A Measure of Trouble (Alex Warren Murder Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  “I doubt if that would have bothered either of them too much,” Sandra replied. “Was there anything else in the office?”

  “Not yet, I'll let you know if there's anything in the papers. He had a private phone line and it had a phone with a memory bank attached. Here's a list of the numbers of the last ten calls made and another list of all the numbers on speed-dial with a note of when they were last used. There was also a digital recording device attached to the phone, so he must have been taping some of his calls for some reason. Any calls taped have been deleted, but normally that only means the access links are removed and the messages remain on the core memory. We might still be able to access and decode to see what's on it.”

  “That's curious. Why on earth would he be taping his calls?” Sandra asked.

  “It is strange. These things are normally used by marketing companies to keep tabs on what their sales staff are saying to customers and to be able to confirm details of orders taken. For Hector to be using it on a private line suggests he was trying to keep exact records of specific conversations or else he was trying to trap someone,” Sanjay suggested.

  “We'll know more if and when we have the transcripts,” Anne concluded.

  “After all of that, we went to check out the tunnel. As you can judge, we've had quite a day of it.”

  “And we really appreciate your help,” Sandra commented.

  Anne smiled benignly and continued, “The first thing we looked at was the approach road. It looked as though there had been a lot of vehicles using it and quite a mixture too, cars, motorbikes and cycles, but there was nothing specific for us to pinpoint. There was a parking area sitting behind the cottage, big enough for three vehicles, and Hector's Jaguar was sitting there. It hadn't been locked so we were able to check over the contents. There was no evidence to suggest anyone other than Hector had been in the vehicle recently. Next we went into the cottage to look for the tunnel.”

  “We didn't have a search warrant. Could that create any problems?” Phil enquired.

  “There are no absolutes but I wouldn't think so,” replied Sandra. “We asked Quentin and we were given his permission to check out the tunnel from both ends.”

  “But the cottage is on Daniel's land?”

  “Yes, that's true and hopefully it won't be a problem. Quentin, together with his brother and sister, still have a power of attorney so we did have authority, but for any evidence uncovered it could be a moot point. The fiscal will need to consider it carefully and we'll flag that up to him,” Anne replied.

  “Which suggests that you've found some evidence?” Sandra asked.

  “Yes, we've found quite a lot. So far we don't know what it all means and how relevant it might be to the murder, but yes, we've found some evidence.”

  “Go on,” Sandra prodded.

  “Okay, to start with, the cottage. The place was clean and it had recently been swept out, but it hadn't been mopped and there was still some evidence of footprints on the floor. In the main, they've been caused by dust carried up from the tunnel or wet footwear coming in from the outside. Notably, it was very wet last night. We've recorded the markings and there were a lot of them. We need to eliminate Hector, Sanjay and Mary, then see what we have left. There was evidence of a smaller shoe size, quite possibly a woman's, and a lot of scuff marks as well. It's as if something small was being dragged across the floor.

  “We looked carefully at the light switch and at the removable wallboard but couldn't detect any prints, only smudge marks. Whoever's touched them was probably wearing gloves.

  “Next, the tunnel itself. The floor was mainly stone or rock and I'm sure that's what's given rise to the dusty footprints. Once again, a lot of footprints in the tunnel and scuff marks. We also confirmed the trunking was carrying electricity from the distillery along the tunnel. Although not a lot, we found some tiny paw prints and droppings which are consistent with vermin.”

  “Well, remember the old adage that we're never more than six feet away from a rat,” Phil offered.

  Sanjay shuddered and looked rather uneasy.

  “I'm not so certain about six feet away from a rat, but from what we've been told, we've got our own six-foot rat lying in the mortuary,” Sandra added, breaking the tension.

  “Back to business,” Anne continued. “We thought it was hardly surprising to find rodent traces in a tunnel, so no real impact on the investigation. But moving on, it was what we found further along that was most interesting.”

