By All Means (Fiske and MacNee Mysteries Book 2) (33 page)

'There are times when I think that Strathclyde runs on its reputation. Turned out that their examination of Mathieson's hardware had been less than thorough.  I thought about having a go at them for laziness or laxness or just plain stupidity but...'

'Dongle, just get on with it.  We can deal with Strathclyde's witlessness some other time.'

'Sorry, boss, but it didn't half piss me off.  Turned out that their examination of the hardware had not included discovering if he had used any of his hard disks  - there were seven in total - to access the Internet.   They said they were focused on cyber crime and Andy's request for financial records, but they should have...sorry.   I spent a long time doing what they hadn't and, as I expected, there was evidence that he had had one of his hard disks configured for browsing.  He had tried to delete the browser, but I found it and there was partial history.   I got the rest by playing on the hi-tech squad's guilty conscience and getting them to request a full search history. 

'Mercury Fulfilment has a number of websites, mainly in the US and here, but also in Australia, Canada, and Japan.  Our man had visited all of them, and it looks as if he was trying to get deeper into them than would be necessary to check whether the sweater you had ordered was on its way.  I think he was trying to analyse the security protocols, which is what hackers do when they want to disable a site or flood it with spam.  Impossible to tell how successful he was, though.   And the Strathclyde guys still can't say definitively that his gear was used to attack Mercury.'

'I thought that might be the case.  But thanks, Dongle.  The case against Mathieson is still circumstantial, but it's now a bit stronger.'

Dongle smiled appreciatively.  'There's a wee bit more.  I founds some emails between Mathieson and MacIlwraith, with MacIver copied in.  Nothing very interesting in them, as far as I can see, but it does firm up the connections.  I'll add them to my report.'

'You do that!  Good work!  Now, I'm going home to see if Neil still knows who I am.'

*

That afternoon, while Fiske and MacNee were interviewing Roskill, the Scottish political establishment and media were digesting the implications of the resignation of the First Minster.  After her conversation with the Permanent Secretary she had quickly accepted that she had to go.  She had considered the possibility of simply issuing a press statement and leaving Edinburgh for what the press always calls ‘an undisclosed destination’, but she knew she would have to make a statement to Parliament.   The Permanent Secretary had advised her that she should announce who would be Acting FM until the election of her successor and she was fully aware of the politics of that decision.   She wanted to avoid giving an unfair advantage to any of the obvious candidates - the Justice Secretary, who was no longer bothering to conceal his ambitions to succeed her; her deputy, who also held the finance portfolio that he had inherited from her; the parliamentary business manager who, like all chief whips, knew where the bodies were buried - so she chose the oldest member of her cabinet, the Education Secretary, who, she knew, had no ambitions to fill the top job and who had, in any case, decided to retire at the next election.

Before concluding her statement she thanked her party for the opportunity to serve her country in its highest office.  She said she would play a full part in the referendum campaign, and she announced that she would leave parliament immediately.

The Leader of the Opposition rose.  He said that the First Minister had made the right decision because her position had become untenable and that by resigning she had limited the damage to Scotland and its Parliament.  The First Minister, and every MSP in the chamber, knew that he was about to twist the knife.

'However, we need to consider what has been left unsaid.  Paul MacIver, until recently the First Minister's closest confidante, is currently on remand in Aberdeen Prison on extremely serious charges.  It seems likely that these charges will relate to his activities in the cause of independence and that he was engaged in crime both before and during his service with the First Minister.  He appeared at her side as soon as she became Finance Secretary and stayed there while she was in the highest office.   But where did he come from?  How did he come to the First Minister's attention?  Was he placed there in order to advance his revolutionary separatist agenda?  And if so, by whom?  The First Minister told us nothing of this.  She moves on, but these questions remain.  Will she answer all or any of them?  Or will she simply walk out of this chamber and leave the truth undisclosed, to be discovered by the judicial process or, as I believe to be necessary, by a full public enquiry?'

The First Minister stared straight ahead and did not move.  The chamber was completely silent.

The Presiding Officer spoke.  'First Minister?'

She rose.  'It would not be appropriate for me to comment further on matters still subject to police...'

