Llewellyn snorted at this. Kernough just replied coldly, “This is Britain, not America. We do things differently here.”
“I’ll say.” Maggie looked past Kernough at the hired muscle behind her. “No wonder we left.”
“That’s it!” Llewellyn slammed his fist down in the table. “Just give us the damned prints! Left hand first.”
Maggie glared through narrowed eyes at Llewellyn, at the fingerprinting paraphernalia, then at Kernough and her goons. This was too much. “Nope.” She shook her head defiantly. “You’re gonna have to take them.”
“Fine.” Llewellyn seemed almost happy at this. He nodded to the two gorillas in police uniforms and in a few moments they were rolling Maggie’s ink-wetted fingers across the page. Left hand first. Then right hand. Maggie didn’t resist, but she didn’t help either. When they’d finished, she wiped her fingers off on the flimsy paper towel Llewellyn provided.
“You can go now,” Llewellyn barked.
Maggie bent down, picked her backpack up off the floor and swung it over her shoulder. The enforcers had already left. Kernough held the door open and Llewellyn turned to watch Maggie exit, his back to both the table and the fingerprint card atop it. He noticed neither the subtle flick of Maggie’s wrist, nor the tiny black spot which appeared at the center of the fingerprint card.
“Liosc,” Maggie hissed angrily under her breath as she passed through the doorway. Her Old Gaelic dialect for ‘Burn.’
Llewellyn stared after the American and waited for Kernough to close the door. When he finally turned around he had just enough time to run over to the table, push the flaming fingerprint card onto the floor and stamp it into crumbling, illegible black ash.
30. The Lawyer
“I hate lawyers.”
Sgt. Warwick pulled open the door to the Hastings Building, directly across the street from the Aberbeenshire Courthouse and home to over a dozen barristers and precisely three solicitors.
“Even prosecutors?” Chisholm asked as she followed her colleague into the lobby. “They’re lawyers as well, you know.”
Warwick pressed the button for the lift and thought for a few moments. “No,” she said finally as the lift doors opened, “I don’t trust them either.”
***
It hadn’t surprised Warwick that Glynis Campbell’s office was in the Hastings Building. It also hadn’t surprised her that Campbell’s office was on the top floor. And considering the circumstances it hadn’t really surprised her that Campbell had agreed to see them on such short notice. What did surprise her was the person she saw exiting Campbell’s office and ducking toward the stairs just as she and Chisholm stepped off the lift exactly seven minutes early for their appointment.
“Ms. NicRath!” Warwick called out. “Is that you?”
Marsaili NicRath turned and let her hand fall from the stairway door handle. “Hullo.” Her smile was forced. “Officer Warwick, was it?”
“Detective Sergeant, actually,” Warwick corrected. “And it’s pronounced ‘Warrick’—like the castle. You’ll remember Detective Sergeant Chisholm?”
“Of course.” NicRath nodded politely. She was attired quite differently from the last time they’d spoken with her. Rather than a dusty, sweaty shinty uniform, she sported a sharply tailored lavender business suit, the straight skirt stopping just above her knee. Her fine blond hair was pulled back from her face again, but rather than stuffed into a simple ponytail, it cascaded down the back of her neck from several golden hair clips. Pearls adorned her ears, throat and wrists and she was wearing just the right amount of make-up for the successful business woman. “Good afternoon, Sergeant.”
Warwick wasted no time in posing the obvious question. “So what brings you to Ms. Campbell’s office?”
NicRath took a moment before answering, obviously weighing her options. She elected for the simplest. “She’s my lawyer.”
Warwick nodded thoughtfully. “For your fight against David MacLeod?”
NicRath cocked her head slightly and considered her response. “You mean the matter regarding An-Diugh?”
“Are there others?” Warwick’s raised eyebrow feigned only casual interest.
NicRath smiled. “No.”
All three women stared at one another for a moment, then Warwick signaled the end of the impromptu interview; they had other business to attend to. “Well, it was good to see you again, Ms. NicRath. I’m sure we’ll be speaking with you again sometime.”
