Quintin Jardine: Poisoned Cherries

Ewan came storming out of the lift; I could see that he was in full Skinner mode, locked and loaded, ready for a fight. He blinked when he saw Alison, but his expression stayed hard. I led him through to the kitchen, where Ricky was waiting, and closed the door on Oliver, leaving him in the living room.

‘Okay,’ Capperauld boomed. ‘This had better be the story of a lifetime, Ross, or your security career will be over.’

His anger was so impressive that for that important moment Ricky was struck dumb. I wasn’t, though; I had seen him act before. ‘Come here,’ I said, beckoning him over to the work-surface, and pointing towards what lay on it.

‘This is the menu you signed for Susie last night.’

‘So?’

I took the book from my back pocket, opening it at the place I had marked and laid it beside the card. ‘And this is Anna Chin’s autograph book. Let me tell you about Anna. She was James Torrent’s front office receptionist, and she had a harmless hobby. Every time a celebrity signed into the building, she asked them to sign her autograph book as well. Nearly all of them did. Every signature in that book is matched by a signature on the Torrent registration sheets. . every one except yours, that is.

‘Let me tell you two more things about Anna. Maybe they’re new to you, maybe they’re not. First, she was having it away with your late cousin David; she’s one reason he dumped Alison. Second, last Friday night someone killed Anna in the office, at her desk, and tried to set it up so that the police would find Alison there.’

I looked at Ewan. ‘That’s appalling, Oz,’ he said, ‘but how does it justify you hauling me out of my bed in the middle of the night? It’s just as well Margaret’s gone back to London, by the way, or there would have been an explosion bigger than you can imagine.’

‘Have you heard any news bulletins today?’ I asked him.

‘No. Should I?’

‘I reckon so. If you had, you’d have heard that James Torrent was stabbed to death in his home overnight. The murder weapon was a paperknife which someone stole from Alison’s office. The police are looking for her now, and in the morning, Ricky’s going to have to take her in. He’s got no choice, or he’s in the crapper too.

‘When he does, he’s going to take that card and that book with him. He’s going to tell the police about James Torrent suddenly going all coy about your opening his building, when a couple of weeks before only the Greatest Living Scotsman would do.

‘Torrent thought you had never been in his building, yet if you look at the dates of the signatures after yours in Anna’s books, it appears that even when he gave Alison an ultimatum to get you there, you had been. We just want to know why, Ewan, that’s all.’

‘Then you can get stuffed.’ The anger was gone from his voice, though. He was playing a scene he hadn’t rehearsed.

‘Fine. Then we’ll go to the police, and they will interview you, for sure; discreetly, I would imagine. You’ll maybe tell them that Anna stopped you in the street, and they’ll leave it at that. If you’d told me that rather than telling me to get stuffed, I might just have believed you myself.

‘But you didn’t, so this is what’s going to happen. As soon as the police call you in for a chat, or even call on you, I’m going to tip off the tabloids, all of them, that you’ve been detained for questioning in connection with the murders of your cousin, Anna Chin and James Torrent.

‘I don’t know who or what you’re trying to protect here, Ewan, but you are not going to do it at Alison’s expense, or Ricky’s, or mine. You might think you can keep this under wraps, but I promise you, you do not have a fucking chance.’

I leaned back on the work-surface and looked at him, letting what I’d said sink in, staring hard in the hope that he’d know I wasn’t bluffing. . because I wasn’t. Alison and Ricky stood there silent beside me.

The wait seemed as long as any I’d ever known. The seconds seemed to be stretched like thick elastic as they passed. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and his teeth snapped together, but then he closed it again, and another elongated minute began. Looking at him, I knew what he was doing; the guy was rehearsing, mentally. The next thing he said was going to be very important, so he could not afford to falter over a single line.

Finally, he gathered himself, and nodded, as if he was a director satisfied with his own performance. He looked at Ricky, then at me, and finally at Alison.

‘Do you know what sort of a little shit your late fiance was, my dear?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘He was the worst kind I know; a blackmailer.’

His delivery and timing were perfect. He held her eyes for a few seconds then turned back to me. ‘You’ve had a colourful career with the ladies, Oz; I know that much about you.’ (Spot on, Ewan; you’ve got my attention. That deals with the why; I could guess the who, but it wouldn’t be right. You’re on stage; you’re in the spotlight.)

‘It all began at a dinner party in Edinburgh, about six months ago. My private investments are handled by one of the oldest partnerships in town. They invited me to be their guest one night, along with a few other key clients. I went alone; Margaret was detained in London on business. As it happened, James Torrent, another of their important investors, was out of town that night too. He sent his niece, Natalie, in his place.’ (Of course he did. Who else in that set-up had the class to have pulled Capperauld?)

‘I was fascinated by her. You’ve met her, Oz. you must have, when you visited Torrent. . so you’ll understand when I say that there’s more depth to her than any woman I’ve ever known.’ He smiled, summoning up some classic wistfulness. ‘It was instant and it was mutual. It was faintly ludicrous, too; here we were, surrounded by elderly fund managers, people more staid than you could ever imagine, with lightning shooting between us. You have to understand, Oz, that this was not normal behaviour from me. I love my wife, and I’d never been unfaithful to her before, although it goes without saying that in our business one has plenty of opportunities.’ (Too right there, mate; I’d have been sorted with at least one of the four in the Kwei Linn if I’d fancied it.)

‘We left there as soon as we could and took a taxi to the Balmoral. I wasn’t staying with my parents on that trip; I had a suite there. We drank a little champagne, talked into the small hours and then went to bed.

‘The affair was in earnest from then on. That’s all it was, though; a fling, for her as well as me. We were very discreet. We conducted it either in Edinburgh, at her place, or on neutral ground; in Paris, once, when I had a premiere; in Madrid on another occasion, when I had a meeting with a producer. Natalie confided in no one, and naturally neither did I.’

He paused. I opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water and gave it to him. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and took a drink.

‘Then,’ he continued, ‘I made my only mistake. We had an assignation in Edinburgh, one Friday evening. I flew in on the shuttle and took a cab from the airport. I called Natalie on my mobile, to let her know that I’d arrived. Her car was being serviced, so she asked me to pick her up from the office.

‘It was six-thirty when I arrived. Anna Chin was still there. I told her I’d come for Miss Morgan, and she paged her. Then she produced her autograph book, and I signed it. Technically, of course, I was never in the building, so I didn’t sign anything else.’

He gave a beautifully wry smile. ‘How was I to know that the girl. . the poor sad girl. . was my cousin’s lover, or that she wouldn’t be able to resist telling him who had called for Miss Morgan and whom she had kissed in the hallway, before they left? How was I to know?’