Written To Death (Alex Warren Murder Mysteries Book 3) Page 22

  Alex updated Sandra on progress. He explained about his frustrations, first with Cairns and then with the psychologist.

  “It's bloody infuriating, being stuck in here when I should be wrapping up the cases. I'll be out in a few days. Why did it have to be reassigned?”

  “You know how it works. At least Devosky seems to be out of the way. Cairns won't have the opportunity to screw anything up and, if he knows what's good for him, your name will be on the charge sheet and arrest warrant as chief investigating officer for the boys, so you can't be denied the credit.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. What about your case. Who do you think killed Sheila?” Sandra asked.

  “I'm truly not certain. I know Sanjay's money is now on the husband, but I'm really not certain. I have this niggling doubt that there's something important we've missed.”

  “You seem to have covered everything, but I'm sure if there is something it will come to you before long. Are you working tomorrow or will you be seeing the boys?”

  “I'd originally thought of going in for the morning and taking them to the footie in the afternoon, but I've changed my mind. Sanjay has everything under control and, other than keeping a watchful eye on Cairns, I can afford to take the day off. I'll call the kids, see if they fancy a swim in the morning and that will leave me free to come see you for afternoon visiting.”

  “It's okay, Alex. You don't need to come here at every opportunity, I'll be fine. You take the boys out for the day. Mum and Dad are coming to see me tomorrow afternoon. I phoned them earlier to tell them everything was alright. I couldn't risk them hearing about what had happened on the evening news; it could have given Mum a heart attack.”

  “I should have thought to deal with that myself. I'm sorry, Love. Irrespective, I'll be here to see you.”

  * * *

  The car door was half-open, Alex stepping in when his mobile rang. Alex recognised the Superintendent's number.

  “Hi, Charlie. You're working a bit late, aren't you? Or is it a social call? If you're checking to hear how Sandra is, the news is good so far.”

  “I'm pleased to hear it, but I'm sorry, it's no social call. I'm calling with some information, well, advice actually.”

  “Okay, go on,” Alex said while manoeuvring his way to a comfortable seating position and closing the door with his free hand.

  “You've been making enquiries about Richard Speirs. I'm on to tell you to back off.”

  “I can't do that,” Alex fired back angrily. “I've heard he's wealthy and influential but his boy's a nightmare. He's the little bastard who put Sandra in hospital. The kid thinks he can get away with anything and the father will cover up. I'm guessing Daddy's not squeaky clean and I need to get at him. He does have some clout, or someone's in his pocket for you to be making this call.”

  “For the sake of friendship, I'll pretend I didn't hear that. I can understand you being upset with Sandra being hurt and the baby and all, but it doesn't alter the facts. I've had word from on high, Dick Speirs can't be touched. It doesn't stop us throwing the book at young Kevin. If it makes you feel any better, Speirs won't be interfering in his son's prosecution.”

  “What's this all about? Where's this coming from?”

  “I can't give you details but you've been around long enough to guess for yourself. Speirs has his uses. This is on the QT but we'd never have broken Zennick's network without him.”

  “What about Devosky?” Alex asked.

  “He wasn't important, only one of Zennick's minions, but with aspirations to climb higher. Zennick gave him a couple of simple tasks to carry out and he failed. When the boys screwed up, he was history. He's scurried back where he came from and I doubt we'll ever hear from him again.”

  “If we knew all of this, then why wasn't Sandra properly briefed?” Alex asked.

  “Come now, Alex, don't be naïve. The crimes Sandra was given to investigate were standard local work. Don't get me wrong, she stepped in at the last minute and she handled everything brilliantly. Too brilliantly, because she got a bit too close to some other rather sensitive work, but no harm done. Cairns was given the tidying up to do and that'll put an end to it.”

  “For Christ's sake, Harry, I can't let it go. Besides, I've already bullied Cairns to do some more probing,” Alex argued.