NicRath had to laugh as she pressed down on the door handle. “I’m sure you’re right. Good day, Sergeants.”
Chisholm waited for moment after the doorway to the stairwell clicked shut. “That was interesting, eh?”
“Oh, very,” Warwick agreed. “I’ll be interested to see what Ms. Campbell has to say about it. But don’t mention that we saw her until I do, all right?”
Chisholm raised her eyebrows, but then nodded. “All right.”
Warwick didn’t bother saying ‘Good’ before walking over and entering Glynis Campbell’s law office.
***
“Ms. Campbell will be with you in a moment,” the young male receptionist assured the police officers after brief introductions. “She’s just putting some files away.”
Warwick and Chisholm thanked the young man, with his stylish sideburns and gel-spiked hair, then sat down patiently in two of the leather wingback chairs which decorated the smallish, plant-filled waiting room. After less than a minute, the door to the office at the end of the hall opened and Glynis Campbell, Barrister, stepped out into the lobby.
“Sergeant Warwick? Sergeant Chisholm?” She was probably in her early 50s, with thick and wiry brown hair tamed into a knot at the base of her skull. She wore small half-lens reading glasses, their gold chain draped around her neck, and a conservative business suit in either black or a very, very dark blue. The tasteful ruffle of a cream-colored silk blouse was visible at her throat, while her skirt fell almost to mid-calf, revealing the bottom of strong-looking, stockinged legs which ended at very expensive-looking black leather heels. She motioned her visitors into her office. “Please come in.”
Warwick and Chisholm both stood and walked the short distance into Campbell’s office. “Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Warwick began. “We appreciate the courtesy.”
“Yes. Thank you for your time, Ms. Campbell,” Chisholm agreed. “I’m sure you’re a busy woman.”
Campbell laughed—a short but warm laugh, just the right length and appropriate enough that Warwick almost thought it was genuine. “Quite busy, to be sure,” Campbell replied in a thick brogue as she closed the office door. She sat down at her desk and motioned to the officers to sit as well. “But I cut my last appointment short a bit and I don’t have to be in court until two-thirty.”
“Funny you should mention that—” Chisholm started.
“I hadn’t realized you had court today,” Warwick interjected, her irritation fairly well masked; Chisholm sat back in her chair. “I hope we won’t make you late.”
Campbell waved away the suggestion. “Don’t worry yourself, Sergeant Warwick.” She nodded toward her office lobby. “Charles will come fetch me when it’s time to go. He’ll not let me be late, and it’s only just across the quay.” She leaned back in her chair and grabbed a hold of the arms rests. “So, then. What can I do for you?”
“Well, as you know,” Warwick began, “we’re investigating the kidnapping of Douglas MacLeod. And Mrs. Janet MacLeod mentioned that you are her attorney.”
“Jessie.” Campbell smiled just the right amount as she spoke the name. “Yes, I did represent Jessie in the divorce action. A very nice woman. Unfortunate situation.”
“I’m sure,” Warwick replied. “Could you tell us a little about Jessie?”
“I’d be happy to,” Campbell replied with a full, friendly smile. Then the smile made an endearing transformation into a cautious grin. “Within the limits of attorney-client privilege, of course.”
“Of c
ourse,” Warwick sighed. Then she set to work. “When did Jessie become a client?”
“The divorce papers were served on her in early May. I filed my formal Notice of Appearance on the matter the first week of June.”
“How much does she stand to gain from the divorce?”
“In truth, she’ll lose several hundred thousand pound as she goes from holding a joint tenancy in all of the MacLeod properties to receiving a monthly alimony stipend.”
“Who will have custody of Douglas?”
“We’ve a petition before the court to award primary custody to Jessie.”
“Will the fact that Douglas was kidnapped while staying with his father help Jessie win custody of her son?”
“The court will consider all relevant factors when rendering a decision on custody.”
Warwick nodded thoughtfully as she considered the information provided. She looked over to Chisholm, who appeared quite satisfied with the exchange. So Warwick turned back to Campbell. “You didn’t really answer any of my questions,” she observed pleasantly.
