must.’
Lomax’s office covered most of the top floor of the building. Carpets were dark green, dotted with faded oriental rugs, pale blue walls hung with gold-framed paintings of old sailing ships. His desk sat in front of the double windows looking out over the square, not so much a desk as a long slab of glass held up by spindly steel legs, leather swivel chair behind it. Only things sitting on it were a metal frame with a row of silver balls hanging from it by black threads, a notepad and a thick file. If the office was meant to be impressive, it was. He clicked a switch and warm air started blowing.
‘Drink?’ he asked, walking over to a large antique globe with legs. He flipped up the top half to reveal gleaming crystal glasses and expensive bottles. McCoy spied a bottle of Chivas, was about to say yes, but Murray got in before him.
‘As I’m sure you are aware, Mr Lomax, we’re on duty. Where’s Scobie?’
‘Please yourself,’ said Lomax, pouring a good measure of Johnnie Walker Black Label into a tumbler. He settled himself down behind the desk, pointed at two leather armchairs in front of it. ‘Make yourselves comfortable.’
They struggled out of their coats and scarves – room was heating up already – and sat down. Lomax took a heavy fountain pen from his inside pocket and unscrewed the top, wrote the date on the notepad in front of him.
‘Couple of things before we start, gents. My client has volunteered to come in here and speak to you. He only heard about the dreadful incident a few hours ago. Obviously he’s extremely upset so I’m sure you’ll appreciate how helpful he’s being coming here today. Secondly,’ he looked at each of them in turn, ‘this conversation is very much off the record, in the spirit of cooperation and the hope of bringing a swift conclusion to things. Understood?’
Murray took his time, brushed a bit of lint off his trousers, moulded the crease on his trilby sitting on his lap before he spoke. ‘Your client is a piece of scum, Mr Lomax.’ He looked round at the paintings on the wall, the deep pile carpet, the Bang & Olufsen stereo system in the corner. ‘All these trappings that he’s no doubt paying through the nose for don’t change a thing. Jake Scobie is still scum. Always has been, always will be. The fact that he pays you means you may have to act like he’s a respectable businessman, but thankfully I don’t. Now where is he?’
McCoy had to hand it to him; Murray was not one to be intimidated by anyone. Not even a big lawyer like Lomax.
Lomax looked indignant, had just opened his mouth to reply, when the buzzer went. ‘Looks like my client is here,’ he said, getting up. He leant into Murray as he passed him on the way to open the door. ‘Keep your grandstanding under your hat if you please, Mr Murray. It’s not only tiresome, it’s pointless and, believe me, I’ve heard it all before.’
‘What’s he doing this for?’ asked McCoy after he’d gone. ‘Normally Scobie wouldn’t talk to us for love nor money, and now he’s volunteering for a little chat? After he’s got his pet hatchet man to kill his future son-in-law? I don’t get it.’
‘Me neither,’ said Murray. ‘Normally takes a week of going back and forward with Lomax until he’ll even admit Scobie is his client, never mind set up a meeting.’
‘Must be your way with words,’ said McCoy.
Murray was about to answer when Scobie and Lomax appeared. Lomax pulled another chair round behind his side of the desk and they sat down.
Scobie was dressed just like Lomax. Suit and a Crombie, shiny shoes, white shirt. On Lomax they looked like the clothes he was born to wear, on Scobie they looked more like a costume, dressing-up clothes. There was one other big difference between the two of them. Lomax, unlike Scobie, didn’t have a dirty big scar running from his ear down across his left cheek and into the side of his mouth. Looked like someone had tried to hack half his face off, which, knowing the people Scobie ran with, they probably had. He was a small man, Scobie, and like all the best hard men, slight too, built like a welterweight.
‘Morning, Jake,’ said Murray.
‘That’s Mr Scobie to you,’ he said, leaning forward.
Lomax held his hand across him, a restraint. ‘As I said, gents, Mr Scobie has volunteered to come here. Some respect is in order.’
Murray grunted.
McCoy knew Scobie and Murray had too much water under the bridge for a civilised chat, so he thought he’d better step in. ‘What was it you wanted to see us about, Mr Scobie?’
Murray didn’t look happy at him saying ‘Mr’. Grunted again.
‘It’s a delicate matter,’ said Lomax, shifting round in his seat towards McCoy, grateful for a more receptive audience. ‘Might be easier if I speak on Jake’s behalf.’
Jake was looking at them with contempt, barely nodded. ‘Fire away,’ said McCoy. ‘We’re all ears.’
Lomax looked relieved, sat back in his chair, settled down to tell the tale. ‘Mr Scobie has some information that may be pertinent to the unfortunate fate of Charlie Jackson. As you may know, Jackson was only months away from becoming Mr Scobie’s son-in-law. Consequently he’s very upset about what’s happened, as, naturally, is his daughter.’ Murray made a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh. Lomax ignored him, kept going. ‘Mr Scobie has an occasional employee, a Mr Connolly—’
‘Occasional employee?’ said Murray. ‘Now you really are taking the piss.’
Lomax, not looking happy at the interruption, sat forward, laced his fingers together. ‘As Mr Scobie’s accountancy records will show, Connolly is indeed an occasional employee.’
‘Employed as what exactly?’ asked McCoy as innocently as he could manage.
‘Ah . . .’ Lomax looked at the notepad in front of him, couldn’t find any inspiration, turned to Scobie. ‘What was his official title again?’
‘Gardener,’ said Scobie, deadpan.
This time Murray laughed out loud; even Lomax had half a smile on his face. ‘We are off the record, gentlemen?’ McCoy nodded, Murray almost did.
‘In a situation this grave I feel the best option is to be as open as possible. I think we all know who Mr Connolly is and what kind of work he does for Mr Scobie, no need to elaborate. Unfortunately Connolly has become a problem. Connolly has always been – how shall we say? – somewhat unstable. Regretfully that instability has become more pronounced of late. It seems he has formed an unnatural interest in Mr Scobie’s daughter, Elaine.’
McCoy raised his eyebrows; things were getting interesting.
Lomax went on. ‘About a year ago he started sending her letters, following her, turning up wherever she was. She became an obsession, an unreciprocated obsession to say the least. Miss Scobie tried to laugh it off at first, but then she became alarmed and then she became seriously frightened. This courtship, for want of a better word, culminated in her coming home one night to find him sitting in the living room of her flat holding a bunch of flowers.’
Lomax glanced at Scobie. Another nod. Carry on.
‘At that point she felt she had to tell her father. After she and her father made it perfectly plain there were no reciprocal feelings, Connolly became convinced that this was simply due to her fiancé,
