Remember Me 2

by Ian C. P. Irvine

  “Where on earth have you been, Stuart? We’ve been sitting here like idiots waiting for you for hours, and you’ve not been returning our calls!”

  “Don’t worry. I’m here now. But I can’t stay. I’ve got a date later tonight and I can’t be late.” He saw the look of confusion on their faces. “But don’t worry, you don’t need me here. I’ll tell you what to do just now, and then I’ll leave.”

  Five minutes later he slipped out through the back door, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and hurried down to the gym to shower, swim and spend some time in the steam-room, before getting ready for his date.

  “Could you come in now please?” a tall, very smartly dressed lady with beautiful blue eyes asked. Strikingly beautiful eyes.

  Marie stood up and smoothed herself down. Her nice, ‘fund-raising’ skirt was all wrinkled from sitting for so long.

  She was ushered into the board-room and greeted by two other women who introduced themselves as the Head of HR – now obviously not just a receptionist as first thought! - and the Head of Finance.

  The lady who had fetched her, shook her hand and introduced herself as the Vice-President of the company. “Please, call me Valerie.”

  They offered her more tea. Or coffee. Or a glass of wine if she preferred?

  And then they invited her to introduce herself, tell them about her ‘children’ and the orphanages she ran, but stressed that she should relax. She was, apparently, amongst ‘friends.’

  “I’ve brought my laptop. Would it be possible to connect to your projector and show you a presentation that details who I am, and what I am hoping to raise funds for?”

  “Certainly,” the HR director agreed, and jumped up and helped Marie connect everything up.

  A few minutes later Marie was in full flow.

  Impressing them. Depressing them with the sad plight of her children. But inspiring them with the dream she had for not only improving the lives of her children, but extending the network of her orphanages and building one or two more in other European countries.

  She introduced some of the children she cared for. Told them about their lives. Made it personal.

  She even succeeded in making two of them cry.

  As she neared the end of her presentation, she told them of her ultimate dream, which was to help provide a better education to her brightest children by finding a way to fund some of her children to go to the best universities.

  “Education is the best way out of poverty. It creates opportunity, inspires, and helps children to dream. Children who grow up with a dream, have something to live for. Before I met these children, most of them had neither. No dreams. And no futures. Please, help me change all of that, not for just one or two children, but for hundreds.”

  By the time she had finished her presentation, it was almost 6.45 p.m.

  Things weren’t looking good.

  She knew that they would have lots of questions, and she didn’t have much time to answer them.

  “Thank you,” Valerie said, nodding. “Thank you very much. That was… and I think I speak on behalf of all of us… very moving. You’ve obviously done this before. You know how to work your audience.”

  Marie winced. It seemed to be a pointed comment.

  “That’s true. Sadly, I have to do this a lot, because funding nowadays is very scarce. I have to work hard to obtain the resources I need, to keep our orphanages going,” she defended herself.

  “You missed out one small detail, Ms McDonald. The simple matter of what level of funding you are looking for?”

  “I’m sorry.” Marie replied. She could tell from her tone of voice what the outcome of the meeting was now going to be. Things were not going well at all.

  “Okay, I know it’s a lot, but I was hoping to ask to for a minimum of one hundred thousand pounds. More if possible.”

  “Surely that would not be enough to fund the dreams you have outlined to us. Do you already have other, significant funding?” the Finance Director asked.

  “To be honest, no. However, I’m worried that if I tell you how much I really need, then it will be too much, and it will simply turn you off and I - my foundation - will get nothing.”

  “And how much would that be, Ms McDonald?”

  “Five million. Pounds.”

  The three executives of Ben Venue Capital Assets exchanged several rapid glances.

  “Before you say no, would you like to ask me any questions? I know I may not have provided you with enough information to… ”

  “Don’t worry about that, Ms McDonald. We’ve had someone investigate your foundation today. We’ve done a significant amount of due diligence. And we’ve spoken to the British Ambassador in Poland, and had a quick ten minute conversation with the President.”

  “Of Ben Venue?” Marie asked.

  “No. Of Poland.” The Vice-President replied. “So, you see we have no further questions for you just now, but I’m sorry to say that we do have a problem with the figure you have just asked us for.” The Vice-President continued.

  “The five-million pounds? Yes, sorry, I know it’s too much… but,” Marie tried to interject and steer the conversation away from disaster. She knew what was coming next. It happened almost every time. It was going to be a ‘no’. Polite. Regretful. But a ‘no’ all the same.

  “Yes, the five million pounds. Unfortunately,” the Finance Director interrupted and continued, “five-million pounds is too little. That figure is no use to us. You see, we need to arrange for a significant tax write-off this year. We need to invest in international aid and be seen to be doing it by the UK Government. We were hoping that you were going to ask us for at least thirty million. But since you are not… ”

  “Please may I have thirty million?” Marie immediately interrupted her. “I’m very flexible. Thirty million is perfect.”