  “Now you have me intrigued,” Phil looked up and gazed directly at Anne.

  “At various points along the tunnel, there were boxes of whisky and some individual bottles. A few were quite old and special vintages, but we also found others that were fairly new and some standard bottles, if you can describe bottles of fifteen and seventeen year old, single malt whisky as standard, and you know what that means?”

  They all looked up expectantly waiting for the answer. “It means that someone, either as an individual or a group, was continuing to smuggle whisky out of the distillery.”

  “But who? And why?” Mary expressed what they were all thinking.

  “The who, we can make an educated guess at. The why could be multi-fold. Firstly, to make personal gain without it going through the books and then, because it wasn't going through the books, to defraud the excise man and the Inland Revenue.”

  “Can you explain?” Phil asked

  “If it wasn't going through the books, it's unlikely that duty was declared and that would defraud the excise man. Also the company profits would then be understated so the tax man would be cheated.”

  “Should we report this to HMRC? The customs boys would surely want to have a close look.”

  “First, wait until you hear what else I have to tell you, but in answer to your question, yes, we should, but we'll probably want to hold off for a bit. We're dealing with a murder enquiry and that takes top priority. If we bring in the tax people right away, then we won't have space to breath, let alone think, so I believe we hold off telling other government departments for the time being, at least until we've exhausted our on-site enquiries.”

  “Okay, that makes sense,” Sandra replied, appreciating Anne's advice.

  “That was only the tip of the iceberg. About three-quarters of the way along the tunnel we found a bend leading off towards another cave. It was blocked by a heavy timber door. We managed to pick the lock and found a veritable treasure chest.”

  “A what?” Mary enquired.

  “I was just speaking figuratively,” Anne replied. “There were barrels and bottles and bottling equipment. Someone had created a secret store for keeping and maturing whisky and then for bottling the product. It was quite a little manufacturing set up too.”

  “How on earth did it work?” Sandra asked.

  “As a first step, they must have diverted some of the whisky that came out of the still into extra barrels which were routed down there instead of to the cask room.”

  “Wouldn't someone have noticed? Wouldn't the records have shown shortages?” Sanjay probed.

  “In theory, yes, but it would depend on who controlled the records. Someone senior enough could have falsified documents to cover up. It wouldn't have been too difficult.”

  “Don't they have to keep records for Customs to check? Isn't it all automated now?”

  “I couldn't tell you what the regulations say and, as for automation, I don't know what they do now, but a lot of the barrels stretch back for many years. Remember you need to keep whisky in the keg to mature it. I've not yet checked the details on what's in there but I'm having an inventory prepared. I can't say at the moment whether there are any recent barrels, but I'll be able to tell you soon.

  “This has been a big scale operation. Our fraud specialists will want in on it and HMRC too, but as I say, let's get our investigations more advanced before we risk losing control of the site.”

  “So for how long has this been going on?” Sandra asked.
r />   “The youngest barrel I can remember seeing was about eight years old and there were some more than three times that age. This has been going on for years, and for all I know, it could date back generations. There was a long tradition in the whisky trade of trying to beat the excise man. I thought it was all in the past, but from what I've seen today, it appears the tradition lives on, at least in some places.”

  “Well, it's safe to say that Hector wasn't responsible for starting it,” Phil stated.

  “Maybe so, but that doesn't mean he's not had his finger in the pie,” Sandra replied.

  “Yes, but if he only took over as M.D. three years ago and if there are no newer barrels in there, then maybe he wasn't involved at all,” Sanjay added.

  “There may still be new barrels in there which I didn't spot,” Anne replied. “Also, even if there aren't any new ones, it could be they've stopped because of new controls, it doesn't mean it's because of a change of manager.”

  “The other thing is Hector was in charge of the office before he became M.D. He was the one in charge of the paperwork. Even if he was a bit of a plonker, as Sandy suggested, it would have been hard for anyone else to be operating a fiddle as big as this without Hector getting wind of it,” Phil continued.

