THEY NEEDED their security passes to get out through the guarded door at the back of the bank and onto MacAlpin Road. From there they just had to turn right and cross the road to Eideard’s Tower. It was a circular building that had gone up not long after the first part of the Sutherland building in the early 1700s, and at the time it would have been a tall and majestic thing. It wasn’t built by the Sutherlands; it was instead a watchtower that served to advertise the paranoia of Eideard Brann, a man strange enough to be locked up but rich enough to be dismissed as eccentric and left to his own devices. In the centuries since it had fallen into disrepair, then been bought by the Sutherlands because it was next door, with new buildings around it turning it into a place of unremarkable size and mediocre function. Modernity has a habit of trampling across the past like that.
Disappointing as it was to see a striking old building put to such poor use the simple fact was that no one else wanted to own the watchtower. It had no historical significance, being nothing more than a rich man’s curious whim, and its only achievement was not falling over during one of the hundreds of winter storms it had lived through. The cost of keeping it upright was more than the council considered worthy, so the Sutherlands got to own their odd neighbor.
The tower where the drivers waited was a thirty-second walk across the road; they had to be close enough to run to the multi-story car park opposite the bank and round to pick up the executives at the front door at the drop of an expensive hat. Phil led them into a small reception area that needed its lights on all day because there were no windows, just the light coming in from the open door. As Phil stopped by the reception desk a thick wooden door at the side of the room, that looked like it might have been there since the place went up, opened slowly and a man stepped out. He was in his late twenties and had a sour expression that showed no surprise at seeing them.
He said, “I’m Will Dent. Come through here.”
Dent spoke with all the joy of a man on death row whose last meal had turned up burned. The four of them followed him into a room that was supposed to be a kitchen because a sink had been added and a microwave stood on a counter, but the madness of its creator was still on display. There was one small, high window near the ceiling, grated and set in the remarkably thick wall. There was a long, sturdy, wooden dining table that filled the room, one wall curving to make it feel smaller, and they all sat at it.
Darian took the lead. “We just wanted to know what you remembered of the crash you were in with Freya Dempsey a couple of months ago on Kidd Street. All the details you can remember.”
He shrugged. “It was her fault, that’s about all I do remember. She pulled out and hit me, another car came from here to get us, that was it.”
When he spoke it was mostly out of the left side of his mouth, the right appearing to stay half shut, and it sounded like he was picking every word reluctantly. He looked at the faces of the four men staring back at him, clearly under pressure and unsure why it took so many to ask about a minor prang.
Darian said, “You must remember more than that. I would hope it’s not every day you crash into someone. Even your employers don’t get to play bumper cars in the streets.”
“I didn’t crash into her, she crashed into me. It was only minor anyway.”
Sholto, feeling more at ease with staff than the fabulously wealthy who employed them, said, “You wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if you got out of the car and ignored her and I’m sure you’re something of a gentleman. What did you say to her?”
Dent shrugged again, looked to the side and said, “I can’t remember. Told her she shouldn’t have pulled out when she did, something like that. That was it.”
Sholto said, “That was it?”
“Probably, I think so.”
Dent spoke like a man afraid that in every word might lurk the kernel of truth that would choke him. It may have been because he was afraid of saying something that contradicted his boss and got him the sack, or his fear might have traveled from a further, darker place.
Sholto said, “You must have given her a number, though, so that she could put a claim in.”
“Uh, yeah, I suppose so. A card or something, probably.”
“And you gave her the card, not Mr. Sutherland?”
“Maybe, I don’t know, I can’t remember. Look, that was two months ago, right, and it wasn’t that big a deal. I don’t know what your problem is here.”
Sholto gave him a smile that was supposed to indicate he knew more than he was letting on and said, “I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up. I’m just asking you a few harmless questions. Have you spoken to Freya Dempsey since the crash, any time in the weeks since?”
Quietly he said, “No.”
“You weren’t in contact with her when she called about the claim for her car?”
“No. I’m a driver, I don’t handle insurance stuff.”
There was silence for a few seconds before Phil said, “Okay, thanks, Will, we’ll let you go now.”
They had less than they needed but all they were going to get so the four of them left the tower and walked back round to East Sutherland Square. As they marched two abreast Sholto said, “Of the two thousand or so shifty-looking buggers I’ve questioned in my time I think he might crack the top hundred and fifty.”
Phil said, “He was certainly nervous. Might not mean much, might just be scared of losing his job. Uncle Harold likes to keep the same people around for as long as possible, and he pays them well if he likes them. It’s a cushy number to lose for a man whose only skill is driving.”
Vinny grunted and said, “Well, my Spidey senses are telling me he knows more than he’s willing to let on, and I think he might be a lead worth following. We have to skip on up to Docklands, though; we have a shift in the pig market starting in half an hour we’re already going to be late for.”
He was looking at Darian when he said it, almost with an expression of pleading. Darian said, “Don’t worry, we’ll have an eyeball stuck to Dent for the rest of the day and night.”
Vinny and Phil went north in Phil’s car to start their working day at Docklands police station and Darian and Sholto got into Sholto’s Fiat.
Darian said, “I’ll get a motor from JJ for the day and watch Dent. I take it you’re going to call DS MacNeith to let her know about our progress.”
“Don’t say it like I’m sticking my tongue in her ear and a knife in your back. This is a good lesson for you. We’re not cops, which means we have to suck up to those who are hard enough to inhale the bastards.”
Darian couldn’t, and didn’t want to, argue. He had more interesting things to do than debate the strategy of Douglas Independent Research with its owner.