By All Means (Fiske and MacNee Mysteries Book 2) (28 page)

He rose. ‘Thank you, First Minister.  We will be in touch if we need to speak to you again.’

*

The accused men were brought to NEC HQ from Aberdeen Prison on Monday morning.  MacIlwraith was taken directly to an interview room where Fiske and MacNee and MacIlwraith's solicitor were waiting for him.   Mathieson and MacIver were taken to cells in the custody suite.  Their lawyers had been told that neither man would be questioned before 1100 hrs.

DCI Fiske began by asking MacIlwraith about his relationship with Simon Mathieson.

'How long have you two known each other?'

'You know the answer to that.  We met at university.  Glasgow. In 2001.'   His lawyer touched MacIlwraith's arm to warn him against showing any emotion in his answers, as he had advised him in private.

'How did you meet?  Simon was studying computer science.  You were doing history and politics, so you wouldn't have been in the same classes.'

'We were in the same club.'

'What kind of club, Andy?'

MacIlwraith shifted a bit in his chair and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. 'Political.'

'What kind of political?'

Fiske and MacNee were finding this slow process of discovery pretty tedious, but Vanessa was determined not to do anything that might be construed as leading the accused, much less putting words in his mouth.

'Nationalist.'

'I assume you mean Scottish Nationalist.'  MacIlwraith nodded and then, for the tape, said. 'Yes.'

'What was he club called?'

'The Scottish Freedom Club.  It was the student branch of the SFP.'

'The Scottish Freedom Party?'

Again, MacIlwraith nodded and said, 'Yes.'

Vanessa leaned forward, looked closely at MacIlwraith, and asked, 'That wasn't the only student Nationalist club, though, was it?'

'No. There was the Scottish Nationalist Association as well.’

'So why did you choose the SFC?'

'I thought they were more serious.  More committed to Scotland's independence.'

'More likely to take direct action to achieve it?'

A warning glance from his lawyer made him pause before he said, 'No comment.'

Vanessa indicated to MacNee that he should take over.

'Andy, did you remain active in the SFP after you left university?'

'No comment.'

'Did you stay in touch with Simon Mathieson?'

'No comment.'

'You didn't finish your degree, did you?'

'No.'

'Why was that?'

MacIlwraith looked contemptuous, as if the question hardly merited his attention. 'Because I failed my exams.'

'Too busy working for independence.'

The lawyer touched his client's arm and said, 'I don't think that was a question, Inspector.'

Colin smiled and moved on.  'So you left uni without a degree.  Can you tell me what jobs you've had in the last eight years?'

'I've done some voluntary work and some casual jobs.'

'I assume the voluntary work was unpaid and the casual jobs were cash in hand.  Have you ever earned a wage or salary?'

'Only when I was living here. In Aberdeen.  I worked for a while as a porter at GRH''

'That ended some time last year, which brings us back to where we were when we last spoke.  You've been receiving payments monthly into your Co-op Bank account for at least five years.  You admitted to me that the payments had gone up from £200 to £750 about six months ago.  And I think you were about to tell me who was sending the money. Will you tell me now?'

MacIlwraith looked at his lawyer, who nodded.

'I don't know for certain, but I think Paul MacIver had something to do with it.  All it said on my statement was 'SF Club.'

'Thank you, Andy.  That helps me a lot.  And it may help you, too.'

'When did you last see Paul MacIver?  To speak to, I mean.'  Vanessa had decided to push the interview along.

'I don't think I've seen him since uni.  He was in the SFC as well.  But he went abroad and then he sold out.'

'Sold out?  What does that mean?'

'He turned out to be a careerist.  Joined the SNP.  You know the rest.'

Colin MacNee indicated to Vanessa that he wanted a word in private.  She suspended the interview, apologised to MacIlwraith and his lawyer for the interruption, and followed Colin into the corridor.

'I didn't want to say this in there, without consulting you, but that sounded to me like a prepared response.  Every radical organisation I've ever had anything to do with has used the words "sold out" and "careerist" to describe anyone who works in the political mainstream, especially if they started elsewhere.  And he said he hadn't "seen" MacIver, not that he hadn't spoken to him or otherwise been in contact with him.'

'OK.  He's pretty well given us MacIver as the source of his funds, but claims not to have seen him. I'll point out the contradiction to him but its odds on he'll now start to "no comment". And I'll have to ask him about his continuing connection with Mathieson.'

DCI FIske was right.  MacIlwraith said he had seen Mathieson "a couple of times" since he left university and MacIver not at all.   When challenged about the texts to MacIver's burner from one of his mobile phones, he declined to comment. And he refused to confirm or deny that he remained a member of, or committed to the policies of, the Scottish Freedom Party.  The interview was over by quarter to eleven.

