A Rush of Blood

Twenty-five

‘Alex,’ Veronica Drake exclaimed, ‘I have other clients, of whom two are in extreme personal difficulty at the moment and requiring my attention. They’re where my priorities lie. I’m sorry for Regine Zaliukas and her kids, but I’ve never met the woman. If she chooses to go away for a few days, she’s not going to tell me about it, and if she goes to a place with a lousy mobile signal, or leaves her phone switched off, that’s her problem, not mine.’

‘Fine,’ Alex shot back, ‘that’s your perspective. Mine is that I’ve got two companies whose owner and chief executive has just died without leaving any guidance as to who should succeed him. In total, the businesses have a full-time payroll of eighty-four employees, let alone the casual bar staff, and I don’t have a mandate to run them myself.’

‘What about the other directors?’

‘There is only one other director, Ronnie, and that’s Regine Zaliukas. You might not feel it’s urgent that she knows about her husband’s death, but I bloody well do.’

Drake shrugged her padded shoulders. ‘OK, if you’re telling me that it’s a corporate matter, over to you. You find the woman.’ She took a slim folder from her desk and handed it over. ‘Those are her papers, with all her details, including her contact number. If you get stuck I’m sure your father could make a couple of calls for you. I wish I had that luxury.’

Resisting the urge to wrap the documents around her partner’s ears, Alex took them from her and stalked back to her own tiny office. ‘Bitch!’ she hissed as she slid behind her desk. She opened the file and flicked through the few documents that it held; photocopies of Regine’s birth and marriage certificates and of her French passport, a letter from a French bank in a place called Nérac, confirming the details of a euro account in her name.

The note of her mobile number was the last in the file. It made Alex wonder how hard her partner had tried to contact the woman, but she put the question to one side to be raised later, if necessary.

She picked up the paper and keyed in the eleven digits, then waited. The tone, when it sounded, was European, a long, single beep, confirming her assumption that Regine Zaliukas was not in the United Kingdom, and indicating, encouragingly, that her mobile was switched on. It rang several times, then just as she expected to be picked up by voicemail. . ‘Hello?’ English, but in a French accent.

How did she know I was calling from Britain, Alex wondered, since CAJ’s number is always hidden?

‘Mrs Zaliukas?’

‘Yes, this is Regine.’ She sounded fluent; her accent was not noticeably Scottish.

‘My name is Alex Skinner. I’m a partner in Curle Anthony and Jarvis, and I’ve just taken over responsibility for the Lietuvos companies from Mr Conn, who’s retired.’

‘My husband told me this was happening,’ the woman replied, coolly. ‘You’re the chief constable’s daughter, aren’t you? Tomas laughed when he told me that. He said if anything would make Edinburgh people regard him as respectable, that would. I told him that maybe you wouldn’t want to work for him.’

‘Any client acceptable to Mr Conn will be acceptable to me,’ Alex told her. ‘Mrs Zaliukas, where are you? We’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday, but only getting your voicemail.’

For the first time, she detected a degree of anxiety, in that Regine Zaliukas hesitated. ‘At this moment,’ she began, eventually, ‘I am sitting in my car, in the car park of E. LeClerc, a French supermarket. The children and I have been away for a few days.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘We are in my parents’ house; one hundred and five Rue St Cauzimis, Mezin, in Lot et Garonne.’

‘Are your kids with you right now?’

‘No.’ The woman paused. ‘They’re being looked after. Listen, why are you asking me this?’

Alex took the plunge. ‘Mrs Zaliukas, I’m afraid I have some dreadful news. Your husband was found dead yesterday morning, in Edinburgh.’

A great gasp of breath sounded clearly down the line, followed by a long period of silence. ‘Dead?’ she said at last, in a quavering voice. ‘Tomas? Dead? How?’

‘The police believe that he took his own life. He was shot.’

‘He. . They. . They think that, the police?’

‘Not just them. They’ve already done a post-mortem and that’s what the pathologist says too. Mrs Zaliukas, Regine, I’m sorry to have to break it like this, but our view was that it was better for you to hear from us, your lawyers, than to have men in uniform turning up at your door, possibly when your children were there.’

‘Yes.’ The voice was whisper quiet, but more controlled. ‘I appreciate that, thank you.’

‘The police in Edinburgh would like to interview you, about your husband’s state of mind. I’ve told them that you might prefer to communicate with them through us.’

‘Yes, I would prefer that. But I can tell you now, that when last I spoke to Tomas, let me see, it would be on Sunday, he was fine.’

‘You were estranged, though?’

‘Whoever told you that?’ she exclaimed. ‘No, I decided to bring the children over here for a few days, that was all. When both of them are higher up the school it will not be so easy. I was almost ready to go back.’ Pause. ‘Not now, though. I believe I will stay here for a little longer. This is a huge shock; my family is in France. I need its support.’

‘I understand that but, Mrs Zaliukas, there is the question of your husband’s companies. They now belong entirely to you and your children. Someone has to run them. If you don’t want to do it, you need to appoint a chief executive. Since Mr Gerulaitis is already there. .’

‘No, no. Not Valdas, not him; not for one second. You, Miss Skinner, could you do it?’

‘I couldn’t be a director,’ Alex told her. ‘I’m not allowed to. But I could administer the business on a temporary basis, on your behalf, with your authority.’

‘Then I’ll give you that authority right now.’

‘It has to be written.’

‘There will be a letter in the post this afternoon, or better, faxed to your office. I can do that, can’t I?’

‘Yes, you’re already a director of both companies. But are you sure? You’ve never met me.’

‘If you are a partner in that firm, you must be up to the job. And I share Tomas’s view. Who better to represent my interests than the chief constable’s daughter?’