Campbell laughed again, this time genuinely. “I’d hoped you hadn’t noticed.”
“There’s no use to repeating the questions, is there?” Warwick inquired casually enough.
“No, not really,” Campbell admitted.
Chisholm looked first to Campbell, then to Warwick, both of whom ignored her. She leaned back into her chair and crossed her arms.
“All right then.” Warwick sniffed slightly and sat forward in her chair. “Let me try some more general questions.”
“An excellent idea,” Campbell agreed and she too leaned forward.
“When a couple divorces, are all of the assets automatically divided fifty-fifty?”
“No,” Campbell replied. “Not automatically. It depends on the nature and extent of the holdings and the manner and time in which each was obtained as it relates to the dates of the marriage.”
“So, if a wife received an inheritance before the marriage, she could keep that as separate property?”
“If she kept it entirely separate during the marriage, yes.” Campbell seemed to be enjoying the hypothetical legal analyses.
“What about an inheritance received during the marriage?” Warwick inquired further. “Or wages for that matter? What about wages earned during the marriage?”
“The inheritance could still remain separate,” Campbell pontificated, “if it were kept separate throughout the marriage. But wages are a different story. The law is fairly well settled that wages earned during a marriage, and any assets purchased with such wages, are the property of the marital community. The law recognizes that one spouse may be able to earn more money because the other has elected to stay home and take care of the house.”
“Interesting,” Warwick nodded along. “And what would happen if, say, one spouse went bankrupt between the filing of the divorce papers and the finalization several weeks later?”
Campbell considered the question with a frown. “How do you mean exactly?”
“Would the court,” Warwick clarified, “award alimony based on the assets at the time of the filing of the divorce, or based on the assets at the time of finalization?”
Campbell squinted slightly as she contemplated the query, and her answer thereto. “Usually the numbers are worked out some time before finalization.”
“But if there’s a change in finances before finalization?” Warwick pressed. “Would it be too late to change the numbers?”
Campbell paused again. “No, I suppose not,” she admitted. Then her practiced smile returned. “Although the judge would likely be irritated.”
“I should imagine so,” Warwick replied warmly. “Although in my experience, most judges can be rather irritating themselves sometimes.”
Campbell laughed at this and Chisholm too chuckled. “That,” Campbell pointed an amicable finger toward Warwick, “is certainly true.”
The three women let their light laughter subside, then Warwick, a pleasant smile pasted across her face, attacked. “So what will happen when the Bar Society finds out about the blatantly unethical conflict of interest you have in representing both Jessie MacLeod and Marsaili NicRath?”
Campbell’s lingering smile fell from her face like so much lead. Her eyes narrowed and for the first time the wrinkles that flanked her eyes and mouth became noticeable. She raised an offended eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Chisholm’s eyebrows were also raised; she was staring at Warwick, awaiting her partner’s reply.
“It seems to me,” Warwick began coldly, “that your representation of Marsaili NicRath’s claim against David MacLeod is in direct conflict with your representation of Jessie MacLeod.”
Campbell’s other eyebrow raised, but then she regained her visage into one of amused interest. “Does it?” she asked smugly. “Pray, do enlighten me.”
“Right.” Warwick took up the task effortlessly. “As Jessie MacLeod’s attorney, it’s your job to obtain as large and as favorable a settlement as possible for her in her divorce from David MacLeod. And you’ve just confirmed two things for me: first, that any assets obtained entirely during the marriage are subject to division by the court; and second, that the relevant date for dividing those assets is the date of finalization. Therefore, it is in Jessie’s best interests that David MacLeod’s assets be as large as possible at the time of divorce.”
She took a breath, then continued. “Now, one such asset is An-Diugh, Marsaili NicRath’s former company, which Ms. NicRath has hired you to regain. But if you succeed in wresting control of An-Diugh from MacLeod, then you will have also lessened the marital assets to be divided by the courts in the divorce action, thereby reducing Jessie’s settlement.” Warwick smiled coolly. “I’d call that a conflict of interest. What would you call it?”
