by Zach Abrams
“Yeah, what is it?”
“You were meant to phone or come and tell me if you needed your skates”.
“Oh yeah, no I don't need them, thanks, bye”
Alex gazed at the phone speechless. He was furious at Craig's selfishness and at his rudeness. He wanted to march straight in and confront him but knew in his heart this was not the right time. He thought Craig might be trying to make a display of bravado to make an impression and show off in front of his new friends. Alex didn't like it at all. He was worried in case the boy was becoming spoiled and manipulative. He knew it often happened with children of broken marriages.
He took a few moments to calm down then restarted the car and drove to Calderglen Country Park on the outskirts of the town. After finding a parking space under the trees, he, Andrew and Jake took a pathway through the woods, the dog diving from tree to tree delighting in experiencing new places and aromas and marking his territory as he went. At one point, Jake spied a squirrel off at a distance. It was like a cartoon. He stood stock still for a moment, one front paw raised and sniffing the air. It was as if he couldn't believe his eyes, or nose. He then took off at amazing speed. Alex clapped his hands as a warning for the squirrel to move as he'd had previous experience of Jake being successful in a hunt. On that occasion he'd caught a furry creature by the scruff of the neck and with one shake it was dead. Thinking of it as a game with a soft toy, the dog had gone on to play with the corpse, throwing it in the air and catching it until Alex had been able to call him off. Since that incident, Alex was in the habit of clapping his hands whenever he saw a squirrel to warn it off. Jake misunderstood and believed this was Alex telling him a squirrel was about. Whenever he clapped his hands, Jake would look all around him to see where the squirrel was and Andrew sometimes teased the dog by clapping just so as he could watch his reaction.
When they returned to the car, the dog was so fatigued he struggled to make the jump back into the boot and, when he did, he promptly lay down, collapsing onto a blanket.
Alex drove back to the shopping centre, worried about having a potential confrontation with Craig if he wasn't ready to be collected. He needn't have worried as his son was standing waiting for him, at the exact spot they'd agreed and he was grinning from ear to ear. He climbed into the car and in one long sentence, lasting about five minutes, he told his brother and father about the fantastic afternoon he'd had. He had been accepted and was now one of the crowd meeting there every Sunday and going to the cinema each Wednesday evening. Alex wanted to raise the subject of Craig's earlier behaviour. He was fearful of starting an argument which may alienate him but knew he couldn't let it go without comment, otherwise he would be condoning it as acceptable behaviour and, worse still, have Andrew see it being accepted. He cautiously raised the subject and was rewarded by Craig's response.
“I'm really sorry, Dad. I was being a bit of a dick, wasn't I? I didn't mean to mess you about, but it was the first time I'd met with the group and I was trying to make a good impression. I should have phoned you, but it was all going so well at the time and I was afraid to spoil it. It won't happen again”
Alex was speechless. He was so pleased at Craig apologising without being pushed into it that he didn't pull him up on his language.
They drove back to the flat and on the way Alex collected some Bakers' Complete for Jake. The dry dog food was his favourite. He then prepared a pot of piping hot Italian beef stew. He served the delicious concoction of beef, tomatoes, shallots, garlic and spices on a bed of basmati rice. Although he'd been fed first, the dog was walking around the kitchen, sniffing the air and salivating and the boys were following in his wake. Alex was an enthusiastic cook but now, living alone, he rarely had the opportunity to indulge his skills. When he had free time he would cook up large cauldrons of food and then he'd separate them into meal size portions for the freezer. Despite his long and irregular hours, he was still able to enjoy home cooked food, as long as he remembered to lift out and defrost something each morning. This weekend, because of the busy schedule, he didn't expect to have much time to cook and had instead lifted out several containers to have ready.
Alex hadn't heard from Sandra all day and he was desperate to know what progress had been made. A number of times through the day he'd lifted his mobile to call her but thought better of it. If he was needed then she would have called him and he had limited time with Craig and Andrew so he needed to make the most of it. Stevenson was dead and that wouldn't change. Everything else could wait and be caught up on later, after he'd taken the boys home.
As previously arranged, they all arrived back at the bungalow by eight o'clock. Jake made straight for his bed and the boys went to their rooms to sort through their homework in preparation for school the next day. Colin wasn't at home, and to Alex's surprise, Helen asked him in for a coffee. He accepted and briefed her on Craig's new group of friends before going home to his flat to check progress on the investigation.
Chapter 9
Sunday morning and the profusion of heavy clouds prevented any discernable difference in the light as night turned to morning. Having enjoyed only a few hours of restless sleep, Sandra made her way into the office and started work. Donny wasn't too far behind her and was unusually bright and cheery.
“You look like you've won the lottery.”
“As good as, just about,” he replied. “My son and his wife came over to see us last night with the two bairns. It gave me a chance to spoil the grandkids. The great thing with grandchildren is you get to play with them and get them all excited and then you hand them back before they start getting too tired and acting up. Their poor parents then have the problem of settling them back down again. It gives me the chance to get my own back on my kids for the years of trauma they caused me when they were young.”
“Spoken as if you were the one who had to deal with them.”
