Alex Gray - The Riverman

‘That better?’ Lorimer grinned as Michael Turner wiped the last of his egg yolk with a piece of bread.

‘Wonderful,’ he sighed. ‘Thanks for that. I thought I’d be taken straight into some interview room and grilled for hours.’

‘Is that what they did in New York?’ Solly asked.

Michael turned his attention to the man with the thick dark beard. ‘Not really. They were surprisingly quick about things. Asked me all about what had happened, of course, but they seemed to know the man who had kidnapped me.’ He made a face. ‘Sounds silly, doesn’t it? Kidnapped. Like something out of a children’s story.’ He paused to swallow some tea. ‘I think it won’t be long before they catch up with him either.’ He shrugged. ‘Just a few hints they were dropping. Anyway my passport and other things were returned to me after they’d spent half a day finding out I was who I said I was.’ A sudden yawn caught him unawares and he blinked and smiled ruefully.

‘So,’ Lorimer began slowly, ‘the US police sent you back home? Just like that?’

Turner nodded. ‘I was told that a report would be sent to Strathclyde Police in time but that I was to contact you as soon as I came off the plane.’

‘But you called Mrs Adams first,’ Solly reminded him gently.

‘Yes,’ Turner frowned. ‘Actually I called to speak to Malcolm, but …’ he trailed off as Lesley Adams bit her lip.

‘Yes. That was good of you to bring Mr Turner in to see us so promptly,’ Lorimer told her, ‘but I think we can let you go back home now.’

Lesley Adams opened her mouth to speak but Lorimer shook his head. ‘We’ll let you know as soon as there are any developments about finding your husband,’ he told her. ‘Being here is no help either to you or to us. What if he should contact you at home?’ he added. The woman sniffed and swallowed, holding back tears that would undoubtedly spill the moment she was on her own. ‘You must remember what we agreed, Mrs Adams. Not a word to anybody that Michael Turner is here. And alive,’ Lorimer warned her.

The debriefing was almost over and Michael Turner could soon be taken away to catch up with some sleep. That whole episode in the man’s life would be bizarre were it not for the events that had taken place here in Glasgow.

Now they had been able to fill in some of the blanks. Turner hadn’t known about Duncan’s death; he’d been on a plane out of the country before the news had reached his other colleagues. Jenny’s death had affected him most, he admitted. She’d been with him at the going-away party, but hadn’t spent all night with him. They’d had a few hours in bed together before she’d returned to her own flat and he prepared for his journey to New York. The first he’d known about the murders was when he’d spoken to Malcolm Adams, shortly before his escape. He’d been shocked, of course he had, but getting out of that place was the most important thing then. It was only later, when that farmer had taken him in that he’d been able to make some sense of it all.

JJ had lived there with his family years before, the farmer had told him. A bad lot, the Jacksons, and young Jimmy had been the worst of them all. Old man Jackson had been shot one Saturday night. Sheriff was sent for but Jimmy, or JJ, as he called himself, just vanished clean away. Hadn’t seen him since. Family had left one by one, the old lady dead and gone. Old house had been left just as it was until the day that vehicle had rolled off the highway. All this the farmer had told Turner and retold it to the local police who had driven Michael back from Alabama to New York. Nobody had said so in as many words, but Turner had enough hints to guess that JJ was already on the NYPD’s most-wanted list.

Now Lorimer probed a little more deeply. Why had Turner been seconded to the New York branch of their accountancy firm? Why not someone else? It had proved an uncomfortable few minutes as Turner reluctantly admitted his surprise at being chosen for the New York posting when he had anticipated promotion within the Glasgow firm. And the business with JJ? He’d assumed the man was a major thief, trying to access Forbes Macgregor’s bank accounts. Had a ransom been put up for him? Lorimer shook his head and watched as the young accountant’s face became puzzled. Then why had he been captured? And what had been going on with the transfer of money from Graham West’s account?

‘Maybe you can answer that for me,’ Lorimer told him. ‘Cast your mind back to the time before you left. Was there anything untoward going on in Forbes Macgregor? Anything that might have been behind Duncan Forbes’ murder?’

Michael Turner looked lost and weary. So much had happened to him and jet lag was obviously not too far away.

‘Think!’ Lorimer urged him. ‘Was there anything you knew about? Anything that wasn’t common knowledge?’

A sudden light came into the man’s eyes at that and he raised his head.

‘Duncan said that,’ he told Lorimer. ‘Those were his very words. “Don’t let this become common knowledge, will you, Michael?”’ Turner gazed beseechingly at the DCI. ‘I didn’t tell a single soul, truly I didn’t!’

‘What was it that he asked you to keep so secret, Michael?’ Lorimer asked, his blue eyes fixing on the man.

Michael Turner shrugged, ‘Nothing really. Just a routine sort of thing. Thought I should let Duncan know that there was an aberration in one of our client’s audits. Funds had been transferred to deposit accounts then moved on immediately.’

Solly frowned. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘It’s a typical hallmark of money laundering,’ Lorimer told him.

Turner seemed to wake up at that moment. ‘That’s right. We have a duty to report it. I decided to tell Duncan and that was the last I heard of it.’ He looked at Lorimer intently. ‘I never thought any more of it. Duncan said he’d take care of things, besides …’ he trailed off, an expression of horror crossing his face. ‘Oh, my God! That’s what happened!’

‘What, Michael? For goodness sake, what happened?’

‘It was Jacobs Betting Shops,’ he faltered. ‘They were part of an international consortium; if they were laundering huge sums of money and Duncan found out about it, no wonder someone wanted him dead.’

‘But wouldn’t Duncan Forbes have told his other partners what was going on?’ Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Lorimer rose from his seat. The answer to that question was the key to this whole case. Elizabeth Forbes had told him something had been on her husband’s mind. Now he knew exactly what that something was. His thoughts racing, Lorimer left Turner in the care of police liaison and summoned up the troops.

‘Try the offices first. Devoy and Barr should be there. Bring them both in.’ Lorimer was grim-faced as he issued orders to the team. There was still no trace of Malcolm Adams.

‘Cameron, you and DS Wilson get officers down to each and every one of Jacobs’ betting shops. I want every bit of computer hardware seized now! Tell Iain MacKenzie he’s to issue a warrant!’

Niall Cameron had looked astonished. Nobody, but nobody, told a Fiscal what he was to do.

One by one his officers left for their different assignments until only the dark figure of Solomon Brightman remained, standing thoughtfully in a corner of the room.

‘Well?’ Lorimer glowered at the psychologist. ‘What now?’

Solomon pushed himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against. ‘Now we wait.’

‘Wait? What do we wait for?’

‘To see what they say. Barr and Devoy. One of them isn’t going to tell you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’ He grinned suddenly, pulling an imaginary forelock. ‘And,’ he added, ‘I’d love to be a fly on the wall when we tell them about Michael Turner.’