The Viv Fraser Mysteries Box Set 2

by V Clifford

  ‘Has he given you grounds not to, though?’

  ‘Only that he was data harvesting.’ She mimed quote marks.

  Mac laughed. ‘You mean asking for your number?’

  ‘No, I mean he was grilling Jinty about me. She was worried so didn’t tell him anything. But he already knew where I lived, otherwise he wouldn’t have paid me a visit.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure it was him?’

  ‘I don’t know too many tall blond Germanic-looking men, but no I’m not absolutely sure.’

  ‘Okay, so what have we got on him apart from him asking questions about you?’

  ‘He’s a concert pianist, plays plink plonky sort of stuff so has limited appeal, but seems to get bookings if what Jinty said is true. He was off to London to continue his tour. We can easily find out about that.’

  She Googled his name and up came a list of dates for concerts in the south and south west. ‘Looks as if he is on tour, but let’s not be too hasty in making him a good guy.’

  ‘What did you ask him in the email?’

  ‘What he wants. Why is he giving us advice instead of stopping his brother from . . . whatever?’

  ‘You think he can control his brother any more than you can control Mand?’ He nodded in the direction of the conservatory.

  ‘No, I suppose not, but I want . . . ‘ She rubbed her face, wincing as she caught the bruise on the side of her head. ‘Oh God, I just want my mum to be okay.’

  He stepped closer to her and laid his hand on her back, ‘Well, I’ve got some real map references, so why don’t we take action on those and leave the pianist ’til later?’

  ‘I thought you were busy with stuff?’

  ‘I am busy with stuff,’ he drew out the word in the same sarcastic way she had. ‘But that stuff doesn’t matter to me as much as this stuff does, so are we going or aren’t we?’

  She nodded and slipped her jacket back on. ‘Mand, could you feed Moll at five if we’re not back? We should be, but just in case.’

  Mand snapped back, ‘Are you sure you trust me to?’

  Moll trotted out from her bed and nuzzled Viv’s hand. Viv sighed and bent down to rub the dog’s ears. ‘Come on, Mand, this is difficult for everyone. Make sure you all stay safe and locked up.’

  ‘Why? D’you think he’ll come here again?’

  ‘I’ve no idea what he’ll do. He’s a loose cannon and we don’t want to make this whole debacle easier for him. Sal has a collection of DVDs in that cupboard. Check them out. You and James could watch The Sound of Music or something.’

  ‘Don’t worry about us, we’ll keep ourselves occupied.’

  Viv and Mac headed to his car, but before they got in Viv ran back for her laptop. She returned, jumped in and pulled the seatbelt over her shoulder. ‘Actually I’d like to do a bit more digging about this brother. We don’t even know his name. I need a Wifi hotspot. Sal’s keeps giving up.’

  ‘Okay, I’ve got something to check out anyway.’

  ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘There’s a joint churches’ meeting in the hall next to the post office. Someone just might have noticed your mum with her secret friend at the service. You know what small communities are like. Everyone knows everyone and everything.’

  She screwed up her eyes at him. She wasn’t convinced, but said, ‘Okay. Drop me at the café on the main street. I’d like at least an hour.’

  ‘Fine.’

  The café was busy, but there was a small table by a radiator so she plonked herself down. A waitress handed her a menu.

  ‘Actually, I’d just like a flat white, if you do them?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll get that for you.’

  The Wifi code was on the specials’ blackboard. She logged on and began to dig. Her first port of call was Kurt Hahn’s Facebook page. Both his profile and his professional page were up to date, which was good since it meant he was a regular participant or someone was on his behalf. The downside was she had a ton of irrelevant stuff to scroll through before she eventually found what she was looking for – press coverage of the fight he’d had in the foyer of the concert hall in Berlin. It speculated that the other man had been Kurt’s brother. She should have followed up on this earlier. She cursed herself for being off form. Not any more though. Her hackles were up and she was determined to know all there was to know about the Hahns. By sheer luck, when she Googled Kurt Hahn another Hahn, first name Kristian, came up, also with a Facebook page. His privacy settings were more difficult to infiltrate. She could see immediately why the brothers might fight. Kurt showed all the signs of being a liberal European, Kristian . . . not so much. His interests were so far to the right he was off the page. Why the hell hadn’t she done this sooner?