Chisholm turned back to Campbell, who had remained quite calm during this assault on her professional integrity.
“I would call that,” Campbell replied calmly, “a potential conflict of interest.” She folded her hands atop her desk and proceeded. “If Mr. MacLeod is possessed of and awarded the entirety of An-Diugh at the time of finalization of the divorce settlement—which is how the settlement is currently arranged—then Mrs. MacLeod will receive other assets of equal value to ensure equal division of the marital assets. If Ms. NicRath then succeeds—after the MacLeod divorce is final—in regaining ownership of An-Diugh, then that will affect Mr. MacLeod’s assets only. And when that happens, not only will I have obtained my goal in representing Ms. NicRath, but I will also have insulated Mrs. MacLeod from any detrimental impact such divestment might have had, had it occurred prior to the finalization of the divorce.” Campbell hadn’t smiled throughout her explanation, but now allowed a satisfied grin to emerge. “And, as a bonus to both my clients, David MacLeod will get doubly screwed.”
“And of course,” Warwick replied evenly, as if she’d expected this reply, “you’ve advised both Ms. MacLeod and Ms. NicRath of this potential conflict of interest.”
“Of course,” Campbell replied quickly, then added, “Not that it’s any of your business. But they were each in agreement as to my continued representation.”
Warwick smiled her own evil little smile. “And screwing David MacLeod?”
Campbell produced her laugh again. “Especially screwing David MacLeod.” She looked down at her watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Sergeants, I need to be getting to court. Charles has been derelict in his duty. No doubt intimidated by the imposing presence of law enforcement. But really, I must be going.”
Chisholm stood up readily, followed slowly by Warwick.
“Oh, just one more thing,” Warwick said almost casually as she stood up. “When we first spoke to Mrs. MacLeod—Jessie—we didn’t realize you represented her. She didn’t mention your name until we’d nearly concluded the interview. But we’ll likely need to speak with her again, of course. I assume you’ll want to be present, so should I contact Charles if we need to schedule a tim
e?”
Campbell’s fine face displayed patient amusement. She dismissed the suggestion with a wave of her hand and toss of her head. “Oh, no need, Sergeant. I trust you. And I trust Jessie. She’s no more the kidnapper than is the MacLeod Banshee. You may speak with her as much as you’d like. I’m sure I don’t need to be there.”
“Thank you.” Warwick offered a polite nod. “We’ll let ourselves out.”
Glynis Campbell returned the officers’ thanks and then Warwick and Chisholm exited the comfortable office and rode the lift back down to street level.
“Well, you were right,” Chisholm could barely wait to point out. “Jessie lied to us. She said she’d been served with divorce papers a year ago.”
“Right.” Warwick nodded distractedly. “And we know Glynis Campbell isn’t everything she appears to be.”
Chisholm cocked her head. “How so? She seemed very nice. Even agreeing to let us talk to Jessie without her.”
Warwick shook her head. “No,” she replied. “She wasn’t being nice. No attorney worth their salt would let a client speak with the police without being present themselves. It was either stupid or inexperienced.”
Chisholm frowned. “Well, she didn’t seem stupid or inexperienced,” she opined.
“No,” Warwick agreed, “she sure didn’t.”
31. Search and Rescue
The problem with police records wasn’t gaining access to them. Hacking into government databases was child’s play. The real problem was the delay in entering the information into the databases in the first place. An officer investigating, say, a kidnapping wasn’t likely to pause his investigation long enough to make sure some pencil-necked number-cruncher could keep his beans counted. And especially not until the case was solved, lest there be a tally somewhere of the officer’s currently unsolved cases.
So Taggert turned to the most reliable source for stories of tragedy and heartache: the media. ‘Police Beat’ sections from newspapers throughout Britain.
Aberdeen… Edinburgh… York… Manchester… London…
It was, he hoped, simply a matter of time.
Blood Rite (Maggie Devereaux Book 2) Page 20
