Chapter 36

STRONG MEN either raise sons who become men as strong as they themselves are, or sons who, growing up in the shadow of a larger-than-life father, collapse into weakness. Von Zandt seemed to have fathered one of each kind of son. The oldest son was much like Walter, strong both physically and in personality, whereas the younger son, Frederick, was not only a weak personality, but also physically weak. Reid had tried to set up the meetings with Von Zandt’s sons separately, but had not been surprised when he learned that both of the brothers would be appearing at one meeting.

Briefly, Reid gave thanks for his own father, a strong man who had no problem allowing—even encouraging—his sons to be strong people in their own right. The Earl of Wynstrathe had no need or desire to overshadow his offspring, although his very presence was both quietly powerful and demanding of respect. Reid and his father had forged a strong bond early on, a bond that had gotten even stronger when his mother left them, taking his little brother and sister with her. His father had tried to explain that she hadn’t taken her oldest son because she did not want to pull him out of his school and away from his friends. Reid had pretended to believe him, to understand, but even after she came back, although he loved his mother, he couldn’t forget he’d been expendable to her.

As he’d been expendable to Anne.

Reid pushed his dismal thoughts away as he pushed open the door to the offices of Von Zandt’s firm, VZ Capital. Reid preferred to interview witnesses in their own surroundings whenever possible. In a witness’s own environment, one often got the added bonus of having other players wander in and out of the picture and could observe interactions between the witness and others around him. Those observations were often surprisingly useful.

Although the receptionist—Amanda, Reid remembered—seemed pleased to see him again, she was thwarted in her efforts at hospitality when he was taken back to Henry’s offices almost immediately by a businesslike and taciturn Glynnis Taylor. Reid followed her neatly dressed figure down the hall, registering with detachment the expensive navy blue suit, five-inch heels, and the trail of sultry perfume wafting behind her.

Henry Von Zandt was taller than his father, but his face held the same stone cold eyes. His prematurely thinning hair was combed back tight against his head. His gray suit was expensive and well-tailored; the French cuffs on his starched white shirt were studded with platinum cufflinks, each holding a ruby the size of a raspberry.

Reid took the coffee Glynnis offered, nodding his head in thanks. Henry motioned for her to leave, then sat back and focused his attention on Reid.

“So, Superintendent, what can I help you with?”

Henry was thirty-two years old, a few years younger than Reid. According to the background file Frank had put together, Henry, until he was of age, had been raised chiefly in Germany. He, like his father, was married to a German woman. He had a house in the suburbs outside of Glasgow, where his wife stayed home to take care of their two young children.

“I wanted to talk to you about Richard Ramsey. I understand you dealt with him on behalf of your father’s company.”

“Our companies formed an alliance that was, I believe, mutually beneficial.”

“How so?” Reid put down the coffee, having had no intention of drinking it. The day he actually drank anything a Von Zandt gave him would be the day he needed to resign.

“Richard had become overextended. His businesses were solid, but strained temporarily for cash. We had the cash.” Henry’s voice held just the hint of a German accent.

“You and your father were each given a position on the board of directors of Ramsey International as a condition for the loan?”

Henry inclined his head in an abbreviated nod, a mannerism reminiscent of his father’s. “One of the conditions. There were others. With the investment of money, come conditions. As they say, there is no free lunch.”

“Did Ramsey repay the loan when his situation improved?”

“Not quite. The terms were extremely favorable and I doubt he felt there was any hurry.”

“Good investment for VZ Capital?”

“And for Ramsey. His situation wouldn’t have been able to improve without the loan—or investment—of our money. Sometimes having an abundance of assets isn’t enough if those assets aren’t in the form of cash. Supplying cash for healthy businesses that need cash is a big part of our business.”

“But it isn’t actually your company’s money that gets invested, is it?”

“Not usually. Most often it comes from investors who want opportunities to make their money grow. We help put the ones that need money together with the ones who want to invest money.”

“How careful are you that you aren’t matching up those needing investors with people who want to cause harm?”

“Terrorists, I assume you mean.”

“Or those that fund terrorists.”

“This sounds like a conversation for which I should have a solicitor.”

Reid raised his eyebrows. “If you think you need one.”

“This is a legitimate, law-abiding company. We scrupulously follow the UK’s money laundering regulations.”

“Then you needn’t be concerned.” Reid looked around. “I thought Frederick would be joining us.”

“He’ll be here. I wanted to talk to you first. Frederick is,” Henry hesitated, then continued. “Frankly, he’s disabled. Not just physically disabled, but challenged mentally. Both my father and I are concerned about distressing him.”

“I have no intention of distressing him. I just want to talk to him. Is that a problem?”

“If it becomes a problem, I’ll stop things.” Henry reached over to the telephone intercom and hit one of the buttons. “Glynnis, send my brother in.”

Frederick Von Zandt shuffled in, his pronounced limp giving the shuffle a little bounce at the end of each step. Frederick was nothing like his older brother. Where Henry was fit, Frederick carried a paunch. Where Henry was urbanely polished and immaculately groomed, Frederick dressed like an unkempt teenager. Where Henry was self-confident, Frederick, whose face was covered with an angry army of painful looking spots, was obviously self-conscious,.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I appreciate it, Mr. Von Zandt.” Reid had decided to be deferential to the younger Von Zandt brother, guessing that not many people would give him that courtesy.

Frederick seemed startled by being addressed as Mr. Von Zandt and nervously glanced at his older brother, who waved a hand at Frederick, as if to tell him to get on with things.

“Just call me Frederick.” His eyes seemed to have difficulty meeting those to whom he was speaking, and his right eye seemed to continually water, necessitating him to keep wiping at it.