*

Mathieson maintained his silence when confronted with MacIlwraith's admission about the money received from the SF Club and his assumption that MacIver was involved.  He said that he had known MacIlwraith at university but had lost touch with him after he dropped out at the end of his second year.  He was a little unsettled only when DCI Fiske asked him to explain why he had made calls from his mobile to a disposable phone owned by Paul MacIver, but he composed himself enough to say "no comment".

Vanessa then turned to the sophisticated computer equipment that had been found in his flat.

'It's way beyond what's necessary for home computing and I'm told that there's enough computing power there to run a medium-sized business.  What were you using it for?'

'I studied computer science at uni.  It's a hobby.'

'Expensive kit.  How do you afford it?  When was the last time you had the kind of job where you pay National Insurance and PAYE?'

'No comment.'

'We'll just assume that MacIver was paying for it and see if a jury agrees with us.'

Mathieson's lawyer touched his client's arm.  'I didn't hear a question, Inspector.'

Vanessa smiled ironically. 'Funnily enough, I'm not hearing many answers. But let's move on.  Our IT experts have told me that your laptop is configured to control the rest of your kit and that it's all set up to launch a cyber attack.  Are they right?'

'No comment.'

'Did you hack into the systems of a company called Mercury Fulfilment and disable them?'

A trace of a smile and then, 'No comment.'

'OK.  That'll do for now.  I think we've got enough for the prosecution to convince a jury.'

*

'Mr MacIver, please tell me about your banking arrangements?'  DCI Fiske and DI MacNee sat in an interview room opposite Paul MacIver and his lawyer.

The lawyer nodded. 'I have a current account with RBS, into which my salary is paid, and a cash ISA that I pay into monthly by direct debit.'

'No other accounts?'

'No comment.'

'We have found another account in your name, in another bank.'  Vanessa quoted the account number.  'Can you confirm that this is your account?'

'No comment.'

'Its got your name on it, so we are going to assume that it's yours.  A substantial amount has been paid into it monthly for the last six months.  Well over £2000.  From an account in the British Virgin Islands.   Who is sending that money and why?'

'No comment.'

'You are also a co-signatory of a third account, this one in the name of the SF Club?  Will you confirm that is the case?'

'No comment.'

'The account records show that for the last six months, £1500 has been transferred, immediately after the funds arrive from BVI, to that SF Club account, and then, also immediately, £750 has been transferred to two other accounts, one in the name of Simon Mathieson and one in the name of Andrew MacIlwraith.  Can you explain these transactions?'

'No comment.'

'Payments to Mathieson and MacIlwraith go back at least five years, but they increased substantially six months ago, just as the BVI payments began.  Can you explain this?'

'No comment.'

Vanessa looked at Colin and shook her head.  'It's pretty clear, Mr MacIver, that you have no intention of co-operating with us.  Interview concluded at 11.20.'

*

'So, what now, boss?.'   Colin MacNee was in Vanessa Fiske's office, looking over the notes he had taken during the interviews. 'Apart from MacIlwraith partially incriminating MacIver, we're not much further forward.'

'It makes the circumstantial case a bit stronger, but we need more. We need to have another go at Mancuso and Gilbertson.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

At noon EDT on Monday, 1700 hrs GMT, the board of Burtonhall Inc. met at the company’s corporate HQ in Wilmington, Delaware. Richard Seaton, the former US Secretary of State was in the chair. Cy Packard, the CEO, was immediately to his right.  On the left hand side of the table, as Seaton looked at it, sat James Roskill and two other members of the board, the billionaire investor from the Midwest and the Putin-supporting Russian oligarch.   The Indonesian politician turned businessman was on the television screen on the wall opposite Seaton and Packard.   Jack Eisner, Don Hamnett, Head of Human Resources, General Counsel Magnus Friedkin, and Charlie Fillmore, the Chief Investment Officer, sat opposite the non-executive members of the board.   The mood was sombre.  There was no small talk.  Meetings of the full board were infrequent and it was unusual, if not quite unheard of, for Packard to insist on a face-to-face meeting in Wilmington.  A dispensation had been agreed for the Indonesian because of travel difficulties.  The business to be transacted, they all knew, was serious.

‘Gentlemen, the CEO persuaded me of the necessity of calling this meeting of the Board.  For security reasons, he also persuaded me that we should be – how shall I say? – circumspect about the nature of the agenda.   Thank you all for making yourselves available and for attending, as it were, blind.’   

Seaton smiled, but there was no warmth in it.  He turned to Packard.

‘Cy, please inform the board of the business of the meeting.’

