Flesh and Blood (DS Vicky Dodds Scottish Crime Thrillers Book 2)

by Ed James

  ‘Thanks. Sure I will.’ MacDonald used silver tongs to drop a lump of brown sugar into the cup. ‘Can I say this is a lovely office?’

  ‘Thanks. Dez let us decorate our own, no expense spared. Shame about the view, though.’ Russell waved at the window, which pointed the wrong way. Instead of the beach and the links golf course, it looked north and up to the hill that ran along the town, the grand old Victorian houses poking out of old trees. ‘The roof garden is perfect for watching the golf, though.’

  MacDonald stirred his coffee. ‘And did you?’

  ‘Not a fan, hence me taking this office.’ Russell sat back in his wooden chair, and held his mug in front of him, savouring the aroma. ‘This whole thing is hard to take. Dez was a good mate. We did our City & Guilds together, then worked our arses off, a right pair of cheeky bastards, but we built up this business into what you see here.’

  ‘But you don’t own the business?’

  Russell frowned at MacDonald. ‘No, I got swindled somewhere down the line.’ He laughed, but there seemed to be some malice behind the humour. ‘Dez took on all of the risk himself, including a massive bank loan, but I got a ten percent stake out of it. Come dividend time, though, it’s mighty lucrative.’

  ‘And how’s business been?’

  ‘Solid.’

  MacDonald took a sip. ‘Oh that’s good.’ He rested the cup down on the table. ‘Gather you had a contract for the LA Golf hotel?’

  ‘Right. Took up a lot of Dez’s time, so I had to focus on most of the day-to-day shenanigans here.’ Russell slurped his coffee. ‘John Lamont’s… exacting, I think that’s how you’d describe it.’

  ‘Were there any difficulties between them?’

  ‘Not really, just that Lamont’s a property developer, right? But now he’s moved onto the client side, I think he’s finding stepping back and letting the professionals do their job a little tough. Always happens with those boys. They go over every single detail when it’s the big picture that matters. I’m the big picture guy here, and Dez is all about the detail.’ He sipped more coffee. ‘It’s where the devil lives.’

  ‘So I gather. You and him still get on?’

  ‘Stronger than ever.’

  Vicky leaned forward, mindful of trying to get him to something resembling a point. ‘How well do you know Louise?’

  ‘Well enough. Not sure she likes me much.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Well, me and Dez are good buddies. Back in the day, the number of times we’d get absolutely panel-beaten in the pub and end up home late. She went ballistic at us once. And she had a point. Actually made me quit the drink. Got in shape.’ Russell seemed to flex a pec under his suit. ‘But Dez didn’t. Always off on trips with the boys. Don’t think she liked him being away so often.’ He offered MacDonald a refill, but got a shake of the head. ‘Shame about what happened to their marriage, though. The kids were finding it tough, as far as I can tell.’

  ‘You think she’ll inherit the business?’

  ‘I assume so. They weren’t divorced. It’s going to be a nightmare if she takes over.’ Russell topped up his coffee cup. ‘Remember when Dez first met her, though. One Saturday night at the Golf.’ He smiled at them, like he was imparting secret information. ‘The Golf was a pub. It’s now a restaurant, I think, but it used to be the after-hours place in Carnoustie.’

  ‘I remember it well.’

  He narrowed his eyes at Vicky. ‘You a local lassie?’ His accent slipped and lost some of its refinements.

  ‘Born and bred. Well, my parents are from Dundee so I’m not old Carnoustie.’

  ‘Wouldn’t recommend it.’

  ‘Do you know who Mr Craigen was currently involved with?’

  ‘No. I mean, we were close, but Dez could be a bugger for the lassies.’

  ‘You mean he had many affairs?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say many.’ Russell slurped more coffee. ‘He kept going on about this… this lady he was seeing, but none of us met her.’

  Vicky reached into her jacket pocket for her phone and found the photo of the still-unknown female victim. ‘Is this her?’

  ‘Sorry, but if you’d been listening, you’d have heard the bit where I said I’ve never met her.’