“Fine, if you’ll call me Terrence.”

Frederick smiled a bit uneasily. “All right.”

Reid smiled, trying to put Frederick at ease. “Moira mentioned that you took her to her parents’ home on Saturday night for dinner.”

Frederick visibly relaxed. “That’s right. I drive her around a lot. My father trusts my driving.”

“Did you stay for dinner yourself?”

“No. I went back home for my mother’s birthday dinner.”

“Did you go back to the Ramsey house later?”

“To pick Moira up, yeah.”

“When you and Moira left the Ramsey house, did you happen to see anything out of place? Unfamiliar vehicles, anything like that?”

Frederick thought. “No.”

“Did you talk to Richard Ramsey at all that night?”

He shook his head. “Mr. Ramsey never talks to me.”

“Where did you take Moira after you picked her up?”

Frederick’s eyes slid toward Henry, who nodded. Having apparently been given approval to continue, Frederick said, . “To the flat. Where she lives.”

“Where she lives with your father?”

Frederick stared at his hands as if the answer to the question was written there, then sighed. “Yes.”

“What did you do after that?”

Frederick hesitated, and his gaze this time went to his feet.

“Frederick?”

He looked up at Reid’s question. “I kept an eye on her after I dropped her off.”

“Kept an eye on her?”

“Yes. She walked down the street to a club. To go dancing.”

“By herself?”

He nodded. “She went by herself, but there were men there who danced with her.”

“You stayed with her?”

“Not with her. I watched her.”

“What happened after that?”

“After a while, she left that club and went to another. Same thing there. Danced with some blokes.”

“Did you watch her all night?” Reid tried to measure the creepiness factor of the young man following his father’s mistress.

“Just until she went home to the flat.”

“What time was that?”

“About half two. Maybe a little later.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I was sitting in front of the building in the car, and she came over and talked to me before she went up to the flat. She knows I keep an eye out for her. She’s only nineteen, you know. She’s still a kid, and someone needs to take care of her.”

Reid glanced over at Henry Von Zandt as his brother was talking. Henry was thrumming his fingers rapidly on his desk.

Reid turned his attention to the elder brother. “You don’t agree?”

“What difference does it make if I agree?” Henry’s fingers stilled, but then he picked up a pen, and started tapping it instead.

Reid waited.

“All right, she’s a tart.” Henry gesticulated with the pen in exasperation. “A slut. Her stepfather fobbed her off on Father first chance he got just to get rid of her.”

Frederick’s ears got bright red and sparks of anger flashed in his watery eyes. “That’s a shitty thing to say about Moira, Henry.”

Reid watched the exchange, appraising the tension between the brothers. He could tell from the way Frederick acted that his mental age did not match his actual age, hence Henry’s description of his brother as disabled. Calculating everything he’d seen and heard, Reid would have put Frederick at about age fifteen mentally, and there was nothing more volatile than a teenage boy—especially when he was in love.

Henry looked disgusted and addressed himself to Reid. “You’ve seen her. She dresses like a tart, she acts like a tart.”

Frederick shot a look of undisguised loathing at his brother and balled his fists as if he were restraining himself from using them, then stormed out of the room in galloping, uneven steps, muttering under his breath.

Henry shook his head, exasperated. “Freddie’s an idiot.”

Reid didn’t respond.

Henry said, “So, Superintendent, if you were checking Moira’s alibi, I guess you’ve got it. Freddie’s as well.”

“Since the subject of alibis is on the table, why don’t tell me yours for Saturday night?”

In an exaggeratedly patient voice, Henry said, “I was at the birthday dinner for my mother, then my wife and I went home. The nanny was there with the children, so you can ask both her and my wife. I stayed home with my wife the rest of the night. The nanny lives with us, although I can’t say whether she would notice if I left the house again. You can ask her, and my wife as well, for that matter, if you like.”

“Thank you.” Reid wrote down the nanny’s name and mobile number as Henry Von Zandt dictated the information in a bored voice while studiedly checking his watch.

Reid asked, “Do you know if Richard Ramsey was involved with another woman? We have some information that he might have been meeting a woman the night he was killed.”

Henry shrugged. “Not that I know of, but I can’t think why he’d tell me. Maybe a prozzy?”

“Maybe.” Reid switched subjects again. “As I understand it, your father has made a bid to replace Ramsey as the chairman of Ramsey’s company. What kind of an impact will that make on your father’s company if he’s successful?”

“You’re implying that my father and our company stand to benefit from Ramsey’s death.”

“I’m not implying anything. Both you and your father have already informed me that they would.”

Henry stood up, suddenly seeming to sense he was out of his depth. “I’ve nothing else to say to you, Superintendent Reid. This interview is concluded. Please leave.” He punched a button on his telephone and spoke a few sharp words Reid couldn’t make out, but was fairly sure were a command to get rid of him.

And, indeed, Glynnis Taylor appeared within seconds to escort Reid out. In the hallway, she looked as if she wanted to say something, but Reid gave a slight shake of his head and murmured, “Not here.”

She nodded, and he saw in her eyes that she understood. Any words they exchanged here would likely be overheard. Certainly she’d be questioned about them, and Reid did not want to endanger her.

In the lift, Reid reflected on what he’d learned. First, Frederick Von Zandt was in love with his father’s mistress—just when you think you’d seen everything. But with regard to the investigation, Frederick Von Zandt gave Moira an alibi, and, he assumed, she’d give him one as well.

And he’d touched a nerve with his questions about the possible change of control of Ramsey International. That was something Von Zandt had to want very badly.

And something Reid could not let happen.