has he got to do with this – with Blair Williams, I mean?’

  ‘Like you, there are certain things I’m not at liberty to discuss, Mr Strong. I take it that you are still unwilling to divulge the nature of your business with Nathaniel Doig?’

  ‘I think the reputation of my firm is in enough jeopardy without my making known to all and sundry the private affairs of our clients, don’t you?’

  ‘In that case I do intend to pursue a warrant.’

  ‘I wish you good fortune, DCI Daley. The correct procedure, I agree.’

  ‘Indeed. Can I ask you how long you intend to spend in the area, Mr Strong?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t quite know – as long as it takes. I believe that there are complexities within the Doig family of which I was hitherto unaware. I’m sure you know more than I do. In fact, I need to book an hotel. Do you have any recommendations, DCI Daley?’

  ‘The County just down the Main Street is as good as any.’

  ‘Yes, I passed it on the way here. I’ll take your advice.’

  ‘Good. Please stay in touch, Mr Strong. We may have to speak to you again, as I’m sure you realise. So let me know when you intend to leave.’

  ‘You have my word, DCI Daley. I’d better get booked into this hotel before the snow gets worse, eh?’

  Daley stood and shook the lawyer’s hand. He watched him leave, all expensive overcoat and well-cut suit. From what he knew of Blair Williams, the younger man sounded young and foolish. His senior partner most certainly did not come into either category.

  Daley got up and turned the whiteboards back round. Again he stared at the faces, but they still weren’t talking.

  45

  Grant Dunwoody looked exasperated as he sat on the chair beside Alice Wenger in Kinloch hospital. She was sitting with her arms folded, a determined look on her face.

  ‘To offer to do this, well – it’s madness!’ he said.

  ‘I pay you to do what I want, not to tell me what to do. Take my proposal to DCI Daley. I know he’ll want to take the option.’

  Dunwoody shrugged. ‘If you say so, but I must register my concern regarding this course of action.’

  ‘You be as concerned as you want. Just do as I ask. And while you’re at it, tell the doctors that if they won’t discharge me I’ll do it myself.’

  ‘Your choice!’ Dunwoody walked out of the room.

  Alice Wenger bit her lip. Everything seemed to be collapsing around her. Now was the time to be proactive. Now was the time to do what she always did in these situations – find a way to make a difference.

  Scott shook his head when Daley told him about the meeting with Strong. ‘Aye, I’ve heard o’ that mob. Supposed tae be shit-hot criminal lawyers in their day, but mainly dae corporate stuff noo, yes?’

  ‘So it appears.’

  ‘News from the hospital, Jimmy: the results of the scans on the two Doig . . . boys.’ Scott shrugged as though he didn’t know the best way to describe the unfortunate men with the minds of children.

  ‘As we thought?’

  ‘Yep. Well, getting by all the medical jargon, both have scar tissue tae their frontal lobes, and signs that the skull above their eyes has been broken at some point. That’s how they’re no’ playing wae the full deck. Old Spence was right!’

  ‘It’s truly disgusting.’ Daley’s face had blanched.

  ‘So, your man knows that the daughter has come tae expose his brutality and takes a heider off the cliff. Simples!’

  ‘Ginny Doig must have known. Are we any further with the box full of his papers?’

  ‘Hard going, big man. From what the guys are telling me, there’s everything there from wild theories aboot the world to observations on the weather and the like. No mention o’ any ice pick lobotomy, or that. But we’re only just a third o’ the way through it.’

  Daley pondered on this. Surely the reason Alice Wenger ran away was to avoid the same fate as her brothers. It made sense. As children they must have gone to school, and any medical intervention such as Scott had described would have been picked up instantly. So, for whatever reason, Nathaniel Doig waited until his children had left school and then took their minds. He still couldn’t come to terms with the monstrosity of it, but he’d come across so much inexplicable horror in his long career that this was just one more gruesome movie to play in his head.

  He looked at his watch. ‘Shit! It’s time for my meds and I left them at home. Hold the fort, Bri, and I’ll pop up and get them.’

  ‘I’ll go, Jimmy. Just you sit tight and work this little lot out.’ Scott nodded to the whiteboards.

  ‘It’s all right. I could do with some fresh air and time to think.’

/>   ‘You’re okay though, aye? I’ve got tae say, you’re a bit pale aboot the chops, like.’

  ‘I’m fine, Brian. You know, that’s the strange thing. I dreaded coming back – to work, I mean – but I’ve not had a twinge, nothing, since you picked me up and we went to Rowan Tree Cottage.’

  ‘The black croft, you mean.’

  ‘Don’t spoil the moment, Bri.’ He smiled. ‘Nothing on the searches for Ginny Doig or Chiase?’

  ‘Gone tae ground, buddy. But they can’t get far, surely. There’s been a roadblock at Tarbert ever since this all kicked off. I cannae see thon auld hag piloting a boat, can you?’

  ‘But Chiase?’ Daley left the question open.

  ‘I’m mair intae a straightforward crook, me. All this stuff is bursting my heid!’

  ‘Mine too, Brian, mine too.’

  The handsome guest Tom Macmillan had just arrived for lunch in the County Hotel. As Annie fussed over him, asking how he’d slept and taking his food order, Hamish eyed his tall figure from his seat near the bar, sucking thoughtfully on his unlit pipe.

  ‘You’ll be Canadian, I reckon,’ he stated sagely.

  ‘You’re very observant, sir. I know in this country most folks find it hard to tell us from our neighbours to the south.’

  ‘Not at all; I’ve always noted a wee hint o’ good old Scots in the Canadian tongue. I heard it in your voice when you were busy ordering the fish there. The Americans don’t have that – well, maist of them, at least.’

  ‘You’ll be telling me you know my name next.’ The man smiled at the elderly fisherman, whose face crinkled into a smile.

  ‘I wouldna presume tae tell you your ain name. But if I was tae take a guess, I’d say you were a Macmillan.’

  Momentarily there was a silent competition between Annie and the new guest to see whose jaw could drop the furthest.

  ‘How dae you know that, Hamish? I hope you’ve no’ been looking at the guest book.’

  ‘No, no guest book. You’re the spitting image of your faither when he left here. I would have spotted you anywhere.’