‘And she’s not been in touch since?’
‘No.’
‘I’m sure you must have a few theories yourself...’
‘About who killed Maria? The guitarist, I thought for a long time.’
‘Dougie Vaughan?’
‘I think he was infatuated with her, but she’d moved on and cast him adrift. When he saw her in the hotel that day...’
‘He says he didn’t see her, though.’
‘And what else would you expect him to say? Why didn’t he tell the inquiry he’d had a fling with her? Why wait until the trail had gone cold?’
‘Have you ever confronted him about this?’
Turquand shook his head. ‘I tried not to think about it at all, once the dust had settled — threw myself into my work instead. Some nights I’d dream about Maria, dream she was still alive. But every hour I was awake, I focused on money, how to make more and more of it for the bank and myself.’
‘Where did it all go wrong, eh?’ Rebus said, stretching out both arms.
‘Mr Turquand,’ Fox interrupted, glancing towards Rebus to let him know his ‘one question’ was coming, ‘you were an early champion of Anthony Brough, weren’t you?’
‘For my sins.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘He was Sir Magnus’s grandson. I felt I owed him a certain fealty.’
‘You don’t sound too enthusiastic.’
‘Anthony lost me quite a lot of money. He talks a good game, but really that’s all he does.’
‘Are you in touch with him at all?’
‘A six-monthly statement, if I’m lucky.’
‘You don’t visit his office or speak on the phone?’
‘Not for quite some time.’
‘You still have money invested with him, though?’
‘The losses were such, it was pointless withdrawing what little was left.’
‘That must grate,’ Rebus said. ‘You having been a hotshot money man yourself back in the day.’
‘Don’t I bloody know it.’ Turquand got to his feet and poured another drink. He appeared not to mind that neither man had taken more than a sip of the stale cola. Once he had returned to the table, Fox started speaking again.
‘Anthony seems to have gone missing. Could all those bad investments have caught up with him?’
‘You’d need to study his books to answer that — even then, he’s probably not above having two sets of accounts.’
‘Do people still do that?’ Rebus asked.
‘They probably employ even more circuitous ruses, thanks to the wonders of the online world.’
‘Do you know what SLPs are, Mr Turquand.’
Turquand turned his gaze from Rebus to Fox. ‘Scottish limited partnerships?’
‘Would it surprise you to learn that Anthony is involved with quite a number of them?’
‘Involved in what way?’
‘Setting them up.’
‘In order to salt away money in them?’ Turquand guessed. ‘Well, I don’t suppose it’s illegal. If it were, HMRC would be on the hunt...’ He broke off. ‘Ah, now I see — that’s why he’s on the run?’
‘I really can’t say.’
Turquand tapped the side of his nose. ‘Understood. Maybe I should try to repatriate the rest of my investment — always supposing he’s not ditched Molly yet...’
‘Molly being?’
‘Secretary, receptionist, switchboard, personal assistant.’
Fox nodded, remembering the voice on the phone. ‘She was in situ last time I rang.’
‘Molly will know the score. I’ll call her this afternoon. And thanks for the tip.’
‘Doesn’t count as insider trading, does it?’ Rebus enquired.
‘Not at all,’ Turquand said.
‘Pity...’
‘Now we have a nice long drive back to Edinburgh,’ Rebus announced as they got into the Saab and started fastening their seat belts. ‘Which gives you plenty of time to talk me through Anthony Brough and these SLPs of his.’
‘I’ve got a question for you first — what did you think of him?’
‘Turquand? A bit eccentric, maybe.’
‘I’d say he hasn’t got two pennies to rub together. I’m betting he got rid of the staff. The grounds have seen better days. And the whisky smelled cheap.’
‘All because he trusted his capital to Sir Magnus Brough’s grandson?’ Rebus mused. ‘I wonder how many other clients are feeling short-changed as Molly fobs them off about her boss’s comings and goings?’
‘Darryl Christie could well be one,’ Fox admitted.
Rebus’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. ‘You have my full attention, Malcolm. Make sure you don’t waste it.’
‘Darryl owns a betting shop and flat on Great Junction Street. Brough rents the flat and uses it as the address for hundreds of SLPs.’ Fox saw Rebus looking at him. ‘What is it?’
‘When I called you from Rutland Square, you started to say something about betting, but then choked off the rest — now I know why.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Keep going,’ he said eventually. ‘And if you’re talking company law and malfeasance, pretend you’re explaining it to a complete idiot...’
Clarke tapped on the open door of the MIT room. Anne Briggs glanced up from her desk.
‘I was looking for DI Fox.’
‘He’s not here.’
‘So I see. My name’s Clarke.’
‘DI Clarke?’
‘Siobhan will probably do.’
‘I’m DC Briggs — Anne. Malcolm’s mentioned you.’
‘You holding the fort?’
‘The super’s at Gartcosh. Couple of the others are interviewing the deceased’s boss. And one’s gone to the shop for milk and biscuits.’
‘Leaving DI Fox unaccounted for?’
‘He was supposed to be in the interview room, but he isn’t.’
‘I’m guessing the tidy desk is his?’ Clarke stood next to it.
‘That’s why you earn the big bucks.’
Clarke picked up The Ends of Justice and began flipping pages.
‘That’s who he was supposed to be questioning,’ Briggs offered.
‘Maybe I should phone him,’ Clarke was saying as Mark Oldfield walked in, waving a carrier bag at Briggs. Briggs made the introductions as Oldfield switched the kettle on.
‘I’m sure he won’t be long,’ Briggs said. ‘Have a coffee first.’
‘I might do that.’ Clarke had moved from Fox’s desk to the next one along. A pile of A4 sheets was lying on top of a closed laptop. The sheets were photocopies of stills from CCTV footage.
‘What’s this?’ she asked.
‘I’ve just finished printing those out,’ Briggs said. ‘Deceased had been threatened by the guys you see there.’
‘The really blurry guys,’ Oldfield added.
Clarke moved from group shots to close-ups of individual faces. She held one up towards Briggs.
‘I think I know him,’ she announced. ‘I was talking to him only a couple of hours back. Name’s Hugh Harold Hodges, but he prefers Harry. Works at a place called the Devil’s Dram.’
Oldfield had come over to study the picture. ‘You sure?’ he asked.
‘Fairly positive. It’s the haircut and beard.’
‘Every second guy I see these days has that beard.’
‘Well, I reckon it’s him.’
Oldfield turned towards Briggs. ‘Do we call the boss man?’ he asked.
‘We call the boss man,’ she said. ‘After we’ve had what turns out to be a well-earned cuppa.’
‘Plus caramel wafers.’
‘I love it when you talk dirty, Mark,’ Briggs said with a grin.
Hodges was parked in the interview room when Alvin James got back. Clarke had gone with Briggs to pick him up.