A Measure of Trouble (Alex Warren Murder Mysteries Book 2) Page 6

  There was an obvious bitterness in Quentin's words. Alex could see there was no love lost between the siblings.

  “And where would I find Stanley just now? Does he have any other work?”

  “Stanley? Work?” Quentin gave an ironic guffaw. “When he's not swanning off on his travels, he lives in a house in Newton Mearns, on the other side of Glasgow. He calls himself a professional artist and he has a studio in his house, but I doubt he's ever sold very much. He does some sort of modern art, painting shapes and squiggles in bright colours and then he tries to pretend there's some deep hidden meaning. He travels to France and Italy and Spain looking for inspiration, but it's never made any difference from what I could judge. He presents his work through some art groups but he's never been able to get any of the galleries to take him seriously. I know he spent quite a bit of cash hiring halls around the country to put on exhibitions, but I don't think it made any difference. The last I heard, he was trying to sell on the internet and he had a website set up.”

  “Does he present the work under his own name?” Alex had a keen interest in art and his enquiry was genuine, wondering if he'd come across Stanley before.

  “Yes, he uses his own name and he signs his paintings `S R Burns' for Stanley Robert. I think at one time he wanted to market as Robert Burns or even S Robert Burns so he could get some benefit of any perceived connection with `Rabbie,' but he was advised against it because he might have faced a legal challenge, so he settled for `SR.' ”

  “Does Stanley live alone or does he have a partner?”

  “He's had a series of different partners over the years, but I think he's been in a stable relationship for quite a while now, a chap by the name of Barry. I can't remember his second name.”

  “If we can maybe get a note of his address and phone number. Now, if I might change the subject. We understand that Hector was in the habit of coming into his office at night.”

  “Yes, I've heard that. I've seen him do so on a few occasions.”

  “It had upset security because he hadn't let them know he was in.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “How do you reckon he got in and out without them knowing?”

  “I couldn't say.”

  “Do you think he might have used the tunnel?”

  “The tunnel? Oh yes, it never crossed my mind. I remember it from when I was a child. I haven't been down there in years. But how did you know? Oh yes, Georgina must have mentioned it. I suppose he could have used the tunnel if he knew about it. Georgina must have shown it to him.”

  “She says not. She wondered if he might have just happened upon it, or been shown it.”

  Quentin looked perplexed. “There weren't very many people who knew about it. Father knew because he showed us, and me, Georgina and Stanley were the only other ones who knew that I was aware of. I didn't tell Hector, and if you're saying it wasn't Georgina, then that only leaves Stanley.”

  “Unless he came upon it by accident?”

  “From my recollection, it was pretty well hidden. That's why it was so effective for smuggling over the decades. There was a secret panel in the wall of the cask room and another in the building on the other side of the hill. Mind you, I said the cask room but that was all remodelled to build the shop. Maybe it was discovered by the builders when that took place and they could have shown Hector.”

  “Where about would the entrance be now?”

  “I couldn't say for certain but we could have a look if you'd like.”

  “It's okay, we can take care of that. We'd like to check out the tunnel from both ends. I take it we have your permission?”

  “Yes, fine.”

  “Okay, I've just got a few more questions for you. We've been hearing there were rumours that the company was up for sale.”

  “Yes, there'd been a lot of rumours.”

  “What I'm asking is was there any truth in the rumours?”

  “Well, not exactly. The business wasn't being marketed for sale but there had been an approach made to us and Hector was rather interested in pursuing it. Somehow, word leaked out and when it did there were some further approaches.”

  “You said Hector was interested. Are you suggesting that nobody else was?”

  “Hector was interested in anything that would line his pockets. He had expensive tastes and he liked a flutter. He played cards, badly, and he managed to build up debts doing it so, yes, he would be interested in anything which would have given him a wad of cash.”

  “Would that really have helped him? I thought Georgina had the shareholding and not him.”

  “Yes, you are right but you have to remember that although they lived separate lives they were still legally married and Hector would have rights. There's a fair chance Georgina could have wanted to use the money to buy a complete split from him. Her children are grown and our father's no longer in a position to stage any effective objections. It follows she may not have been against a sale if it would achieve her independence.”

  “I presume the rest of the shareholders would object to it?”

  “I can't speak for anyone else but I can give you my opinion. The outside investors have been very happy with the returns they've received, but if they were given the opportunity of an exit route and a big cash payout then who's to say how they'd react. Of course, they may not consider a payout as their best option, particularly in today's market. They'd be taxed on their capital gain and they'd then need to find another suitable investment to put their money in. Banks and insurance companies are giving precious little return at the moment so they might have a problem finding something safe which gives a reliable and high return on their investment. Maybe they'd prefer to keep their money where it is and continue to collect their dividends.”

  “I take it the rest of the family wouldn't be favourable though?”

  “Well, father would be dead against a sale, but since his stroke, he no longer has a say. He had a living power of attorney which was invoked when he took ill and it's never been reversed. Georgina, Stanley and I have the say to act on his behalf.

