Unnatural Justice

Thirty -Eight.

This time I didn't bother to phone ahead to arrange an appointment. I put the pedal down, let the Lotus express itself in the single carriage way road back to the motorway, then creamed it through to Edinburgh. I didn't waste time calling Ricky; anyway, I wanted to do this job myself.

From my days of anonymity as a private enquiry agent, I knew where all the city solicitors were based, including Kendall McGuire, although they were one of the few big players I hadn't worked for.

Edinburgh's a real swine of a place to park, even in something as manoeuvrable as my two-seater, but my destination was in the West End, in one of the big circular places where there were always more private homes than offices, so I found a bay without too much difficulty, even though it was forty minutes after midday.

The Kendall McGuire office had a secure main door, which had to be unlocked by the receptionist pressing a switch beneath her desk. I wasn't sure whether its purpose was to keep the clients in or out, but she didn't ask who I was through the intercom before letting me in, so I guessed that it must be the former.

"Oz Blackstone for the news agent I told the blonde behind the desk; everything about her screamed "Harvey Nichols!" at me.

She looked at me from under long eyelashes, unimpressed: they were used to having far bigger Hinwies than me walk through their door, I guessed.

"If you mean, Mr. Smith, please take a seat, and I'll check whether he's in."

I pointed to a wooden 'in-out' board on a wall beside the door, an array of slots, each one bearing a lawyer's name. "That says he is."

She ignored me and pressed a button on her switchboard console.

"Wylie," I heard her say, 'there's a man here to see you. He says his name's…" Her look said that she expected me to remind her, but I knew that she was putting it on; that pissed me off a little.

"Miles Grayson," I snapped, "Rumplefuckingstiltskin, tell him what you like. He's expecting me anyway, I know that."

Unruffled she looked away, lowering her voice this time. Within a minute, a bulky figure came jogging heavily downstairs. This time, he was wearing a jacket over the blue and white striped shirt. "Oz," he exclaimed, 'how good to see you again." I accepted his handshake, but I squeezed a deal harder than was strictly necessary.

"Time will tell, WHS," I responded, quietly, 'time will tell."

"Shall we go for lunch?"

"As long as it's quiet and as long as it's on the Casamayor Trust."

"Of course," he exclaimed, but his laugh was a little forced.

It takes the average Edinburgh taxi firm two minutes to answer a call to a lawyer's office; they know where the money is. We had to wait for a minute and a half. The cab took us the short distance to William Street, and dropped us at a small restaurant called Peter's Cellars. (Say it out loud: if you're of a certain age you might laugh, but the Goon's been dead so long that the joke wore off for most people years ago. Still, the name goes on unchanged, and why not, since the punters keep rolling in.) I'd have walked there happily, but it was uphill all the way, and the day was overcast and humid, so I thought of the strain on Wylie's armpits and went along for the ride.

It turned out that he had a table booked, for two, in a discreet corner alcove.

We chose quickly from the interesting lunch menu, then I got straight to business. "Did you know I was catching the shuttle?" I asked him.

"Or was it an accident? You'd better tell me that it was, because I won't like it if you've been following me." I held his eyes, trying to make him feel as uncomfortable as I could. I don't mind leaning on guys like him: they invite it, almost.

"Pure chance," he replied. "I assure you."

"But you did ask for the seat next to mine when you saw me check in."

He tried to smile. "Yes, I admit that. We're always on the look-out for potential new clients," he added.

"Do you always go about it as unsubtly as that?" I asked him, hoping that our white wine wouldn't be as acid as my tone. Instinctively I liked the guy, but I had no intention of giving him an easy time.

Smith winced. "I'm sorry if I appeared overenthusiastic," he said.

"You did, but apology accepted. Did I let anything slip, incidentally?"

"Pardon?" He looked almost shocked.

"On the plane. Don't kid me; you were on a fishing trip. You told me that you didn't represent Torrent, but I knew all along that you did."

"How could you have?"

"Because I've had people following Natalie Morgan since I first got wind that she might be having a go at our company. I could give you a list of the visits she's made to your office, and it would start before you and I met on the plane."

Wylie looked up at me earnestly; I could tell that he was trying to look totally sincere, a difficult skill for a corporate lawyer to master. "You might never believe this, Oz, but at that time I honestly did not know that we were acting for Torrent. Duncan only let me in on it after I got back to the office. He had said earlier that he'd be grateful for any information that any of us could glean on the Gantry Group, that's all."

I found that I did believe him. "So did I let anything slip?"

"No." He grinned. "Did I?"

"How could you? You didn't know anything, remember. I can tell you something now, though."

"What's that?" he asked, but he didn't look as eager as I'd expected.

"Kendall McGuire will never act for the Gantry Group. Not ever."

"I didn't expect that we would," he said, almost mournfully. "Not now; having been caught in the act, as it were."

I waited as the waiter served our starter. "That's not important, though," I told him, when we were alone once more. "This isn't about Natalie Morgan, it's about the bloke who's been behind her, pulling her strings and orchestrating a concerted, and very clever attack on the Gantry Group share price."

"That had nothing to do with my firm," Smith protested.

"You can tell that to the Law Society if we make a complaint. Duncan Kendall's signature won't be on any documents, but if you expect me to believe that he could fail to work out what was going on, you're taking me for an idiot. And you shouldn't do that. As I speak, there's a guy sitting, courtesy of the Glentruish Trust via Mr. Woolfson of Largs, in what used to be our apartment, Susie's and mine. The Glentruish Trust goes back to the Casamayor Trust, officially based in the Isle of Man, and that, my friend, is you."

The solicitor gave a brief nod. "What do you want to know? I may not be able to answer all your questions, but if I can I will."

"I want to know who the beneficiary of that trust is. I want to know the name of your client."

"I'm not allowed to give you that name. Technically, my client is the Casamayor Trust, and that's all. Legally it leads to another trust, in the Cayman Islands this time, and to another firm of lawyers. It's a real spider's web, constructed to preserve the anonymity of the individual behind it."

"This web," I asked him, 'what's its total worth?"

"I have no idea," he answered. "I am, as a famous boxer once said, just a prawn in the game."

"How about Duncan? Would he know?"

"Why should he? Casamayor's my client, not his."

"He might know because we believe that your spider's web is funding the projected takeover of the Gantry Group by Torrent, and because Kendall's involved in that. There has to be outside money, Wylie.

Natalie isn't big enough on her own to do what she's doing."

He gave me the sincere look again. "Oz," he began. For a moment I thought that he was going to say, "Trust me, I'm a lawyer', and that I'd fall off my chair laughing. But he didn't. "On my children's lives," he said quietly, "I know nothing of what went on involving your company, of any of that carry on in New Bearsden, or of any of the detail of the proposed offer by Torrent for Gantry. The Casamayor Trust isn't involved, though, I can tell you that. If you're right, it's happening further up the chain."

I glared across the small table. "If you mention that chain once more I'll wrap it round your neck and hang you with it. I don't have time to mess about. I want to know who the guy in the flat is, and unless you and Duncan want to have the heaviest book in the Law Society library thrown at you, you will fucking well tell me."

"I can't, Oz," he replied. His smile surprised me, until he continued.

"My specific instruction from the beneficiary is that I must not tell you who he is. Instead, now that you've come asking about him, I am instructed to take you to meet him."

I threw my napkin on the table and stood up. Seeing me, the waiter rushed over. "Is everything all right, Mr. Blackstone?" he asked.

"The food is perfect," I told him. "As good as you'll find in Edinburgh. But I'm afraid that my colleague has just remembered that we're late for an important business meeting in Glasgow. Would you give him the bill, please."