by Mary Birk
“I thought you’d want to know what I saw.”
“I don’t want you anywhere near that place.”
Anne gave a mock huff. “I do your work for you, and this is how you repay me. That’s gratitude for you.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“Terrence?”
“Yes?”
“I took some photos.” Anne waited for the explosion.
“You went on the grounds?” Terrence’s barely contained outrage punctuated his every word.
She gave him a what-do-you-take-me-for look. “I took them from the road. It was dark, but I’m sure the cars are in some of the photos.”
“Anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Thank the Lord. What were you thinking?”
“I was careful.”
He sighed. “Did you use your digital camera?”
She nodded.
“I’ll need the memory card.”
“Okay, but can you have copies printed for me, too? They’re dim, but I might be able to use some of them for my portfolio.”
“Bugger your portfolio. Stay away from Lynstrade Manor—and the road in front of it, the air space above it, the ground underneath it. Stay away from it.”
* * * * *
Reid sat on the sofa facing Shelton with his arm around Anne. The other man sat on a comfortable leather chair across from them, looking around appreciatively at the room. A masculine room, but with touches of Anne’s purchases softening and personalizing it: the chess set with figures carved in the shape of hunting birds she’d given him for their last anniversary, the Audubon print of a falcon, and the photograph of the three of them at Michael’s christening that sat on his desk. The rich wood paneling and built in bookshelves shone in the glow from the fireplace. Over Anne’s protests, he’d set up the myriad of other photographs he’d had framed of her on the bookshelves in front of the books.
“Nice room. Your study, Reid?”
“Yes. Anne has the sunroom kitted up for her work.” When Shelton went back to the States, Reid wanted to make sure he would report back to his colleagues that they were happy together. He didn’t want any more gossip about her and Andrew Grainger. He’d had enough of that nightmare to last two lifetimes. “How did you do today? Was Allison’s help adequate?”
Shelton took a drink of his beer and nodded. “We covered a lot of ground.”
“You agree the disappearances are too similar and too close in time to be unrelated?”
“Completely.”
Anne said, pretending she didn’t already know, “The missing girls all disappeared from Glasgow?”
Reid twirled his fingers in her hair, playing along. “The most recent one was in Glasgow—the other two were in the outlying burbs. In different constabularies, so the disappearances weren’t connected by the investigators.”
“I heard about this last girl that went missing from Claudia MacTavish.” She turned to Shelton. “The MacTavishes are friends of Terrence’s . . .”
Reid interrupted, “Friends of ours.”
Anne smiled at him and took his hand. “Right.”
“Anyway, their au pair is friends with the girl that went missing.”
Shelton looked interested. “What’s her name?”
“Tabby Low.”
“Right, I read the notes. She was interviewed yesterday by DS Ross and Allison.”
“We’re borrowing Tabby from the MacTavishes for a week while they’re on vacation to help take care of Michael.”
“We are?” Reid wished she wouldn’t surprise him with information like this in front of other people.
She gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to tell you yet.”
“I thought we were getting someone older. A career nanny.”
“Eventually. But I haven’t gotten that far yet. Tabby’s just going to keep an eye on Michael while I get some work done next week.”
“Can’t you use Sebastian?”
“He’s got other work to do. We’ll be fine.”
He squeezed Anne’s hand and looked at Shelton. “Who’d you and Allison talk to today?”
“Maria Ragnarsdötter, the girl Lizzie was supposed to be meeting at the movies.”
“What did you think of her?”
“She seems responsible, sensible. She said Lizzie wasn’t the type of girl to go off with strangers, or to not show up where she was supposed to be.”
“Yet from all appearances, she left the restaurant willingly.”
“He must have said something to convince her he was safe,” Anne said. “Young girls can be really gullible. When I think of the near disasters I avoided by sheer luck—it’s frightening.”
Reid made a mental note to have Anne tell him about those disasters later. “I can’t fathom how the woman let her daughter go off on her own at that age.”
“Kids do it all the time,” Shelton said.
Reid said, “It would have been different if she’d come over here with her church, her school, Rotary, or even a regular au pair organization.”
Shelton shrugged. “The mother thought it sounded safe, a good opportunity for Lizzie to experience another country while living with a Scottish family. She talked to the Gundersons when they offered Lizzie the job. Douglas Gunderson’s a successful businessman and the family lives in a nice area. She said she thought her daughter would be as safe as anywhere in California.”
“The poor woman must feel terribly guilty.” Anne’s face went somber, and Reid wondered if she was thinking again about what happened to Andrew Grainger’s daughter. “What about the other two girls? What happened with them?”
“They just disappeared. One day, the families came home to find the girls gone, their luggage gone. No note, no message, and no one’s heard from them since.”
“I’m sure the families feel better now that the cases are being handled together. Have you talked to them, Terrence?” Anne gently removed her hand from Reid’s to pick up her wine glass. He realized he was probably overdoing the happy couple routine, but seeing Shelton brought back memories of Anne and Andrew Grainger in Bodega Bay, memories that made him uneasy.