She got no further.  A cacophony of jeers and catcalls drowned her out.  She sat down as the Presiding Officer called for order.  As the hubbub declined, she stood up and tried to continue.  But the Leader of the Opposition was also on his feet, gesturing and calling for answers while signalling to his own members to quieten down.

'Presiding Officer, I have not asked questions about the appropriateness of her relationship with Paul MacIver.  On that, her resignation is eloquent enough.  Nor can she now decide to appoint a public enquiry into matters that relate, in part, to her own judgment and behaviour.   But she can say that she would welcome such an enquiry if it were ordered by her successor.  Will she now do so?

'First Minister?'  The Presiding Officer looked directly at her.

The First Minister shook her head slightly, got up, and left the chamber of the Scottish Parliament for the last time.

*

Ben Aaronson of the
Financial Post
had another exclusive.  It went up on the paper's website just as Vanessa Fiske got home.    Neil was answering the call from Harry Conival as she turned her key in the lock.

Reliable sources have told the
Post
that former Prime Minister James Roskill has been interviewed under caution by police investigating two murders, the terrorist bombing of the Last Cairngorm and the cyber attack on Mercury Fulfilment.  Roskill serves on the Board of Burtonhall Inc., parent company of Hedelco who manage the hospital in Aberdeen, where Peter Keller was murdered three weeks ago, and Ebright Offshore Drilling, on whose Vermont One oil platform Harvey Jamieson was found dead on the same day.  The former Prime Minister is also a director of Mercury.

It is unprecedented for such a senior political figure to be regarded as a suspect in a serious crime.  Tony Blair was interviewed as a potential witness in a cash-for-honours investigation while he was Prime Minister, but not under caution.

Mr Roskill is believed to have come to the attention of the investigating officers as a result of enquiries into the financial affairs of Burtonhall and its subsidiaries.

The news of the police interest in the former Prime Minister comes on the same day as the resignation of Scotland's First Minister, as a result of the arrest of her close political adviser, Paul MacIver, in connection with the same offences.

Vanessa looked up from the computer. 'His sources are certainly reliable, but they're not here.  I'll have to talk to Harry and I'll have to find Esslemont and the Chief.  Roskill will have to be arrested as soon as we can mobilise the Met.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Despite her protestations to Fiona Marchmont, DCI Vanessa Fiske was on the first plane to London City the next morning.  She had recalled her conversation with DCS Esslemont about her pregnancy and her determination that if a former Prime Minister was to be charged in connection with crimes she had been investigating, she would make the arrest.  The Chief Constable had insisted that she be accompanied by Esslemont who had arrived to collect her, driven by a uniformed constable, at 0545 hrs.  She came out of the lift at the apartment block where she and Neil lived, carrying her now obligatory bottle of fizzy water, and tried to make her greeting to her boss as bright as possible and her smile less wan than it felt.

'The Chief spoke to the Commissioner and his acting staff officer has been up most of the night briefing the appropriate people on our behalf.   Aaronson's piece probably means that the press will have Roskill's home covered.   Special Branch are trying to determine via his protection officers exactly where he is.  The Chief and the Commissioner agreed with you that they should not authorise an arrest "by appointment".   It wasn't easy to persuade them that Roskill might be a flight risk, but the seriousness of the offences tipped the balance.'

'So we don't know where he is?'

'We didn't last night, no.  We're being met in London by someone senior from Special Branch - name of Bancroft, I think.  Hopefully, he'll know more.'

Vanessa smiled.  'It was Bancroft who informed me, when Fiona and I were at the Foreign Office, that we were wasting time and money pursuing the "commercial aspects" of the Keller and Jamieson murders.  You should get on well with him, sir.'

Esslemont allowed himself a slight smile.  'I'll not raise the matter if he doesn't.  I think we may need his goodwill if we're left with any loose ends after we've arrested Roskill.' 

*

DI Colin MacNee was in conference with the Procurator Fiscal, discussing the charges that could be brought against the three men held on remand in Aberdeen Prison.

'I have no hesitation', the PF said, 'in confirming that, so far as MacIlwraith and Mathieson are concerned, in respect of the deaths of Keller and Jamieson, respectively, the charges of conspiracy to murder should be replaced by the more serious charges of murder.'