  She scrolled through endless posts that confirmed Kristian’s political leanings as anti-European. There were a few photographs of him with other men. Neither brother had posted anything to do with relationships and there were no photographs of women on Kristian’s pages. The females on Kurt’s pages were of him with fans or sponsors. She’d psyched herself up for swastikas, but there were none. The AfD were a new far right party who claimed to be on the side of Germany’s youth. Kristian was a supporter, but hadn’t been posting politically active stuff for a couple of years. Every political post was dated to 2015. He’d obviously been on a roll then, but it had subsided or gone underground. The latter would be more worrying.

  She found an email address, illegally; needs must. She hacked in and was searching before her flat white arrived. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Can I get you anything else?’

  ‘No thanks, I’m fine for now.’

  It was amazing what you could tell about someone’s life by tying their conversations to their buying history. Kristian wasn’t a big spender on luxury goods, but he was fond of online gambling. That could do a lot of damage to a man’s already depleted bank account. She discovered an email spat between the brothers that took place just before the fight in the foyer. It always seemed to be about money. Kristian accusing Kurt of having loads of money and not helping him out of a fix. Kurt denying that he had such funds and why should he rescue him again. A familiar family story. There was no sign that Kristian had been in the military or the police, but he certainly believed in his own right to superiority. A more recent spat showed the brothers having yet another conversation about money. She sat back and sipped her coffee. Kurt was obviously fed up trying to placate his brother. Every angle Kurt took to reason with him was met with an immature, ‘you always say that’ or ‘you never do this’. Kristian didn’t take responsibility for anything; he liked to blame. She scrolled through the email history in search of a clue as to what was happening five or more years ago, but the account didn’t go back that far. However, she did find an early email to someone who had copied in another email address, which Kristian reminded him was out of use – no such thing as deleted. She began another search. This bit of her work was time-consuming but nine times out of ten fruitful. Bingo, she struck gold.

  Their mother died. Still no love lost, but the beginning of another fight about money. Kurt assuring Kristian that it would all come right in the end. Kristian not believing a word of it and right in his assertions, as it turned out. Neither son was mentioned in her will, at least not as a beneficiary. That must have been painful. From Kurt’s tone it was as if he hadn’t expected anything. Maybe he’d had a conversation with her when she’d made her intentions clear. Speculation, speculation, speculation. The bottom line was, they each got zilch but Kristian was the only one to appear shocked. So either Kurt already knew the contents of the will or didn’t care. There could be many reasons for not caring, so it wasn’t safe to assume he had enough money of his own not to have to worry. Kristian had set his sights on a windfall and was up to his eyes in debts that he couldn’t clear. A picture was building of Kristian as a man in serious trouble. Had he gone to a loan shark? Was his life in danger? It would seem from his aggression that he was desperate. Tha
t £500,000 would go a long way to alleviate most troubles.

  The door to the café swung open and Mac strode in and sank into the seat opposite her. ‘You done?’

  She said, ‘You need coffee?’

  He shrugged, ‘Yes. You want another?’

  The waitress arrived with a menu but he shook his head. ‘Just coffees. Same again?’

  Viv nodded.

  He said, ‘Another two of those thanks.’

  The waitress walked off and he said, ‘How are you getting on? Find anything?’

  ‘Just confirmation of Kristian’s dire financial state. Got a problem with the gee- gees.’

  Mac laughed, ‘I’ve not heard that for a while. Real gee-gees or online?’

  ‘Both. He has a few direct debits to online gambling sites and a couple of turf accounts. Once a gambler you lose your sense of discretion. I think he’d bet on a spider race if he got the chance.’

  ‘Well, d’you want to hear what I’ve got?’

  She tutted, ‘See you and your withholding, Freud would have a field day. So who was he?’

  ‘He’s got a cottage on the north side of the village. Name’s Cochrane, Colonel Cochrane.’