  It was becoming a brainstorming session with each of them developing ideas on the back of another's comments.

  “There were quite a few mutterings we heard which suggested that Hector had some kind of hold over Daniel. Maybe Daniel was behind all of this and Hector found out and confronted or even blackmailed him.” Sandra's summation brought an end to their conjectures. They all looked at each other and nodded grimly, thinking they now had a working hypothesis.

  “I've not finished yet,” Anne resumed. “We walked to the end of the tunnel. There was a heavy wooden door with draw-bolts and a lock. We managed to get it open. There was a small space and then we were faced by a lightweight pine door. We pulled that open and found that it formed the backboard to the inside of a cupboard. The cupboard was more or less empty, but it too was locked. We opened it and found ourselves in a narrow corridor which separates the ladies' from the gents' toilets at the back of the shop, next to the cask room.”

  “Well, that solves the mystery of where the tunnel starts from,” Phil offered.

  “It was very well disguised. Nobody would have guessed it was there. Not that anyone would have been looking, but even if they were, there was nothing to give away that it was anything other than a cupboard.

  “Obviously we checked all around it and in the toilets and the shop, looking for anything suspicious or any evidence of who'd been there recently. Again, we'll still have to wait for test results, but no obvious clues. Well, just one actually.”

  “What's that?”

  “Immediately after you come out of the cupboard, where the corridor opens out into the shop, we found a torn bit of a wrapper from a condom packet. The same brand which Hector keeps in his desk.”

  Chapter 9

  The earlier brightness waned and a deep grey pervaded, much more typical of the season. Alex had his headlights on full beam, not only to illuminate his pathway, but more significantly so as to be visible from a distance as he sped along the country road, retracing his path from earlier in the day. Traffic was quiet and he was able to turn his attention and plan for what lay ahead as he made progress towards the city.

  He already had an appointment arranged to see Simon Anderson, a deputy fiscal, to discuss some pending court cases, but he knew from Sandra's briefing, the Abdallah case was likely to dominate their conversation.

  Alex stopped his car on the double yellow lines outside his office at Pitt Street. It took him less than five minutes to rush up the stairs and collect the papers he needed, but by the time he returned, there was already a traffic warden eyeing his vehicle and preparing to record his registration. The look of disappointment on his face was unmistakable as Alex flashed his warrant card and slid back behind the wheel, trying to suppress a smile.

  He restarted the engine and flipped on the wipers to clear the screen from the first drops of rain which were now starting to fall. No sooner had he manoeuvred the car round the one-way system towards St Vincent Street and the slip road to the Kingston Bridge, than the whole sky was illuminated by a flash of lightning which was almost immediately followed by the resounding rumble of thunder. The car vibrated under its force. A heavy storm was breaking and it felt as though it was immediately overhead as further flashes came. To begin with, large splodges landed on the screen then the rain intensified. Before long it was as if a power hose had been pointed at the screen, and even with the wipers at full speed, Alex's visibility was very limited. He pulled the car into a bus lane at the side of the road just ahead of the on ramp and switched on his hazard warning lights. Although he knew the rain could continue for some considerable time, he was aware the intensity couldn't be sustained and he decided to wait for the worst to blow over. The motorway was only a short distance away and Alex shook his head in amazement watching the blurred shapes of speeding vehicles blindly following the taillights of the one in front and travelling at a velocity which allowed no room for error. Gradually, the rain lessened but was quickly replaced by hard balls of ice. Hailstones the size of marbles startled to fall with a ferocity which Alex feared could dent his car's bodywork. While most bounced off the paintwork, some of them were softer and exploded onto the windscreen, emulating the impact of a snowball. On the motorway, overhead, gantry warnings guided motorists to reduce their speed to twenty miles per hour, but Alex could see the signs were being ignored as most drivers were still trying to maintain or exceed the urban motorway limit of fifty. It lasted less than five minutes, but in that time, all sorts of catastrophes were being risked. The precipitation eased to a steady drizzle and Alex rejoined the traffic and set off over the bridge.