Colin wondered whether there was a special course that PFs had to take where they learned to speak in complex, constipated prose.  Janet had once told him a story about some king, or duke, or count, who, after listening to the first performance of a new concerto, had called the composer to his presence.  'Too many notes, Herr Mozart!', he said.  He was wrong, of course, but a variant would aptly sum up the PF's talent for circumlocution.

'What about Last and Mercury?'

'A little more uncertain, inspector.  It is at least arguable that you and your colleagues may have garnered enough evidence to charge MacIlwraith with placing the explosive device at Last Cairngorm to the endangerment of life.  If we accept that argument, as we probably shall, I would then have to take a view as to whether it would be prudent also to arraign him, in addition, on a charge of conspiracy, lest the jury should have some difficulty with the more serious charge.'

Colin tried to increase the tempo of the discussion, to no avail. 'Mercury? Mathieson?'

'Ah!  I think that we may face even more difficulty there.  What you have is worryingly circumstantial and I would be rather loath to prefer  charges, under the various telecommunications acts, which would tend to suggest that we believe we have a better than even chance of convicting him of the cyber attack on Mercury.   Even a conspiracy charge is marginal.'

'But given the pattern of offences here, and the number of people involved, surely you should take it to court and let a jury decide?'

'Bit of a gamble, I think.  I may have to consult the Crown Office on it.  I should be able to do that today.'

Colin knew his exasperation was beginning to show, but the charges against MacIver had to be covered.  

'Conspiracy to murder, certainly.  Probably also accessory before the fact, founding that charge on the payments from the Scottish Freedom Club account to MacIlwraith and Mathieson, supported by what you have on the association among the three of them.  I'm less persuaded about his complicity in the Last and Mercury matters.  Again, it's circumstantial.  I do not entirely rule out charges, but I would like to await the outcome of the arrest and arraignment of Mr James Roskill before I decide.  Whatever view I take, we are looking at a very complex and a very lengthy trial.  The Lord Advocate will almost certainly want to prosecute personally and to move the trial to Edinburgh.'

Colin didn't care where the trial took place or who prosecuted it.  He just wanted to be sure that the charges were the most serious that the evidence would support.   'DCS Esslemont and DCI Fiske are in London to arrest Roskill.  I'll come back to you when they're back.' 

*

Roskill's main London residence was an elegant detached house in Notting Hill, set back a little from a broad street, with a front courtyard defended by a ten foot wall and electric gates, and a small sentry post for the protection officers that his status as a former Prime Minister commanded.  There were, as yet, no satellite TV vans outside, but there was a little group of reporters on the pavement, and others in cars and vans illegally parked on the street.  They had started to gather before six o'clock in the hope of snatching a word with Roskill as he left the house. The snappers hadn't arrived, and, as usual, they would come up with the sun.

Apart from a light above the front door, barely visible from the street, the house was in darkness.  A few reporters had gone to the house late the previous evening, after Ben Aaronson's story had gone up on the
FP
website, but the only activity they had recorded was the departure from the house, just before midnight, of a figure some of them had recognised as Edmund Cordingley.

Three tabloid hacks, furious that their snapper had yet to turn up, had stationed themselves at the entry to the service lane at the back of the house.  No movement there, either, with the exception of a van from Press-Rite, a domestic ironing and dry cleaning company that served Notting Hill and other prosperous districts, which made a brief stop at around 2230.

Cordingley had walked to the gates, waited for them to be opened by the protection officers, and made his way wordlessly to the street.  He hailed a taxi, but prudently, if exasperatingly for the reporters, he did not give the driver a destination until he was in the cab and traveling as quickly as the traffic allowed away from Roskill's house.

*

A black Lexus saloon swept through the gates and into the courtyard of the house at about 0930.   Fiske, Esslemont and Bancroft had been driven straight there from London City Airport.  Bancroft briefed the visiting officers as the driver weaved skilfully through the rush hour traffic. The duty protection officer had confirmed at the midnight shift change that Roskill was at home and that he had spent much of the evening in conference with several aides, including Lord Cordingley, who had just left.  The others had gone at various times earlier in the evening, before the reporters arrived, and Roskill was now at home with his wife and a couple of domestic staff.  He would have no warning of their arrival.  The police officer on duty would contact the housekeeper on the internal telephone and they would be admitted.  Once in the house, Roskill would be informed.  A helicopter was on standby to fly him to Aberdeen.

