‘This means I won’t have to convince him.’ I held up the envelope before slipping it into my inside jacket pocket; close to my heart, where money tended to find a natural home. ‘And don’t worry about a bonus, Mr Macready … this is more than enough.’
In fact, it was the most I had earned in one go at any time. And three times what I’d earned in the whole of the previous year.
Macready rose to shake my hand again. The meeting was over.
‘There is one more thing,’ I said, not getting up.
‘Oh?’
‘As I discussed with Miss Bryson, it never did fit with me the way these photographs were taken, given that your visit to Iain’s was supposed to be spur of the moment. When I asked you if you could guess how the photographs were taken, or where you thought the photographer could have concealed himself, you said that it was a mystery. Your guess was that they were taken through a window.’
‘Yes …’
‘The clarity and quality of the images suggested to me that they were taken somehow from inside the cottage. They were. There was a false mirror. Two-way. The camera and photographer were hidden behind them in the next room.’
Macready lit a cigarette and took a pull on it before answering.
‘So you’re saying Iain, or someone connected to the cottage or estate was in on it?’
‘According to Downey, yes. It was Iain. He set the whole thing up to raise cash for some reason he can’t tell Daddy the Duke about. Someone’s leaning heavily on Downey for money and maybe Iain’s under the same pressure. He guessed you would pay anything to stop the photographs falling into the wrong hands. In other words, anyone else’s hands other than your own.’
‘You’ve got proof of this?’ asked Fraser.
‘Downey admitted it to me. And trust me, Paul Downey has neither the brains nor the balls to come up with this on his own. Now, I can’t really knock seven shades out of the son of a peer of the realm, but if you want me to talk to Iain, I’ll do it.’ I tapped the envelope in my pocket. ‘And you have a little credit with me.’
‘What do you think, Mr Macready?’ Fraser asked. I could see the American actor was deep in thought. It was not a nice prospect, knowing that you had been deliberately set up and used.
‘What would your advice be, Mr Fraser?’ he said eventually and a little wearily.
Fraser made the type of face lawyers make to tell you that they’re thinking and shouldn’t be interrupted, because they’re thinking at premium rate. ‘I suggest we leave it, for the moment at least, Mr Macready. We have the photographs and the negatives, which can now be destroyed. It should be the end of the matter. And given the status and influence of Iain’s father, it could be a lot more trouble than it’s worth.’
‘Sleeping dogs?’
‘That would be my inclination,’ said Fraser. ‘For the moment, at least. Mr Lennox, may we feel free to call on your services in this matter, should we change our position?’
‘Feel free, as I said.’
‘I would echo Mr Macready’s sentiments, Mr Lennox: you have dealt with this case with utmost speed and efficiency. I hope that I may retain your services in the future, on other matters.’
‘It would be my pleasure,’ I said and shook his hand, somehow managing not to add you sententious little prick. I find it’s best not to insult people who hand you large sums of cash.
Leonora Bryson shook my hand too, with the warmth of an undertaker. That sure was one mixed-up lady.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I was pretty pleased with myself. With the Macready case out of the way, and with more cash burning a hole in my pocket than the average working Joe could hope to amass in a lifetime, I had a lot to be pleased with myself about.
I could now give my full attention to Isa and Violet’s quest to find out who was sending them their annual dividend. The fact that the money always arrived on the anniversary, give or take a day or two, of the Nineteen thirty-eight Empire Exhibition robbery, seemed to scream out that it was their long lost paterfamilias.
The police, however, were absolutely certain that the bones they’d dredged up belonged to Gentleman Joe. Over the next few days, while Archie doggedly went from address to address trying to locate Billy Dunbar, I did the rounds and asked a few questions. I didn’t expect to find out anything significant, but Glasgow’s underworld was a tight-knit community. A village of thieves.
I was a great reader. I spent a lot of my time reading to try to understand how the world worked; mainly because my participation in it had only served to befuddle me. You get a lot of ideas from reading: some good, some bad. And a lot of stupid ones.
I had once read that physicists believe that the act of observing really tiny particles actually changes how they behave. The observer effect, they called it. I decided to apply the principle of observer effect on Glasgow’s criminal classes: ask the right — or the wrong — questions in the right places, and things tend to start happening.
As I had ever since our brief encounter in the smog, I kept my eye out for the guy who had jumped me with the gun. I had no sense of anyone tailing me, but there again, nor had Frank when I’d tracked him back to his flat. If you knew what you were doing, it was easy to stay out of sight. And I had the idea that this guy knew exactly what he was doing.
I lodged a few hundred pounds from the fee Fraser had given me into my business account, but the rest I stashed in the safety deposit box. I was almost as stunned by my sudden fortune as I had been by Leonora Bryson’s sudden amorous, if potentially homicidal, passion. Between one thing and another, I had more than eight thousand pounds locked away; more than enough to buy a house outright. To buy four houses in Glasgow. I now no longer had any reason not to go home to Canada. I could lodge the cash in a bank and wire it to Canada before the British inland revenue had a chance to sneeze.
But I wasn’t ready yet. Something had happened to me during the war and I still didn’t like who I had become. The folks back home would be expecting the return of the Kennebecasis Kid: the idealistic, bright-eyed, enthusiastic youth who had taken a commission for the Empire. What they would get was me: the post-war, cynical Lennox who could be hired to slap frightened queers around. And that was me on a good day.
Jock Ferguson left a message for me at the boarding house to call him and, when I did, he informed me that he had checked out Robert McKnight, Violet’s husband who played chauffeur to the twins.
‘He’s a car salesman,’ Ferguson informed me. ‘No known record.’
‘What kind of car salesman?’ I asked, as if they came in any discernible shades of character. ‘Bomb-site used or gentlemen’s Bentleys?’
‘He works at the Mitchell and Laird Garage, up in Cowcaddens. Legit. They sell new or nearly new Fords, but I don’t know if they’re an authorized dealer or not. And they carry a big stock of second-hand cars, but it seems to be quality stuff.’
‘I see,’ I said, and remembered the Ford Zephyr with the Hire Purchase gleam to it parked outside my office. ‘So he’s clean?’
‘Well … there is an interesting twist. Despite the name, the Mitchell and Laird Garage is actually owned by a trading company whose chairman just happens to be a certain William Sneddon.’
And there it was, the thing I had dreaded most: another of the Three Kings involved in my investigation. That made two, if you counted Michael Murphy’s presence on the list of their father’s associates the twins had supplied.
‘But you know that doesn’t mean anything really these days,’ continued Ferguson. ‘Willie Sneddon is still a crook and we’re still after the bastard, but the truth is he’s cleaned up his act. He has as many legit businesses as crooked ones. The Mitchell and Laird Garage just happens to be one of the legit ones. And that’s where your boy works.’