Trail of Greed: Fighting Fraud and Corruption... A Dangerous Game (24 page)

The required visits to a few of the well-known distilleries the next day resulted in us accumulating several cases of prime malt which would only just fit into the boot of the car – the back seat having to be occupied with the golf clubs. We had the rest of the cases shipped down to Fife.

I had promised Pierre two more rounds of golf so we did Nairn and Royal Dornoch to round off a week of marvellous escapism.

On the drive back down the A9 my thoughts started to turn to the Lowlands and, having put everything out of my mind for five days, I became impatient to get back in touch with Mike to find out how his week had been.

I had left him my key so when we got back to Letham mid-afternoon he and Sophie were comfortably ensconced in my living room.

We unloaded the car and Pierre handed over the case of whisky that he had bought for Mike and the (rather expensive) Celtic brooch he had bought for Sophie.

Pierre enthusiastically described our trip while I sat comfortably, thinking again how much our lives had changed since he had arrived. I glanced over at Dad’s photo and winked at him. He was still smiling back at us, as if watching and approving.

Sophie cooked us a superb supper. They had been down to the coast the day before and she had gone crazy in the fish shop in Anstruther. A seafood salad was followed by sole in a sauce that she had dreamed up from whatever she could find in my kitchen. She hadn’t found all she needed so had gaily gone round to Mrs Clark to borrow some herbs. My larder was raided for a dry white wine and we settled down to as good a meal as Pierre and I had had all week.

Meanwhile, while she was putting all this together, I broached the subject of Mike’s week in Edinburgh.

“Not a lot to report I’m afraid. I followed Firkin and Doug took on MacLean. They just seemed to be going about normal business. A bit of shopping, quite a lot of time spent in their respective homes. They only got together twice as far as we could make out. Once was just a meeting in a pub in the High Street. The second time they met a guy who I think I’ve seen somewhere before but I can’t remember where. I must admit I didn’t like the look of him. They met him for lunch in an Italian restaurant down in Leith. As you said you wanted some idea of any relationships they might have Doug and I went in and sat well away from them, but where we could see their table.”

“What did this man look like?” I asked. “A professional type, I would say. He was a bit overweight, dressed in a suit and tie and looked about fifty, going bald and he seemed to be the one who was in control of the situation. Firkin did most of the talking. MacLean hardly said anything and the other guy listened and asked the odd question. You got the feeling that it was a serious business meeting.”

“Did he look as if he was their boss?” “Yes,” answered Mike. “He was certainly the dominant personality in the discussion.”

I glanced at Pierre, “Any thoughts?” Mike went on. “I managed to get a photo of him.” He passed over to me a slightly blurred shot that he had obviously taken in the restaurant. I recognized Firkin and MacLean and confirmed this to the other two. I was the only one of us who had met them. “That’s them,” I said and passed the photo to Pierre.

He looked at it for a minute. “We’ve seen that other man before. Isn’t he the lawyer who was at the conference and who used to have lunch with Purdy?”

“Yes, that’s him. A man called Gavin Reid. We presumed he was Purdy’s lawyer.”

“And do you think he could be the Mr Big behind all this?” asked Mike. “I must say I didn’t like the look of him. I followed him for a bit after he left and there was something I didn’t like about the way he thrust himself past people as if they weren’t there. As if he was above everybody. He had a kind of a supercilious look as he wandered along and he’s got a weak, cruel face. I even saw him kick a cat out of the way as he was walking and he looked as if he enjoyed doing it. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes. I’ve met him – briefly – once before. And then I also saw him at the conference.”

“If he is the man who got Firkin and MacLean to get rid of Dewar and tried to get rid of you we’d better do something about it. All three of them are wandering around on the loose. They could do anything.”

Sophie announced supper and we left the discussion to enjoy the food.

I said little during the meal and let Mike hold centre stage, regaling Sophie and Pierre with tales of Scottish history and anecdotes of his soldiering days around the world.

I enjoyed the food and the wine and thought about Gavin Reid.

During our coffee the conversation came back to Firkin, MacLean and Reid.

