Out of control (6 page)

Then her eyes widened.

“Liam?”

“Yeah. Hi Irina,” he said with a friendly smile

She flicked a puzzled glance from Liam to me and back again then turned to Sergeant MacLean.

“What’s all this about? Why am I talking to these people? I know him, but who’s this other man?” she asked nervously.

She seemed definitely worried. I could see the muscles in her face tighten and her chin wavered.

“It’s nothing to do with your arrest,” he said. ”It’s something completely different. Mr. Bruce just wants to know if you can help them to find someone. He is Liam’s grandfather.”

“Oh. Who is it you want to find?”

We had agreed not to go into Liam’s story and the real reason we wanted to track down Rémy. Just simply to say that Rémy owed Liam some money and he wanted to recover it. We had reckoned that was a reasonable enough story to explain the fact that we were talking to her in a police station.

“Rémy,” said Liam.”Do you know where he is? He seems to have disappeared and he owes me some money which I want to get back. The problem is that I haven’t a clue where he’s gone. I saw your photo in the paper the other day and wondered if you might know. By the way, I’m sorry about the trouble you’ve been in.”

“Oh, is that all? Well I’m sorry I can’t help you much because he’s obviously dumped me. When did you last see him?”

In spite of her answer and knowing now what it was about she didn’t seem to relax in any way which I would have expected. She still seemed wound up tight.

“About five days ago,” replied Liam.

“That would be about right,” she said bitterly “I haven’t seen him since then either. Not a word. He just cleared off.”

It was a slightly accented English – clearly East European but with an inflection that suggested she spoke French.

She carried on. ”I’ve no idea where he is. He can go and rot anywhere he likes as far as I’m concerned. Sorry, but I can’t help you.”

I decided to intervene.

“Irina, did Rémy go to Edinburgh a lot?”

“Yes, a couple of times a week.”

“Do you know where in Edinburgh? Do you know the sorts of places he hung about? Did you ever go with him?”

“I went a few times with him, but not often. When we did go we nearly always went to a pub halfway up the High Street, opposite St Giles Cathedral. That’s where his friends hung out.”

“Do you think Liam might find him there?”

“I really don’t know. And I don’t care. The guy’s a shit as far as I’m concerned.”

That seemed to me to be all we were going to get. I turned to Liam and raised my eyebrows in question. He nodded.

“Thanks, Irina. You’ve been a great help.”

Sergeant MacLean had been silent during our conversation but now he suddenly looked back to Irina and spoke quietly, almost apologetically.

“Miss Vasilescu, I’m a police officer and have a duty to enquire into things and, as far as it concerns me, your case is now closed. I just have the administrative follow up to worry about but I feel I must ask you. Is this man Rémy by any chance your supplier?”

“Good God, no!” came the response.

I was watching her carefully. The answer had exploded out from between her lips. I could see and feel that there was enormous stress in that body. MacLean accepted the answer with a silent nod. He made no sign of getting up. He just let the silence drift for some time.

It was then that she cracked. That tension I had seen in her was just too much and she collapsed in tears. Her head fell forward onto her arms which had been resting on the table and she sobbed her heart out.

Sergeant MacLean signalled to us not to react. He let her cry herself out for a full minute until her sobs had lessened to mere whimperings. She eventually straightened up, rummaged in her bag for a tissue to wipe away her tears. She sniffed and said “I’m sorry. Can I go now?”

MacLean made a sign to us to go so we got up quietly and left the room. As I closed the door quietly behind us I could hear him speaking softly and comfortingly to the girl as if he was her father. There are some good cops I thought.

We waited in the entrance hall for about five minutes. I wanted to thank the sergeant for his help before we left. He came through without Irina who was either still in the room or he had shown her out a back way.

He motioned us outside. “Opportunity to have a cigarette break,” he said ruefully. “Been trying to chuck it but the stories you hear in this place don’t exactly help.”

“Thanks very much for allowing us to see her. We’ll see if we can find this Rémy now. I’m sorry it ended up with her being so upset.”

