A Rush of Blood

Sixty-seven

‘What are you two doing here?’ Alex Skinner asked the two detectives as they stepped into the reception area of Curle Anthony and Jarvis, just as she was passing through. ‘If you want to talk to me about the Lietuvos companies, you’re wasting your time. Mr Laidlaw’s holding the reins on that business now, and he will be until a new chief executive’s appointed.’

‘Close,’ said McGurk, ‘but no cigar. We need to talk to one of your staff, Mrs McKean.’

‘I don’t smoke cigars, Jack, only good quality skunk.’ She smiled at the flash of alarm that showed for a second on Haddock’s face. ‘That was a joke, Sauce. Chief constables’ daughters do not smoke anything. Why do you want Marianne?’

‘It’s to do with her former husband.’

She frowned, quizzically. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Wrong tense,’ Haddock told her. ‘Was. Now deceased; Ken Green.’

Alex’s eyes widened. She gasped, and the young DC experienced another momentary flash, of lust. ‘Ken Green the lawyer?’ she repeated. ‘Marianne was married to Ken Green? No wonder she never talks about her private life.’

‘Does that mean you don’t know she has a son?’

‘It’s the first I’ve heard of it. Ronnie might know, but she’s never mentioned it to me.’

‘Ronnie? Who’s he?’ McGurk asked.

‘She. Ms Veronica Drake, the partner she works for. Well, well, life is a never-ending run of surprises.’

‘Yeah,’ the DS drawled, ‘and we had a few of those on Friday night, didn’t we? First Montell having to be huckled off by your old man, then Andy Martin turning up.’

‘Don’t push your luck, big boy,’ Alex warned him, not wholly in jest. ‘I’m surprised you noticed anything, the way you and Lisanne were all over each other.’ She turned to Haddock. ‘And as for you, Sauce,’ she added, ‘you looked like all your Christmas days had come at once when that gorgeous piece of eye candy of yours whipped you off for an early bath. What did you say her name was again?’

‘Cheeky.’

‘I didn’t mean to be; it was a straight question.’

‘That’s her name, Alex. . at least it’s the name she goes by.’

‘Of course, how could I have forgotten that? How long has she been on the scene?’

‘About a week.’

‘My God,’ she exclaimed, ‘and you’re barely out of breath. You’re obviously smitten, the pair of you.’

The young detective grinned. ‘Early days yet,’ he said. ‘I’m seeing her again tonight.’

‘If you’re finished in time,’ McGurk pointed out. ‘Our boss is on her way to France, so our shift might run on a bit, especially if we take any length of time out in Green’s cottage.’

‘That’s all right. I’ll text her if we look like running late.’

‘Green’s cottage?’ Alex repeated. ‘Where is it?’

‘East Lothian,’ Haddock volunteered. ‘A couple of miles south of Garvald.’

‘My home county. My dad and I went on a car treasure hunt when I was a kid, and the clues took us out that way. If we’d found an undiscovered tribe I wouldn’t have been surprised. You’d better get your inoculations before you head out there.’

‘We’ll need to get permission before that. That’s why we need to see Mrs McKean. We found a holder with a lot of keys among Green’s personal effects, and we’re hoping that one of them is for the cottage, but we need her OK as executor to open it.’

‘Then let’s find her.’ She turned to the firm’s receptionist. ‘Sonia, would you call Marianne McKean and tell her that the police are here and would like a word.’ She waved the detectives a quick farewell and walked off towards her office.

McGurk and Haddock waited as Sonia picked up her telephone and made a call. ‘Marianne will be with your directly,’ she told them, as she replaced it in its cradle.

They stood, looking in the direction in which Alex had gone, only to be surprised when a questioning voice came from behind them. ‘Yes, gentlemen?’ They turned to see a small woman with burnished auburn hair, wearing a grey trouser suit, walk through the door they had used. She caught their confusion at once. ‘I work in the other section of the office,’ she explained. ‘The corporate departments are over here; the rest of us in the overflow area. We call ourselves the peripherals. Is this about Ken?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ the DS replied. ‘We’re sorry for your loss.’

‘He isn’t my loss. He never was, in fact. The day I signed the divorce papers ranks as one of the best of my life.’

‘How’s your son taking it?’

‘Kenny’s shocked, naturally. It’s his first experience with death, so my husband and I are keeping an eye on him, but so far he’s bearing up. I gave him the option of staying off school, but he chose to go.’

‘Had you heard from Mr Green recently?’

She seemed distracted for a second. ‘What? Sorry. No, not for a while, not for ages. Since the divorce our only contact has been to do with Kenny. In the early years, his dad used to take him to rugby internationals and the odd football game, but that fell away.’

‘Who’s organising the funeral?’

‘Why?’ she retorted. ‘I don’t see the police sending a wreath.’ She smiled, briefly. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t talk like that, otherwise you’ll be thinking I fixed his brakes. The sad fact is that even though he’s acquired another ex-wife since we split up ten years ago, I’ll have to organise it, or at least instruct the undertaker, since I’ve been informed that the bugger made me his executor, without even asking me. That Polish witch of a secretary of his called me about half an hour ago to tell me. I don’t mind, though; it’s better I look out for Kenny’s interests than anyone else does.’ She looked up at McGurk. ‘So what do you want?’

‘We’d like your permission to go into your hu. . Mr Green’s cottage,’ he told her. ‘It’s in connection with a current investigation. We want to see certain papers and we have reason to believe they might be there. We’ve got a sheriff’s warrant, but it only covers his office.’

‘The cottage, eh,’ Marianne McKean said, a gleam in her eye. ‘God knows what you’ll find in there. I didn’t know the place existed until my lawyer did the property inventory for the divorce, and he was forced to own up to it. As soon as I found out, everything fitted into place. The meetings away from the office, the papers that should have been there but weren’t, the clients whose names. . actually more often their initials. . were in his phone book and his diary but never appeared in the practice accounts, the money held in the clients’ account for people who were totally fictitious, like we didn’t even have their addresses or any record of services provided. I was Ken’s secretary until I split up with him; I was always asking him about that stuff, but he always fobbed me off. I knew he had to have somewhere.’

‘Are you saying that Mr Green was bent?’ asked Haddock.

She looked at him. ‘Ken? Bent?’ She laughed. ‘Bear? Woods? Shit? In business, he liked to give the impression that he was one of those guys who sailed close to the wind but never against it. He sat on Law Society committees, he kept a high media profile, and he never broke the rules in court, for all that he had a reputation as an aggressive cross-examiner. But all the time. . Bent, no, no: that word doesn’t come close to describing him. Don’t even think of corkscrews either; that wouldn’t do him justice. He was the dodgy client’s lawyer of choice. The only thing that was straight about Ken was that he was resoundingly heterosexual. That place of his was a fuck-pit as well, not just for him, but for his pals. One of them confessed as much to me years afterwards.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, you can have my permission to enter the cottage. I’ll give you it in writing, just in case another Ken Green ever questions your right to have gone in there. Good luck; I hope you find what you’re looking for. In fact, since it’s going to be Kenny junior’s, if you want to clear all his dad’s crap out of the place you’ll be doing me a favour.’