Private Investigations - Quintin Jardine Page 0,146

Sullivan’s bar, Lacey’s. It was the night your girlfriend, Marcella, walked out on you, as she told Pye and Haddock. When you saw her again at the party, drink taken, you probably imagined she’d be amenable, given her line of work, so you came on to her . . . way too strong, as it happened. She protested, and you were, not to put too fine a point on it, filled in by another guest.’

Rory winced as he nodded. ‘I thought I could handle myself, but that lad was a fucking psycho.’

‘He was indeed,’ I agreed. ‘Did Walter Hurrell see this happen?’

‘Yes, he did. I had a beef with him afterwards; I wanted to know why he didn’t pitch in. He said that he didn’t want an all-out brawl to develop. He promised me that he’d deal with the guy privately later on.’

‘He dealt with him, all right,’ I said. ‘He recruited him; first of all he paid him five grand to kill Hector Mackail. After he’d done that, he gave him another job, to abduct the child of the other man who, quote, borrowed, unquote, the Princess Alison. The police believe the child was going to be used as leverage to force her father to say what had happened to the boat. It went wrong; Zena died.’

As I was speaking, I was watching Rory like a hawk, never taking my eyes off him, studying his every reaction. At that stage I had only one uncertainty left: did he know anything, anything at all?

His expression as I broke that news gave me my answer; it was pure astonishment, adulterated only with horror, and it was sincere. Sincerity is the hardest thing in the world to fake, and Rory isn’t that gifted.

‘That was him?’ he gasped. ‘The lad I had the battle with? Francey, the fellow who was found shot?’

‘That was him,’ I confirmed. ‘And the woman found dead and burned with him, that was Anna, the dancer you and he fought over. The bullets that killed them, Rory, came from the same gun that was found beside Hurrell’s body, when DI Mann and DS Provan over there went to arrest him.’

He looked across at the two cops. ‘Established,’ Mann said, ‘beyond any doubt. Them, and the bullet that finished off Jock Hodgson, they all came from that gun.’

He gazed at his father. ‘Dad, did the police tell you all this?’

‘Yes,’ Eden whispered. ‘They confirmed it on Saturday.’

‘I’ve been back since Monday, and you haven’t said a word to me?’

‘That’s because he was afraid you were behind it,’ Mario McGuire’s strong voice seemed to startle father and son, ‘scared that Hurrell was acting on your orders. Isn’t it, Mr Higgins?’

‘I’m sorry, Rory,’ Eden admitted. ‘I knew I hadn’t done it; the alternative terrified me.’

‘You thought I was a killer?’

‘I was afraid you might be.’

Rory whistled. ‘What a fucking tragedy that would have been,’ he said, bitterly. ‘What an effect it would have had on the business. That’s what you were really afraid of, Dad.’

‘No!’

‘Come on, we both know it’s true. Higgins Holdings is the child you love most of all. I’m just an employee.’

‘Nonsense!’ Eden protested. ‘That’s not true.’

His son laughed. ‘Dad, I’m a message boy. Every one of the general managers of the subsidiaries is paid more than I am.’

‘Come on, that’s part of the learning process. You know that.’

‘What? Like Marcella over in Destry; a first-class honours graduate sweeping the floor and working the switchboard?’

‘Hah!’ his father retorted. ‘Listen to the poor downtrodden boy who’s just come back from a weekend in Monaco.’

‘This boy’s a qualified pilot,’ Rory shouted back at him, ‘which means you only need to employ one other person on the flight deck.’ I was about to intervene, but he was in full cry, so I let the family bitterness come out. ‘You know what really got to me, Dad? When Mackail, the poor fool you stitched up, knocked you down that flight of stairs in the office, it wasn’t me you shouted to for help. It was Walter.’

Eden turned to me. ‘Do you hear this, Bob?’ he sighed. ‘Help me here.’

‘I wish I could,’ I said. ‘But you know what? I’m standing here and I’m thinking about your sister, God bless and keep her.

‘I’m remembering the time she told me that you wanted her to leave the police and join Dene Furnishing. “As what?” I asked her. “Personnel director? Sales director?” No, she told me, you wanted her to be head of security, and you

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