Quintin Jardine - Lethal Intent

'That's a first,' said Greatorix. 'I've never been interviewed before. What's it about?'

'What do you know about Cleopatra Murtagh, sir?' asked Steele.

'Tommy's sister? Could Andy not tell you that?'

'I could have given him gossip, Rod. I'd rather he heard it from you.'

'If you must.' The older man sighed. 'The girl is believed to be the daughter of my brother-in-law, Brindsley Groves; her mother was his mistress for years, until she died, in fact.'

'Believed to be?'

'All right, then, she is his daughter. I had it out with Brindsley at the time and he admitted it to me. He promised that he'd never acknowledge her publicly, but he said that he'd always look after her.'

'Did he make the same promise about Tommy?' Martin's question took his colleague by surprise.

'Why should he?'

'Because Tommy's his son; the official version, the father's death, that's all balls. His mother was single, not a widow, and she lived in York while Brindsley was a student there.'

'Hell's teeth!' Greatorix hissed. 'So it wasn't just a case of looking after him because he was shagging his mother.'

'To come back to the girl, sir,' Steele intervened. 'What happened to her?'

'I don't know. Brindsley sent her to college somewhere, and that was the last I heard of her. Why?'

'Because she's dead: she committed suicide in jail ten years ago, after being convicted of killing a child in her care. The verdict was later overturned.'

'Would Brindsley know that?'

'It's reasonable to suppose that her mother might have told him, she was still alive at the time … or that Tommy might, for that matter. He was on the Groves payroll then. But it doesn't matter who told him; he does know, that's for sure. The Groves Foundation's been paying an income to her husband ever since… and to Tommy Murtagh, incidentally'

'The bastard,' Greatorix swore. 'What if those payments can be traced? If my sister ever finds out…'

'Are you sure she doesn't know already?'

'Brindsley promised she never would. He told me he supported the girl through the mother's wage packet.'

'What about your nephew and niece?'

'Herbie heard some gossip when he came home from school one summer and started knocking around with the local lads; he'd have been sixteen at the time. He came to me and, again, I made him promise to keep it from his mother. He did, although he told his dad he wanted fuck all to do with him or his business. I don't think Rowena ever knew. She's a snooty wee cow and she never mixed with Dundee kids.'

'Your brother-in-law is late fifties, sir, yes?'

'Fifty-eight.'

'What sort of shape's he in for his age? Good, bad, any major health problems?'

Greatorix laughed. 'You must be kidding. He's a bloody monster. He was an international cyclist when he was young and he still rides his bike; he belongs to the local wheelers. They go up to Montrose and back once a month, and sometimes do longer trips than that. He rides horses too, and he leads a company team in the London Marathon every year. They're his big hobbies, them and his clocks: he collects them and rebuilds them; he's always tinkering with the bloody things.'

He paused, blew his nose and then looked at Steele, sharply. 'You know, you've got me wondering what all this is leading up to, son. But before you get round to telling me, let me stop you. I don't want to know. I'd do nothing for Brindsley, but I'd do everything in my power to protect my sister so, please, don't put me in an awkward position.'

'Fair enough, Rod,' said Martin. 'That's us done anyway.' He and Steele stood. 'I think you should speak to your sister, but for now just you sit there and fester, we'll see ourselves out.'

The inspector nodded. 'Yes, thank you, sir. I hope the flu clears up soon. By the way,' he continued, 'that's a really nice path you've got up to the house; very unusual stone. I've been thinking of renewing my place. Did you do that or was it there when you bought this house?'

'No,' the chief superintendent replied. 'That's one of the few advantages in having Brindsley for a brother-in-law. He has a stoneyard, and those were cut there. You'll never be able to find anything like them down in Edinburgh: they're grey granite and they'll never wear out.'

The Scottish Parliament building and its ever-spiralling cost had become an albatross hung round the neck of the restored legislature, but Aileen de Marco had refused to join the ranks of those who railed against it. She was fond of pointing out to the critics that many of the hotel casinos on the Strip in Las Vegas had cost much more, and that in England there were football stadia under construction which were in the same price bracket, or even more expensive.

As she reached the doorway to the chamber, her papers in her hand and Lena McElhone by her side, she felt serene. In the previous twenty-four hours her life had been stood on its head and her future changed. Against that background, she faced her biggest challenge, but she was ready for it.

As she looked into the impressive chamber in which the Parliament sat, Aileen became aware of a figure by her side. 'Ready to go?' Tommy Murtagh whispered.

She smiled down at him, his moustache and his chemically assisted hair, all the happier that she had chosen a pair of her highest heels. 'Never more so, First Minister,' she replied. 'I'm going to do you proud.' She saw him start, and knew that she had taken him aback.

She took her seat, looking around, noting once more all of the features of the fine modern hall, as Sir Stuart MacKinnon, the Presiding Officer, led the members through the business of the day, waiting patiently for her turn to be called. At last it came.

She made her way to the lectern from which ministers addressed the house, laid her folder down and took her notes and briefing from it. 'Mr Presiding Officer,' she began, in a strong clear voice, 'I come here today, as Justice Minister, to present a bill which will make certain changes to the way in which the police service is run in this country.' As she spoke, she saw a tall figure slide unnoticed into a seat in the public gallery. He was dressed in slacks, a black roll-neck sweater and a sheepskin-lined bomber jacket; his steel-grey hair was ruffled and he looked in need of a night's sleep.

'Members will know,' she continued, 'that I was fairly recently appointed to my present post. They will also be aware that parliamentary bills are not drafted overnight. Therefore while I am privileged to be laying this enactment before you, it would be ungracious of me to allow you to believe that I am its author.'

She picked up the speech, which the First Minister's office had prepared for her, and began to read from it. 'The legislation which is set before you will confer upon the First Minister certain rights. He will confirm every appointment at assistant, deputy and chief constable rank, and he will approve all short-lists for interview. In addition, he will have the power to intervene directly in the management of the police, and to impose sanctions. It should be made clear that these powers are sought as a means of safeguarding society against incompetence and excessive zeal, and against their consequences. Of course,' she focused on the paper in her hand, 'these powers are to be seen as benevolent. They will give the police a new degree of openness and a new degree of accountability, and they will be exercised responsibly and in the public interest.'

She laid the speech down, then lifted the printed bill and waved it. 'There you have it, all clear and succinct, a piece of legislation which has the support of our coalition partners, and I believe of the Scottish Socialist Party.' She looked towards the Presiding Officer. 'Incidentally, sir, may I take this opportunity to congratulate our partners on the appointment of one of their number to the new Cabinet post which was announced yesterday morning.'