  Vicky felt herself blush. Made worse by MacDonald grinning wide. She stuffed her phone away. ‘We believe Mr Craigen was at the LA Golf function on Saturday night. Were you there?’

  ‘No, I had another engagement.’ Russell hid behind his coffee. ‘But I know someone who was.’

  BRIAN OGG WAS CLEARLY a golf fan. His office looked across the course towards the Carnoustie Hotel. And he’d decorated his office in the style of Britpop hooligan. Vicky swore that was Geri Halliwell’s Union Jack dress in a display case next to Noel Gallagher’s guitar. Unlike his colleague, he wore jeans and a Fred Perry. He had a strange conehead that seemed to taper back like that flying dinosaur, and he kept sniffing like he’d already done a mound of coke that morning, or that he’d been using his espresso machine even more than his colleague over the corridor.

  He checked a wristwatch, some hulking great slice of bling. ‘So I’m the finance director here, yeah.’ He had a local accent and an old Carnoustie name dating back from when it was a fishing village, rather than a Victorian resort or Dundee dormitory town. But his soft and slow Angus voice was sliced up by an American twang like he’d worked over the Pond for a while. ‘Trouble is, I’ve got a meeting in ten, so if this could be quick?’

  Vicky sat back and folded her arms. ‘What’s the meeting about?’

  ‘This takeover… It never rains, I swear.’ Ogg got up from his desk and walked over to the window. ‘Dez is buying a firm in Southend. Essex. Bunch of chancers called MIH. Had his eye on them for ages as a way of growing the business down south.’

  Vicky looked at MacDonald and arched an eyebrow so he got the message, then back at Ogg. ‘That must be on hold, though?’

  ‘Right.’ Ogg leaned back against the window sill. ‘As much as I’m trying to slow things down on that deal, there are punitive clauses in the initial deal memo that are binding. I told Dez not to sign it but he wouldn’t bloody listen.’

  ‘Do you own any of the business?’

  ‘Ten percent, but the takeover will dilute my holding down to eight. But our profit will more than double.’

  Sounded like business was really healthy. Expanding nationally. Meaning Louise Craigen would inherit a shitload of money.

  MacDonald joined Ogg by the window, acting like he was trying to pin him down to a single location. ‘What’s your understanding of who’ll take over as CEO?’

  ‘Well, Jordan’s next in line. Continuity’s important.’ Ogg paused for a few seconds, but he couldn’t stand still. ‘I’m afraid you’d need to speak to the general counsel about that.’

  ‘The general counsel?’

  ‘Our in-house lawyer. She’s in London today. Speaking to the Southend shower about this takeover. My meeting is with her, getting on the same page about this whole thing, but Christ, I’m going to have to brief her about Dez.’

  ‘We understand Mr Craigen was involved with someone.’ MacDonald held out his phone. ‘You recognise her?’

  Ogg took a few seconds to examine it. ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to divulge too much.’

  ‘Is this what was in the Argus this morning?’

  ‘Potentially. Do you know her?’

  Ogg handed the phone back. ‘That’s Marie.’

  ‘Know her surname?’

  ‘Sorry. It’s Marie or something.’

  ‘How do you know her?’

  Ogg exhaled slowly, his puffed-up cheeks deflating. ‘I went to Dubai with Dez last summer. We were supposed to be charming the CEO of this Essex firm, all under the cover of a business conference. But it was a golfing trip. And when I mean golfing trip, I mean a lot of drinking. Or so I thought. I was staying with my brother in Edinburgh and turned up at the airport for the flight, and D
ez had his mistress with him.’

  ‘Was this before he split from Mrs Craigen?’

  ‘Dez told his missus it was a business meeting, sourcing cheap pipe. I tell you, he was laying pipe. Barely saw him all weekend. Had to schmooze the boy myself.’

  ‘We gather this Marie was with him at the function at the new golf course on Saturday night. Know anything about that?’

  ‘Aye, I was there.’ Ogg stared out of the window. ‘Dez was too. Had her with him. Brazen. Got to hand it to the boy.’

  ‘What do you—’

  ‘I mean, it was like they were finally out of the closet, you know? And she was gorgeous. No idea what she was doing with him, then again he’s loaded.’