*

'Good morning, Mrs Roskill, my apologies for disturbing you.  I'm Detective Chief Inspector Vanessa Fiske of North East Constabulary.  These are my colleagues, Detective Chief Superintendent Esslemont and Commander Bancroft.  We need to speak with your husband.'

Julia Roskill was a slim, fit and very attractive woman of around sixty.  She was perfectly groomed, her black trousers and green silk blouse suggesting expensive rather than extravagant tastes.  She had a book in her hand - last year's Man Booker prizewinner, Vanessa noted - and she looked at the police officers over half-moon spectacles.

'I'm afraid he's not here.'  Just that. No acknowledgment of Vanessa's apology or of her rank. No trace of real apology in her rather stiffly formal response.

Vanessa managed not to seem shocked. 'But according to his protection officers...'

Mrs Roskill interrupted. 'So you've been keeping tabs on him!  Maybe you should ask him to wear an electronic tag as well as having a police officer with him wherever he goes.  He is a former prime minister. He seems to be paying a high price for having served his country.'

Before Vanessa could respond, Bancroft intervened.  'Mrs Roskill, your husband is a target. That's why he needs protection. It seemed prudent to establish his whereabouts in order to avoid disturbing your routine if he was not here.  His protection officers are paid to know where he is.'

Bancroft's emollient tone did not placate her.  Vanessa thought that her anger was disproportionate to what, on the face of it, was either a simple mistake or a minor operational error.

'We don't like wasting our time any more than yours, so, if you can tell us where Mr Roskill is, we will leave you to your book.' 

Julia Roskill laid the book down on a side table as though holding it somehow trivialised the moment. 'I have no idea, Chief Inspector.  I went to bed early last evening and watched the ten o'clock news.'  There was a faint trace of distaste in this and Vanessa assumed that her interview of Roskill had featured in the bulletin.

'James was in a meeting with Edmund Cordingley and other colleagues in his study.  I looked round the door to say good night and my husband said he'd be up shortly.  I woke at half past six and he wasn't here.  I assumed something urgent had come up. It often does.'

'Did you check with his protection officers?'

Her look was contemptuous. 'Why would I? I expected a call from him, or from one of his staff this morning. Still do.'

'We have checked and they have no record if his having left the house.'

'Well, he's not here.  You can search the house if you want to.'

'That won't be necessary, Mrs Roskill.' This was Bancroft, again. 'But we will need to spend some time with the protection officers.'

*

The protection officers were adamant.  Roskill could not have left the house without their knowledge. Their logs showed that he had returned from his office at the Trust at 1818 hrs the previous evening and had not left.  Three aides had arrived at 2000 hrs and left at various times between 2013 hrs and 2220 hrs.  Lord Cordingley had arrived at 1930 hrs and left at 2357 hrs.

DCI Fiske did not conceal her anger and frustration, which probably made her proof against any temptation the officers might have felt towards patronising a female officer from a remote Scottish force.  She had made sure that they were made aware of her background in Special Branch on royal protection, and even if they knew of her abrupt departure, they also knew that she would be familiar with the protocols under which they worked.

'But he is not in the house.  He must have left somehow.  The first thing that would have been done when security for the place was being planned was to identify and secure all possible points of entry.'  She paused, then added in a tone of profound sarcasm, 'And exit.'

The Special Branch chief inspector in charge of Roskill's protection had been summoned, and he came into the library, where Julia Roskill had suggested they meet.

'Hello, Peter.'  Bancroft said, before introducing Fiske and Esslemont. 'I. suppose you know what's happened?'

Peter Mishcon nodded. 'Can we park the question of how my officers managed to lose a former Prime Minister?  Believe me, I'll be returning to it. But we really need to concentrate on three questions.  How did he get out of the house?  Did he go voluntarily? And where did he go?'

'I agree, and it's good to see you again, Peter, whatever the circumstances. I had just raised the entrances and exits question.'

Mishcon turned to the protection officers, one of whom spoke. 'Front gate, front door, back entrance from the service lane.  Access to service lane, which has a gate, is by key pad code.  We have a list of all those who have it.'   Then, as an afterthought, 'Ma'am.'  Vanessa could have reminded him that she wasn't the Queen, but she let it go.