  “As for me, you're right, I'm totally against a sale. The business was set up by my family the best part of two hundred years ago and it's been owned and controlled by us ever since. As well as the family aspect, it's a traditional Scottish business making a market-leading Scottish product and selling it on a worldwide basis. It typifies all that's best about Scotland. We exist in Scotland. We employ local people and we pay our taxes, which are not inconsiderable, to help the Scottish and the UK economy. If we were taken over, then it would most likely be by one of the international consortia. This part of the business would be stripped to the bare bones and any profits would probably be taken offshore so the country would lose most of the tax revenues so as to pay off shareholders in America or Japan or Saudi or somewhere like that. Scotland would lose out and local people would lose their jobs. I certainly wouldn't be supporting a sale.”

  “You're sounding as if you're a Scottish Nationalist.”

  “Who, me? Certainly not, I'm not SNP, I'm a Tory through and through. I'm very pro-Scotland and I'd like to see us have a fairer share of the pie. I'd even like to see more powers devolved from Westminster to Holyrood, but that doesn't make me a Nationalist or a Separatist. No, I'm a Unionist and a Tory, a fully paid up member of the Conservative Party and a local councillor to boot. If you want to talk about Nationalism, then it's Callum McPherson you want to talk to and not me. Callum's all for an independent Scotland and we have great debates together. We argue all the time and it can get quite heated and loud. Some folk think we're fighting but it's nothing like that and it's all in good humour.”

  “Does Callum know about the sale discussions?”

  “He's not meant to. True, he's a senior manager but it's only the board that have been kept informed about what's really going on. Patrick Gillespie is his uncle, and as Company Secretary, he attends the board meetings, but I'm sure Patrick won't have said anything. Having said all of
that, and as you've told me yourself, there are lots of rumours going about and I'm sure Callum will have heard those. He'll have his suspicions, but he's never asked me, point blank, about what's going on.”

  “Could he have asked Hector?”

  “Yes, I suppose that's possible.”

  Alex glanced at his watch and realised the day was slipping away and he was due back into the office. “I'd like to thank you for all your assistance. I'm sure we'll need to talk again but we have enough to work on for the time being. We'll keep you informed of developments as best we can.”

  “When will we be able to get the operation back up and running?”

  “I can't say for certain yet. We still have a number of people to speak to and our technical people haven't finished yet. They shouldn't be too much longer, then we can give you back free use of the site as a whole, but we're likely to need access to people and some of the facilities for a few days to come.”

  “And my office?”

  “You should have that back by the end of today, but we might want to keep Hector's office for a further day or two.”

  Chapter 7

  Sandra watched Sanjay's car disappear along the adjacent farm road before turning her Mazda into Daniel Burn's driveway. The pathway was broad and covered in asphalt of a higher standard than the outside roadway. In front of the house, the path split to surround an ornate fountain topped by a sculpted central figure which wouldn't have looked out of place in a public park. The house itself was an imposing stone built villa, well over a hundred years old. Off to the left and recessed back from the path, there was a significant stone built garage, large enough to hold several cars. Sandra parked her roadster to the side of the fountain leaving ample room for another vehicle to pass. Then she looked at the facade and let out a low whistle. The building was three storeys high and symmetrical. An entranceway protruded from the centre, and on each side of it was a room fronted by a four-sectioned, bay window, and beyond this was a further large room with windows to the front and side. Sandra couldn't judge how deep the house went but she was able to see turret-shaped towers extending to both sides rising above the main body of the house. The windows on the first and second floors mirrored those on the ground and, as if someone found the house too small at some stage, dormer extensions had been added to the roof-space, perhaps for the servants, she mused.

  Sandra and Phil approached the main entrance, climbing the five marble steps towards a heavy timber door. Before they reached the bell push, the door was pulled open. Looking down on them was a man aged in his sixties. He was, tall, slim and muscular, dressed in a white shirt and dark suit. He had a military bearing, standing with his broad shoulders pulled back and his chest prominent, lungs fully inflated. His pallor was grey and his face expressionless.

  “Yes?” he enquired dryly.

  “I'm Sergeant Mackinnon and this is Constable Morrison,” she replied holding out her warrant card. “We've come to speak to Mr Burns.”

  “Walk this way,” the man replied then he turned and marched back through the entranceway.

  “Not without an operation,” Phil replied in a whispered voice to Sandra, while stifling a giggle. She shoved his arm as a minor admonishment but couldn't restrain a smile in response.

  They walked along an oak lined hallway which led towards an opulent and gaping stairway leading to the upper floors. There were several display cabinets sitting against the walls giving the impression of a museum. The contents were various collectibles and objects d'art, mostly treenware. Before they reached the stairway, they were shown into the first room on the left.

  “Please take a seat in the drawing room, I'll ask Mr Burns to join you,” the man stated as he moved deeper into the hallway.

  “Drawing room? Is this a game of `Cleudo'?” Phil asked in an undertone.

  “Shut up and behave yourself,” Sandra whispered back.