  Viv raised her eyebrows, ‘Shall we go and see him?’

  ‘Why not? But let’s get coffee down us first.’

  The waitress arrived with two steaming cups and placed them on the table.

  ‘Actually, I’ll have a slice of that ginger tray-bake, thanks.’ He gestured to Viv.

  ‘No, I’m fine. I’ll just have a wee sliver of yours.’

  He shook his head. ‘I thought you might.’

  The sky was overcast, heavy with rain or more likely snow, since the temperature was still below freezing. They drove out of the village, following directions that Mac had gleaned from one of the congregation. A long bumpy track wound its way up into the hills. Hailstones began to bounce off the windscreen and within seconds the track ahead was white. Mac sat forward, but the wipers made very little difference to the visibility. He slowed to a crawl, but the hail became thicker, each piece the size of a small gobstopper. The noise of it battering against the roof drowned out all possibility of continuing a conversation. A few smaller tracks led off to wooden sheds and buildings. One looked like a rundown stable or hay store, but it was difficult to tell. Eventually they reached a fork and Mac crawled along the right-hand lane. They continued on an even bumpier track, with a camber so steep the car began to lean at a forty-five-degree angle. Mac just avoided ending in the ditch and no more. The hail turned to snowflakes.

  Mac resumed the conversation. ‘Might be better to turn back. I’ve no idea what terrain we’re in for up ahead.’

  Viv scanned the sky, still heavy in every direction as far as the eye could see. ‘We’ll have to go on to find somewhere to turn. There’s no way we can do it along this stretch. How does anyone do this drive every day? It’s got to knacker the undercarriage of any car.’

  Mac pointed. ‘That helps.’ An old long-based Land Rover sitting alongside a stone farmhouse came into view. The house was too big to be called a cottage, but it wasn’t grand. A bank of trees, rapidly turning white, shielded it from the west wind and a lawn of sorts ran round the whole place. The front door opened as they parked.

  ‘I wondered how long it would take you to show up. Come on in.’ The man’s Scottish public-school accent was clipped and clear. ‘Here, take a seat through in the kitchen where it’s warm.’

  They made their way to a spacious but gloomy room, where a collie and a lab stirred from a large raised bed at the end of an ancient Aga. An Aga was obviously a prerequisite for living in the wilds. She knew people in the city who had them as fashion accessories, like a Louis Vuitton bag. Completely unnecessary in houses with cavity-wall insulation and central heating, but here it was probably the only source of heat. That their host was wearing a rough tweed jacket, a jumper and a flannel shirt with a cravat was telling. Also the dogs had no sooner had a sniff than they retreated to their bed adjacent to the warming oven. The man urged her to take a seat, which she did reluctantly, since the Aga seemed to have little impact on most of the room.

  He brushed his hand over a scar on the side of his face. ‘Tea?’

  Mac said, ‘No, no thanks, we’ve just had coffee.’

  Cochrane said, ‘Well, I’m guessing he came for her then?’

  Mac said, ‘Yes. So she knew he would?’

  He nodded. ‘Has she told you anything?’

  Viv shook her head. ‘No, but we’ve had a video from him demanding money.’

  ‘She said he’d be after the cash. Can’t blame him really. I mean he had no idea why his mother would cut him out of her will. And to find out it went to a complete stranger. Well, she wasn’t a stranger to your mum, but in his eyes she was. She knew there’d be trouble; thought it would come sooner than this.’

  Viv said, ‘I think he’s desperate now. Maybe before he was able to tick along, but not now.’

  ‘Do you know this for sure?’

  Viv nodded.

  ‘She’s been digging,’ Mac said. ‘Nothing is sacred if Viv’s on the case.’

  ‘Like mother like daughter then.’

  ‘I wish people wouldn’t compare me to her.’

  ‘You should be proud to have a mother like her.’

  His defensive tone was unexpected. Who the hell did he think he was to make judgements about her and her mother? Had he been more than an old friend to her mum? Lives were complicated sequences of events; nothing went in a straight line unless you were dead. She was doubtful of so many things about her mum, her work, her relationships, but most of all how her dad had fitted into it all. On the surface their marriage had looked solid. Was there reason to doubt that?

