Alex Gray - Five ways to kill a man

Many had gone out into the grey ocean never to return; their sacrifice at the Battle of the Atlantic had been remembered here ever since. But it was not just the memory of sailors lost in the battle that this cross represented. Walking back to the seaward side, Lorimer read the French inscription etched into the rock surface.

A La memoire du capitaine de frigate Biaison des officeurs et de l’equipage du sous-marin ‘Surcoup’ perdu dans l’Atlantique

Fevrier

He thought of the captain and officers of the frigate, Biaison, lost in the Atlantic that February then grimaced. What unimaginable horror had the submarine’s crew endured in that claustrophobic tube as the Surcoup plummeted to the depths of the ocean?

Turning back to look out across the expanse of land that lay between hill and seashore, Lorimer noticed the winter grasses struggling for survival against swathes of rusting bracken. It was cold up here, making him rub his hands together, despite the wind having dropped. The ground seemed gripped still by the iron fist of winter. Letting his gaze wander, Lorimer spied a gorse bush clinging to the edge of the cliff, its few sulphur yellow flowers a defiant reminder that life still continued in every season. And there was life everywhere, from the flat-roofed secondary school on a plateau to his left to the rank upon rank of houses marching down towards the shore, bungalows up here giving way to grey tenements down in the heart of the town. Below him lay the curve of Battery Park, its bright red swings and roundabouts deserted.

It was time to go. Hugh Tannock was expecting him. Yet paying homage here for those few minutes made the Detective Superintendent feel a certain stirring in his blood. There had been sacrifices made by brave men. And somehow the thought of their unswerving duty gave him strength.

Jackson Tannock Technologies lay hidden from prying eyes in a hollow of land near Lyle Hill, its buildings screened behind a plantation of pine and birch trees. If the architect had designed the offices to impress a newcomer then he had succeeded. The white curving walls were an obvious imitation of a ship, the lines to one side forming a bow. Above the main entrance were banks of glass windows evoking the impression of decks on an ocean-going liner. And if the beholder was still uncertain of the visual metaphor, a line of red tiles drew the eye upwards to the scarlet chimney masquerading as a funnel. This building, he had read somewhere, was a homage to the Art Deco buildings of a century before.

The whole thing might have appeared absurd, but it didn’t. Instead it showed the sort of graceful elegance that comes with good design, and that sense of solid permanence — was that meant to evoke a subliminal notion of trustworthiness and integrity? Was it Lorimer’s early training as an art historian that made him see such things so dispassionately? he wondered. Or had the years of policing turned him into a hard-bitten cynic, refusing to accept the message that this building and its creators were trying to convey?

Tannock had been expecting him but Lorimer hadn’t thought the man himself would come to meet him in reception. Looking upwards at an open-plan staircase, he saw a man hurrying down, holding the ends of his jacket around him as if self-conscious of that corpulent figure.

‘Hugh Tannock. Good to meet you, Superintendent.’

Lorimer felt a firm hand in his and saw that Tannock was looking up at him with an expression that was at once warm and curious. There was something about this short, middle-aged fellow that Lorimer immediately liked. He had no difficulty holding the Detective Superintendent’s gaze and the smile on that face made his eyes crinkle up at the corners, giving him the look of a benign and friendly priest. For a second Lorimer had a vision of Tannock clad in a brown habit, a simple cord tied around his rotund frame.

‘Let’s go upstairs, shall we?’ Tannock suggested, already ushering Lorimer back to the pine and steel structure that spiralled upwards. ‘I always like to show off the view from the top,’ he twinkled, as if confiding some secret to the tall policeman.

The room they entered had one wall completely made of glass, from which Lorimer could see the same view that he had so recently enjoyed from the Free French Cross.

‘Not the sort of thing one can fail to boast about, is it?’ Tannock sighed, rubbing his chubby hands as he stood looking over the expanse of hillside and water, glancing back at Lorimer to see what effect the magnificent vista might have on the policeman.

‘Must keep folk off their work,’ he murmured, giving the man a small courteous smile, but hoping to remind him that he, at any rate, was here on official business.

‘Or inspire them?’ Tannock suggested. ‘Shall we have some coffee while we talk about poor Ian, Superintendent?’

The man’s sudden change of subject showed he had judged the Detective Superintendent’s mood to perfection. He was no fool, whatever else he was, thought Lorimer, adding respect to that instinctive liking for the man.

Directing them to a pair of cream-coloured sofas placed so that they could look out over the river, Tannock waited a moment until his visitor was seated then pulled out a BlackBerry from his inside pocket.

‘We’re ready for coffee now, Mattie, thanks,’ he said then turned to Lorimer, ‘Unless you’d prefer tea?’

Lorimer assured him that coffee would be fine then watched as Tannock pulled his trouser legs up a little to prevent them from creasing, before sinking back into the squashy sofa opposite. It was a gesture at once old-fashioned and effete and made Lorimer suddenly recall the men from the war years who had been tutored in those same small, decorous habits.

‘You explained on the telephone that you wanted to talk to me about Ian’s death, Superintendent,’ Tannock began. ‘Has anything new come to light?’

His enquiry was at once grave and hopeful, Lorimer thought.

‘The previous Senior Investigating Officer in charge has retired, sir, and I have been asked to review the case.’

Tannock frowned. ‘Review? Doesn’t that suggest some degree of inefficiency on the part of this officer and his team?’

‘Not necessarily, Mr Tannock,’ Lorimer replied, crossing one leg over the other. But he was saved from giving any further detail by the appearance of an elderly woman bearing a tray of coffee and cakes.

‘There you are, gentlemen. Shall I leave you to pour, Mr Tannock?’ the woman asked, straightening up and obviously anxious to take her leave. Was she uncomfortable in the presence of the police? Lorimer wondered. It didn’t have to be a sign of a guilty conscience, simply an aversion to the sort of seriousness that warranted his presence there.

‘No, thank you, Mattie. That’s fine,’ Tannock assured her.

‘So what do you make of the whole sorry business, Superintendent?’ Tannock continued once the woman had left them.

‘I haven’t had time as yet to evaluate all that the primary reports showed, sir. But I would be grateful for anything you could tell me about the business here and Sir Ian’s involvement in it.’

Tannock leaned forward to set his cup down before replying.

‘Sir Ian was my business partner. We owned Jackson Tannock Technologies between us.’

‘And now?’

‘Ian and Pauline’s shares will be passed on to his son and daughter, naturally. Between them they now hold over thirty percent of the share capital.’ Tannock paused. ‘It will be worth in excess of eight hundred million, I should think. Euros, that is. We always deal in euros nowadays for our market investors.’

Lorimer swallowed a gulp of hot coffee, trying not to splurt it out in astonishment. Eight hundred million euros. The figure had been spoken as if it were nothing out of the ordinary in a climate of worldwide recession. If he’d been looking for motive in any shape or form, surely he had found it here?