G. Moffat - Blindside

‘Run it all past me again,’ Armstrong said to Irvine as he drove. ‘So I’ve got it clear in my head, you know.’

‘Okay. So, Russell Hall used to run Frank Parker’s drug operation.’

‘I got that.’

‘But he left three months ago to join up with Johnson and now this as yet unidentified new boss. This new boss is probably the real owner of the flat that Lewski and Murray lived in — not the accountants.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, it’s all supposition at this point, but Hall was running around in a high-end car which was financed through a company with links to the accountants. Which probably means that they are dirty.’

‘You mean that they launder money for the organisation that Hall’s boss runs?’

‘Correct.’

‘And they are committed enough to their client’s cause to even use some of the money to buy flats for prostitutes and put the flats in their own names.’

‘That way the money looks even cleaner. I mean, it’s not even connected to Hall or the boss in any way.’

‘Right. And if they’re doing stuff as basic as organising finance for cars, it probably means that they have access to all of the financial information for the organisation.’

‘Sounds like we can probably break the whole thing open through their records.’

‘Maybe.’

They parked outside the office and saw immediately that the cars they had seen on their previous visit were not there. Irvine looked at Armstrong.

‘Think maybe they’re on the run after what happened with Hall?’

Armstrong shrugged.

‘Let’s see what we can find out here first.’

The receptionist looked nervous when they walked in.

‘Remember us?’ Irvine said, showing her warrant card.

The woman nodded.

‘They’re not here,’ she said. ‘Haven’t come back since late yesterday.’

‘Is that normal?’

‘Not really. I mean, they missed some meetings this morning and they never do that without telling me.’

‘You called them?’

She nodded again. ‘At home, on their mobiles. I sent them e-mails and texts.’

‘And you haven’t heard from either of them?’

‘No. Is something wrong?’

Irvine felt sorry for her. She had probably received her last ever salary slip from these guys.

‘I think it probably is, yes,’ was what she said. ‘Do you have their home addresses?’

The woman stared straight ahead. ‘I can’t give you those,’ she said.

Armstrong placed his hands on her desk and leaned forward. ‘Look

…’ He glanced at her name badge. ‘… Mary. It’s very likely that your bosses are mixed up with some bad people and are now getting ready to run. If they are not already running. So the sooner you give us the addresses the easier it will be. I mean, we can find them on our own but that will just waste time.’

He stood up to his full height.

‘You want to be seen to be helping us, don’t you? Who knows who will get dragged into this investigation, you know.’

The woman caught the insinuation, her face going two shades paler in an instant. She tapped on her computer and a printer under her desk hummed and spat out a sheet of A4. She handed the sheet to Armstrong.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘What should I do now?’ she asked, her eyes filling and her voice wavering.

‘I suggest you lock up, go home and start looking for a new job,’ Irvine said. She reached over and put her hand on top of the woman’s. ‘You’ll be fine. But call me if you hear anything.’

Irvine put a business card in front of her on the desk. The woman looked at it as though she had never seen one before in her life.

Back in the car, Armstrong asked Irvine what she thought was going on.

‘I have a bad feeling,’ she said.

‘Me too.’

‘I mean, if this guy killed Johnson and Hall, he’ll have no problem taking care of a couple of accountants as well.’

‘Especially if these guys have the keys to his money.’

‘You want to call and get some uniforms over to the houses?’

Armstrong waved the sheet of paper that the receptionist had given to them.

‘No, they’re not far,’ he said. ‘Both in the west end.’

‘We can be there in less than half an hour. You ready for what we might find?’

‘Not really. But what’s that got to do with anything?’

Marshall’s car with the vanity plate was sitting in the driveway of his modern home. It looked as though he had bought an older house and demolished it to build something in glass and steel. Something very expensive.

‘I don’t care how well you’re doing as an accountant,’ Irvine said. ‘There’s no way that a two-partner firm operating out of that office makes enough to allow him to buy something like this.’

‘You’re right.’

‘We should have checked them out more thoroughly.’

She looked at Armstrong and felt the skin on her face stretched tight across her bones.

‘They brought it on themselves,’ Armstrong told her, opening his door and stepping out on to the pavement.

Armstrong walked ahead of Irvine up the driveway, stopping to cup his hands on the driver’s window of the car and looking inside.

‘Nothing,’ he said, turning to Irvine as she came up behind him.

She walked past him to the front door of the house. It was a heavy, oak door — double the size of a standard door. There were glass panels on either side and Irvine looked through one of them into a wide entrance hall. There was nothing immediately out of place that she could see.

‘Looks normal,’ she told Armstrong.

A metal intercom panel was installed on the wall to the side of the door. It looked to Irvine as though it was a video camera device to allow the occupiers to see who was at the door. She pressed a button on the panel and heard a chime inside.

Waited.

Pressed the button again.

Waited.

‘No one’s going to answer,’ she said to Armstrong.

He grabbed the door handle and pulled it down. The door clicked and Armstrong pushed it open. He looked at Irvine. Unsaid between them: not a good sign that the door was unlocked.

They stood together looking inside the house and listening for any sound. It was silent.

‘Does he have a family?’ Irvine asked.

‘Don’t know.’

‘It’s too quiet.’

‘Do you want to call for support?’

‘Armed response?’

He nodded.

Irvine looked inside the house. It felt empty. Or, at least, devoid of life. Whatever that would turn out to mean.

‘No. I don’t think we need to worry about anyone who might be in there.’

He got her meaning. Irvine walked inside.

There was an open staircase at the back of the hall leading up to a first-floor balcony with a glass guard along it. They went through each of the rooms on the ground floor and found nothing until they got to the kitchen at the rear of the house.

It was a high-end installation in black and grey with a central island and the best in appliances that money could buy. Marble-tiled steps led down to a dining area that had a glass roof.

Irvine walked around the island and stopped. She motioned for Armstrong to join her and pointed at the floor.

There was a dark smear of blood on the floor and a splash of it on one of the lower cabinet doors.

‘Looks like it was contained here,’ he said. ‘I mean, there’s no blood trail anywhere else down here.’

Irvine walked closer and saw that a drawer at the end of the island had been left open. There was a collection of towels in the drawer.

‘Probably took a towel from here,’ she said, pointing at the open drawer. ‘And applied it to the wound.’

Armstrong nodded.