  ‘Greta. That was her name. I mean probably not her real name but her cover. She and your mum . . .’

  Viv urged, ‘What? They what?’

  His eyes bored into hers. ‘They respected each other. They both knew they had a job to do. They both believed in fighting for their own countries. They knew that whatever they’d been sent to do was in the interest of their own national security.’

  Viv groaned, ‘Oh God, not that old rubbish.’

  He didn’t flinch or raise his voice. ‘I get the feeling you don’t feel the same way about your country.’

  Viv shot back, ‘Don’t you judge me. I’m willing to go a long way for this country, but only with specifics. Not interested in huge generalisations like our “national security”. I want to know exactly what she was doing. I want to know exactly what I’m getting into when . . . shit! We don’t have to talk about me; we have to find her.’

  Mac said, ‘So she was expecting one of the sons to turn up at some point? Did they contest the will?’

  ‘It was messy at the time, but it was dealt with. Your mother didn’t want the money. She made sure the community got it.’

  ‘Now you’ve lost me. She handed the whole lot over to a community? Where? Berlin? Some small town in Germany?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, a small town not a million miles from here.’

  Viv stood with her mouth open. Mac put his finger under her chin. ‘You look like a guppy.’

  She brushed him away and said, ‘Surely not Doune?’

  ‘No, not Doune.’

  She blew out a breath. ‘So where? You obviously know about it.’

  He flashed a look at Mac, ‘The money’s been invested. It’s no longer anything to do with Trude.’

  Viv bristled at the sound of her mum’s name. No one called her Trude but her dad. She thought about the letters and the account book, which clearly had nothing in it. ‘What can you tell us that might help us to find her?’

  As if he’d made a decision that Viv was on the right side of the angels he rolled his shoulders and said, ‘Greta was kept in protective custody near Comrie. If she told her sons about that well . . . maybe . . .’

  Mac said, ‘Thanks, we’ll get a look at Cultybraggan.’ He gestur
ed for Viv to leave.

  Once in the car she yelled, ‘For fuck sake, anyone would think we were the enemy! You’d think they’d just want her to be safe, but no they just want to cover their backs.’

  Daylight was fading as they edged their way out of the house’s drive onto the track, now a couple of inches deep in snow which was still pouring down.

  Mac was sombre. ‘You’re not being fair. They signed the OSA and took that very seriously. Even when someone’s life is in danger they won’t give anything away, regardless of who’s asking. Old school.’

  ‘That’s bullshit and you know it. I have clearance. I know how this works and if one of your own is in danger . . . Oh, never mind, why am I telling you what you already know? Stop feeding me BS and let’s go over to this . . . Culty . . .’

  ‘Cultybraggan. It’s a huge camp about fifteen miles from here.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to mention this before?’

  ‘I did think of it, but it’s occupied, so I thought it unlikely. In fact it’s been bought by . . .’ he hesitated, ‘the community.’

  ‘Christ, Mac, what the . . . Let’s take a look.’

  Mac switched his radio on and caught the end of a weather forecast: ‘Snow drifting on minor roads will not be cleared by ploughs until much later tonight.’ He glanced at Viv. ‘We have to drive across a high route to get to the camp. It’s not wise. This thing doesn’t have snow tyres on it yet.’

  Viv shook her head. ‘The Rav has all-weather tyres. Let’s go back and get it.’

  It was impossible to see where the ditch started and the road ended. Snow swirled and blew, looking beautiful, but a real nuisance when you were trying to get anywhere. Gradually, inch by inch, they crawled their way back to the main road in the village, which hadn’t seen a plough yet. This was definitely the kind of powdery alpine snow that would compact, and if it froze there’d be trouble getting up and down the lane to Sal’s cottage. He stopped the car at the entrance to the estate. ‘We can leave this here. If I take it any further and we get stuck we might not get yours out.’

  They both jumped out, huddled their collars up to their chins and walked the rest of the way. Molly barked as they approached and Mand came to the window.