“Oh, that wasn’t your fault. It was mine. It was my mention of the word ‘supplier’ that set her off.”

He succeeded in lighting his cigarette in spite of the breeze and took what was clearly a satisfying draw.

“You know it’s tragic seeing these kids coming adrift. She’s pretty screwed up. I think she just needed a shoulder to cry on and, once she started, I got the whole story. I hate these bastards that use these kids. But there isn’t much I can do about it. Up here we get the end of the chain. It’s all happening down south and in Europe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well I’m not giving away any state secrets and you keep it for yourself…”

We nodded.

“….that kid comes from a normal working class family in Romania. All she wanted to do was to better herself and she apparently found an agency of some sort that said they could find her a job in France. It wouldn’t cost her any money up front, they said. She could earn more than double what she could earn in Romania and also get the opportunity to study and get some qualifications.”

He took another puff of his cigarette.

“Sounds a pretty good plan, doesn’t it?”

“So where was the catch?” asked Liam.

“The catch was ‘20% of your salary for the first twelve months’. She couldn’t keep up the payments so she was done for. They put the pressure on and before she knew where she was she was smuggling drugs into the UK for them. Bastards!

“She told me that there’s a whole network of them. Some end up shifting drugs, some end up on the game and they’re all too scared to do anything about it. She knows a few of the girls but not many. It’s not encouraged and if anyone gets stroppy they just disappear. They make it dead clear what the consequences would be of kicking against the rules and she’s completely terrified.”

He gazed morosely into the distance.

“And I can do damn all about it.”

“Why not?”

“She begged me to say nothing. She’s petrified of repercussions. I think she really regretted having said anything at all and there’s no way she’ll say anything officially. So I can do nothing. In any case the real problem’s not here, it’s in France. That’s their import point because most Romanians speak French as their second language.”

He finished his cigarette. We thanked him again and he wished us well and returned to his post. Liam and I headed back to the farm, Liam expressing his disgust at what he had heard. I was wondering if we could do anything about it without endangering Irina.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have…….

Armed with the meagre information that we had gleaned from Irina, Mike and Liam set off for Edinburgh that afternoon to see if they could locate Rémy. I think we all thought that it was a chance in a million and would probably be a wild goose chase but we had to try.

I drove back to Letham, having thanked Heather with a large box of chocolates. Even although I knew she wasn’t a chocolate freak, I knew that Oliver would appreciate them.

Pierre had arrived before me and had let himself in. Mrs. Clarke, my neighbour, had given him the spare key.

We caught up over a bar lunch at Fernie Castle Hotel and, in the afternoon, we allowed Kingsbarns to prove to us that our golf was not quite as good as we thought. The only thing we sunk satisfactorily was the beer in the clubhouse afterwards.

Over supper that evening I told Pierre what had happened to Liam. It was thanks to Antoine that Liam had got the job in the first place so it was natural that I should tell him what had happened.

I told him that that was the reason I had asked him about LyonPharma. I also explained that I had called in Mike to try to track down Rémy.

Pierre understood only too well how angry I was. He had been the unwilling victim of a similar type of incident during his career. A software programmer had suddenly left his company and absconded with a year and half’s worth of programming. Not long afterwards he had found a software package on the market practically identical to his own design. It’s true that it hadn’t been protected but once it was out Pierre figured there was no value in pursuing the project. If he had he would have been launching several months behind and would no longer have been first on the market. It just wouldn’t have been worth his while so he had abandoned it.

“Two years work wasted,” he said “and nothing to be done about it.” We agreed that it was a pretty vicious world in business. Perhaps it always has been but that doesn’t make it any better. I had seen a few things in my time as well.

“That’s what APA Consultants exist for, isn’t it?” he said with a grin. “Three old age pensioners with money and time on their hands to stir things up a bit. Today’s executives are too busy watching their competitors and spread sheets to notice three old fogeys coming riding over the hill.”

I laughed. “You’re right. Might as well have some fun to occupy our time. That calls for another bottle of red.”

When I came back Pierre asked me what I was planning to do.

