‘Yes, boss?’
‘She does, a MacBook Air. Will you and Yvonne go down, pick it up, and bring it back with you? 62a The Causeway. DI Murray would like to make a start on it ASAP.’
‘Will do, boss.’ Hathaway said.
‘Fine. See you both when you get back.’
* * *
Flat 4 at number 139 East Parkside was located at the end of a cul-de-sac overlooking Holyrood Park, and was where Knox had lived since his divorce in 2007.
Knox put his key in the lock, let himself in, and changed into a pale blue sweatshirt and matching jog pants. He went to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a generous measure of Glenmorangie.
He placed the tumbler on a table next to an armchair, selected a CD and slotted it into the player.
He relaxed into the chair and sipped the ten-year-old single malt. As Frank Sinatra sang the opening verse of It Was A Very Good Year, Knox began thinking of his ex-wife, Susan, then his phone rang.
‘Yvonne.’
‘Is it okay to come over?’ Mason said.
‘Sure.’
‘You eaten yet? I could stop at a chippie.’
‘Nothing substantial,’ Knox said. ‘I could go a fish supper.’
‘Two fish suppers coming up. You’ve enough booze?’
‘Just opened a bottle of Glenmorangie. Some Absolut in the drinks cabinet, too.’
‘Everything’s organised, then?’
‘Almost everything.’
* * *
‘I was wondering about Samantha, the kidnapped girl,’ Mason said.
It was just after 12.30am, and she and Knox lay together in a post-coital glow.
‘Uh-huh?’ Knox replied.
‘I’m thinking the guy behind the kidnap might know her.’
‘Somebody she’s met before?’
Mason turned on the pillow. ‘Yes, Jack. As opposed to someone who’s followed her coming and goings.’
‘Really?’ Knox said. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Just a hunch,’ Mason said.
‘Sometimes a hunch is all you need,’ Knox said. He raised his head on the pillow and added, ‘I suppose the kidnapper could have known her before. If he was a fellow student, say, or someone who’d had an affair with her.’ He shook his head. ‘Her relationship with Ms Sinclair might rule that out, though.’
‘Yeah. Maybe we’ll discover more when we talk to her.’
‘You told me she was with Abercrombie and Lyall?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. We’ll get in touch in the morning and arrange to see her. You want to speak to Ms Sinclair?’
Mason nodded.
‘Fine, Yvonne. You can do the interview.’
Mason fell silent for a long moment, then said, ‘Jack, when I called earlier, I rang a couple of times and the line was busy – you were talking to your son?’
‘Yeah,’ Knox said. ‘I call him every week.’
‘I know, you’ve told me,’ Mason said. ‘Jamie’s okay?’
‘Jamie, his wife and daughter,’ Knox said. ‘Yeah, they’re fine.’
Mason said, ‘Susan too?’
Knox turned to face her. ‘Yes, she is. Why do you ask?’
‘I think you still miss her, that’s all.’
Knox shook his head. ‘I’d be lying if I said I didn’t, Yvonne.’
‘Do you still love her?’
Knox exhaled, sounding exasperated. ‘Come on, Yvonne,’ he said. ‘We’ve been divorced for ten years.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ Mason said.
Knox said nothing.
Silence hung in the air for a moment, then Mason said, ‘Does it?’
Knox shook his head. ‘Why are you being like this, Yvonne? I thought you were happy with our, our…’
‘Arrangement?’
Knox shrugged. ‘Look, we’ve been seeing each other for two years. Didn’t you agree at the beginning there’d be no strings? I thought you wanted it that way?’
Mason shook her head. ‘No, Jack. You wanted it that way. You thought you were too old for me.’
‘Well, I am forty-seven. You’re twenty-eight.’
Mason snorted. ‘I’ve told you time and again that age makes no difference. Christ, Jack, you act like you’re over the hill.’
Knox reached over and caressed her cheek. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You asked me about Susan. If I’m honest, yes, I do still love her a little.’ He lifted her chin then and added, ‘Doesn’t mean I don’t care for you, too.’
Mason moved close and put an arm around his shoulder. ‘You mean that?’
‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.’
Mason smiled and said, ‘Sorry, Jack. I was being silly.’
Knox said, ‘So we’re still pals?’
Mason smiled. ‘Still pals.’