“Aye, and we’re working with Jack’s people in the States to gather evidence from the girls’ homes and friends there.” Reid looked up and saw Sebastian in the doorway. “Dinner?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“We’ll be right there.” He turned back to Shelton. “We’ll finish this discussion after dinner.” He stood and pulled Anne up from the sofa. “Let’s eat before the little tyrant wakes up again.”
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 31
Chapter 12
REID SAT AT HIS DESK with a mug of tea, waiting for Harry. After dinner the night before, Reid sent him a text asking him to come in early. He wanted to talk to Harry before the rest of the team came in. Right at seven o’clock he heard the door to his office open, and the ginger-haired detective sauntered in.
“What’s going on?”
“Come on in, and shut the door.”
Harry took a seat, and picked up the mug of tea that Reid had set out for him. Reid quickly explained what he’d learned from Anne.
“The question is, what the hell is Von Zandt up to? The house is on the market, and last I heard, empty. What’s he doing there? And why at night?”
“You’re sure it was him?”
“No, but I’m sure it was his car. I recognized it, and Anne caught his car’s registration number on one of the photos. I ran it to be sure. Judging from the number of other vehicles there, he wasn’t there alone.”
“Did she get shots of any of the other vehicles’ registration numbers?”
“Unfortunately, no. Von Zandt’s was hard to make out, but it’s clearly his.”
“Maybe he’s helping Henry show the house to prospective buyers.”
“Not likely. He’s gone through hoops to make sure the trust that owns the house can’t be connected to him. He doesn’t want to giv
e us any excuse to argue we have the right to seize it as bought with proceeds from his criminal enterprises.”
“Which it was.”
“No doubt.”
“It does seem risky for Von Zandt to be playing the role of owner, even informally, if that’s what he’s doing. His lawyers should be sitting on him like bricks on a tarp to keep him from f’ing up the deal they’ve got on the hob.”
“He’s not a man to take advice he doesn’t want.”
“I don’t suppose you can get permission for us to go to Lynstrade Manor and see if we can find out what’s going on?”
“No, I’ve been warned off by the powers-that-be to leave Von Zandt alone more times than I can count. Their misguided theory is if he thinks we’ve relaxed surveillance, he’ll let down his guard and lead us to more accounts he’s hidden away.”
“Accounts that might or might not exist.”
“One thing’s for sure. If he has any more money, he’s not using it. We know exactly what both he and Henry are bringing in and spending, and there’s no extra butter on their bread right now. I’m sure that’s why Henry put Lynstrade Manor on the market. It’s got to cost a fortune to keep up, even with no one living there.”
“If Von Zandt needs money, he’ll find another scam. Earning money honestly doesn’t do it for him.”
“It never has.”
“I’ve a friend who’s an estate agent who owes me a favor. I’ll do some checking on what’s going on at Lynstrade Manor.”
“I don’t want Von Zandt to find out we’re asking.”
“No worries. How’d Lady Anne happen to spot the cars? I thought you’d told her to stay away from anything to do with Von Zandt.”
Reid took a drink of his tea. “She talked Sebastian into driving her by the estate to see how the garden turned out. She wants to get updated photos for her portfolio for a job she’s bidding on.”
“What’s the job?”
“Loch Etive, a castle in the Highlands—not far from Dunbaryn. If she gets the job, I’m going to have her stay at Dunbaryn for the duration. She’s managing the garden refurbishment there as well, and we’re in the middle of remodeling our living quarters there, so she’ll be kept busy, and it will be easier to keep her and Michael safe.” And out of trouble, Reid thought.
“You’re worried about Von Zandt targeting Lady Anne?”
Reid tilted his head in a reluctant nod.
“We don’t know that Von Zandt ever kenned on to her part in exposing his money-laundering racket.”
“We don’t know that he didn’t. Until we have Von Zandt put away, I want her to stay tucked away.”
Harry voiced Reid’s own fear. “What if we never put him away?”
“We will. Meanwhile, she’ll be safer at Dunbaryn.”
Harry’s face was a study in self-restraint.
“You don’t agree?”
Harry expelled a long breath, as if he knew he was stepping off a bridge into dangerous territory. “You’ve a young wife, guv. She’s not likely to want to be shut up in a tower forever.”
“No one’s talking about shutting her up in a tower, or about it being forever. But she’s got some daft idea we need to start having parties, and going out all the time—parties, the theater, things like that.”
“Before she came, you went out how many times a week to dinners, parties, and whatnot? Since Christmas, you don’t go anywhere but work and home, and, I’m guessing neither does she. Why the change?”
“I need to keep her safe.”
“Are you sure Von Zandt is the real reason you want to keep her hidden away?”
“What do you mean?”
Harry shrugged.
“Say what you’re thinking.”
“None of my business.”
“Say it.”
“Sounds like you don’t trust her.”
Reid tried to bite back his annoyance, but made himself consider whether Harry was right. He thought about how strong his need had been to show Jack Shelton they were happy, and about all the calls and texts from Andrew Grainger. Was he trying to keep Anne locked up so he wouldn’t lose her again?