  “But since you’re not going to ask for thirty million,” the Finance Director continued, “per year, for the next five years, it causes us a significant problem. We were really hoping that… ”

  “Thirty million per year is perfect for the next five years.” Marie replied, quickly and surprisingly forcibly.

  “Are you sure? That’s not too much? You would definitely be able to cope with such a large number?”

  Marie was just about to reply and give them assurances that she could spend as much money as they could spare, when she realised that they were winding her up.

  Making fun of her.

  Suddenly she felt the anger within her rise.

  She stood up.

  “I’m sorry. I can see now that I’m making a fool of myself, and you are having a good laugh at my expense. No, at the expense of my orphans. Children who have nothing but their own abilities. Abilities which I only want to support and help nurture. I was introduced to your company by someone who thought you might actually be able to help me. However, I see now that my trip was wasted. I think I’d better leave… ”

  “There would however be conditions… ” Valerie announced, seeming to ignore Marie’s little outburst. “We would contractually, initially, only give you full control of the first thirty million. That money would be for you to spend as you see fit. However, the remaining one hundred and twenty million would be conditional upon us receiving full status reports, every three months, along with approved accountancy records of how you are spending the money. To do this, we would insist upon someone from Ben Venue Assets being seconded to your organisation to oversee your spending and how the money was being used. We would also only release the funds to you a week in advance of the next financial year upon agreement of how you would spend the money. We would not seek to influence or dictate how the money was spent… that is your area of expertise and not ours… we would only seek to ensure that the money would be spent. And our employee would need to spend a minimum of three months a year working with you. Very closely. With full access to you personally.”

  Marie sat down. She was beginning to feel quite strange. A little dizzy. Qui
te faint.

  The conversation had gone from being just words, a hypothetical request for a string of numbers which she could personally never really comprehend, to what seemed like the board of a major company seriously offering her a fortune in funding beyond her wildest dreams.

  “May I have a glass of water?” she asked.

  Valerie stood up, fetched a fresh glass from the side-board and poured some new water.

  “You’re looking a little faint, Ms McDonald. Are you okay?”

  She took a sip, then looked up and tried to focus on first Valerie and then the other two women in the room. She took several deep breaths.

  “Is this a joke, or are you serious?” Marie heard herself asking, and was shocked by her own unprofessional but direct question.

  “I can assure you, Ms McDonald, that we are totally serious if you are. If you agree to take a charitable donation from us each year for five years of thirty million pounds per year, totalling one hundred and fifty million pound sterling over the five-year period, then yes, we are very serious indeed. We can have the paperwork drawn up in the next few days, and you may visit us here tomorrow night to arrange a bank transfer to your Charity, or we can issue you a cheque. As you wish. However, there is one other condition. We must agree tomorrow who it is that we may second to you for the coming years. Of course, if you know anyone in our company who you may prefer, or can recommend, and if we think they are suitably qualified, then we could look favourably on that recommendation.”

  Marie smiled. Could this all really be happening?

  She looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly ten minutes past seven.

  She thought of Stuart, hopefully soon to be waiting for her on the steps of the hotel.

  “Actually,” she replied, trying not to laugh or cry, but now visibly very excited, “I can think of one person. But I would have to discuss this with them first. They may not wish to, but I believe they would be an ideal candidate for the job!”

  “Good. Would it be possible for you to return tomorrow morning? To make a few further arrangements? We will require a copy of your passport, your charity’s bank details. Names of your trustees, etc. We may also have a few extra questions for you. Would that be convenient?”

  Marie couldn’t help but reply, “Are you seriously asking me if I have the time to come back tomorrow morning to arrange to accept one hundred and fifty million pounds?”

  “Yes, Ms McDonald. And if you would not object, we would like to arrange to have a photograph taken with you receiving a symbolic cheque tomorrow night. And last of all for now, do you think you may have time to attend a formal dinner tomorrow night? We would like to introduce you to the First Minister of Scotland, if you are able to attend. I’m sure she would be very interested to hear of your work, and our donation to your cause. We may even arrange for her to present you with your first cheque?”

  It was a simple answer.

  “Yes!”

  Five minutes later, Marie McDonald left the building of Ben Venue Capital Assets. She managed to walk only ten metres before she had to reach out for a seat and sit down.

  She was crying her eyes out.

  Could all this really be true?

  Amazingly, it seemed it was.

  Chapter 41

  Tuesday

  Island of Coll

  Above Port na Luing Cottage

  19.30

  McKenzie had spent the past hour on the phone, making arrangements. He’d had to drive back to the hotel to get good reception, with Old Jimmie Meekle still nodding off in the back, oblivious to what was happening.

  McKenzie had left Grant with the body of Daniel Grant, promising to be back soon.

  The first person he’d tried to call was Brown. He couldn’t reach her so he’d left a message. It was the same story with Anderson.

  He had however, managed to get through first to DCS Wilkinson, and then to PC Jordon, who he quickly updated.