Chapter Five
The next morning, Knox, Fulton, Hathaway and Mason were assembled in the Major Incident Inquiry room when DI Murray, the SPA forensics officer, entered the room carrying a MacBook Air.
‘Morning all,’ he said, handing the laptop to Knox. ‘We’ve taken a good look at the Tavener girl’s Mac,’ he said. ‘You can return it to her flatmate, Jack. We’re finished with it.’
Knox took the computer. ‘Nothing interesting?’
‘A number of PDFs on Scottish law in her file folders. Some Word document notes and bookmarks for a number of websites. Her e-mail and other stuff reflect her personal and social interests.’
‘No prints?’ Knox asked. ‘Oh, and the bikes, they were clean, too?’
Murray shook his head. ‘Negative on the bikes,’ he said. ‘But we found two sets on the laptop. Most likely her own and her flatmate’s.’
Knox nodded. ‘We can check that later.’
Murray fished in his pockets and took out a memory stick. ‘A lot of the e-mails are of a personal nature,’ he said. ‘Correspondence with a Ms Sinclair. There’s a few others that don’t appear to have particular significance, but I can’t be a hundred per cent sure. I’ve put them on this flash drive if you want to check.’
Knox took the device. ‘Thanks, Ed,’ he said. ‘I’ll have one of the team look them over.’
Murray nodded and left the room, then Knox turned to Hathaway and handed him the USB drive. ‘Will you do the honours, Mark? See if any of the e-mails mention anyone we don’t already know about.’
Hathaway took the memory stick and nodded. ‘I’ll get right on it, boss.’
Knox exchanged glances with Mason. ‘Yvonne, would you give Abercrombie and Lyall a bell? See if you can set up an interview with Ms Sinclair.’
Mason smiled. ‘I’ve already phoned them, boss. I’m meeting her at eleven-thirty.’
Knox grinned. ‘You’re a fast worker, Yvonne.’
* * *
Abercrombie and Lyall’s offices occupied a four-storey Georgian townhouse at the west end of Heriot Row, part of Edinburgh’s eighteenth-century New Town.
Mason parked her car at a “Residents Only” space next to the railings of the gardens opposite, and immediately attracted the attention of a roving female parking attendant. The woman hastened in her direction and reached the car, then saw a police permit sticker on the inside of the windscreen. She gave Mason a disappointed nod, then turned and walked away.
Mason was greeted by a young receptionist who asked her to wait while she gave Sinclair a ring. A moment later, the girl pointed to a stairway. ‘Ms Sinclair’s asked you to come up. She’s in room 14, first floor.’
Mason went to the first floor where she was met by Sinclair, a tall woman with high cheekbones and short, closely-cropped black hair. She looked to be in her early thirties.
She extended her hand. ‘You’re Detective Constable Mason?’
Mason nodded.
They shook hands, then Sinclair escorted Mason to her office, indicated a chair and sat opposite. ‘You said this has to do with Samantha?’ she said. ‘Has something happened? I’ve phoned her a number of times
since Tuesday evening, but my calls are picked up by her voicemail.’
‘You didn’t phone her flat at Duddingston?’
Sinclair shook her head. ‘No. I do have the number, but Samantha and I agreed it was better if we limited contact to mobile phone and e-mails.’
‘Why?’ Mason asked.
Sinclair shrugged. ‘She thought it better if her flatmate didn’t know about our relationship.’
Mason gave her an inquiring look.
‘It’s her father, you see,’ Sinclair said. ‘Samantha thought it a possibility her flatmate… Ms, Ms …’
‘Wright,’ Mason said. ‘Claudia Wright.’
‘Yes,’ Sinclair said. ‘She thought Ms Wright might mention our relationship to her father.’
‘Really?’ Mason said. ‘Why would that matter?’
Sinclair studied her fingernails for a moment. ‘She’s afraid he wouldn’t approve.’
‘He’s homophobic?’
‘I wouldn’t like to categorise him as such but yes, I think he could be.’
‘You haven’t met him?’
‘No. I haven’t.’
‘How long have you been seeing each other?’
‘About two months,’ Sinclair replied, then gave Mason an earnest look. ‘Detective Mason, you haven’t told me why you want to see me, nor have you answered the question I asked a few moments ago. Has something happened to Samantha?’
Mason looked Sinclair in the eye. ‘It appears she’s been kidnapped.’