No, he knew the danger she’d been in from Von Zandt, and he knew his wife. She had no sense of danger until she was so far into it she couldn’t get out. “You don’t know her like I do. If there’s trouble, she finds it.”
“What exactly is it you want me to do?”
“She’s not listening to me. I need you to talk to her, impress on her the seriousness of the situation. Tell her it’s important she keep as low a profile as possible. She needs to understand how hard it is to keep her safe in public venues, that the best thing she stay close to home, where Sebastian and I can watch over her.” Reid saved the hardest request for last. “If you can, convince her to put off going back to work—not forever, but for now.”
Harry shook his head. “No way. Helping you keep your wife locked up isn’t in my job description.”
Reid was stung by Harry’s self-righteous tone. He’d made the mistake of thinking of Harry as more than just his sergeant, as his friend. “You’re quite right. Forget I said anything.”
“Guv . . .”
“Advise me immediately if you get any intel on what Von Zandt’s doing at Lynstrade Manor, or if you have news on the nanny cases.” Reid picked up the receiver on his desk telephone, turning away from Harry. “If, of course, that’s in your job description. You’re dismissed, sergeant.”
* * * * *
Harry, finished with the most urgent part of his morning tasks, and determined not to let his rift with Reid get to him, bent down over the papers from the estate agent, shielding them so no one could see what they were if they came by his desk. The three-level townhouse would take every penny he had, but it would be a good investment. No more paying rent, and he’d have something he actually owned—not outright, sure, not for years, but eventually. The only problem was that if he was going to be able to make a go of it above his basic needs, he needed to find a renter.
The place was set up sweet for that. He’d have his bedroom and a full bath on the top floor. There was another room up there that he’d keep empty for now, maybe turn into an office later. He could rent out the lower level, which had a separate bedroom and bathroom, as well as a small landing area. They’d have to share the main floor as the kitchen was there, but that wouldn’t be a problem. As long as the bloke wasn’t a pig.
All he’d have to do was peg a note up on the board in the break room of any of the area police stations and he’d have blokes lined up wanting to take the rental. But he’d have to be careful. Once in, they’d be hard to get rid of if it didn’t work out. Not that Harry was overly particular, but the house was a big investment. He didn’t want some slob mucking it up, or slouching around and ruining the atmosphere when Harry had a bird over for the night.
He should have found someone earlier, but he hadn’t been sure the deal would go through. Now that it seemed a sure thing, he needed to find someone fast. He was closing the deal on the house that afternoon, though move-in day wouldn’t be until Friday. He’d given his landlady notice a month ago that he’d be leaving his tiny flat, and he had some mates to help him move what furniture he had. The store would deliver his new flat screen right to the house. He didn’t want to chance that sweetheart getting broken, especially because the hit it had made on his budget was one reason he needed a renter now, rather than in two months, as he’d originally planned.
He glanced around the High Street offices. Frank was studying the computer screen on the large reception desk, working on the quarterly reports. Frank already owned a place, besides, he’d need one that was handicapped-accessible, and Harry’s new place wasn’t. Oscar, well, Oscar might be a good choice, he was neat and responsible, but the truth was, people might get the wrong impression if Harry shared a house with a gay man.
Then his eyes lit upon Allison. Her head was bent down over the interview questions she was putting together for her visi
ts tomorrow to the families the three au pairs had worked for. She was an ambitious lass, religiously keeping lists with her goals and things to do. He got a charge out of watching her make those bold, triumphant checkmarks next to the items on her list when she’d finished doing something she’d set out to do. But Allison as a housemate?
Well, why not? She was a known quantity. She wasn’t tied down by a lease she’d need time to get out of, and she hated living at home, but couldn’t afford to move out. He could make some concessions that would make it possible, such as no deposit, things like that. She was neat and organized; she didn’t smoke, and she was far from wild—gossip about her mainly consisted of disgruntled complaints that she kept her knickers on despite heavy pressure to get them down. That was fine with him. Not that he’d put any restrictions on her overnight guests, but he certainly wouldn’t object to not having to field gorilla boyfriends in the kitchen before his morning tea.
He considered how to approach her, weighing all his options. When he had his plan set in his head, he got back to the work on his desk. Even though he’d been assigned to help with the disappearing nanny case, he was still heading up a large part of the Von Zandt investigation for the guv. Pissed off as he was with Reid, right now his job was still his number one priority.
For more than a year now, the High Street team had been working with authorities in England, the United States, and Germany on an investigation that tied investments in the Scottish financial market to terrorists in the form of laundered money. Their investigation had led them to Walter Von Zandt, initially for his role in financing terrorist attacks across Europe and Great Britain, and then by a fluke last Christmas, to a large arm of Von Zandt’s criminal enterprise that was tied into various hedge funds.
After the untimely deaths of two witnesses, they’d finally put together a case against Von Zandt, but their victory had been snatched away by the deal Von Zandt had cut with the higher-ups. Still, they’d clipped Von Zandt’s financial wings. Rumor had it that Von Zandt was strapped, and his on-going divorce proceedings were making things even worse for the arsehole. Deal or no deal, Harry wouldn’t be satisfied until Von Zandt was in jail.
