Cowboys and Indians (8 page)

‘Of course.’ Cullen folded his arms, watching Henderson pace away from them, fiddling with his BlackBerry.

Lorna frowned at Cullen and offered a hand. ‘Lorna Gilmour. I’m Jonathan’s PA.’

‘DS Cullen.’ He shook her hand. ‘This is DC Chantal Jain. We’ll need to have a word with you in due course.’

‘Certainly. I’ll just round up William.’ She walked back over to her desk in the corridor and picked up a phone.

Cullen pointed at her desk, shaking his head. ‘Imagine having to sit there all day.’

Jain smirked. ‘Beats sitting next to some mouth breather in an office.’

‘True.’

Lorna reappeared. ‘Mr Yardley should be on his way over.’

‘Thanks.’ Cullen pocketed the sheet and stared into the room. A Smurf hoovered up the carpet contents near the door. ‘Think they’ll—’

‘Stop!’ A heavy man stormed down the corridor towards them, the paintings on the wall shaking with each bound. He stood huffing, hands resting on his hips, a chunky gold band on his left ring finger. Thin red hair scraped over in a parting, skin only a few shades lighter. Eyes shooting around the officers outside the room. ‘What the hell’s going on here?’ Southern American accent, maybe Louisiana. Deep voice. ‘Well?’

‘DS Scott Cullen.’ He got out his warrant card. ‘And you are?’

‘William Yardley.’

‘We’re investigating Mr Van de Merwe’s death. Can we have a word in private?’

‘What’s happening to Jon’s office?’

‘We’re performing standard forensic analysis. If you’re a regular in there, we’ll need a DNA sample from you.’

Yardley glared at him, eyes tiny slits. ‘You’d better come to my office.’ He stomped off down the corridor and eased a door open. ‘In here.’ He leaned against the wall behind his desk and crossed his arms, his suit bulging at the chest. ‘Well?’

Jain stood in the doorway.

Cullen took his time sitting in front of the desk and unfolded his notebook. ‘Thanks for agreeing to see us, sir.’

‘I’ve not agreed shit. Jon’s lying on a slab and you punks are speaking to
me
?’

‘Us
punks
are trying to find out who killed him.’

‘Oh, yeah? And how you doing that?’

‘I’ve got two teams of forensic analysts working at his home and in his office. Another press release will go out soon. We’ve identified two possible suspects and we’ve got twenty officers scouring the streets near where he was found.’

‘Again, why are you speaking to me?’

‘We spoke to Elsbeth van de Merwe last night. She mentioned you were a close friend of his.’

‘We were colleagues, that was it.’ Yardley tore off his suit jacket and placed it on his coat rack. ‘You know how much pressure’s on my shoulders, now Jon’s gone?’

‘I can imagine. Is there anything in Mr Van de Merwe’s private life we should be aware of?’

‘Such as?’

‘Any notable friends or acquaintances we should be speaking to?’

‘None spring to mind. Most of his friends are here, working for him. With him. He was like that.’

‘Mr Van de Merwe was behind on his spousal maintenance payments.’

‘Jon never talked about his private life.’

‘What about his financial arrangements?’

‘Look, buddy, I worked with him and played squash with him, that’s it.’ Yardley shut his eyes. Then stared over at the wall. ‘Wiped the court with me a few months back. Thought I was gonna have a heart attack.’

‘Witnesses place Mr Van de Merwe on Dean Bridge at half past three yesterday morning. Wandering around in his underpants.’

Yardley’s mouth slackened. ‘What?’ He crumpled back against the wall, hammering a finger against his eyebrow. He blinked hard a couple of times. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Why would he be out of his house in the middle of the night, dressed like that?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘We found his front door unlocked.’ Jain jotted another note. ‘It’s likely someone coerced him from his home.’

‘He’s an IT Programme Director. It’s not like he can open the vault at a branch.’

‘Does he have access to any security protocols?’

Yardley shook his head. ‘Jon couldn’t log on without Lorna.’

‘Could anyone have blackmailed him?’

‘Nobody’s going to blackmail him over his weak backhand.’

‘There’s no dark secrets in his closet?’

‘Like I say, he was a private man.’

‘Does the name Amber Turner mean anything to you?’

‘Who?’

‘Mr van de Merwe had an affair with her. It ended his marriage.’

‘Means nothing to me.’

‘We found a large amount of what we believe to be cocaine in his living room. Do you know anything about it?’

‘Nothing at all.’

‘How long have you worked with him?’

‘Six years.’