Sinclair looked shocked. ‘Kidnapped? How? Why?’
‘She was waylaid on her way home from college on Tuesday evening,’ Mason said. ‘We think she’s being held for ransom.’
‘My God,’ Sinclair said. ‘That’s why I couldn’t get through to her.’
‘When did you last see her?’
‘Last Thursday. She attended one of my lectures.’
Mason nodded. ‘In a social sense, I mean. You met afterward?’
‘Yes, but not immediately afterward,’ Sinclair said. ‘I had to stay behind and mark some papers. It was later that evening, around nine.’
‘At your place or in public?’
‘Both,’ Sinclair said. ‘We had a drink at the Café Royal then went back to my flat.’
‘What time was that?’
‘About 10pm. Samantha stayed until just after midnight, then took a taxi home.’
‘Did Samantha discuss any previous relationships with you? Can you think of anyone in her circle of acquaintances she might have had a conflict with?’
‘You mean, do I know of anyone who may be responsible for her kidnap?’
‘Yes.’
Sinclair was silent for a long moment, then said, ‘I don’t think so. As I’ve said, we’ve been seeing each other for two months – although Samantha’s been taking my classes a bit longer than that. I’ve no doubt she’s made many friends with both sexes during that time. She’s a very outgoing person. She would have crossed paths with any number of students.’ Sinclair shook her head and added, ‘But I can’t imagine conflict between Samantha and anyone, really.
‘Fact of the matter is, Detective Mason,’ Sinclair continued, ‘A fair amount of students have attended my lectures over the last year. I cannot in all honesty remember everyone. I promise, though, to give the matter some thought. And if I do recall anything of significance, I’ll let you know.’
Mason acknowledged this, then Sinclair added, ‘Are you able to tell me if contact concerning a ransom has been made to Sir Nigel Tavener?’
‘No, sorry, I can’t,’ Mason said. ‘I can tell you, however, that we’re taking a covert approach to the case.’
‘Sorry,’ Sinclair said. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘We’d like to keep it low-profile. No media coverage. We don’t want to do anything to alert the kidnappers to the fact that the police are involved.’
‘I see,’ Sinclair said, then leaned forward and touched Mason’s arm. ‘You will keep me informed of any progress, Detective Mason? Samantha means a lot to me.’
Mason nodded. ‘Yes, Ms Sinclair, I will.’
* * *
Colin Early of Forth Mercantile Bank called a little after 4pm. Knox, Fulton and Hathaway were checking the last transcripts of Samantha’s e-mails from DI Murray’s flash drive when the mobile rang.
Knox glanced at the screen but didn’t recognise the number.
‘Hello?’ he said.
‘Hello, Jack? Colin Early, Forth Mercantile. I promised to get back to you.’
‘Of course, Colin, thanks,’ Knox said. ‘Tavener’s been in touch?’
‘Yes. We received a call from him at 3.30pm this afternoon.’
‘And?’ Knox said.
‘He’s requested £100,000 in used notes; twenties. He also advised that he’s couriering us a package. He says we’ll receive it tomorrow morning.’
‘A package?’ Knox said.
‘Yes,’ Early replied. ‘Apparently it’ll contain a holdall. He wants us to put the money inside and have it ready for him.’
‘When will he pick it up?’
‘Sometime tomorrow afternoon. When we asked at what time, he told us he couldn’t be more specific.’
‘The tracking device, you’ll have it in place?’
‘Yes. It’ll be inserted into a currency strap in one of the bundles. We’ll place the bundle near the bottom of the bag.’
‘Excellent, Colin,’ Knox said. ‘I appreciate your cooperation.’
Chapter Six
Sir Nigel Tavener switched on the Samsung at precisely 12pm. The display took a moment to light up, then the device emitted a ping. The screen read, “New Message”.
Tavener clicked, then the message opened:
BRING MONEY IN A SECURE HOLDALL TO EDINBURGH AND MEET ME AT EXACTLY 1.30PM TODAY. GO TO THE FIRST COVERED SHELTER ON THE WALKWAY WEST OF THE FLORAL CLOCK STEPS IN PRINCES STREET GARDENS. TAKE A SEAT INSIDE AND PLACE THE HOLDALL BESIDE YOU. I WILL APPROACH CARRYING A BOUQUET OF FLOWERS AND SIT NEARBY.
