Unnatural Justice ob-7

by Quintin Jardine

  As Gerry Meek had feared, he did secure the appointment of another accountant to the board, but only on a non-executive basis, and only after Susie had given her approval and her vote. The nominee, Philip Culshaw, had been, until his retirement, Scottish managing partner of one of the big three accountancy firms. Since then he had been collecting directorships and playing golf. By a coincidence he did the latter at my new club, and I had met him there, having drawn him in a Sunday medal. When Fisher offered him a directorship of the Gantry Group… without consulting the board first, incidentally… he had been shrewd enough to call me before accepting, to ask how Susie would view it.

  "As long as you're not in Fisher's pocket, Phil," I told him, 'she'll welcome you."

  Culshaw's appointment turned out to be the best move Fisher made. Far from being a Trojan horse, introduced by the chairman as a first step to axing Gerry Meek, he had been nothing but supportive of the finance director. His presence, even more than Fisher's, seemed to add to the bank's confidence in the business, so much so that for the first time since her appointment, Gillian Harvey missed a board meeting to take a holiday.

  There were other benefits too. Where Graeme Fisher has contacts at the very top of British industry, and in Government too, Phil Culshaw is a mover and shaker who operates and has contacts at all levels. I didn't appreciate this, though, until one Saturday on the golf course… that was all I had available by that time. The extended location work on Mathew s Tale was coming to an end, finally, and we were approaching the point where the team would transfer to a sound stage in the south of England. I hadn't expected to play at all, but he had called me a couple of days before, to invite me to share his tee time at Loch Lomond.

  We were approaching the turn and I was two down; Phil's a consistently tidy twelve-handicapper, and my lack of recent practice, even on my small private course, was showing as I struggled to play to single figures. On the ninth green he applauded silently as I rolled in an eight-footer for a half, then fell into step beside me as we headed for our buggy and the tenth tee.

  "Have you been hearing any whispers, Oz?" he asked me. I I looked at him, puzzled. "What? Like voices in my head, you mean? I can't say that I have."

  "I'll bet you have," he chuckled. "You're a deep one, Mr. Blackstone."

  I let that pass. "No, what I meant was have you heard any rumours about the business?"

  I thought about it as we rolled along towards the tee; the course was busy and there were two games waiting in front of us. "No," I told him, as we took our place in the queue. "I can't say that I have. But I wouldn't expect to, Phil. I don't move among the chatterers any more; at least I don't at the moment, with this movie I'm on. Why?

  What have you heard?"

  "Nothing specific," he said, quietly. "Nothing I can put my finger on.

  But there's something up."

  "What makes you think that? It can't be pub talk. I don't see the affairs of the Gantry Group being common conversation pieces in the Horseshoe Bar."

  "No, it's not that." He hesitated. "The thing is, Oz, my old firm has acted for people in the past who've been a bit schizoid in business terms. By that I mean their core companies have been solid and entirely above board, but there's been other stuff behind them."

  "That sounds familiar," I told him. "You could have been talking about the Gantry Group, in the old days."

  "You get my drift. Well, a few days ago, a whisper floated back to me from one of my former partners that the subject of the company had come up in casual conversation with one of these gentlemen. Nothing specific was said, but my former colleague was left with the impression that his client knew something."

  "Why?"

  "Because the man said, casually, that he wouldn't be buying any shares in it any time soon."

  With a struggle, I began to paint a mental picture of what he was saying to me. "You mean that the Group may be a target for gangsters?"

  "That's an implication that could be put on it."

  "Well it's one that won't wash. You're a director, man. You must know that we've never been asked for protection in connection with any of our jobs. We've never been approached by phoney security firms offering their services, or else. When Susie took over she cut off all the dirty bits of the group. It's pristine."

  "I can see that from inside," he admitted. "But wasn't there an incident, not long before I joined the board? Something involving a small fire in the office."

  "So what?" I frowned at him, looking more than a bit defensive, I suspected.

  "So, the word was that it might not have been accidental."

  "But it was. Read the Herald if you don't believe me."

  "Since when did one believe everything one reads in the press? The suggestion's been made that it wasn't, and isn't it true that there were anonymous calls to the press and the police alleging as much?"

  "A stupid staff member."

  "That won't wash with me, my young friend. Nobody was sacked after it, or disciplined in any way."

  "Nobody was traced."

  "Did anybody ever try?" he asked, dryly.

  "Leave that aside, though, Phil. There have been no incidents since that one."

  "None that you know of."

  "But I would, and so would you."

  "Maybe yes, maybe no." He glanced across, we were next up on the tee.

  "My concern is this, Oz. If anybody wanted to have a go at the group, mount a hostile takeover, say, they'd have little or no chance given the share price. The underwriters wouldn't support a bid much above the existing levels and the board would be quite justified in recommending rejection. But if the share price was to be seriously undermined…"

  I got his drift. Actually I'd had it for a while; I'd simply wanted to make him spell it out. "And who the hell would do that?"

  "The Torrent Group has been credited recently with an interest in acquiring Gantry."

  "Come on, Phil. I know Nat Morgan. She's an aggressive character and I don't like her much, but you will not make me believe for one second that she'd conspire with criminals to undermine the share price of a public company."