“Well, me and the wife. Wait for this though, I even gave them toy harmonicas to take home with them. Can you imagine how long it will take before their parents manage to accidentally lose them?”
“You're a wicked, wicked man Donald McAvoy.”
Donny answered with a Dick Dastardly-style snigger.
“Okay, on with today. Sanjay and I have an appointment fixed up for this evening, but as far as we're concerned, Findlay's been instructed to come in here for interview at ten o'clock. He wasn't too happy about it but he's agreed. Then at one we've an appointment out in Milngavie to see a Mr Ballantyne, one of the punters. He owns a biotech company out at Maryhill Science Park.”
“Is that Dr Ballantyne as in Martyn Ballantyne, the entrepreneur?”
“Yes, you're right, it is Dr Ballantyne. I'll try not to make that mistake when I see him. He sounded rather arrogant. When I asked to make an appointment, he said to see him at his house even though I told him it was a private and discreet matter. He didn't even ask any questions.”
Much to Sandra's annoyance, Finlay arrived nearly thirty minutes late. He was taken to an interview room not too different from the one in Dumbarton Road, except perhaps a little bit less stale.
“Right, Mr Findlay, I'll remind you that you are still under caution,” Donny stated clearly for the recording.
“What's this all about? I've already told you all I know, and where's the big man?”
“No, that's not quite true is it, Stuart?” Sandra replied, ignoring his question.
“What do you mean? I was there for hours on Thursday. I told you what had happened. I told you over and over. You were there,” he said looking accusingly at McAvoy.
“Yes, but you didn't tell us everything, did you?” Sandra shot back.
Findlay looked perplexed, “I don't know what you mean.”
“Tell us about the phone call,” Sandra prompted.
“What? You mean after I found the body? Aye, I called '999.' ”
“That's what you told us. The first time you said you called from the shop. Then later you said you left the shop and used
your mobile.”
“So? I must have made a mistake, it hardly matters.”
“It matters very much,” McAvoy cut in gruffly. “You did call '999' from the shop. We checked. But you also made a call from your mobile, didn't you?”
“What right do you have to check my phone?” Findlay replied, now starting to look more unsettled.
“We have every right in the world,” McAvoy assertively answered. “Surely we don't have to remind you that this is a murder enquiry? If you withhold information from us, you can be charged with obstruction of justice, maybe even as an accessory to the murder.”
Findlay's show of bravado collapsed and his whole demeanour changed. “What do you want to know?” he asked, meekly.
“Let's start with the phone call you made immediately after you called '999.' ”
“I called Gordon, Gordon Black,” the sudden shock of realising his predicament cleared his head, as he carefully considered everything he was saying. “I first met Gordon when I started Uni. It was in Freshers' Week and we met in the beer bar. He was from Inverness. We were both new and from out of town and we got on okay. He was studying computer science so we didn't see too much of each other after that but we'd sometimes have a pint together. A few months back, I bumped into him again in the Union and he told me he might be able to get me a job. He said he'd been doing some work with an antique dealer who wanted a part-time worker for his shop and he introduced me to Stevenson. That's how I ended up working there. That's all there was too it.”
“That's not the whole truth, is it? Why did you call him then?” Sandra took over the questioning.
“It was because he knew Stevenson and he'd introduced us. I thought I owed it to him to tell him.”
“So you told him you found Stevenson dead. Did you tell him what killed him?”
“I can't remember. I was really panicked and I don't know what I said.”
“Have you spoken to him again since?”
“No, that was the only time. I tried calling a couple of other times but his phone was switched off.”
“You said Black had been 'doing work with Stevenson.' Now, what precisely was he doing?”
“I don't know for sure. It was something on the internet. At first I thought he was looking after his computers or building a website for the shop but he very rarely came in. It was something on the web though.”
“Did you ever hear them talking about anyone or mentioning any names?”
“I can't really think. It wasn't often that Gordon came into the shop. He phoned sometimes but I didn't hear what they were saying. I seem to remember the name Mandy being mentioned one time, or it may have been Marcy or something like that. I'm sorry I can't really help.”
“You'd better not be flannelling us. If we find out you've been holding anything back, we'll come down on you like a ton of bricks,” McAvoy interceded.
“I heard them once talking about blogging and chat rooms, but I'm not into computers and it didn't mean very much to me. So really I don't know any more.”
“Could it have been Black that Stevenson was meeting on Thursday?”
“No, I'm sure it wasn't. He'd have had no reason to not let me know if it was.”
“What did Black say after you told him about Stevenson?”
“Nothing really, I think he just said thanks for letting him know. That was all.”
“So it doesn't sound like he was too surprised. Where does Black live?”
“He comes from near Inverness but I don't know where. When he first came to Glasgow he was staying in the student halls of residence, but he moved out in his second term. He was sharing a flat with a couple of other guys. I think it was in Otago Street, just off Woodlands Road. I don't know the number and I was never there. I don't know for sure but I think I heard that he moved out to his own place. I know recently he seemed to have a bit more money.”
“What do you mean by recently, and what do you mean about the money?”