‘And you’ve never talked about your private lives in all that time?’

‘That’s correct. Guys don’t talk like that, least not where I’m from.’

‘Mrs Van de Merwe mentioned a Wayne Broussard. Do you know him?’

‘Him and Jon go back longer than anyone I know. He heads up Schneider Consulting here, our Delivery Partner. Good ol’ American firm. One of the big five.’

‘Can we speak to him?’

‘Wayne’s bear hunting in the US just now.’

Jain arched an eyebrow. ‘Bear hunting?’

‘Yeah.’ Yardley let out a breath. ‘He likes to go off-grid in the Rockies every year for a couple of weeks. No BlackBerry, no laptop. Says it keeps him fresh.’

‘Can you get a message to him?’

‘He’s off-grid. All I know is he’s somewhere in Colorado. I could get someone to drive from Mexico up to Canada and see if they can find him, but it’s a long shot.’

‘Don’t get smart with me.’

‘I’m just saying. We won’t know where he is until we hear from him.’ Yardley finished his cup and tossed it into a bin in the corner. ‘You could speak to his second in command. Guy called Oliver Cranston.’

‘Let me think about it.’ Cullen made a note —
Why so cagey?
‘Tell us about your relationship.’

‘I met Jon at HSBC in London. Delivered a two hundred million finance programme under budget. He brought me here as Head of Delivery. I do everything — installing the new apps, designing the data feeds and establishing the architecture. You name it.’

Jain scribbled in her notebook. ‘Was Mr Van de Merwe popular here?’

‘Nobody’s popular here.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I imagine working in the police is a dream. All on the same side, singing from the same hymn sheet.’ Yardley leaned forward, still resting against the wall. ‘Jon had enemies here. Sure. Anyone who’d kill him? No way.’

‘So there’s nobody else we should speak to here?’

‘Like who?’

‘Anyone with a grudge, that kind of thing.’

‘Well, I don’t think the guy killed him but it might be worth you talking to Vivek Sadozai. He–’

‘How do you spell that?’

‘V-I-V-E-K S-A-D-O-Z-A-I.’

Cullen scribbled the name. ‘Why him?’

‘He works for our offshore development partner. Things aren’t going well.’ Yardley grimaced. ‘Not entirely their fault, but Jon had a few run-ins with Vivek.’

‘What kind of thing?’

‘Speak to him.’ Yardley glanced up at the clock. ‘Look, I’m running late for the morning prayers.’

‘Take us to him and you can run off and kneel down.’

‘Lorna’ll help.’

*
 
*
 
*

Lorna opened a glass door, the steel frame catching on the carpet. Another shove and it settled. ‘I’ve booked this room for the rest of the morning. Give me a shout if you don’t need it anymore.’

Cullen dumped his notebook on the table, eight seats clustering around. Just a conference phone in the middle. A whiteboard hung off a picture rail, framed watercolours of fruit and flowers either side. ‘Mr Yardley suggested we speak to a Vivek Sadozai.’

‘Yeah, he called me. His flight’s delayed.’

Cullen checked his watch. ‘His flight?’

‘He lives in London. Flies up on the red eye every Monday morning.’

Cullen tried for a sympathetic smile. ‘Were you close to Mr Van de Merwe?’

‘He was my boss, that’s it. Bit arrogant and aloof at times, but I’ve had much worse.’

Jain winked at Cullen. ‘Hope he’s better than mine.’

Lorna smirked. ‘They all expect us to fetch their coffees while they run off to meetings. I still can’t believe what’s happened, though.’ She ran a hand through her hair and stared into the middle distance. ‘I keep expecting Jon to just walk up and ask for a latte.’

‘So you’re on first name terms with him?’

She blushed. ‘It’s what he asked me to call him. Never Mr Van de Merwe.’

‘Alan Henderson called him VDM.’

‘Jon didn’t really like that. He let Al and a few others do it.’

‘I’ll give you a shout if we need anything else.’ Cullen sat, getting a squeak as he crunched down. He dropped his mobile and Airwave on the table and watched Lorna scurry down the corridor. Wrote
Lorna Gilmour
in his notebook.

Jain got out her lipstick and reapplied it. ‘She likes you, Scott.’

Cullen stayed focused on the page. ‘What do you think of her?’

‘Her boss has just died. She’s barely holding it together.’

An Indian man stood in the doorway. ‘Sergeant Cullen?’

‘Vivek?’

