Murder on the Second Tee (12 page)

After they had agreed that they were Bruce’s parents and, with ill grace, Mr Thornton had turned down the sound, Flick said her piece, ‘You may know that your son has been staying in the Old Course Hotel for the last two nights. I’m very sorry to tell you that he was found dead in his hotel room earlier this afternoon. We believe he was murdered, but will have more details later. I’m …’ she looked at McKellar, ‘we’re terribly sorry.’

Mrs Thornton said nothing but burst into tears. As she rocked to and fro in an armchair, wailing, her husband sat with his mouth open, as if unable to take in the news.

‘I’m afraid there’s no doubt,’ Flick said.

‘How?’ the man asked.

‘We don’t know yet, but he may have been struck on the head with a golf club.’

‘Did he suffer much?’ Mrs Thornton asked.

‘Probably not,’ Flick said.

Mrs Thornton rushed from the room and the house echoed with the sound of retching. Unmanly tears ran down her husband’s face. He stared vacantly at the television as the commentator described a seemingly endless scrum. Opposite the set, a glass-fronted cabinet contained a variety of silver cups and spoons, all highly polished, with hand-written cards detailing each triumph. On the wall above, framed photographs tracked Bruce’s golfing development from toddler with a plastic club to professional beside an enormous bag with his name on it.

Flick remained silent while Mrs Thornton was out of the room. When she returned she asked, ‘When did either of you last see your son?’

‘Three months ago,’ Mrs Thornton said quickly.

Her husband nodded. ‘Have you arrested Davidson?’ he asked.

‘No, sir.’

‘Inspector, my son was not gay.’ He spat out the last word. ‘He was a bit confused and that … man took advantage of him. And now he’s killed him. Well, who else would do such a thing?’ His voice rose to a shout when he saw doubt on Flick’s face.

‘I assure you that we are looking at all possibilities, sir.’

‘Well I’m telling you now. It was him, and if I see him …’

‘Hey, Walter, enough.’ McKellar spoke for the first time. ‘I’d think the exact same in your shoes, but he’s no’ worth it. Ye cannae bring yer boy back.’

Thornton turned away and pretended to concentrate on the television.

Flick told them they would be assigned a family liaison officer and that someone would be in touch regarding a formal identification of the body. They saw themselves out.

In the car, McKellar said, ‘I remember when Bruce was a boy golfer. Some people said he would go far, but I had my doubts. His faither was tough on him, pushed him all the way. As far as he was concerned the sun shone oot o’ the boy’s arse.’

Left with Robertson and the corpse, the contrast between Christmas and Diwali had never seemed so glaring to Baggo. A few weeks earlier, as a lax but family-conscious Hindu, he had been in Bedford with his parents celebrating what was still a spiritual festival during which Hindus welcomed the goddess of wealth, Lakshmi, with small lamps and religious ritual. Today in Britain Christmas was little more than an orgy of hedonism, with retail therapy and alcohol used to mark the birth of Christ. A young man battered to death in a Santa suit emphasised the distance the festival had drifted from its origins.

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of SOCOs followed by Dr MacGregor. Baggo told Robertson to look after the crime scene. He wanted to pursue his own inquiries and decided to start with Belinda Parsley.

She opened her bedroom door after a short delay. There was a film on the TV, an indentation in the bedcover. ‘Yes?’ she asked in a flat voice, then looked inquiringly at Baggo. ‘You served us dinner on Thursday night, didn’t you?’

He produced his warrant. ‘As I told you when your room was searched, I’m Detective Sergeant Chandavarkar. I have been undercover.’

Not registering any emotion, she asked, ‘Well, what do you want?’

‘May I come in, please?’

She shrugged and walked slowly to the bed, turned down the TV volume then sat in the chair beside the window. She brushed her hair back from her face.

Baggo stood in front of her. ‘You may know there has been another murder, Mr Bruce Thornton. What were your movements between two and quarter past three this afternoon?’

‘Am I a suspect?’ she asked, suddenly alert.

‘We are asking everyone this question,’ he assured her.

‘Well, after my room had been searched, I went to the bar upstairs to finish my sandwiches. I sat with Eileen and Simon, the Eglintons, you know.’

‘Did you see Mr Thornton or Mr Davidson?’

‘Oliver’s boyfriend’s name was Thornton? I just knew him as Bruce. They left as we were having coffee.’

‘When was that?’

‘I wasn’t watching the time.’

‘Well, how long was it before you left the bar?’

‘Not long. I really don’t know. Five, ten minutes.’

‘Did the Eglintons leave with you?’

‘Yes. I went to my room and turned on the TV.’

‘Is it a good film?’ The screen was filled by a car chase through city streets.

She looked at him blankly. ‘I have no idea. I’m just numb.’

‘Did you know Bruce Thornton at all?’

‘No, but he seemed a friendly boy, told me he was sorry about Hugh.’

‘Was anything said about playing Santa Claus?’

‘Yes. Oliver had wanted to do it, but wasn’t going to be able to. Bruce seemed quite keen on standing in. He didn’t look a likely Santa to me, too young and with a funny way of looking at you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he didn’t. Look at you when he was talking to you, you know?’