  Culshaw tapped his big hooked nose. "You're assuming something there, my friend."

  "And that is?" I asked patiently.

  "That Ms Morgan is the only player in Torrent, and that she makes all of her own decisions."

  "You mean she isn't? I've had a check done on her. I know who's on her board, I know who all her major financial backers are. She's the boss, Phil."

  He laughed. "You, of all people, can't be that naive. You don't have to be a director, or a major shareholder in a business, to have a fundamental influence on the way it's run. Oz, you're walking proof of that."

  As I took in what he was saying, a name seemed to burn itself into my forehead. It didn't help. If anything it made me more confused than ever. Why the hell would Ewan Capperauld want to undermine the Gantry Group?

  I didn't have time to dwell on it, though. "Come on," said Culshaw.

  "The tee's clear at last."

  Twenty-Two.

  He's a cunning sod, is our Phil. I knew damn well that he'd raised the subject of hints and rumours surrounding the Gantry Group in the middle of our round as a bit of added insurance… as if being two up at the turn wasn't enough. He could just as easily have waited until we were back in the club-house before bringing it up.

  As it happened, it backfired on him. Instead of destroying my confidence it helped me focus. I saw the golf ball as an enemy, and I knocked hell out of it for the rest of the round. I was two up myself after fifteen and closed out the match with a tap-in par on the seventeenth.

  Back in the bar, we let the subject of Natalie Morgan and her possible ambitions lie. I didn't forget Phil's warning, though; on my second pint, I brought it up. "All that stuff we were talking about on the course: I take it you're going to tell Fisher."

  "That'll be a bit difficult," he replied. "My information came through a professional source, so no way can I let i
t be minuted. Telling you about it seemed like the best thing to do; you seem like the sort of guy who might do some digging, rather than just waiting for it to happen."

  "Noted," I said. "Now, there's something I've got to ask you, behind the mighty chairman's back. I've told Susie that she is going to take maternity leave, and damn soon, just like any other working mother.

  When Janet was born, Gerry Meek deputised for her, but this time there are too many financial balls in the air for him to combine her job with his own. So we were wondering… would you fancy being acting managing director? It wouldn't be for long, mind."

  When Susie and I had discussed an approach to Culshaw she'd been sure he'd turn us down; his golf meant a lot to him. For once she was wrong.

  "I'll do it," he said, with barely a second's thought. "If anyone is playing silly buggers, they may be counting on a vacuum at the top. I take it Susie will raise that at next week's board."

  "Yes. She'll present it as her appointment. She thinks Fisher fancied the job himself, but no way is she going to let him take any executive decisions."

  The shit had hit the fan, though, long before the board gathered seven days later.

  Only a day after Culshaw and I had our chat, Susie and I were at home, watching that silly Monarch of the Glen thing (she likes it), when the phone rang. I don't like it, so I answered.

  "Oz Blackstone?" asked a voice at the other end. It was a journalist;

  I could tell by the very tone of the woman's voice. Which member of our cast has done what, to whom, and with what?" Those were my first weary thoughts as I said, "Yes," in a tone of my own that was meant to convey in a single affirmative just how pissed off I was at having my Sunday evening interrupted.

  "It's Jenny Pollock here, from the Daily Record. It's your wife I'd like to speak to actually."

  I switched into protective mode in an instant. "Not a chance. Susie's tired, she's fairly pregnant and on top of that she's watching telly.

  I'm not putting my life at risk by telling her the Record wants her."

  "But it's important, Oz." I've noticed this about celebrity; it puts people you've never met on automatic Christian name terms. "I'm working on a story that involves the Gantry Group and we're planning to run it as tomorrow's lead." That got my attention, but I wasn't about to let "Jenny' know it.

  "The Group employs media relations consultants," I told her. "They're called Goodchild Capperauld. You've got Alison Goodchild's number on file I'm sure, but if not I'll give you it."

  "I don't want to talk to PR consultants on this, it's too important. If you won't let me speak to your wife, I'll just have to call Sir Graeme Fisher and ask him about it."

  "And Christ knows what he would say in a crisis!" I thought. "You're missing the obvious," I told her. "I will not disturb my wife, but you can talk to me if you like."

  "Do you have authority to speak for her?"

  "Don't be fucking dense. Now, what is it, this story of yours?"

  Jenny Pollock took a deep breath and then dived in. "I believe," she began, 'that the Gantry Group is in the first stages of a major housing project to the north west of Glasgow."

  "That's right. It's called New Bearsden, and I'd say that major was an understatement."

  "It's the biggest development of its type that you've ever undertaken, yes?"

  "And then some."

  "Can you tell me something about the house types?"

  "It's a mix, from apartments aimed at singles, to substantial family houses on large plots. Believe it or not there's a shortage of high-amenity housing in that area."

  "I believe it; I live there myself. In fact I've been to the Gantry sales office to have a look at what you'll be doing. I don't think I'll be going back, though, in the light of what we'll be running tomorrow."

  "And what's that?" I was still trying to sound bored, but it was proving difficult.

