Unnatural Justice (Oz Blackstone Mysteries)

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Natalie Morgan. Torrent PLC.’

  I heard Phil’s sudden quiet grunt. ‘Got it in one. You’re not surprised then?’

  ‘No. In the light of what you told me a while back, Susie and I have been tracking Ms Morgan. She met with the Rowntree woman last week.’

  ‘I don’t imagine I want to know how you found that out.’

  ‘No, you don’t. Has the deal been done, or can I make a counter-bid?’

  ‘It’s done. Anyway, you don’t have that sort of money.’

  ‘I have friends who do.’

  ‘Ah, but would they put it at risk?’ He had me there: Everett Davis owes me, but not that much. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘it’s academic. The deal’s done. Sapphire has accepted an offer of one pound thirty pence per share, and that’s not all that far below the Gantry price before the nonsense began. Ms Rowntree didn’t say, but I’m assuming that the price will be paid in new Torrent shares, and that she’ll simply be exchanging an investment in one company for another.’

  ‘Damn it.’

  ‘No, Oz, that reaction’s too mild. I had Nat Morgan on the phone half an hour ago. She told me that given the size of her holding, she expects a seat on the board. I’ve also had a call from Fisher. She’s made the same demand to him and he supports her. Do you want to tell Susie, or shall I.’

  ‘Neither of us will. I don’t want her blood pressure raised by a single point, and that news would send it up the scale. You tell Morgan what Susie would if I’d let her. Remind her that she owns about eighteen per cent of the company, and that’s not enough to make demands. When she owns fifty-one per cent she gets a seat, but not before.’

  ‘It may come to that, Oz,’ Phil warned. ‘Almost certainly this is a precursor to a full bid, contingent on one hundred per cent acceptance.’

  ‘Yes, and Susie has sixty per cent and she’ll reject.’

  ‘Not so easy. There’s another twenty-two per cent out there.’

  ‘Some of that’s mine.’

  ‘Yes, but how much?’

  ‘I dunno for sure,’ I admitted. ‘but it’ll be short of one per cent.’

  ‘Minimal. That leaves another twenty. Okay, Joe Donn’s six per cent might be out of the reckoning, but that leaves fourteen. Morgan will only need about half of that on her side. If significantly more than half of the minorities want to accept, and the company’s advisers deem that a bid of one thirty is the best price attainable, Fisher will recommend acceptance.’

  ‘You mean he’ll sell the business out from under Susie’s feet?’

  ‘Yes. And I’d say the court would back him if it had to.’

  ‘Where’s the escape hatch?’

  ‘Susie resigns her executive position and a successor is appointed. As an ordinary shareholder, she can reject the offer. But, and it’s a big one, if she does that her shareholding is such that she could be forced to buy out the minorities.’

  ‘Yes, we had anticipated that one. Do you see any daylight in this?’

  ‘If she took the offer Susie would be a big player inside Torrent. She could make a real nuisance of herself.’

  ‘That’s not her scene, Phil.’ I thought, as quickly and as broadly as I could. ‘Listen, you’re chief executive, and it has to be your decision, but if I was you I’d make the bold move now. We’ve been nice to these chancers for long enough. I’d tear up the Three Bears’ sales and call their bluff.’

  ‘And what if they sue?’

  ‘That possibility is the reason why the share price is on the floor, so I don’t see that it can do that much more damage. But if they don’t . . .’

  ‘Then we’ve won and it goes back up. You’re right, of course. But as a responsible managing director, can I put the business at such a risk?’

  ‘Which is the bigger risk? Doing that or doing nothing and letting New Bearsden turn into a financial disaster? Phil, I’ll bet you a million quid right now that the day Nat Morgan takes control of Gantry she’ll make those three hooligans a modest offer for their plots and they’ll accept.’

  He was silent for a while. ‘You really think she’s behind them?’

  ‘I’d stake your life on it, mate.’

  Culshaw laughed. ‘In that case, I’ve got no choice. But . . . and I really don’t want to know how you do it, it would be very nice if you could get me some proof of that.’

