Chapter 26

VON ZANDT’S ULTRA-MODERN offices all but shouted money-making mojo. Stark, sleek granite floors, white walls splashed with blood red paintings, and steel framed furnishings upholstered in violently expensive black leather. Reid could have sent someone else to do the interview, or could have brought someone else with him, but instead, he’d come alone, reasoning that a meeting alone would send more of a message.

An elegant young brunette dressed in a red that matched the paintings perched on a space age chair behind a metal and glass desk. She looked up, bored, then her mouth fell open and her face blossomed into an inelegant, genuine smile. “Oy, you’re Lord Reid, aren’t you?”

He’d started to recognize that look on strangers, but he still wasn’t used to it. Those damned tabloids apparently had quite a following, especially among young women. Good thing he didn’t work undercover anymore.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement and forced a smile. “Just Superintendent Reid today. I’m here to see Walter Von Zandt.”

“I’ll see if he’s available, Lord Reid.”

She punched some buttons, spoke into her headset, then listened. She fluttered her eyelashes at Reid and smiled. “He’ll see you now. His office is …never mind, I’ll just take you there.” She took off her headset and, standing up, she motioned for him to follow her. “It’s this way.”

Reid followed, idly wondering who was going to answer the telephones in her absence. As she walked, the young woman chatted nonstop—asking him his opinion about the weather, the upcoming Easter holidays, and even made a brief reference to the events in California. He fingered his wedding ring, trying not to let his discomfort show. When they reached their destination, she reluctantly let him go, but not before reminding him of her name with what he thought was meant to be a soulful look, and telling him to let her know if there was ever anything she could do for him.

Lord save him.

Von Zandt’s private office was decorated in the same manner as the reception area. He sat behind a vast glass desk that held only a silver laptop computer. Not one scrap of paperwork was in evidence. Bare as it was, it was a legitimate-appearing office for someone who dealt, however indirectly, in terrorism and murder.

Walter Von Zandt stood up from a glossy black leather chair and came over to shake Reid’s hand. At fifty-seven, Von Zandt was still in good shape. He had a full head of steel gray hair and hard, cold eyes. He dressed impeccably, his clothes obviously expensive, and he sported a tan that shouted French Riviera.

“Please have a seat.”

Von Zandt motioned to the chairs in front of his desk, then went back behind his desk and sat down. “It’s been a while, Superintendent Reid—though you weren’t a superintendent last time we spoke. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

Reid took a seat. “We’re making inquiries into the death of Richard Ramsey.”

“An unfortunate business.” Von Zandt shook his head. “Suicide is an ugly thing. Richard must have been very unhappy to have done something like that to his family.”

“Actually, it wasn’t suicide.”

“An accident?”

“Murder.”

“Murder? How terrible.” Von Zandt’s voice didn’t even try to express actual dismay or surprise. He sounded bored.

“Yes.”

“I hadn’t heard that the police suspected murder.”

“We just got the autopsy report today.” Reid said, noting that Von Zandt seemed to feel entitled to have received the correct information earlier. “As you’d expect, we’re talking to people who knew him. Do you know anyone who would have wanted him dead?”

Von Zandt’s reptilian eyes held Reid’s gaze, then blinked slowly and deliberately. “No, I don’t.”

“Tell me about your business relationship.”

Von Zandt gave an elegant shrug and stood up, moving out from behind his desk. “We had business dealings with each other, profitable for both of us.” He walked over to an Oriental cabinet that served as a drinks trolley. “Would you like a drink? Your family’s label.” He held up a familiar bottle of whiskey.

Reid shook his head, but noted the bottle was from Dunbaryn’s first reserve.

Von Zandt poured himself a whiskey and went back to sit behind his desk.

“You also had a personal relationship with him?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that. We were business colleagues, not friends.” Von Zandt steepled his fingers, ignoring the drink he’d just poured, and Reid realized the man hadn’t had any intention of actually drinking it. “Though I’m sure you’re aware that I have a relationship with his daughter.”

“Yes. I’ve spoken with Moira.”

Von Zandt blinked slowly. “This has been upsetting for her, of course, but she and Ramsey weren’t close.”

“Did Ramsey object to your relationship with Moira?”

A cold smile played over Von Zandt’s hard features. “Hardly. He introduced us. You might even say he encouraged us to get to know each other. He thought I would be a good influence on Moira.”

“A good influence?” Reid could hardly keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“Yes, and he was right. With me, she finished school, and her marks greatly improved. She’s studying at the university now. Part time, of course, as she frequently accompanies me on my travels. Which is educational for her, as well.”

“You’ve been involved with Moira for some time, as I understand it.”

“Three years. She moved in with me on her sixteenth birthday.” Von Zandt would never admit to having been involved with Moira before the legal age of consent.

“Tell me more about your relationship with Richard Ramsey.”