  “You can and you will. This isn't a request, Alex, it's an order. Leave Cairns for me to sort out. Now go home, have a dram and put your feet up. You and Sandra have both had a very successful week and you've earned it. Send her my best when you see her.” The line clicked dead.

  Once home, Alex felt restless. He was dog tired after the busy week with rare and unsettled sleep and he was worried about Sandra. The flat felt cold and lonely without her there, but the last thing he wanted was anyone else's company. Anger at Harry's instructions and with thoughts of all the investigations milling around in his head, he had no wish for a diversion of film or television. He took time to tidy up, clean the flat and hang away clothes and oddments which had been lying about since their holiday. Once done, he wanted to relax. He turned on his stereo and dropped a Metallica CD in the slot. It was their live S&M recording, one of his favourites. Although mentally resistant to Harry's instructions, he lifted a bottle of whisky and poured a generous measure. It was a fifteen-year-old Benlochy single malt, a souvenir he'd been gifted after a previous enquiry. Reclining in his chair, slowly the strong spirit and the familiar music had their effect. He felt hazy and closed his eyes.

  Alex had no recollection of switching off the music, disrobing and going to bed but he knew it must have happened because the next thing he remembered was reaching out from under his duvet to answer the phone.

  “Hello, Boss. Sorry to disturb your weekend, are you awake?” Sanjay asked.

  “I am now. What time is it?”

  “It's 8.40am. Are you free to come in?” Sanjay asked.

  “I can if it's important. What's the problem?”

  “No problem, Boss. But I just took a call from a lawyer by the name of Fairgrieve. He said he has received an important message from Sheila Armstrong and he needs to let us know about it.”

  “Is he a lawyer or a bloody clairvoyant?” Alex asked, gradually coming to his senses.

  “I'm sorry? Oh yes, I see what you mean. No, he explained he'd been away on business all week and only checked his mail this morning. He's Sheila's solicitor and handles her business affairs. He received a package from her in the mail with a message to be opened in the event of her death. He said he thought we needed to see it as soon as possible.”

  “I'm on my way, Sanjay. When do you expect him?”

  “He said he'd be in at about ten-thirty.”

  “Is that 'as soon as possible' in lawyer speak?” Alex asked.

  “I guess. He said he had a few other matters to catch up on and then he'd come in. I'm sorry for calling so early but I wanted to catch you before you committed to anything else.”

  “You did the right thing, Sanjay, thanks.” Alex rose, had a leisurely shower, dressed and breakfasted, then phoned his sons to reschedule seeing them in the late afternoon, after hospital visiting.

  * * *

  Archibald Fairgrieve was a man in his sixties, short but very dapper and wearing a starched shirt and a finely pressed, black, three-piece suit even though it was a Saturday morning.

  Sanjay and Alex introduced themselves and showed him into one of the larger and more comfortable interview rooms.

  He sat down, opened a briefcase and lifted out a DVD and a portable player. “I didn't know what facilities you would have so I brought this.”

  “If we can first go through the formalities,” Sanjay asked. “We need to take your details and then find out what you've come to tell us.”

  Fairgrieve complied with the request and went on to give his explanation. “I've been Sheila Armstrong's solicitor for almost twenty years. I've negotiated her business contracts and property purchases and, of course, I prepared her will. Now, before you try
to stop me, I've not come to see you about any mundane executory issue. As I told you on the phone, I discovered a package this morning which was posted by Sheila last week. It contains a letter stating I was to open the package in the event of her death but added I should not make it public for at least one month. As you can see, I am in breach of the instruction and I'm not even certain how I stand with regards to professional ethics because of it. However, after I realised the contents, I couldn't stand back and allow there to be a miscarriage of justice.”

  “This is very intriguing,” Alex commented.

  “Rather than give you any further commentary, I think you'd be best to see the film.” Fairgrieve started the machine, inserted the disk and pressed play.