  But I was in no position to start gathering proof, was I, not four hundred miles away from the action, on a sound stage in Middlesex. I was doing what I could by remote control, of course; Ricky’s operatives still had Natalie Morgan under surveillance, and after Arnott Buchan’s tip on Saturday, I had asked him to organise a tail on Aidan Keane as well, using close-mouthed Glasgow people who knew the territory. Common sense told me that I couldn’t do any more if I was in Scotland, but I wasn’t happy being away from Susie at that time, and that was the truth of it.

  My anger must have come through in a big way on camera that afternoon, for my big scene with Ewan was another one-take wrap, and after it the Great Man Himself actually complimented me on my work, telling me that for all his years of experience, I’d actually scared him a little. The way I felt, I was surprised I hadn’t scared him a lot.

  I shouldn’t have done it, I know, but I couldn’t stop myself. Before we went our separate ways, Ewan back to his London base and I to mine in the hotel, I asked him if he still had Natalie Morgan’s private number. If he was curious, he didn’t show it: he just produced his Filofax, copied it on to a blank note sheet, tore it out and handed it over to me.

  I had been in Nat’s flat once. It’s a penthouse, perched on a block in Ravelston in Edinburgh. I could picture it as I dialled her number, and her, prowling around like a great cat. Make no mistake, if I’d known her in my single days . . . and even in some of my married ones . . . I’d have fancied spending more time there than I had, and exploring one of the rooms I hadn’t been in. I still wouldn’t have liked her, but I was never one to let that get in the way of a memorable shag. From the moment we’d met I’d been irked by her arrogance, as no doubt had she by mine. We were two people destined never to hit it off, whether we were physically attracted to each other or not.

  The phone rang out, until an answering system cut in. The voice on the message wasn’t hers. It was male, and it sounded familiar: it didn’t take me long to realise that the guy telling me that Natalie Morgan wasn’t home, but that I could leave a message, was none other than Ewan Capperauld. She might have chucked him, but she still kept him on her tape to impress callers.

  That’s what I told her too, when I started to record the invited message, that she had more than a little bloody cheek. I hadn’t got very far when she picked up the phone. ‘Well hello, Oz,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ll be happy to ditch old Ewan, if you’ll do me a replacement. I’d love to have your husky Fife tones answering my calls. What can I do for you, my dear?’

  It had taken her about ten seconds to get under my skin. Her voice was different; maybe that’s what triggered it off. I was used to Nat sounding cold and aloof. She’d never teased me in her life before. But now there was a chuckle at the back of her throat, and as she spoke I could see her smiling.

  ‘You know very well what you can do for me, Natalie. You can get your greedy, ambitious doe eyes off my wife’s company.’

  She laughed again. ‘Thanks for the compliments, darling; I could always tell you liked my eyes. I rather like yours too. When you look into them and ignore everything else there’s a coldness about them that’s very impressive. It’s rather sad that you’ve become Susie Gantry’s lap-dog.’

  ‘Rottweiler would be a better description, as you’re going to find out if you keep trying to hurt Susie.’

  ‘That’s good,’ she chuckled. ‘I prefer you when you’re not trying to be nice. I have to confess I’ve seen all your movies, and when they let you be the bad guy, it really turns me on.’

  ‘Keep pushing your luck then, and see how moist you get. I’m not kidding. This
move of yours is not welcome, either on a personal or a business level. It doesn’t make any sense either. You know sweet eff all about the construction and property businesses. If you want to expand Torrent, why not stick to your own sector? That’s what your uncle would have done. By the way, I don’t know if I ever told you this, but I thought he was a shit as well, and I’m glad he’s dead.’

  ‘Oh come on, Oz! James may have lacked business vision, but he did have his good points.’

  ‘Name one.’

  ‘When he died he left everything to me.’

  I laughed; sort of. ‘He didn’t leave it, he was taken away from it. He was a greasy, grasping, avaricious . . .’

  ‘Lecherous?’ she said. ‘Yes, how about lecherous.’

  ‘Fine, if you want. Tell me, ’cos I’ve always wondered? Did you and he . . .’

  Hard as I was trying, I couldn’t seem to rattle her. She tutted at me. ‘Unworthy, Oz, unworthy. He’d have liked to, of course, but I never gave him the opportunity.’

  ‘You mean it wasn’t necessary, you were his heir anyway?’