‘Do you remember anything else that was said?’

‘Simon and Oliver arranged to meet later in the afternoon. Business. Simon looked dreadful and he hardly touched his food. He had a couple of large G and Ts, though. Oliver said something about needing fresh air before they met.’ She looked out of the window into the late afternoon gloom of a Scottish winter. ‘When will I be able to leave? Can you tell me?’

‘That’s up to Inspector Fortune. I can have a word with her if you want.’

She looked imploringly at him. ‘Please do. I’m so … miserable.’

‘But there are things I need to know. Please tell me about your relationship with Mr Forbes.’

Her eyes opened wide and her mouth opened and shut like a fish. ‘What … no!’

‘There’s no point in denying it, ma’am, but the sooner we know all the facts the sooner people can leave.’

‘But the cameras …’

Baggo raised his eyebrows. ‘What about the cameras, ma’am?’

‘The CCTV. I didn’t think they covered our doors.’

‘Did Mr Forbes tell you that?’

She nodded then put her head on to the table in front of her. Her shoulders heaved with silent sobs. Baggo sat opposite her and put a hand on her arm.

‘Please tell me everything you know. It really would be in your best interests.’

She lifted her face and wiped it with a tissue. Seeming to cave in on herself, she spoke deliberately, her voice sad and soft. ‘I loved Hugh, but we were growing apart. He’d always been a womaniser and wasn’t going to change. And I discovered I wanted children. He has two by his first marriage but he never sees them and he had a vasectomy. It was part of the deal when we married, no kids. Recently all my friends, my sisters … I discovered that Mark Forbes wanted children. We had got chatting at a business do. So … you can guess. We were talking about me leaving Hugh, marrying Mark, but Mark insisted on doing nothing till some business problems had been sorted.’

‘And on Thursday night?’ Baggo prompted.

‘Mark and I both made our excuses after dinner. I knew Hugh would be ages till he came to bed. I went to Mark’s room, but you probably know that already.’

‘When did you return to your own room? Just to confirm what we have,’ he added.

‘About quarter to eleven. I’m sure Hugh didn’t know about us – he was too busy hiding his own affairs from me – but Mark didn’t want him to find out till the business problems were over.’

‘Did you know anything about these business problems?’

‘No.’ She answered too quickly, Baggo thought.

‘Mrs Parsley, you would be surprised how much we know about what was going on in the bank. Look, we can tell when someone is being cooperative and telling us what they know, and when they’re not. We can prove that your husband was very involved in transactions that broke the law. There’s no point in you trying to protect his memory or anything like that, and if you help us we would not want to prosecute you. On the other hand, should you be obstructive, you might find yourself in very hot water, widow or not.’

‘I knew my husband had business problems because for the last couple of months he was nervous and short-tempered. He kept on checking his phone for messages. He’d never been like that before. At least not for any length of time. I asked him what was wrong and he just said it was business and clammed up. I know he took risks, Mr Cha …’

‘Chandavarkar.’

‘He has always taken risks, sailed close to the wind, but recently he was really spooked.’

‘Did you not ask Mr Forbes?’

‘Yes, but he said something about “expanding the client base” and “proactively pursuing new options”. I knew he wasn’t telling me everything.’

‘So Mr Forbes knew what was really troubling your husband?’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t say that.’

‘Who were the other people at work he spoke to most often?’

‘Simon. They’ve always been friends. Nicola sometimes. Terry, too. And Gerald, of course.’

Changing tack, Baggo asked, ‘Of the other bank people, who thought the CCTV didn’t cover their rooms?’

‘I’ve no idea. Just me and Mark, I think.’

‘Was it Mr Forbes who twisted the camera round?’

She nodded. ‘He said he found a chair in the corridor behind the camera and stood on it. Certainly the Eglintons didn’t know. Eileen was saying at lunch how surprised she was that they hadn’t spotted the murderer on CCTV. I told them I’d overheard someone say the camera didn’t cover our doors. Well, I couldn’t tell them about Mark twisting it round. I know they hate him.’

Baggo searched her face and decided she was probably telling him about as much as she knew. ‘Thank you, Mrs Parsley. I’m sorry to have troubled you. And you have my sympathy for your loss.’

‘How much could you see on the CCTV?’ she asked.

He did not respond, just nodded towards her and left.

* * *

Simon Eglinton did look dreadful, as Belinda Parsley had said. He lay on the bed and scowled at Baggo while his wife sat at the table by the window doing the crossword, her left hand clawed round awkwardly as she filled in the squares.

‘I am sorry to interrupt …’ he began.

‘No you’re not,’ Mrs Eglinton corrected him. ‘But at least you’re showing your true colours today. I should have known you were a phoney. Your silver service was not up to scratch for an hotel like this.’

Baggo knew that the best way of coping with someone like her was to stand up to her. ‘I learned my waiting in the Taste of Mumbai in Kensington. If you have ever dined there you will know they don’t do silver service.’