‘Thank you, chairman.   Members of the board are already aware of the’ – he seemed to be searching for the right word – ‘difficulties that we have been experiencing with two of our major investments in the United Kingdom.   A couple of weeks ago, there were two murders in the North East of Scotland.  Both occurred at Burtonhall facilities, the Grampian Royal Hospital, which is managed by Hedelco;  and the Vermont One oil platform, owned and operated by Ebright Offshore Drilling.  Both victims were engaged on inspections of processes and procedures on behalf of the operating companies.   The police in Scotland have, apparently, ruled out a purely commercial motive for the killings, but the investigation, and the publicity and politics around it, have caused certain facts that we would have wished to remain confidential to become public.   Some of our most important investors have become nervous.  But, more importantly, local management has recommended expenditure to deal with actual and perceived shortcomings, at the hospital and on the oil platform, which will make it very difficult – impossible in the case of the hospital – for these businesses to remain profitable in the short to medium term.’

Friedkin and Fillmore nodded in agreement, and Fillmore began to distribute to the board a detailed analysis of the financial position of Hedelco and Ebright.

Packard continued.  ‘Our prospectus offers potential investors a return on their money within three years.  That is not possible with these businesses. In the past, we have divested ourselves of loss making investments, sometimes before they have posted any actual losses.’  Packard knew that his colleagues would recognise the significance of this last comment:  if losses are real rather than anticipated, the price in the market falls.  So far, officially and on the basis of published accounts, both Hedelco and Ebright were in profit.  But speculation in the financial press had already undermined their value.

‘You will see from the figures that Charlie has prepared that the costs of putting things right at the hospital and on the platform are considerable.  And there is no guarantee that the expenditure would produce the kind of returns that our investors expect.  We need to respond to the negative publicity by announcing that we will put things right.  But I am recommending that, in parallel, we seek buyers for these businesses.’

The American billionaire was first to speak.  ‘Two things will depress the price we can expect to get.  Number one, the fact that we are pulling out.  Number two, we have to get the Brits to agree before we can transfer the hospital contract.’

Charlie Fillmore indicated that he wanted to speak.  ‘On the first, we will test the market as discreetly as we can.  And on the second, we will find a prospective buyer before we approach the Scottish’ – he emphasised the word – ‘Government.’

‘Still makes it a buyer’s market.’

‘Not a lot we can do about that.’ Packard said.  ‘We need to compare any possible loss with what it would cost to keep these businesses, not with what we paid for them.’

The oligarch said that he agreed.  The Indonesian indicated, reluctantly, that he would support the CEO’s recommendation.  James Michael Roskill said nothing.

*

'There are persistent rumours in the City that Roskill is setting up offshore shell companies as vehicles for acquisitions of going concerns, funded partly from his own resources and partly by sovereign wealth funds operating as private equity investors.' 

Ben Aaronson and Andy Hanna were in a bistro in Canary Wharf on Sunday afternoon.   Aaronson had insisted that he was speaking entirely off the record and that he would not, in any circumstances appear in court to talk about his investigations.

'Then why are you talking to me at all?', Andy asked.

'Because I'd like to nail some of these bastards and I don't think the occasional exposé in the broadsheet press is going to do it.   I blog about it, as do some other members of  FRIG - I know, I know, but we couldn't resist it - the Financial Reporting and Investigating Group, but people like Roskill seem just to carry on regardless, moving their money from one tax haven to another, claiming they're doing nothing illegal.'

'Well, usually they're not, are they?'

Aaronson took a sip of his mineral water and looked very intently - scarily so, Andy thought - at Hanna and said, 'You know, I don't give a stuff if it's illegal.  It's immoral, it's evil and it's impoverishing people who have little enough already.  And if I can help to stop it, I will.  That's why I’m freelance and spend nearly half my time working for FRIG.'

Andy was taking notes because Aaronson didn't want to be recorded.  He looked up from his notebook, reached for his pint of
Peroni
, and asked, 'How reliable are these rumours?  Are you going to write about them?'

'I may mention them in my blog.   I think they're pretty firm but I don't have enough convince an editor.'

'But why would Roskill be doing it?  He's already loaded and his directors' fees and what he gets from investments like Burtonhall must produce a pretty sizeable income on top of his pension.'

'Greed.  Simple as that.  Some people can't get enough, even if they have nothing more to spend it on.  I think that Roskill couldn't believe how easy it was to monetize his political career and so he just goes on doing it.  Nothing wrong with that except the way he does it.  He seems to see nothing immoral about avoiding and evading tax.  He's a hypocrite and he deserves to be stopped.'

