He did as I told him, peering at the screen over my shoulder. Dylan’s eyesight was slightly on the blink but he was too vain to wear glasses.
‘Oh my Christ,’ he gasped.
‘Never mind the detail for now,’ I said. ‘Let’s check the pharmaceutical totals for those years.’ Each yearly total ran to two pages. I scrambled among the pile of papers to find the twenty sheets for which I was looking.
On the annualised purchase totals, pharmaceuticals showed as a single category. For the first five years of the period we had been scrutinising, the totals showed very modest annual variations, slightly up in three of the years, almost unchanged on one, and down in another. During the most recent five years, the figures were also consistent — but six times higher.
‘Jesus Christ, Mike,’ I muttered. ‘This is it. “Temazepam and diamorphine”, the note said. I know what Temazepam is, a sedative; but what sort of medication is diamorphine?’
‘On the street,’ he answered grimly, sounding far more serious than I’d ever heard him before, ‘you’d call it heroin.’
‘Let’s get into the detailed records,’ I suggested. ‘Let’s start with year five and year six for comparison. Tick off each of the purchases then see how many of each we have.’
Dylan nodded and picked up the year five records; I went to work on the other.
He was finished first. ‘What have you got?’ he asked, when I was through my check. ‘I’ve got four purchases of Temazepam and four of diamorphine.’
‘I’ve got twelve of each. Five years ago The Gantry Group health division started to buy these drugs on a monthly basis, rather than quarterly.’
As we stared at each other, I could see desperation in Dylan’s eyes. ‘If this is what I think it is, what’s it going to do to Susie and Jack?’ His voice was almost a groan.
‘Don’t jump at this, Mike,’ I said, trying to reassure him. ‘Maybe the patient profile changed five years ago.’
‘It didn’t. Susie told me that the division has traded unaltered in size and sector for the last ten years.
‘We need to look at detailed purchase records, Oz. These drugs have been bought through pharmaceutical wholesalers. Someone signed the order forms; there’ll be copies in existence. Let’s go and see Susie. Right now.’
‘Mike, is that wise? This is her company we’re investigating, after all.’
‘We’ve been through this, Oz. She gave us these records, didn’t she? We can trust her.’
‘Believe it or not, mate, I wasn’t thinking about that; I was thinking about your job. This is freelance activity, remember.’
‘Stuff my job. Anyway, what we have isn’t conclusive. I can take it one step further at least.’
I was unconvinced, but I nodded nonetheless. ‘Okay. We might as well crack this tonight if we can. Before we go, though, I’d better check the day’s phone messages. These days I have to remind myself that I still have a business to run.’
I picked up the phone on my desk and dialled the retrieve code for the answer service. I was told that I had seven messages; I pulled my pad across and picked up a pen to note the details of each.
The first five were from clients, but the sixth wasn’t for me at alclass="underline" it was for Detective Inspector Dylan, from his friend in the Strathclyde Police scientific department.
‘Hello Mike,’ said the voice of the man I had met earlier. ‘I thought I should let you know about this right away. I lifted two odd prints, first two fingers, left hand, in the classic place, the underside of his desk, where I dusted. Then I found the same two prints on the underside of the kitchen work surface, just where the washing machine housing is.
‘They don’t belong to your pal, and from the size I knew they couldn’t have been his wife’s. So I ran a quick comparison check on them and I got an answer. It’s a bit naughty. We shouldn’t have these dabs, because the guy was never prosecuted, but you know how it is; sometimes we just forget to destroy them.
‘The bloke’s name’s O’Rourke. Gary O’Rourke.’
Chapter 57
I don’t know why, but I didn’t tell Dylan about the message; not then at least. I suppose I reckoned he had enough on his plate, and that if I overloaded his brain a few circuits might blow.
All the way out to Susie’s I wrestled with it, trying to get my head round it, trying to imagine what motive Gary O’Rourke might have had for breaking into my flat that could be connected with the GWA business. Maybe he had rumbled me and wanted to find out a bit about me. After all, he hadn’t been in Barcelona. He’d been back home in Glasgow when Jan died.
Maybe he hadn’t taken the papers. Maybe that was another burglar. Maybe they had passed each other in the hallway and said hello. Maybe another special forces trained explosives expert had booby-trapped my washing machine. Or maybe Gary had done it in the hope that I’d do my own washing when I got back from Spain.
So many maybes, only one certainty: Gary O’Rourke had been in our flat, searching our desk, pulling our washing machine out of its housing.
Dylan didn’t notice my silence as I drove the pair of us to Clarkston, because he was wrapped up in his own. I hoped that he was genuinely concerned about the effect of the business on his girlfriend, rather than beginning to fret after all about the impact on his own career if it blew up in our faces.
It was just after eight when we arrived at Susie Gantry’s semi-detached house. Fortunately she was in; we ace detectives hadn’t thought to call to find that out before we left.
There was none of her sparkly, nervy bonhomie as she opened the door. I guess the expressions on our faces must have ruled that out; that and the fact that she noticed Mike was carrying his briefcase.
‘Hello boys,’ she greeted us, as she showed us into her sitting room. ‘You look completely puggled. I take it you haven’t just dropped in for a drink.’
‘Not just that, love,’ said Dylan, ‘although I won’t say no. We’ve picked up the trail that Jan was on. We need your help to take it further.’
‘I’ll do anything I can. What do you want?’
Mike was about to tell her, when I interrupted. ‘Before that, Susie,’ I asked her, ‘does the name Gary O’Rourke mean anything to you?’
She stared at me, frowning, puzzled. ‘Of course it does. He used to work for the group, as our supplies manager. He’s my cousin.’
Dylan’s head turned towards me as if it was on a swivel, then swung back to his girlfriend. ‘He’s what?’
‘My cousin. He’s my Auntie Norah’s son; she’s my father’s sister. I haven’t seen him in months though; not since he said he was fed up and went off to take a job with Everett Davis.’
‘Have you got a photograph of him?’ I asked her.
‘I should have.’ She crossed to a cabinet set against the wall and took out a thick album, then leafed through its pages. ‘There you are. That was taken at last year’s May Ball in the City Chambers.’ She held the volume up, pointing to a photograph. I recognised all three people in it at once. Susie was in the centre, flanked by the bulky figures of her father on her right, complete with chain, and a blond man, whom I had last seen only twenty-four hours earlier.
‘What made you ask that?’ she queried.
‘He’s the guy who took those papers from my flat.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ she gasped.
‘I’m afraid it’s true. One of Mike’s SOCO buddies lifted his prints from my desk.’
Glancing at Dylan, I said, ‘Sorry mate, that was one of the messages on the message service tonight. I should have told you earlier, but I had to get my own head round it first.’
I turned back to Susie. ‘Can I ask you something else as well? Is there any way he’d have been able to get hold of a key to the flat? You see, there couldn’t have been any sign of a breakin, otherwise Jan would have noticed it when she came in. If she had done, she wouldn’t have done the washing. She’d have called the police.’
She frowned again, and chewed her lip. ‘Well,’ she began. ‘We did have a bit of a problem with the woman who bought your flat first. We didn’t get full payment for a while, so we decided to keep a set of keys on the Q.T., just in case we needed to take drastic action. I thought they’d been handed over, though.’