  As they looked around, they saw several, large, horsehair stuffed couches positioned against each of the walls and a number of low level tables interspersed throughout the room. The couches looked ancient and comfortable. The floors were polished oak with Chinese rugs adding to the opulence. The walls were decorated with a rich flock paper and were further adorned at regular intervals by landscape paintings in ornate, gold coloured frames. Two of the tables each had a centrepiece of a French bronze statuette and a third had a small collection of Caithness glass paperweights and ornaments. They sat down together on one of the sofas set against the back wall, facing the windows.

  They heard a simultaneous rolling and scuffing noise as the door opened and a rather sick looking elderly gentleman shuffled in supported by a zimmer frame.

  His eyes were sharp but his back was stooped leaning over the walker. Even so, they could see he was taller and slimmer than Quentin. He was clearly older and his face was wrinkled, the skin sagging a bit from his cheeks and neck, but otherwise they were looking at Quentin's double.

  “I've been expecting you. I'm Daniel Burns. You must be Sergeant Mackinnon,” he said, holding his hand out towards Phil.

  Phil jumped to his feet. “No, Sir, I'm Constable Morrison. This is Sergeant Mackinnon,” he added, indicating towards Sandra.

  Burns withdrew his hand and gave a curt nod. He abandoned the zimmer in the centre of the room and slowly staggered unaided towards an armchair and flopped down. All this was carried out without acknowledging Sandra's presence.

  “Thank you for seeing us,” Sandra commenced. “You said you'd been expecting us, so I suppose somebody has already told you about the purpose of our visit?”

  Burns cast an appraising eye over Sandra, lingering a moment too long over her legs, and then turned back towards Phil to give his answer. “Hector's body was found in the distillery. Yes, Quentin phoned me. Could you hold back any questions for a minute until Therese serves the tea?”

  They could hear a rattling sound becoming louder and heavy footsteps echoed off the wooden floors marking her approach.

  Therese entered the room carrying a tea tray laden with cups, saucers and a silver tea service. She was young and pretty, probably aged about twenty. She was tall with long shapely legs and she had Mediterranean features. Her body was slim and curvaceous. She was wearing what could be best described as a French maid's fancy dress costume. The front was low cut, giving a clear view of her ample bosom, and the skirt was short with black fishnet tights underneath.

  She rounded the table so she was facing the guests then slowly and carefully leaned forward to place the tray on the table and dispense the tea. Phil was treated to an uninterrupted view of her cleavage and Mr Burns a close up view of her legs and rear.

  Phil looked down at the floor to avoid embarrassment but Burns was less self-conscious and was clearly enjoying his view. As Therese stood to leave, he smiled, patted her rump and said, “Thank you very much, that was very nice.”

  She smiled and gave an appreciative wiggle as she scuttled out the door. He turned to Phil and winked, “She's a good girl and takes very good care of me.”

  There could be no ambiguity. Therese had been deliberately acting in a very provocative way. The only question Sandra and Phil couldn't answer was whether it was of her own volition or whether she was following instructions.

  Seeing Sandra's stony glare, Daniel added, “I'm no longer a young man, but I can still take pleasure from looking at and touching beautiful things.” As he spoke these words, his hand gently caressed the bronze on the table to the side of him. It was a quality piece standing eighteen inches tall and depicting a voluptuous half-naked girl. Daniel's fingers lingered over her breasts as he stared straight back at Sandra as if in a challenge.

  “Who all lives in the house, now?” Sandra enquired.

  “This house was built for my ancestors and my family have lived here for over a hundred years. I own it now. I'm a widower and the children have their own places so I am the only one left. I have two full-time live-in staff. Travers, who let you in, looks after everything in t
he house and manages the estate. His family have worked for my family for generations. Therese cooks and cleans. She comes from Romania and she's been with me for six months now.”

  “How did she end up here?” Phil enquired.

  “I placed an ad with an agency and she was by far the best candidate. She comes from Bran in Transylvania and moved to Glasgow a couple of years ago. She'd been working in a hotel before I employed her.”

  “Bran? Isn't that where Dracula comes from?” In an attempt to show off the limited knowledge of geography he had, Phil blurted out the first thing which came to mind and the words were out of his mouth before he had time to think about what he was saying.

  “Hardly, young man. Bran castle was the home of Vlad of Wallachia, who became popularised as Vlad the Impaler. He may have been brutal but he was a great hero to his people, leading them in battle against the Ottomans and succeeding against all odds. True, he did have the patronym of Dracula. But by contrast, the Dracula of whom you speak is a fictional character written by an Irishman and set in Whitby in England and in Transylvania. He may have stolen the name and taken some inspiration from Vlad's brutal reputation, but it's hardly the same thing. I certainly would caution you against making comments like that within Therese's hearing. Who knows, she might bite you,” he added with a laugh. Daniel's speech was slightly laboured and slurred but he was perfectly coherent and he seemed to be enjoying the lecturing role he had taken on.

  “Can you tell us when you last saw Hector?” Sandra enquired.

  “I spoke to him on the telephone yesterday afternoon, but I'd not seen him for a couple of days prior to that.” Once again, Daniel answered Sandra's question looking at Phil.