  ‘Did you see anyone speaking to her?’

  Ogg looked over at Vicky with a nod. ‘John Lamont, aye.’

  15

  Up ahead, MacDonald blasted through the national speed limit at the far end of Carnoustie, following the coast road out east. The haar was blowing in off the sea, like a snowstorm battering the road. Everything was back to normal, no evidence that Carnoustie had just held one of the world’s biggest international sports tournaments.

  Vicky followed as fast as her old car could muster. Out to sea was just a wall of mist with blue sky above, meaning it’d probably burn off by lunchtime.

  MacDonald took a hard left between two tall market garden walls.

  She followed him up a single-track lane, then across some pebbles towards a house, an old manse, with a double-height bay window on the right, and ornate lines everywhere. A big wooden garden room to the right. And no signs anyone was home. Further over a low set of farm buildings that looked like offices now. The place was bigger than the entire estate Vicky lived on, let alone her home.

  She parked the car and got out.

  Something told her this place used to be a private member’s gym. Wasn’t it owned by that athlete? The woman from Dundee who ran marathons, might even have won a gold medal?

  MacDonald breezed past her and crunched over the pebbles towards the house. ‘So, you want to speak to Lamont because he should’ve told us this mistress was there?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t disagree.’

  ‘Are you testing me?’

  ‘Let’s call it coaching.’

  ‘And what makes you think that you can coach me?’

  MacDonald didn’t say anything, just kept watching.

  She let out a sigh. ‘Okay. First, given he took her to Dubai last summer, Craigen’s relationship with this Marie was serious.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Her engagement ring means push was coming to shove. The divorce was going to close soon, so she’d have to act now.’

  ‘Don’t you think that seems like a stretch?’

  ‘Hence me using words like “possible” and “may well have”.’

  MacDonald actually laughed at that. ‘Surely she’d be taking him to the cleaners?’

  ‘Maybe she’s got skeletons in her own closet.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He huddled underneath the entrance and rang the doorbell, getting a deep bonging sound for his trouble. ‘Go on.’

  Vicky stared hard at him, waiting for him to look round before continuing. But he didn’t. ‘What kind of man does that to his wife?’

  ‘It’s the wife you’re concerned about? Not their three kids?’

  ‘It’s her he directly impacted.’

  ‘There can be any number of reasons, Vicky. She could be a nightmare, he could’ve been struggling with the kids, his business could be a mess.’

  ‘You think any of that justifies adultery?’

  ‘I’m not trying to justify it. I’m saying men are not exactly complex beasts, sometimes all it takes is something very simple or trivial to justify the most stupid actions.’

  ‘Speaking from experience, right?’

  He tried the bell again. ‘Quite some place, isn’t it?’

  Vicky peered through the side of the bay window, but just saw into an unfurnished living room. Stripped wooden floors and white walls, filled up with packing boxes and furniture wrapped in plastic sheeting. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice the change of subject.’

  MacDonald hit the bell again. ‘You don’t think Louise Craigen is a suspect?’

  Vicky didn’t even have to think it through. ‘Well, clearly she is. There’s the financial motive, and Craigen kicked her and her kids out of their home too. Put them up in his shagging pad.’

  ‘But why would she use the Atreus MO?’ MacDonald joined her by the window and peered in. ‘I mean, kill them or don’t, but why torture them like that? And could she really overpower Craigen? He’s a big guy and she’s tiny.’

  Vicky didn’t have answers to that.

  The door cracked open and a woman stood there. ‘Excuse me?’ Local accent and fizzing with energy, like she’d drunk a whole case of WakeyWakey or whatever the kids were on these days.

  MacDonald walked over, warrant card out. ‘Police, ma’am. We’re looking for Mr Lamont.’

  ‘He’s not in.’

  He gave a broad smile. ‘You know where he is?’

  ‘Already at work.’

  VICKY GOT out and scanned around the hotel car park. No sign of Lamont, but his Lexus was there.

  A huddle gathered around the snack van. Didn’t look like cops, so probably reporters. Oh, except for Considine and a couple of uniforms right in the middle, laughing and joking as they tucked in to bacon rolls and coffee.