  The screen illuminated with a picture showing Sheila Armstrong sitting on the couch in her lounge, a broad smile on her face, and dressed in the same outfit she'd worn on stage when they'd examined her body. Alex felt a chill run down his spine.

  “This DVD will be my first and only film performance, I hope you enjoy it.

  “By the time you're watching it, I must presume that I'll be dead and buried and my plans will have been successful.

  “This isn't as I would have wished – it all had to be rushed at the last minute – but under the circumstances, it was the best I could have hoped for.

  “Looking back, everything had been going well until I was diagnosed with this damned tumour. Graeme and I had a good life. My books were published and bringing in a comfortable royalty. There was even talk of some screenwriting work, and then this happened. It's been well over two years since it was first identified and I decided not to tell anyone. I wanted to spend my last days exactly as I chose and without anyone pitying me. I swore the doctors to secrecy and I've been a very bad girl knowing I'd never have to face the consequences, not in this world at least.

  “But you don't need to hear about any of that. What you do need to know is that I was very disappointed with both Graeme and Yvonne. I loved them both, but they let me down and I wanted them to suffer. Because of my condition, I know they'll both survive me so I wanted to add a little bit of devilment to their relationship and make sure they never forget me or what brought them together, if they manage to stay together when all this is done.

  “As I said, this had to be rushed at the end. I had hoped to have more time. I planned my finale to go out in a blaze of glory, on a proper stage, at the annual national writers' conference, in front of a large and prestigious audience. Instead, it has to be in a provincial school watched by a few of the local writing group and God knows who else might be milling about. But it was an opportunity not to be missed. I'd planned everything in such minute detail. I'd written the play, arranged the casting all to make the most impressive spectacle, but when the Doc told me the end may only be days away, I pulled forward the plans to make do as best I could. I've no doubt it will have been a memorable performance.”

  Sheila held up a box. “You'll have worked out all this already by now, but I borrowed these knives from South Caledonian Players so I could use the real one to do the switch with the dummy from the stage props. My only hope is that Bert will keep a firm grip and the end can be quick and painless. I've left enough clues here and there to convince the police that it was all carried out by Graeme and Yvonne. They should have suffered enough by now, so I'm happy they can be released, and you can all see just how effective my scripting was.

  “My one regret is not seeing the look on his stupid, bloody, brother's face when Graeme is arrested.

  “When you get round to reading my will, you'll see I've left my fortune and my royalties as a legacy to create a foundation for acting and writing. This house is in joint names and Graeme will be able to keep any money in our joint accounts, but otherwise he'll have to fend for himself.

  “I'm feeling rather tired now and there are many small details I need to conclude. So, for now I will bid you all a fond adieu.”

  * * *

  Sitting at Sandra's bedside, holding her hand, Alex hadn't yet got over his shock from the morning's revelations. Her parents had arrived early for visiting but left ten minutes before the end to allow the couple some privacy.

  On hearing Alex's account of Sheila's video, Sandra was pragmatic. “You were always convinced there'd been more to it and you were right.”

  “I suppose, but it was the last thing I would have expected,” Alex replied.

  “What sort of bitter and twisted person would go to such lengths? Do you think her mind was affected by her condition or was the madness there all the time?” Sandra asked.

  “In our job, we expect to deal with every sort of crazed lunatic but this was a whole new ballgame.”

  “Speaking of ballgames, weren't you wanting to take the boys to the football?” Sandra asked.

  “We had a change of plans and I'm seeing them when I leave.”

  “Better get going then, the bell's already gone and you don't want to upset the staff,” Sandra added.

  Turning to leave, Alex spotted a large colourful bouquet of flowers in the corner. “They're beautiful, did your folks bring them? Shall I ask the nurse to find a vase?” Alex asked.