“Must be the last few months now. He wasn't really flash or anything. He just wasn't moaning like the rest of us about how short he was. He also seemed to be able to afford new clothes and to go to gigs and be able to eat out sometimes.”
“Right, now I want you to give me a full description of what he looks like.”
“Let me think. He must be about five foot ten, quite slim, probably about ten or eleven stone, short ginger hair, narrow face, clean shaven, pale complexion with freckles and blue eyes.”
“Sounds pretty precise, I forgot you were an art student. We'll check the University for a photo, but if we can't get a good one, we may come back and ask you to sit with an artist.”
“That would be really interesting,” Findlay replied, showing real enthusiasm for the first time.
“Okay, we'll leave it at that and get your amended statement written up,” Sandra said. “If anything else comes to mind, I want you to let us know. It doesn't matter how insignificant it may sound, I want you to tell us. Now here's my card and I'll call you if I need you back for the artist.”
Findlay left the room a lot less self-assured than when he had arrived.
“Well, we took the wind out of his sails, but are we really much further forward?” Donny grumbled.
“That's a bit negative. We've really quite a lot more to work on.” Sandra held up her hand and counted off items on her fingers. “One, we now know that Findlay phoned Gordon Black. Two, we know Black seems to be Stevenson's accomplice, probably working some scam on the net. Three, Black discussed girls with Stevenson, he probably knew about the prostitution and or blackmail. Four, Black may have gone on the run as his phone's been switched off, or dumped, but we've got leads to find him. We know where he comes from and we know what he's been studying. We've a fair idea where he's been staying and we know what he looks like. That sounds pretty good progress to me.”
“Okay, fair enough, but how does that tie in with Stevenson's murder?”
“We don't know that yet, but I'm sure it has to. Maybe Black was involved in the blackmail business and if we find him, he'll be able to tell us who the victims were. They have to be our prime suspects, and whoever we don't have a photo of is first in the frame, if you'll excuse the pun.”
“What, photo? Frame? Oh, right, very funny.”
“As Findlay turned up late, we're running a bit behind. Gonna' give Ballantyne a ring and tell him we're on our way. I'll go and bring the car round and meet you at the front door.” Sandra wanted to make sure she was driving as she was not comfortable when McAvoy was behind the wheel. She found him too slow and deliberate.
A few minutes later they were heading back out to the West End. Being still Sunday morning, the roads were comparatively quiet and Sandra raced along the broad carriageway of Great Western Road paying little heed to the speed limit. She traversed a sequence of green traffic lights and she hardly even slowed as she turned off at the Anniesland interchange. She sped up even more on the dual carriageway and McAvoy was nervously clinging to his seat when they came down the Switchback at Canniesburn Toll.
While driving, Sandra enquired what they already knew about Ballantyne. Without waiting for a response, she then ran through the results of their research with barely a whimper from McAvoy, as his attention was more focussed on their survival. “He started out as a boffin then started a biotech business. He opened up his company in the science park then expanded with satellite offices. It was very successful and he took it public, selling half the shares for millions. He then started a string of other companies in medical research and testing, most of which have been very successful. He does a lot of work for the NHS and for the pharmaceutical industry and his testing labs are frequently used by our people as well. He's named in the Sunday Times 'Rich List' and he's reckoned to be in the top ten in Scotland. He's got no criminal record, not even a parking ticket, but that's no surprise.” She turned to see McAvoy's response but only saw his fearful eyes and chalk white face.
“For Christ's sake, Sandr
a, slow down. I know Canniesburn has the best plastic surgery unit in the country but I'd rather not be making use of their services.”
“Wimp,” Sandra exclaimed, but nevertheless she slowed down as they drove through Bearsden and out towards Milngavie. The narrower roads and increased volume of traffic may also have contributed, together with Sandra no longer being confident she knew where she was going. With the assistance of the satnav and with Sandra's earlier rally-style driving, they arrived at Ballantyne's house only a few minutes later than their originally arranged schedule.
They drove up a long, winding driveway passing well cared for lawns and immaculately presented flower beds on each side. Surprisingly for this time of year, where most trees and bushes were bare, they found a plethora of colour and hardly a leaf out of place. They stopped in front a large stone house. The property was cottage-style and stone built with whitewashed walls and a slate roof but it was too large to be described as a cottage. The front of the house was symmetrically laid out with eight ground floor windows, four on each side of a substantial timber doorway. It looked as if the house had originally been single storey but the lines of slates were now interrupted by large Velux windows. Beyond and off to the side of the house, sitting slightly behind was a large outhouse. It looked as if it might have once been a barn but had now been converted into a large garage, enough to hold half a dozen vehicles or more. Two vehicles sat in front of the building. Sandra immediately recognised one as a Porsche Cayenne Turbo and the other was a classic Bentley which she judged to be from the 1950's. McAvoy released a low, admiring whistle as he surveyed the scene. The whole roof of the garage was covered with solar panels. To supplement the owner's environmentalist credentials there was a modest-sized wind turbine immediately behind the garage. Perhaps he was seeking to compensate for the CO2 emissions from his fleet of vehicles, Sandra conjectured.