He nodded. Not much over five foot. Moisture dripped from his forehead, misting his chunky glasses. Black hair soaked through. His armpits were damp, several shades darker than the rest of his shirt’s pale-blue fabric. A small potbelly poked over his brown trousers. No jacket. ‘What’s this about?’

‘Police Scotland.’ Cullen held out his warrant card. ‘Need a word with you.’

Vivek trundled his suitcase into the room, breathing hard and wiping his brow. ‘Sorry, I ran up the stairs from the taxi.’ English accent, London. Middlesex, maybe. ‘Do you know what “haar” is?’

‘I’m intimate with it.’ Cullen smiled, eyeing the blue wisps encircling the pyramid outside. And it was so nice earlier… ‘They call it “Scotch mist” down south. That why your flight was delayed?’

‘We were circling round for an hour. I’ve never seen so much bloody rain since I worked in Pune. At least you don’t have the traffic here.’

Cullen sat next to Jain. ‘This is my colleague, DC Chantal Jain.’

‘A pleasure.’ Vivek winked at her before collapsing into a chair, tugging at his shirt fabric and blowing air up his face. ‘How can I help?’

‘You’re aware of Mr Van de Merwe’s death?’

Vivek’s eyes darted between them. ‘I heard.’

‘What was your relationship with him like?’

‘Purely professional. We had the occasional dinner, but that’s client entertainment. I’ve never socialised with him beyond sustaining our involvement in this programme.’

‘What do you do here?’

‘I’m responsible for the application development and management of all configuration on the apps. I work for IMC. We’re the third largest IT consultancy in the subcontinent. We bring industry best prac—’

‘What does IMC stand for?’

‘Indian Metals and Computers.’

‘Shouldn’t all that development be IT’s responsibility?’

‘On a big project like this, best practise is to outsource. Keep costs down and scale up. We’ve delivered similar programmes several times—’

‘I’ll take your word for it. Where were you yesterday morning at four a.m.?’

‘I was in Mahiki.’

‘Is that in India?’

‘It’s a club in London.’ Vivek grinned. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Mr Van de Merwe was wandering around Edinburgh half-naked at that time.’

Vivek flicked up his hands. ‘I just have a professional relationship with him.’
 

Cullen made a note. ‘What’s this programme been like?’

‘Well, it’s not what we call a “meat grinder”. This is not the most aggressive delivery culture I’ve ever experienced.’

‘So it’s going well?’

‘Not really. I’ve had a lot of staff turnover. Worse than usual.’

‘Was Mr Van de Merwe well-liked here?’

‘Better than most we deal with.’

‘Did he have many enemies? Anybody who’d want him gone from the job?’

‘Can’t think of anybody, I’m afraid.’

‘What about you? We gather you had some arguments with him.’

‘There’ve been a few slip-ups here and there. Technology aren’t playing ball.’ Vivek licked his lips. ‘They’re a separate part of the business. Their agenda isn’t in sync with the programme. I’ve kept escalating it to Jon but he couldn’t fix the problem.’

‘So you argued with him?’

‘He shouted at me. I took it.’

‘How did that make you feel?’

‘It’s not the worst treatment I’ve ever had.’

‘You didn’t hold a grudge?’

‘Listen, I’m paid to soak up the anger while my team delivers the project. That’s it. Unlike some others.’

Cullen narrowed his eyes. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Look, there’s an old boys’ network here, you know? VDM goes back a long way with Yardley and Broussard.’

‘Corruption?’

‘I’m saying you should speak to these other guys.’

‘Mr Broussard’s in America.’

‘You might want to speak to Michaela Queen.’

‘Who’s she?’

‘She heads up the Programme Management Office. Runs Financial Control, as well. She knows a few things about what’s going on.’ Vivek stood and grabbed the handle of his luggage. ‘Do you mind if I catch up with my team?’

‘Sure, be my guest.’ Cullen watched him leave the room and jog down the corridor, iPhone clamped to his head. ‘Can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something odd here.’

Jain looked over. ‘Think that IT stuff’s related?’

Cullen got up. ‘Let’s go speak to Yardley again.’

‘Christ, that takes me back.’ Cullen stopped outside the office.

Through the textured glass, Yardley stood at a whiteboard mounted on the wall, doodling away.

‘An idiot at a whiteboard.’ Jain laughed. ‘Good old Bain…’

‘The same.’ Cullen pushed open the door and knocked on the glass. ‘Mr Yardley?’

He stayed focused on his drawing, pen hovering over the surface. A series of boxes and arrows ran top to bottom, each one artfully sketchy, the lines barely connecting. ‘Mm?’