  His meeting was to be held in the building of the Crown Office and Procurator Fiscal Service in Ballater Street, only yards away from Glasgow Sheriff Court and close to the southern bank of the River Clyde.

  Having used the motorway to cross the river by the Kingston Bridge, Alex took the first exit then turned left to follow the riverside. A right turn into Bridge Street followed by a left along Oxford Street brought him to the Court Building. He left his vehicle in the official car park then braved the weather to cross to his meeting venue.

  Alex presented his identification at the reception and was shown into a meeting room. It was modern, small and comfortable with four armchairs set out around a low coffee table. There was another small table in the corner of the room which had an already bubbling coffee filter set on it, alongside sat a tray of coffee mugs and a bowl with milk and sugar sachets. A rich nutty aroma filled the room. Alex half filled a cup with the dark liquid and relaxed into a chair, thinking about the contrast to the interview rooms in Pitt Street. It was the first time he had stopped all day.

  His rest was short-lived, however, as the door flew open and Simon Anderson sailed in. Alike many of his legal associates who have the right to present cases at the High Court, Simon was flamboyant. He was six feet tall and, although reasonably plump, you would never have guessed as his perfectly tailored, three-piece, chequered suit provided an ideal camouflage. The suit was complemented by a starched, white shirt and a colourful cravat. Alex knew him to be fifty, but to look at his impression was ageless, with his shock of sandy coloured hair extending into bushy sideburns which came down to the level of his lips. He wouldn't have looked out of place as a character in a Dickens' novel.

  “Good afternoon, Alex. I'm glad you could make it. I wasn't certain that you would. I've heard you've had a spot of bother relating to a distillery?”

  “You're very well informed.”

  “All part of the job.”

  “I've heard you've had your own bit of bother?”

  “Oh yes, the Abdallah case, that could to be very problematic.”

  “Do you want to deal with it first?”

 
“No let's keep it until the end. Why spoil what will otherwise be a good day until we have to?”

  There was a buzzing and Alex felt a vibration in his pocket signifying another text. He lifted his mobile while mouthing an apology. “Sorry, I'd meant to switch it off,” he added.

  `Dad, need to talk to you about a problem, something important. Will you have time tonight?' Alex read.

  He was a little bit unnerved. What sort of problem might Andrew have? He was always the level-headed one. Might it be personal to him or a family issue, he conjectured?

  “A difficulty?” Simon enquired.

  “I hope not,” Alex replied, “But I can't be certain yet.” His fingers flew across the keypad, saying, `Don't worry I'll make time,' then he switched the phone to silent and again apologised.

  Simon and Alex ran through a number of outstanding issues and allocated action points for each of them to progress.

  “Just before we move onto Abdallah,” Simon added, “You know the Forbes case coming up next month. Word is that he'll put in a diminished responsibility plea, maybe volunteer to be sectioned. He'll do anything to avoid a standard prison sentence. A former senior police officer doesn't want to be banged up alongside some of the villains he'd helped to put away. One other thing, he's asked if you'll visit him in Bar-L.”

  “Who me?”

  “Yes, he says you have history and he wants to ask for your help.”

  “Well after what he put me through, I'm the last one he can expect to help him.”

  “Entirely up to you, I'm just passing along the request. Don't shoot the messenger.”

  “Okay, now about Abdallah, how serious is the problem?”

  “I can't be certain, but possibly fatal.”

  “You have to be joking? I thought we had him bang to rights.”

  “It did look that way, but now it's all changed.”

  “What? Just because some idiot said something stupid to him?”

  “That's only a small part. Your boy Fulton…”

  “Stop right there. Fulton's not one of my boys. You can't pin this one on me. He wasn't even a proper police officer.”