  ‘Got it in one, darling. Now you, on the other hand; I loathe and detest you also, but . . .’

  ‘Forget it, girl. You’ll never feature in my will.’

  ‘That won’t ruin my day. So come on, Oz, tell me. I hear you’re calling the shots behind the scenes these days, now that little wifie is off practising fecundity. Am I getting my seat on the Gantry Group board?’

  ‘I wouldn’t give you a seat on a scout camp latrine, gal.’

  She laughed again, louder than ever. I judged it to be a little forced. ‘You are a mean bastard, aren’t you. You’re a name, though. I may still offer you a place when I take over.’

  ‘Dream on.’

  ‘I am. We announced it this afternoon. Torrent is making a formal bid for one hundred per cent of the share capital of Gantry. It’ll take us a week or so to prepare, but we’ve advised the Stock Exchange already. Your shares have recovered a little, but with that thug Culshaw inviting court action on the company, I’m still certain of success.’

  ‘You’re crazy. I’m a private shareholder, and I’ll never sell.’

  ‘I’m advised that the court will see you as acting in concert with your wife; it’ll force you to sell also. Come on, Oz, do a private deal with me now and I’ll make you a director. I heard you were really wounded when dear old Graeme forced you off the board. He’s on my side, you know. He was a great friend of my uncle.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have told me that, Nat. He’s been hanging on by his nails anyway, but now he’s history.’

  Suddenly I had had enough. ‘No more crap; here’s the deal. You drop this nonsense, or I will break you.’ She started to chuckle but I cut her off. ‘In half, girl, in half, and I always keep my word.’ I paused for a second. ‘So you take that warning to heart, and you take it somewhere else as well. Take it to whoever’s behind you. I know you, you see; you don’t have the vision for all this. You couldn’t set up the Three Bears to buy into New Bearsden, or use Aidan Keane to cover it up till the trap was ready. For sure, there’s someone behind you, and you know what? I’m going to fucking have him as well.’

  Chapter 32

  I really was itching to be back in Scotland, but a contract’s a contract, and my being in Middlesex was keeping a lot of people in work. So I resigned myself to working as hard and as well as I could in the hope that I might be able to sneak some more time off at the end of the week.

  One of my great grandmothers was Irish and I suspect that she may have had a touch of leprechaun blood in her veins. Whatever it was, be it a four-leafed clover, a lucky charm or just plain random chance, the extravagant luck of the Blackstones worked for me again, just when I needed it.

  For virtually all of the rest of the week, the scenes we were due to shoot involved, among a few others, Louise Golding and me. I was on set at eight sharp next morning, still seething over my clash with Nat Morgan, but word perfect on my lines and ready for action. I strolled into make-up and sat in my usual chair, in front of my usual mirror, ready to have Mathew’s facial scar applied for the day, only to see Paul Girone reflected behind me instead of Liz Ostrakova, the make-up artist. Not only that, but he looked uncharacteristically hesitant.

  ‘Oz,’ he began, a trace of French showing as always in his accent, ‘how’s your schedule?’

  I looked at him blankly in the mirror. ‘You know what my schedule is, man. You’re the director. You draw it up, remember.’

  ‘No, I mean how is your schedule after this project? What do you have lined up?’

  ‘I take a break as usual . . . nicely timed for the birth of my second child . . . then Roscoe’s got me in a project in New York. Why, do you have something to offer me?’

  ‘Maybe, as it happens, but not so soon, and that is not why I ask. If this production was to overrun, it would not be a disaster, yes?’

  I turned in my chair. ‘It would not be a disaster, no, as long as it didn’t overrun up to my next commitment. A bit of a pisser, I have to admit, but not a disaster. What’s the problem anyway? Has the writer come up with some extra scenes?’

  ‘God no!’ he exclaimed. ‘This movie is long enough as it is. No, the problem is that Louise Golding has come up with spots. In English I think you call it the chickenpox. She will not be able to work for two weeks.’

  ‘Can’t you reschedule? Shoot other scenes to cover her absence?’