“I thought your task force concentrated on organized and financial crimes. Not murder.”

“You’re well-informed. CID is actually taking the lead on investigating the Ramsey murder. But I have an interest in Richard Ramsey with regard to one of my own investigations.” As he had this information planted to come out in tomorrow’s news, Reid decided not to play coy.

“I’ve been receiving reports of your task force’s interest in me.” Von Zandt took a drink of his whiskey.

“Receiving reports?”

Von Zandt seemed to realize how close he’d come to admitting he had an informant in the police ranks. “Just an expression. Glasgow’s a small town in many respects.”

That was true, Reid thought, but just said, “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“Let me assure you I am a legitimate businessman and any attempt to paint me as anything else I will consider to be defamation and harassment.”

Reid ignored Von Zandt’s threat. “Today I’m just here to talk about Richard Ramsey. Asking a good citizen for information that can help us catch his murderer. I’m sure you want to help us in our inquiries. Let’s start with what exactly were the business interests you two had in common.”

Von Zandt opened a gold cigarette case and took out a cigarette. He offered one to Reid, who shook his head. Von Zandt lit the cigarette with a matching thin gold lighter, and inhaled deeply before answering. Only a man not brought up with money needed such trying-too-hard trappings, Reid thought.

“It was a mutually beneficial business relationship.”

When Von Zandt said nothing else, Reid prompted, “How so?”

“A few years ago, Ramsey International needed an influx of cash. I provided the cash, gained an interest in the company. You might say, a significant interest.”

“You’re on the Board of Directors of Ramsey International.”

“I am. That was one of the conditions of the investment I made.”

“As is your son. Henry?”

“Yes, my eldest. His seat on the board was also one of the conditions.” Von Zandt blew out a cloud of cigarette smoke.

Reid silently apologized to his lungs. “How will Ramsey’s death affect the structure of the board? Who will be in control of the company?”

“No way to know.” Something sinister slithered from Von Zandt’s eyes.

Reid suddenly realized what he should have seen all along. Why Von Zandt had gotten involved with Richard Ramsey. Von Zandt wanted control of Ramsey International. Out loud, he said, “With the control of Ramsey International comes the control of millions of pounds and many different businesses.”

Von Zandt’s smile was glacial but he didn’t say anything.

Reid went on. “One of those businesses is a pharmaceutical company.”

Von Zandt said nothing.

“And one an aeronautics company.”

Again, no response.

“Weapons?” As Reid said the word, a chill froze his body and the truth exploded in his mind. This was what Von Zandt was after.

“I don’t think you need me to tell you what companies Ramsey owned. Look it up.”

Reid’s mind was churning feverishly. Von Zandt had more of a motive to kill Richard Ramsey than just because he’d been about to spill Von Zandt’s secrets. It might also explain the real reason Richard Ramsey had agreed to help Reid.

“When’s the vote?”

Von Zandt shrugged.

Reid kept his voice placid. “It won’t be hard for me to find out. You may as well tell me.”

“The meeting is next week.”

Reid considered. “Who is the solicitor in charge of the estate?”

“Really, Superintendent, I’m surprised you didn’t get that information from Mrs. Ramsey.”

“Why don’t you just tell me?”

“Ramsey used the same solicitor as I use. Cyrus Rothman.”

Reid absorbed the information, then asked, “When did you last see Ramsey?”

“Friday afternoon. We met on some issues concerning the company. Henry was there, as well. The meeting ended at half five.”

“We have reason to believe Ramsey was planning to meet a woman the night he was killed. Do you have any idea who it could have been?”

Von Zandt raised his eyebrows in a parody of surprise. “None.”

“Did he have a girlfriend?”

“How would I know?”

“Where were you Saturday night?”

Von Zandt looked amused. “I was with my family for dinner, and spent the night with my wife at our home here in the city. It was her birthday. My sons were both there, and Henry’s wife as well, in case you need to know that—although my son Frederick did leave to take Moira to her parents and then back to the flat afterwards, as I believe Moira told you.”

Reid inclined his head in assent.

“On the off chance that you think I might have had something to do with Richard’s death, please accept my reassurances that not only would I never be involved in such a thing as murder, but I would be a fool to do so when it would focus the police’s attention on me. I am not a fool.”

Reid stood up and moved toward the door. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

Von Zandt stood up. “Superintendent, always a pleasure. Perhaps next time we meet it will be a more pleasant occasion. We could have dinner. I’ll bring my wife, and you can bring yours—or,” he frowned, “is she still with her lover?”

Reid didn’t say anything and kept his face impassive.

Von Zandt smiled. “That must be awkward for you, but every marriage has its challenges, doesn’t it? Seriously, I’d like to meet her. I enjoy beautiful women.”

Reid opened the door to leave. “I thought teenagers were more your style. Believe me, there’s a world of difference.”