“I’ve been wondering about this lawyer, Reid.” said Pierre. “He and Dewar must have known about each other. Lawyers are one of the main sources that asset management companies use for finding investors aren’t they? If he and Purdy were working together – and Reid was getting his share – he had every reason to be mad at you for bringing down the house of cards. That would give him a motive for getting rid of you.

“And if Dewar was blackmailing Purdy he would know about that as well. It strikes me that Reid had every interest in Dewar disappearing as well to make sure his connection to Purdy never got out.”

I was only half listening. Suddenly, while Pierre had been expounding his theory, a piece of lateral thinking had hit me.

Ideas sometimes come into one’s brain sideways. I’ve often been aware of my capacity for lateral thinking and, if anything, I’ve tried to develop it. I’ve always let my brain drift and not keep to the straightforward route that logic tries to dictate. I had read Peter Drucker’s book on the subject when I was younger and had always appreciated the value of letting one’s mind roam.

Strange thing the brain. It must have been working away, without my knowledge and then brought up to the surface a message “Hey, Bob, what if . . .?”

It had to do with the similarity of my adventure in the mountains and Dewar’s death. Something in that newspaper article that, at the time, hadn’t seemed of much significance but . . .

Had I just found that elusive information that had bothered me a few nights before?

I had made a rather weird connection that, at first sight, seemed ridiculous but, the more I thought about it, and the more I thought about the characters involved, the more I started to wonder if, perhaps, I had an explanation for the whole scenario. If I was right, then things were a lot more serious than any of us had thought. And I didn’t like the idea of that at all.

I didn’t voice my thoughts to the others. I would sleep on it, review the issue again the next morning and then decide what to do.

Pierre was watching me. “You look very thoughtful, Bob,” he said. “Care to share with us?”

I declined. “Just thinking,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

He seemed a bit put out but shrugged his shoulders and said, “OK, but if you do want to knock some ideas about, let me know.”

At this stage I had no intention of voicing my theories to the three of them. If I was right we had already had two murder attempts – one of which had fortunately been unsuccessful. I didn’t want any of the others exposed to a similar threat.

As I only had one spare room Pierre went back to the hotel for the night. I retired early and left a very domesticated Mike helping Sophie to do the clearing up. They seemed to have hit it off in a big way and I was happy for them both.

I retired to bed but couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed and chatted in my mind to Liz and Maggie in about equal proportions. I thought again about Dad and Pierre. I then reviewed my theory concerning Gavin Reid and his two cowboys. It still seemed to make sense.

Finally, wanting to sleep, I switched my thoughts to other things. I replayed my round at Royal Dornoch. I had been hitting the ball well and had beaten Pierre three and two. I smiled to myself at the memory of the twenty-yard chip I had sunk on the sixteenth to seal the match.

Then I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning I decided to follow up on my theory. Although I was still a bit unclear in my head as to exactly what the next steps should be, one thing I did know was that I needed some information and the best person to get that for me was Steven.

I got through to him straight away and explained to him what I wanted to know. He told me that he didn’t know how to find that out himself but he had a friend who could probably help.

“Is this urgent, Bob?” he asked. “Yes. And on no account mention my name.” And then he added “Is this anything to do with AIM?” As there was no way he could have made the connection his question took me by surprise. It was so off-centre that I wondered how to reply.

“It could be,” I said guardedly. “But keep it one hundred per cent confidential. I’ve no idea at the moment, but if anything comes of it I’ll let you know and you’ll have the inside on a bigger story than you think.”

There were a couple of seconds of silence at the end of the phone.

“OK. I’ll call you tomorrow morning. I’ll make my questions as innocuous as possible and let you know what I can find out.”

“Thanks, Steven,” and I hung up. Steven was as good as his word. He called me back late morning the next day.

“No problem to find out what you wanted to know, Bob.” he told me. “It’s all public information. You just need to know where to look – which I didn’t but my friend did.”

I listened carefully to what he had to say. When he had finished I asked him the two follow-up questions that I needed an answer to.