  DCS Wilkinson was audibly upset. She’d even used McKenzie’s first name several times. McKenzie had over exaggerated the problem with lack of phone connectivity on the island, and DCS Wilkinson had promised to arrange everything for him with respect to contacting the local forensics department in Oban and having a team make their way to Coll as soon as possible. McKenzie had promised to send the helicopter back to collect them.

  She’d then quickly moved on.

  “Campbell, I have some bad news for you, I’m afraid.”

  McKenzie took a deep breath. Was it something to do with his wife? Was she in hospital again?

  “As you requested, I looked into the threat level and the use of a code-word. It turns out that the code-word was quite old, but still valid. It was strange though, because no sooner had I made the enquiry, than I received an update on the terror level. It turns out that a bomb threat was made earlier today. We were able to get everyone to safety and even managed to find and diffuse the bomb.”

  “Blast.” McKenzie had said, managing not to swear in front of his boss. That meant that he wouldn’t be getting his missing team member’s back anytime soon.

  “No. There was no blast. We managed to find the explosive just in time. Actually, we had plenty of time.”

  McKenzie was momentarily confused, then realised what had happened. Rather than explain it, he moved swiftly on. “What type of bomb was it? Home-made? Crude or sophisticated? Are there any indications who could have made it?”

  “Actually, it turns out it was made quite crudely from commercial TNT.”

  A small alarm bell went off at the back of McKenzie’s mind.

  “Commercial TNT as in the type that’s used to blow up buildings? Like Portobello High School?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps.”

  “I hope we don’t have a problem here, Ma’am. I can’t help but wonder if the TNT was taken from the school, by the killer, and used to make a point. Perhaps there was no intention to hurt anyone. Only to prove that the threat to the Queen was real, so that you wouldn’t give me my staff back.”

  “Oh, come on McKenzie. You can’t really be serious.”

  “I’m afraid I might be. I’ll need to get the demolition company to check all their explosives in the building and make sure they’re all still there!”

  “Even if some are missing, it still won’t affect the terror rating or get your staff back any sooner.” DCS Wilkinson insisted.

  “You’re missing the point, Ma’am. If our serial killer has now managed to arm himself with TNT which he stole from the school, who knows how much more dangerous that makes him! This is just going from bad-to-worse!”

  “Okay, check on it, and let me know. By the way, I heard from PC Jordon this afternoon that the bodies have all been formally identified now and the autopsies are complete. That means we can’t really hold this back from the press much longer. It’s going to get out. Perhaps we need to control the release ourselves and make a press announcement.”

  “Not until we’ve blown the school up. Otherwise we’ll have thousands of people turning up to ogle at it and cause even more problems.”

  “When will that happen?”

  “In a couple of day’s time, if you give me permission? The ball’s in your court for this one. I asked one of my team to contact you to discuss that already.”

  “Sorry, I was busy most of the day.”

  “Well, I’ve asked you now. As soon as you give us permission and we can get forensics out of the building, then we can blow it up. And then you can have your press conference.”

  “Not me, Campbell. You. It’ll be your press conference. You can hold it.”

  “Thanks Ma’am. But does that mean I can blow it up tomorrow then?”

  “Campbell, use your judgement. If forensics agree, you have my blessing. But let me know when you do it. I want to come and watch. Oops… got to go… Sorry. Bye.”

  And she hung up.

  A few minutes later McKenzie managed to call and reach Gary Bruce.

  He sounded disturb
ed, but cheered up when McKenzie gave him the good news.

  “We just need to find out from Forensics when they will release the rooms back to me. I suggest you start to prepare anything you can just now. Once we know when we can do it, we’ll need to coordinate with the council to close the roads again. But, parking that one for now, I’ve got a bigger issue to discuss… ”

  McKenzie went on to explain the potential problem with the TNT.

  Gary was livid.

  “I told you this might happen! Who knows how much the bastard has stolen… I hope he blows himself up with it… ”

  “Calm down. Maybe he hasn’t taken any. I just want you to check and get back to me as soon as you know.”

  McKenzie could hear Gary swear a few more times, but after a few minutes he calmed down and agreed to organise a check of all the explosives that had been set.

  “I’ll ask DI Brown to assign someone to go around with you first thing tomorrow. I want someone to agree your tally. Okay?”

  Next, McKenzie tried calling Brown again. No luck. He left her a voice message, and then sent her a text message with some instructions.

  Just as he was finishing that, his phone buzzed. It was a text message from Grant.

  “Please call me on Gray’s home number, Guv.”

  McKenzie got the number from his notes and called it straight back.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “You need to come back here immediately. I’ve got something for you.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a note. Daniel Gray’s torso fell to the side from it’s upright position, and his head rolled off his lap. There’s a note under his head. It’s addressed to you.”

  -------------------------

  Tuesday

  20.00

  Once more back at the cottage, McKenzie ran from the car down to the house. Before leaving the hotel, Old Jimmie Meekle had woken up, and was hungry. He’d agreed to let McKenzie have the use of the car and he’d stayed at the pub to have something to eat and get another drink. McKenzie had promised to drop the car off at the pub later.