  "I have information that several notorious alleged criminals have bought some of the biggest and most expensive houses on key parts of the estate. Let me try some names on you: Mark Ravens, Jock Perry and Kevin Corn well. Have you heard of them?"

  Word for word, Phil Culshaw's strange half-warning replayed itself in my head. I decided to lie. "No, should I?"

  "You should read the Record more often, Oz."

  "Jenny, if I could read it less than not at all, I would."

  "Very funny." To her credit, she laughed. "All those guys, as I'm sure you know, are alleged to be among the ring-leaders of organised crime in Scotland. They're popularly known, in the tabloids and on the street, as the Three Bears. Between them they control virtually the whole of the greater Glasgow area, including Paisley. Their activities include protection, through bogus security firms, reselling stolen goods, including cigarettes and alcohol in huge quantities, money laundering and, naturally, the drugs business."

  Of course I'd heard of those guys. Mark Ravens had actually tried to sell his 'security' services to the Global Wrestling Alliance, until a meeting with Everett Davis and Jerry Gradi had convinced him that on this occasion at least he should think small. The Three Bears were serious enough, though, and in their own playgrounds they had been known to do some nasty things.

  "All three of them, I'm told," the reporter continued, 'have bought little palaces on the New Bearsden estate. Furthermore, I've also had information that several of their associates are buying in there as well' "And what have you been told might be behind this?" I asked her.

  "It's only a hint," she said, 'but… Remember the stories a while back about Northern Irish guys trying to muscle into the drugs business in Scotland."

  "Vaguely."

  "Well the word is they haven't gone away, and that the Three Bears have decided to get together for added security. The story we're going to run tomorrow is that they're planning to turn Gantry's New Bearsden estate into a sort of Glaswegian mafia compound. I want to ask your wife two questions, that's all. Did she know about these purchases, and what's she planning to do about them?"

  "I'll answer those questions for her," I said. "I'm still not letting you speak to her. So, first; she doesn't know a thing about this story of yours, and second; she plans to find out whether it's true, or just the usual load of mince. You can phrase the last bit any way you like, Jenny."

  She chuckled down the line. "I'll say she's launching an internal investigation first thing tomorrow, if that's all right."

  "Fine, for it won't be a lie. Where did you get all this stuff anyway?"

  "I can't tell you that, Oz."

  "I know where you didn't get it. It didn't come from Ravens, Perry or Cornwell; those guys don't talk to the press, and they don't hire media relations advisers either… although if they did, I've a fair idea who'd pitch for their business." I took a chance. "It's not them, so it's gossip from someone out to harm the Gantry Group. If I dropped the name Natalie Morgan in your ear, what would you say?"

  There was a pause, only a couple of seconds, but to me it was very significant. "I wouldn't say anything, because I couldn't. If I betrayed an informant's confidence, even under oath in the witness box, I'd never work in journalism again. I'll tell you this, though, Oz. I honestly do not know the source of this story… the informant and the source are not necessarily one and the same… but if I was you, on the basis of what I've told you, I'd say that Susie has to have a mole in her company."

  Twenty-Three.

  That's what she said too, once I'd related everything that Jenny Pollock had told me… Monarch of the Bloody Glen had only five minutes to go when I came back into the drawing room, so I let her watch it to the end before giving her the bad news.

  "I hate firing people, Oz," she murmured, 'but when I find out who's passed this information to that Morgan cow, their feet won't touch the ground."

  "We don't know for sure it's her who's the informant," I reminded her.

  "Jenny Pollock didn't say that it was. It's possible that someone in the sales office spotted the three names, put two and two toget
her, made four and then a few more, and called the Record off his own bat."

  "True," she conceded, 'but whatever happened there's going to be heads rolling. These three guys are the biggest hoods in Glasgow. They're bloody celebrities, almost. If this is true… you never know, it might be all balls… someone should have spotted the three sales and tied them together. I'm going to start right at the top of the project team; Des Lancaster's jacket's on a shaky nail, I'll tell you."

  "You'd better start with your chairman," I suggested. "I don't think that Pollock will phone Fisher, but you never know. In any event, you can't let him learn about it from the tabloids."

  Reluctantly, she agreed with me, and looked out Sir Graeme's home phone number. I sat beside her as she told him what would be making next morning's headlines, in case he wanted to speak to me. He didn't, though; clearly he still preferred to think of me as a non-person. All he did was shout a lot, so much that Susie held the phone away from her ear.

  "If you wish," she said. She murmured a couple of things I couldn't hear, then exclaimed, "You don't have to spell out the consequences to me, Graeme. I'm well aware of them, and I have my own thoughts on that aspect too." She slammed the phone back into its cradle.

  "He wants to conduct the investigation himself," she told me, 'with Gillian Harvey as a witness. I don't mind that, when I think about it.

  It's probably better that the interrogation's done by someone who doesn't know the people involved."

  "What was the last bit about?"

  "The share price. New Bearsden's a huge project, Oz, it represents a massive financial commitment on our part, but it's been a gamble I've been happy to take, because there was no way I could see it being a loser. But if this story drives the buyers away, it will mean big trouble. We might have to down scale the project, cancel contracts under penalty, God knows what."