‘Hotel de Ville, across the street.’
‘Good. If there is a problem I can call for you. But there won’t be, I’m sure.’
‘OK.’
They sat for a while in silence, finishing their drinks. When they were done, the police officers rose to leave, and Regine stood with them. ‘Valdas and Laima,’ she began, as they walked to the door. ‘They died in a fire, I was told.’
‘That’s what we’re saying, but we believe they were killed before it was started. There’s evidence that he was tortured, but why, we don’t know.’
‘But they were dead before the fire. . reached them?’
‘Yes.’
She shuddered. ‘That’s a sort of kindness, I suppose. He was a greedy, vicious fool, and she was a deeply unpleasant woman, but they didn’t deserve to. .’
‘That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose,’ said McGuire, as she opened the door. ‘Good night. See you tomorrow.’
‘What was that about?’ Stallings exclaimed, once they were outside on Rue St Cauzimis.
‘God knows. And hopefully so will we after our next meeting. Something heavy’s happened, that’s for sure. Regine is not a woman to be scared easily, but she has been.’
‘So what do we do now?’
McGuire shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m heading for that wee restaurant up in the square. Right now, a pizza and a few more beers seem to be the only show in town.’
Seventy-two
‘You’re having us on!’ Skinner exclaimed.
‘Not about this. The man you’re after is called Henry Brown; I’m sure of it. The joke in Dundee is that he was the model for Dan’s statue in the High Street. Henry’s forty-six years old, and he runs a metal recycling business on the outskirts of the city. He’s been doing that for the last sixteen years, since he married a woman called Daphne McCullough, the younger sister, by fourteen years, of one Cameron McCullough, known in and around the Silver City by the affectionate nickname of Grandpa. Except there’s nothing affectionate about Grandpa; he’s as cold-hearted a bastard as I’ve ever met.’
‘You told me about him, didn’t you?’ said McIlhenney. ‘Last year you had him in the High Court on murder and drugs charges.’
‘That’s right. The only charges that have ever been laid against him. And he walked on both. The witnesses to the murder disappeared, and he suborned a Polish clerk to steal the heroin we were going to do him for, out of our own evidence store. The clerk vanished as well; he was supposed to have gone back to Krakow, but he never showed up there.’
Skinner nodded. ‘I remember that. Graham Morton had the piss ripped out of him at the next chiefs’ association meeting. Phil Davidson, Lady Broughton, was the judge, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes. She was as angry as me after it all collapsed.’
‘Are you taking it personally, Andy?’ the chief murmured.
‘Too fucking right I am. Is that unprofessional? Yes, and I do not care. The day that Cameron McCullough goes down will be the highlight of my career. I’ve taken a copy of the Tayside file on him to my new office.’ He scowled. ‘It’s not going to be easy, though. Grandpa has run things at second, third and fourth hand for the last twenty years and more, hiding behind his legitimate businesses, and with every year that passes it becomes harder to nail him.’
‘Why?’
‘Because his cover is absolutely uncrackable, because he operates behind clever people who are absolutely ruthless, and because when it comes to it he’s more ruthless than any of them. He doesn’t take risks of any sort. Since he had his close shave, he’s become even more elusive. He’s says that he’s getting ready to retire, and he spends most of his time on the golf course. There’s some evidence that he has backed off on the criminal side; drugs are a wee bit harder to come by in Dundee these days. But that could just be his people jacking up the price.’
‘What’s he supposed to be?’ McIlhenney asked. ‘His legitimate cover?’
‘Grandpa’s a group: CamMac Enterprises PLC, that’s the parent company. It operates in quite a few areas. For example, construction. CamMac Homes builds houses; on spec, and more recently for housing associations, since they’re the only people with money just now. CamMac Projects is a commercial contractor, tendering for stuff like factories and offices. He tends to win most of the projects he offers for in the Tayside region. People seem to work out that it might just be best to give him the job, even if he isn’t the lowest bidder. Still, not even he’s immune to the current market, so that company is just ticking over just now. CamMac Metals is still doing fine though. That owns the yard that his brother-in-law Henry runs, as well as a big metalbroking business. CamMac Leisure has a couple of country house hotels in Perthshire and Angus, with leisure clubs attached, and it owns a few city centre pubs in Dundee. To all outward appearances the group is legit: its legal business is handled by Lionel David, one of the top firms in Dundee, its auditors are Deacon and Queen, a small but prestige accountancy firm, and to put a final layer on its veneer of respectability, last year it appointed a new public affairs consultant. Guess who that was?’ Martin challenged.
‘Tommy fucking Murtagh,’ Skinner growled.
‘You knew?’
‘I know just about everything that little bastard does. I saw the appointment at the time, but I didn’t look into the background of his client. The name meant nothing to me.’
‘You won’t nail Murtagh through the connection,’ Martin told him, ‘or even embarrass him. These companies are all profitable, and although we are quite certain that they were started with the proceeds of crime, no one will ever prove it. If you’re thinking that McCullough might be using them to launder drug money, forget it. He’s way too clever for that.’
‘What else has he got?’
‘There’s a farm; he owns one up in Angus, a few hundred acres of arable land and some slopes where he has cattle.’
‘If he’s that successful in business, why is he. .’ Skinner began.
‘Because he is, simple as that. Look, all three of us have known recidivist criminals, all through our careers, the Dougie Terrys, the Moash Glaziers, the Kenny Basses. OK, they’re all small time, and McCullough’s at the other end of the scale, but he fits into the same category. It’s what he does, it’s what he is, and he’s better at it than anyone I’ve ever met.’
‘This Henry Brown,’ asked McIlhenney, ‘what does he do for him, apart from running the scrap business?’
‘Everything, mate. Cameron’s great strength is that he keeps it in the family. Those witnesses who disappeared last year? You can bet that Henry either organised it, or he made it happen himself.’
‘How could he have done that? Weren’t they protected?’
‘In theory, yes, they were; in practice, sadly, no. They were under twenty-four-hour police observation up in Aberdeen; there was always a car in their street, and they had an Alsatian in their back yard. But one night, the cops who were keeping an eye on them were called away to a major incident that turned out to be a false alarm. When they got back, the dog had been fed a poisoned steak and two women had vanished.’
Skinner frowned. ‘What did Brown do before he married McCullough’s sister?’
‘He was in the army for a few years; he fought in the first Gulf War, in a special demolition unit that operated behind enemy lines; real close quarters, no mercy stuff. When he left he became a fireman for a couple of years. .’
‘A fireman? Now that’s interesting, given what happened to Gerulaitis and his wife.’
‘That is a thought, indeed. Anyway, he was in the fire service when he got hitched to Goldie, and after that he was made.’
‘Goldie?’ McIlhenney repeated.
Martin smiled. ‘Apparently Daphne’s never been too keen on her given name. Everyone calls her Goldie.’
‘Including the woman who was with her when she collected those eight Estonian girls from their hideaway last Wednesday,’ the superintendent told him. ‘We have a witness, Marius Ramanauskas, one of Zale’s men, who heard her.’