Andy Hanna was beginning to feel a little unsettled by Aaronson’s radical zeal, so he decided to turn the conversation to the practicalities of Roskill's activities.

'How would he go about acquiring these "going concerns"?   And why would he want to do it offshore and, I assume, anonymously?'

'The world of private equity investment - buying and selling "entities", as they call them, that are not traded on public stock exchanges - is very dynamic, with firms investing and disinvesting all the time, for all sorts of reasons.  One group of investors believes they can't turn a profit where another believes it can, so the "entity" leaves the portfolio of one fund and ends up in the portfolio of another.'

'So, to take a random example', Andy smiled wryly, 'if Burtonhall decided to sell Hedelco, or Ebright, or both, they could probably find a buyer.'

'Oh, yes!'

'Is it possible that Roskill is positioning himself to do that?'

'It's possible.  The insider trading rules for publicly quoted companies don't apply to the Wild West world of private equity, so his directorship of Burtonhall wouldn't be a legal impediment.  I don't think you need me to comment on the ethics.'

*

Fiske and MacNee knocked on the door of Martin Gilbertson’s cottage in Fetteresso at eight o’clock on Sunday morning.   Neither Neil Derrick nor Janet MacNee had been best pleased when their partners informed them that they were going to be working on Sunday morning.   Colin’s children were supposed to be his priority at the weekend and Vanessa and Neil usually had a long lie in.  The detectives had used almost exactly the same phrases in explanation:  the speed of the investigation was out of their hands; the politics meant that they needed to close the case quickly;  even Esslemont was working today.

Neil and Janet may not have appreciated it, but the fact that the DCS was coming into HQ to be available to interview the accused men if information collected from Gilbertson and Mancuso made it necessary to do so, was the most compelling of the reasons given by their partners.   It was a very long time since Esslemont had not been on the golf course on a sunny Sunday.

‘Good morning, Mr Gilbertson,’ Vanessa Fiske said, as a surprised and pyjama-clad Martin Gilbertson looked round the door.  ‘I hope this isn’t a bad time.  We need to talk to you.’

Gilbertson said nothing. He opened the door and stood back to let them in.  It was a small, recently renovated farmworker’s cottage, with a living room and kitchen on the ground floor and a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom built into the roof.   Dormer windows had been added back and front, and it looked to Colin as if no expense had been spared on the conversion and modernisation.  Gilbertson’s salary would have been enough to secure a loan, but it might be useful to know exactly how the bills had been paid and whether there was a mortgage on the house.

‘The last time we spoke to you, at your office, you said that you knew who had planned the bombing at Last Cairngorm.  You then refused to say any more.  We need to talk to you about that again and we need you to tell us what, if anything, you know.  I can’t promise you anything, but it’s unlikely to do you any harm when your case comes up if the court learns that you have co-operated with us in the investigation of a very serious crime.’

Gilbertson looked uncomfortable, even scared. He brought coffee for himself and Colin and a glass of water for Vanessa.

‘A couple of months before the bombing, Frank Mancuso told me that his security people had identified a couple of guys with Glasgow accents who were spending a lot of time at and near Last Cairngorm. The complex was partly open.  People could view the facilities and see what would be available when it was fully operational; it was part of the marketing plan.  These guys were taking more pictures than ordinary tourists and Mancuso’s people reciprocated by getting some pretty good shots of them.’

‘Did you see the photos?’

‘Frank brought them to the pub one evening and asked me if I could get my police contacts to see if they were known.    I looked at them, but I told him that this was a step to far.  Even for me.’  He smiled sardonically at that, and stretched out his arms, palms of his hands upwards, in a gesture of resignation and openness.

‘So you didn’t mention this to Richard Fleming?’

‘No.’

Colin MacNee set his coffee mug down on the table.  ‘Did Mancuso tell you that these men had planned the bombing?’

‘Not in so many words, but when it happened he said something about wishing I had done what he asked.’

‘Very interesting.’  Colin looked unimpressed. ‘But if this is true, why didn’t Mancuso tell us this after the bombing?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘You said Mancuso brought the pictures to the pub.  Did you actually see them?’

‘A brief glance. No more.’

Vanessa reached into her bag for her smartphone and brought up pictures, first of Simon Mathieson and then of Andy MacIlwraith.  Gilbertson looked at them in turn.

‘I can’t be sure, because I didn’t look very closely at the pictures Frank brought, but it’s possible.’

*

Frank Mancuso lived in a modern loft apartment in a converted mill near the centre of Aberdeen, rented for him by the Last Corporation.  He answered the entry phone and buzzed Fiske and MacNee in.  It was about 0915 hrs, and the detectives had driven straight to Mancuso's address after leaving Fetteresso.