THIS IS YOUR CUE TO RISE AND WALK AWAY IN THE DIRECTION OF THE WEST END. DON’T LOOK BACK. ONCE I AM SURE NO ONE IS FOLLOWING ME I WILL INSTRUCT MY COLLEAGUE TO RELEASE YOUR DAUGHTER. (BUT BE UNDER NO ILLUSION: ANY DEVIATION FROM THIS COURSE OF ACTION WILL PROVE FATAL FOR SAMANTHA.)
Tavener switched off the phone, put it in his desk drawer, then consulted his watch and looked outside. The two unmarked Ford Mondeos, which had been parked at the end of his driveway since Wednesday, were still there.
It was time to put his diversion plan into action.
* * *
DS Aidan Edwards and DC Roy Cummings of Tulliallan Special Ops Squad watched Sir Nigel Tavener’s dark-green Bentley leave his house and turn right onto the North Berwick-Edinburgh road.
Edwards radioed the second surveillance car and both vehicles moved off in tandem. Cummings flicked a dial on the radio mike again and said, ‘Twelve-One to Gayfield Control.’
The radio crackled, then Hathaway’s voice came over the speaker: ‘Gayfield Control receiving.’
‘Tavener’s departed North Berwick,’ Cummings said. ‘He’s on his way to town.’
‘Understood,’ Hathaway said.
As they began shadowing the Bentley, the Tulliallan team put into effect a ‘leapfrog’ procedure. The first unmarked police vehicle, a red Ford Mondeo with Edwards and Cummings, followed a third of a mile in the Bentley’s wake, then fell back within a few minutes to allow their colleagues in a silver Mondeo to overtake and reposition.
They continued this tactic until they reached the village of Dirleton, when once again Edwards overtook and became lead car.
A short distance beyond the village, Tavener’s Bentley suddenly made a sharp left turn, forcing the Tulliallan drivers to brake sharply to follow.
‘Where’s he going?’ Edwards said, holding tight to the verge to avoid an oncoming tractor.
Cummings switched on the sat nav and traced the monitor with his finger. ‘This is the B
1345, Sarge,’ he said.
‘Where does it lead?’
Cummings checked the screen. ‘A place called Drem.’ He replied.
‘Anything there?’
‘No, Sarge. Looks like a village.’
Cummings scanned the screen again. ‘If he takes a right in a couple of miles onto the B1377, then a left, that’s the A6137. It’ll take him to Haddington.’
Edwards took a handset and radioed his colleagues in the silver Mondeo, now a half mile to his rear. ‘Cease Leapfrog,’ he said. ‘The road’s too narrow.’
The radio hummed and a voice said, ‘Understood, Sarge.’
As Cummings predicted, the Bentley turned right at the next junction, then swung left a few miles further on.
‘You were right,’ Edwards said. ‘He’s heading for Haddington.’
‘There isn’t a branch of Forth Mercantile in Haddington, is there, Sarge?’ Cummings said.
‘Only one way to find out,’ Edwards replied, then reached for the radio and changed frequency. ‘Twelve-one to Gayfield Control.’
* * *
‘Another call from the Tulliallan team, boss,’ Hathaway said. Knox and Mason went over to the communications desk while he fine-tuned the radio dial.
‘Aye, Mark, what is it?’ Knox said.
‘Tavener left North Berwick in his Bentley at 12.09pm,’ he said. ‘Headed for town.’
‘U-huh, you told us that ten minutes ago. What’s changed?’
‘Edwards, the DS in charge, said he took a left at Dirleton, continued to the next junction, followed the B1377 for two miles, then turned left onto the A6137, heading for Haddington.’
‘Haddington?’ Knox said.
‘Aye. Edwards asked me if Forth Mercantile have a branch there. I told him they haven’t.’
‘Why the hell’s he going to Haddington?’
Suddenly the speaker burst into life. ‘Twelve-one to Gayfield Control.’
Hathaway pressed the speaker button. ‘Gayfield Control,’ he said. ‘Go ahead.’
‘DS Edwards here. Looks like Tavener’s pulled a flanker. We’ve just followed his Bentley all the way to Haddington. Bloody tinted windows. It pulled up in the High Street and a woman got out. I assume it’s his wife.’
The Innocent and the Dead Page 12