  “They're not from my parents. I didn't get a chance to tell you. Before visiting started, I had a visit from Helen and she brought them. She said she was on her way somewhere else and couldn't be here at the standard visiting time. Truthfully, I think she didn't want to bump into you. She said you'd called for the boys this morning and told them what had happened. She felt sorry for what I was going through and hoped I'd be okay. She seemed very sincere. She said we all had a part to play in Craig and Andrew's lives and it would be easier if we could all be friends. She actually said she wanted to be friends.”

  The astonishment on Alex's face was no less than after he'd watched Sheila's DVD.

  “You must have taken too many painkillers,” he laughed. “I think you're hallucinating.”

  END

  Also by Zach Abrams

  Made A Killing

  Made a Killing is the first novel in the Alex Warren series.

  Scott Stevenson was a despicable character and nobody mourns when his bloody corpse is found with an ivory tusk driven through his torso. DCI Alex Warren and his team are given the challenging task of discovering his killer. They investigate the numerous people Stevenson has harmed, and their enquiries reveal a host of related crimes, motivated by sex and greed. They struggle to close the case before more lives are lost.

  A fast moving, gripping novel set in the tough crime-ridden streets of Glasgow.

  http://mybook.to/madeakilling

  A Measure of Trouble

  A cold, bleak February morning in Central Scotland commences with the discovery of a body. Chief Executive, Hector Mathewson is found dead within the cask room of his own distillery. DCI Alex Warren needs to balance his own turbulent personal life while directing the hunt for the murderer. There are suspects aplenty with motives ranging from greed, nationalism, adultery and revenge.

  To purchase. Use link - http://mybook.to/ameasureoftrouble

  Ring Fenced

  If you think your life's complicated, then spare a thought for Benjamin who obsessively juggles and controls his five independent personae, until …Ring Fenced is Zach Abrams first novel. A story about power, control and obsession

  One man, five lives, ring-fenced and separated,

  Bennie, loving husband and father,

  Benjie, youngest son of orthodox Jewish parents,

  Ben, successful corporate banker,

  Benjamin, millionaire author and publisher of pornography

  and Jamie, part-time lover of a beautiful musician.

  Relying on his Blackberry to keep all his personae separate, his life is perfect.

  But what if holes begin to appear in the divisions?

  When a sequence of events throws his life into chaos, his separate words collide with explosive consequences.

  [This book contains content of an adult nature w
ith use of sexual swear words and depictions of sexual encounters. It is unsuitable for young readers and it may be offensive to some readers of all ages.]

  http://mybook.to/RingFenced

  SOURCE; A Fast-Paced Financial Crime Thriller

  A novel investigating financial crime and sabotage within the banking sector

  Tom is an accomplished journalist and lead features writer at Global Weekly's London office. He's an unhappily married workaholic seeking to advance his career.

  Sally is single, ambitious and independent. Visiting from Australia, she's chasing the same story.

  Each is eager to research alleged wrongdoings at Royal National Bank, exposed by a series of whistleblower revelations. RNB is one of the largest and strongest financial institutions in the world, or it was. There have been several incidents within a period of weeks. The effect has rocked the bank to its core, causing its share price to tumble and world stock markets to ripple. International economic stability is at risk.

  Both Tom and Sally suspect something or someone must be behind it. It couldn't just be coincidence. They think it inconceivable for such rapid decline to result from merely incompetence and a series of blunders. It must be sabotage. Yet the timing and diversity of location make it improbable. Has someone been powerful and ingenious enough to mastermind such demise? If so who, and why?

  Tom and Sally become reluctantly twinned in the investigation looking for the ”source' and their trail leads them from London to Glasgow, Manchester, Barcelona and Collioure.

  They tread a dangerous path as Tom's life and wellbeing becomes imperilled by strange and cryptic warnings. Through this, Tom struggles to hold everything together. He's hoping to restore his crumbling marriage and uncertain personal finances, yet is distracted by an irresistible attraction to Sally.

  They feel daunted by the prospect of an unknown enemy, who seems to have unlimited power and connections. With great fortitude, they tackle the most challenging investigation of their lives, facing threats and hostility countering their every move.