  He shook his head, sorrowfully. I could understand that; what he was saying was going to cost someone . . . an insurance company, but maybe not . . . a lot of money. ‘I tried to work something out, but almost everything we have left involves Louise, or Ewan, and I have released him till the middle of next week, to do some location work on his next movie. There is nothing for it but to close the project until Louise can come back to work, like I say, at least two weeks. You can go home if you like. I’ll call you next week, to confirm that it’s okay to restart the week after that.’ He paused. ‘How about you, have you ever had this thing? I’m told it’s highly contagious.’

  ‘Spreads like wildfire, man, but I’m okay. I’ve had the whole round of childhood ailments, so I’m immune.’ I grinned as I got out of the make-up chair. ‘You’d better keep your fingers crossed that Ewan is too. From what I gather, he’s been closer to Louise than either you or me.’

  As it turned out, if Paul hadn’t taken the decision to fold there and then he would only have been delaying the inevitable. Twenty-four hours later, the focus puller, the best boy . . . a girl, by the way . . . Liz Ostrakova and the key grip were all as spotty as Louise. By that time, though, I was back home, keeping a distance between me and Janet, until Ethel convinced me that someone who’d had the disease couldn’t be a carrier afterwards.

  Once back home, I was able to tell Susie what had been happening in the company, although by that time it wasn’t news to her. My clumsy attempt to have Jay intercept and mislay the business newspapers had been pointless, since she had simply gone on-line, then bent Phil Culshaw’s ear and later mine because she’d been kept in the dark.

  That persuaded me that it was probably better for her blood pressure to be in the know than to find out later, so before I left to meet Ricky Ross in Glasgow, I told her what I was planning.

  We met just after midday in the Ubiquitous Chip, a celebrity hang-out close to the headquarters of the BBC in Scotland. It was Wednesday lunchtime, but it was still early, and so the place was quieter than I’d seen it. Glancing around, I saw a familiar ex-footballer . . . you know who I mean; he’s everywhere . . . an evening news presenter with a lady that I hoped was his wife, given that they were holding hands, and one half of a television comedy duo, having what looked like a serious lunch with a journalist, or so I judged from the small tape recorder that was placed on the table between them. Its red record light was showing: I pointed to it and Ricky got the message. To be on the safe side, we moved to a table further away. I didn’t want our chat to wind up
in a reporter’s audio notebook by accident.

  Once the ex-footballer and I had exchanged autographs, Ricky and I got down to business. ‘Morgan?’ I asked him.

  ‘We’ve been tailing her as instructed, and as far as I can tell she hasn’t caught on yet. It’s been bloody dull for my people, following her from one business meeting to another. It’s been time consuming too. You’re going to have some bill when this is finished.’

  ‘If you get me a result it’ll be worth it. What about her sex life? Have you found the mystery man?’

  ‘What mystery man? The woman’s fucking celibate . . .’ I smiled at this contradiction in terms, but he didn’t pick it up ‘. . . as far as I can see,’ he told me, ‘unless she’s shagging her lawyer or her accountant, because they’re the only guys she’s seeing consistently. She did make one trip to Glasgow yesterday, to a private address, not an office, but she only stayed for about an hour, and then she was off home again. Barely time for any meaningful action. Besides, Natalie’s never struck me as the sort who has to travel to get seen to.’

  ‘Who did she visit?’

  Ross shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. We didn’t find that out. It was an apartment block, with a secure entrance, and there were no names on the door outside, only numbers. It could have been anyone in there.’

  ‘Did she go in with a key?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay, if she goes back there again, tell your guy to be close enough to see what number button she pushes.’

  ‘He’s already told, don’t worry.’

  ‘Good. What about Aidan Keane? Has he gone anywhere near Ravens?’

  ‘No, but he’d be really bloody stupid to do that so quickly, Oz, and that’s assuming your reporter pal’s story is right.’

  ‘Maybe, but you’re tailing him, yes?’

  ‘Yes, of course we are. Keep your hair on. Tell you what, I’ll get you an up-to-the-minute report.’ He took out his mobile, pressed some keys and held it to his ear. ‘Avril?’ he said. ‘Where are you?’ Five seconds passed, time enough for Ricky’s confidence to evaporate. ‘Did you get the number?’ A few more seconds, time enough for his forehead to furrow. ‘Magic. You’d better get back to his place then, and wait for him to show.’