She glared at him then suddenly made a noise like a startled horse. He stopped himself from stepping back and noted a twinkle in her eye. As a child he had been regaled with stories of the memsahibs, formidable English women who ruled their husbands who, in turn, ruled India. He had found these women awe-inspiring and he had little doubt that this lady was out of the same mould: haughty, outspoken and, within her sphere of influence, a despot.

‘I regret that it is necessary that I speak with Mr Simon Eglinton,’ he said, holding up his warrant.

‘My husband is very tired. He will speak to you later,’ his wife said grandly.

‘Later will be too late, ma’am. There are things we have to know urgently. And I do believe it would be in your husband’s best interests to cooperate with us as far as he can.’

‘All right, all right. We can’t put it off for ever.’ Simon Eglinton sat up on the bed and wiped his eyes. ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked impatiently.

‘Simon!’ his wife said, glaring at him. ‘Tomorrow morning would be far better. You’ve had a very stressful time today.’

As Eglinton swung his legs round to the side of the bed facing him, Baggo caught a waft of gin.

‘I don’t care,’ Eglinton said. ‘They can go to hell as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Do you mean your fellow directors?’ Baggo asked.

Eglinton nodded. ‘Bastards,’ he muttered.

‘Simon!’ his wife said again. He caught her eye and bowed his head.

‘I know about the money laundering,’ Baggo said, trying to keep momentum in his favour. ‘When did you learn about it?’

‘Today, dammit. Today. Oliver Davidson was waffling on about being Santa Claus. Saddlefell interrupted him to announce that the bank has a major problem, and that we’ve been breaking the law for years. Apparently most of our recent profits have come from money laundering. I thought that Hugh was doing a great job in the investment arm, but he was making criminals of us. Saddlefell then circulated papers setting it all out. I couldn’t believe what I was reading, but it’s real enough. Oliver Davidson was as appalled as I was, but the rest … We have “Chinese walls” in the bank, so we don’t know each other’s business, and the whole enterprise is based on trust. Trust …’ he shook his head.

‘Simon …’ his wife said for a third time, pulling at her left ear.

‘We do know about the bearer bonds, the Politically Exposed Persons and LIBOR,’ Baggo cut in. ‘For anyone not involved, the best course is complete frankness.’

‘So you say,’ Mrs Eglinton said forcefully. Baggo wondered if she was about to ram her newspaper into her husband’s mouth.

‘God!’ Eglinton exclaimed, looking away. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’

‘It is, sir,’ Baggo said gently. ‘Please tell me as much as you know.’

‘Well, my conscience is clear, officer. Saddlefell claimed it was all down to Hugh and Gerald and he’d known nothing about it. So did Nicola and Forbes, but they weren’t shocked, like I was shocked and Oliver was shocked. Saddlefell said you, the police, had started poking round and we were in for a tricky time. He assured us that the bad practices had been stopped as soon as he learned about them, which was about a month ago. That was why it was essential that we lowered the threshold for our clients. If our profits suddenly nose-dived it would look suspicious without some big change in the way we did business. He said the transactions were well hidden. They’d got past our auditors and there was no reason why they should not get past the police, so we should just sit tight and hope the storm passed. It could all be blamed on Hugh and Gerald if necessary. Oliver said he was sick of banking anyway. He was appalled by this and he was going to tell Inspector Fortune everything. We all asked him to wait and think things through. Yes, I wanted him to wait, too. This bank is my birthright, officer. I don’t want to see it going down in scandal. Anyway, he agreed to think about it.’

‘But was there not concern about Sir Paul Monmouth’s death being a murder? Was he not concerned about possible criminality in the bank?’ Baggo asked.

‘Yes, but I thought that was just mis-reporting inter-bank lending rates for LIBOR. All the banks were doing that in 2008, just to keep confidence up. I didn’t see that as a major problem for us, though Sir Paul was a man of total integrity and would definitely have seen it as quite unacceptable. Saddlefell wanted to get to the bottom of what happened to Sir Paul without involving you, and I backed him, as did the rest.’

‘Was that why you hired ex-Inspector Osborne?’

‘You know about that?’

‘We know a lot. But did you really not suspect anything about the money laundering sir?’

‘Honestly, no. I trusted my colleagues. We’re all individuals, with separate skills, but we all know the difference between right and wrong, at least I thought we did. My area is UK corporate, and I can tell you, I’m a damned good stock-picker. I go for companies without much debt, that pay dividends, that are well-run. If one goes sour on me, I don’t hesitate to exit quickly. I’ve out-performed our bench-mark for each of the last five years, and my advice is available to both the investment arm of the bank and the client wealth management arm. I assume that my colleagues are equally skillful so when I saw good profits I was confident they came from honest banking practice, and I didn’t put the accounts under a microscope. The auditors were quite happy, so I was too.’ He glared at Baggo, defying him to disbelieve him.

‘I see,’ Baggo said. ‘But apart from their reaction this morning, what makes you believe your fellow-directors knew what was really going on?’

‘I just knew this morning that they had known. I can’t say any more.’ He clenched his fist. ‘I’m so angry with Sauce, so disappointed in him. I thought he’d learned. And Gerald, I could strangle him. What on earth was he thinking of?’