“That would represent an investment of, roughly, how much would you say?”

“It’s not exactly my area of expertise but I’d say somewhere in the region of five to ten million. I can check it out for you if you want.”

“And the potential value?” “Impossible to say but my guess is that you could, if everything worked out, multiply that by at least ten.”

“Thanks, Steven. That’s helped me a lot. I can’t tell you any more at the moment but I promise you you’ll get your story as soon as I have checked out a few other things. In the meantime forget that this phone call ever happened.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve you to thank for the inside edge about AIM and I’ll say nothing. I’m off for a couple of weeks to Spain for a holiday anyway. I’ll call you when I get back.”

I put down the receiver, sat back and, resting my elbows on the arms of my chair, I raised my hands and put my fingertips together and let out a slow quiet whistle. That was certainly enough money to kill for, I thought to myself.

Next port of call – Keith. He knew Gavin Reid. I wondered if he was available for a game of golf.

I phoned the club house to ask David, the pro, if he had Keith’s phone number. He had. As he was a busy man, running around all over Scotland in his private helicopter, I thought I would wait and try to get him in the evening.

After supper I got through to him and asked him if he was up for eighteen holes the next day. “Hold on a minute, Bob,” he replied. “Let me check.” He returned to the phone after about a minute. “Sorry. Can’t do tomorrow but I am free the day after, in the afternoon. I’d be delighted to take another twenty quid off you.”

“Great,” I said. “I’ll book us a tee for two o’clock. How’s that?”

“Fine. See you then.”

Keith had just arrived when I drew into the car park. He wandered over as I got out of the car.

“Afternoon, Bob. New motor? Won the lottery have you?”

I smiled. “Not really – just a little consulting fee. I decided to treat myself.”

He was his usual bustling self, eager to get to battle, and we walked over the railway to the clubhouse together. Another warm and sunny afternoon. The course was looking in superb condition and as there weren’t too many people around we got off on time. Today I was determined to play some good golf and when we were finished I could talk to him quietly in the clubhouse afterwards.

I was looking forward to a good competitive round. We went at it seriously. No strokes were given or taken as Keith’s handicap was only two more than mine. We shared the first few holes thanks to one long putt from Keith on the second and a miss from three feet by me on the third – one of those ones that tickled the edge of the hole, ran round the back and stayed out. I controlled my frustration as we stepped up onto the next tee. Forget it, I said to myself. You can’t do anything about it now. Just concentrate on the next hole.

Keith lost the next two, we halved six and seven and he hauled one back at the eighth. Things weren’t going too badly. I was driving reasonably straight, although not very long. Keith visited the rough a couple of times. We both played the ninth perfectly. As it’s a slight dog-leg to the left it’s a hole where the placing of the drive is important to get a decent shot at the green. Both of us were on the green in two and two putted. Two pars in front of the clubhouse is always a nice feeling so we were in good spirits as we attacked the tenth.

“Only one down and nine chances to get in front,” said Keith with a wicked smile. “Come on, Bruce, let’s see what you’re like under pressure.”

Pressure helped me control my iron shot to the par three tenth and I hit the green dead centre. Keith, attacking the ball pugnaciously, brought his hands through just a little too quickly and his shot faded off into the greenside bunker.

As we walked up the fairway he was muttering to himself, forehead furrowed and eyebrows gathered together as if to keep the sun out. I couldn’t help thinking that I wouldn’t like to cross him in business. There were moments when he looked as if he would be utterly ruthless in the pursuit of his goals.

All was sunshine and roses, however, a few minutes later when he played out to four feet and sunk the put to halve the hole.

The battle continued, never more than a hole apart until we got to the sixteenth tee which is right down at the bottom end of the course. The last three holes at Ladybank run alongside the drive up to the clubhouse from the main road. It’s narrow with almost no room for cars to pass and is lined by beech trees on the left and denser trees and shrubs on the right as you drive up to the car park. Playing the last three holes back to the clubhouse these beech trees form a major hazard for those of us who have a tendency to slice off the tee.