  She stormed over to Considine and locked eyes with Alan.

  She stopped dead. Obviously he was here. Superb. Just perfect. She caught sight of Lamont upstairs in his office, surveying the scene with a grim look on his face, then he disappeared.

  Considine sauntered over to her, his cheeks full like a hamster’s. ‘Sarge.’ Or at least it sounded like that.

  ‘Have you got hold of the solicitors yet?’

  He rubbed his sleeve over his lips. ‘Not open until nine.’

  ‘But you have spoken to them?’

  ‘Well, the duty solicitor, aye. I’ll get up there after my brekky.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Vicky smiled at Considine, even though she wanted to scream in his face. ‘Let me know how you get on.’

  ‘Right.’ He trudged away, tearing another hunk of roll off with his teeth.

  MacDonald joined them, hands in pockets, acting all casual. ‘What’s he made an arse of now?’

  ‘I’ve lost count.’

  MacDonald nodded at someone. ‘I’ll catch you later.’ He set off towards the huddle of reporters, giving a big tall guy a fist bump, then a bear hug.

  ‘Strange seeing you here, Vicky.’ Alan stepped back, his big arms folded across his chest.

  Vicky wanted to run away and hide, but she looked at him. Thick stubble covered his face, and his fringe hung low, tucked behind his ear. She had to shut her eyes, otherwise she was going to lamp him one. And that really wouldn’t look good. ‘Knew you’d be here. I see you’re still at the Argus?’

  ‘For my sins, aye. Edinburgh’s a good city to live in. And it’s been good for me and my career. After years of adulation, I should think of moving on but I feel I owe them something.’ He smiled at her. ‘Got a little something for you, though.’

  She should just walk away. Right now, right then. The last thing she needed was this arsehole back in her life. In Bella’s too. And Rob’s and Jamie’s. When she’d told him she was pregnant and he chose the big city lights of Edinburgh over her…

  And yet, the little creep was dangling a worm right in front of her mouth. Did she really have a choice?

  ‘You can keep your little something in your trousers.’

  ‘Oh, Vicky.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You think I’m going to just give up a lead like that?’

  ‘I’m not going to beg you. Tell me or I’ll go.’

  That seemed to hit the mark, at least. ‘Okay, well I heard that on Saturday night your frie
nd John Lamont ran naked over the golf course.’

  ‘You’re going to have to try a bit harder.’

  ‘I’m serious, Vicks.’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’

  He raised his hands. ‘Spoke to the bar staff here and one of the caterers. I wouldn’t normally share a name, but between you, me and our daughter, it’s one Sayrah Douglas of Monifieth.’

  Vicky stood up straight.

  ‘Gather she had someone interrupting a romantic lunch yesterday?’

  ‘If that’s her idea of romance, I’d hate to see her idea of a knee trembler outside a nightclub.’

  Alan snorted with laughter. ‘Classy, Vicks. Classy.’

  ‘So Lamont did this nude run during the party?’

  ‘Right. I mean, you think there’s something in it?’

  Vicky looked up at the office, but there was no sign of Lamont any more. ‘Should I?’

  ‘Not my place to tell you. I’ll be adding it to the website around lunchtime. It’s amazing the clicks you get from a story like that.’

  Vicky couldn’t help but think it was most likely a rich man’s eccentricity. Lamont had been working hard to get this place open, had a few too many at his own party, then decided to streak across his golf course. ‘You go and get your clicks, Alan.’ She clapped his arm and walked off to the hotel.

  Inside, the fish tank was up and running. Floor to ceiling and filled with water, but no fish in there yet. Not even a castle in the sand at the bottom. Not even sand at the bottom.

  And no workmen, either, so the place finally had the look of an actual hotel, even though it still smelled of glue and sawdust. Hard to shift that, even with the cloying air freshener hissing down from the high ceiling.

  The reception desk was empty, with an old-fashioned brass bell sitting there to attract attention. But it meant a clear run at the lift and at Lamont, so Vicky charged through, determined to do this on her own without assistance from MacDonald.

  She stopped by the door and called the lift, not looking back at anyone or anything.