“Well, legally we can do nothing. The only thing I can think of at the moment is to find out if this Rémy really was sent by LyonPharma to spy on Bioscope, either through Liam or not. If it turns out to be true we’ve got our friendly journalist in Edinburgh who, I’m sure, would be delighted to spill the beans. We can at least put a big dent in their reputation. I’m not having you bloody French screwing a nice wee Scottish company!”

Pierre smiled at my jibe, raised his glass to Dad’s photo on the wall and said “Cheers, Dad. It seems your boys are off again.”

He put his glass down after an enquiring sip. “Not bad,” he commented. “At least the French know how to make wine.”

“Touché.”

I asked after Madeleine and Pierre assured me that she was well and had sent her best wishes.

“And Maggie?” he asked.

That was a more uncomfortable topic of conversation.

“She’s fine. I’m going up to see her next weekend.”

Maggie and I had a relationship which was, at the moment, just what I wanted. We saw each other most weekends unless she was too busy at the hotel which she ran up in Lochbervie. That suited me perfectly but, I confess, we hadn’t yet broached the topic of whether it suited her. Was she happy to keep a relationship like that going? Was she happy to have time on her own or would she rather that we were together all the time? And did I want that? So far we hadn’t addressed the issue.

When I explained this to Pierre he nodded, understanding. There was no alternative to his relationship with Madeleine so he didn’t have the same kind of problem.

“Be careful though, Bob. I haven’t met her yet but from what you’ve said she sounds like a gem. Don’t let her get away.”

I 
grinned sheepishly and sighed. “I’ll have to clear it up soon, I think.” I reflected for a bit. Did I want to be tied down? Pierre and I enjoying an evening together was relaxing and perfect. Would it be the same if Maggie was here? And on the other hand how would I feel being totally alone again?

Stop ducking the issue, I said to myself. Then a thought suddenly occurred to me. Impulsively I got up from the table. “Be back in a minute.”

The phone call lasted about five minutes and I was back with a stupid grin on my face, feeling (and probably looking) like a nervous twenty year old – in terms of facial expression that is.

I 
sat down and polished off my wine. I grinned at Pierre. “Well, that’s done it,” I said, “one way or another.”

“Done what?”

“I’ve just followed a piece of my elder brother’s advice – which I hasten to add, I’m not accustomed to doing.”

“And…?”

“I’ve just suggested to Maggie that when we’ve finished this little business – say, in a few weeks – she and I go off for a ten-day cruise to the fjords of Norway.”

Pierre laughed, clapped me on the shoulder and said “Well done.”

Over a late breakfast the next morning (kippers, toast and a nice cold glass of Chablis) we were discussing what Pierre might be able to do when we were disturbed by the phone. It was Mike.

“Morning, Bob. We’re on the way back. We found him. Tell you about it when we get there.”

“Are you phoning and driving?” I asked.

“No, don’t worry. Liam’s driving. But bloody slowly though. He keeps on worrying about kangaroos jumping out of the bushes onto the road. Be there in about half an hour,” and he rang off.

I explained to Pierre that they had seemingly been lucky in their search for Rémy in Edinburgh and were on their way back.

When they arrived we repaired to the patio at the back of the house. I was impatient for the news and they were also impatient to tell me. We ploughed straight on in. Mike was the spokesman.

“We were dead lucky. We went to the place that the girl had mentioned, parked ourselves at a table on the pavement outside and watched the passing crowd for about three quarters of an hour. I was about to give up and suggest we come back later when Liam suddenly spotted him. “There he is,” he said.

“I told him to act as normally as possible because we didn’t want to frighten him off. Liam went up to him and was greeted with surprise but Rémy seemed genuinely pleased to see him. He brought him over and we bought him a drink.

“To cut a long story short, it wasn’t him.”

“What do you mean ‘wasn’t him’?”

“He’s never heard of LyonPharma. When we pushed him a bit he did admit that he had tried to find out about Liam’s work and when they were together he tried to guide the conversation in that direction when he could but it was because the girl, Irina, had asked him to!”