They now had a licence plate from one of the ‘Russian’ cars on the CCTV. The vehicle was on lease to a company in Somerset called OD Estates. The director of the company was an individual called Jeremy Perrin. Cross made a call to him. He seemed quite surprised to be hearing from the police.
‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ Cross informed him. ‘We want to identify and speak to an individual seen driving a car which is leased to your company.’
‘I see. What’s his name?’ Perrin asked.
‘We don’t know, which is why I said we wish to identify him,’ Cross pointed out. ‘I’m going to send a photograph to your phone.’
Cross did so.
‘Gosh, it’s quite hard to tell anything from this,’ said Perrin. Cross found this interesting as the photograph was clear enough to tell who the man was, if he knew him.
‘Would you like me to send it across to you again?’ offered Cross.
‘I’m not sure that will help. Why don’t you send me the registration of the vehicle and I’ll look into it,’ he replied, perfectly affably.
‘What does your company do?’ Cross asked as he texted the number of the plate over.
‘Logistics,’ came the reply.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Cross.
‘What it says on the tin, Sergeant. Was there anything else? I have another call waiting.’
‘No. Just send me the name when you have it,’ replied Cross, ending the call.
*
The day began in the MCU open area with Carson delivering one of his morale-boosting, supposedly rousing, speeches. These generally occurred when nothing was happening on a case. It was, in fact, just his way of venting his frustration and an attempt to lift what he saw as the torpor which was in danger of suffocating the investigation.
Cross paid no attention to it as he was working through Squire’s financial accounts and had seen something which caught his attention. It was in the recent statements, which he hadn’t as yet got to examining. He needed to talk to Victoria Squire again.
*
The house in Henleaze had the oxygen-draining vacuum that death so often left behind. It felt even darker than the last time they’d visited. Victoria was now on her own during the day with Torquil sleeping there at night. Her children had gone back to their own homes, work and lives. Everyone else still had a life, even Torquil was at the shop during the day, but not Victoria. Ottey often found herself conscious of their intrusion as police officers in moments like this. Cross not in the least.
Victoria looked like she was going through the motions of everyday existence, as she opened the door and invited them in. Gone was the woman organising everyone else the day after the murder. The whirlwind of activity so obviously designed to avoid facing the grief that was descending on her, like an invisible, suffocating shroud, was no longer available to her. Gone, even, her suspicion or resentment of the police’s presence in her house. It was as if the reality of her situation, now that she was pretty much alone, had finally hit her. A life as a widow lay ahead of her. Ottey was well aware, herself, of the challenges not only of being widowed, but in sudden unexpected circumstances. You wondered what that life was going to be like from then on. Had to come to terms with the endless minutes of each waking hour, having given up trying to fill them with purpose. Because, to what purpose were you doing it, other than to avoid the fact that, right now, you felt your meaningful life was over? In many ways it was incredibly ageing. Ottey felt the woman in front of her had come to terms with her situation in an attitude of complete surrender and she understood it. After all, it was something she had done herself before she realised she had to get herself together for the sake of her two young children. Victoria Squire didn’t have that incentive, though. Her children were adults.
Cross was aware of it too. He had seen this scenario all too often at work. For him, though, this was a moment of vulnerability in an investigation that had to be taken advantage of. As callous as this may sound, it was simply an objective view of maximising a situation which could help him conclude the case, which in turn would give them some closure.
‘What was your role in the company? Your husband’s company?’ he began by asking her.
‘I don’t have a role,’ she answered.
Cross turned to Ottey. ‘Mrs Squire is being modest. I always think it must be challenging, that period when the children have left home. Fledged. Gone off to university or got a job somewhere. Challenging for a woman who has been a dedicated, selfless mother for all those years. How to occupy the time. Bridge perhaps? Local charity work? Alcohol for some. Adult education classes? Mrs Squire used her time very industriously, though, did you not?’
She said nothing.
‘A mathematician as an undergraduate and briefly a teacher of A-level maths. She decided to put her numerical skills to good use and qualified as an accountant,’ he continued.
‘Correct.’
‘And became Squire’s Rare Books’ accountant.’
‘It was interesting and occupied my time,’ she said. ‘It was also another way of cutting costs.’
‘Which was crucial at a point when the firm was struggling somewhat.’
She said nothing.
‘As the firm’s accountant I’m hoping you can help me with something. I’ve come across a fairly substantial payment into the business. Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, to be exact, back in March of last year. Nothing particularly significant in itself, even though it’s a sizeable sum. What is significant, to my mind, is the withdrawal of that exact same amount, six months later. In cash. Can you explain that to me?’ he asked.
‘I can’t. I don’t recall those transactions,’ she sighed.
‘I don’t believe you, Mrs Squire,’ said Cross flatly.
No reply.
‘Victoria,’ began Ottey, softly. ‘You have to help us here.’
She said nothing.
‘Mrs Squire, do you know who killed your husband?’ asked Cross.
‘No,’ she replied, shocked by the question.
‘Mrs Squire, did you kill your husband?’ he went on.
‘Has he lost his mind?’ she exclaimed, suddenly bursting out of her silent bubble. Ottey was a little thrown herself, but had seen this from him before.
‘My point is, if you don’t know who did it, and you didn’t do it yourself, then you have nothing to hide and should really just answer my questions if you are in possession of the answers. You are, presumably, as keen as we are to discover the identity of your husband’s killer,’ he said, firmly. ‘That is all I’m trying to do here, Mrs Squire. Discover the identity of the killer so that they might be brought to justice. It’s my job. What I do for a living. Day in, day out. And when I come across something in the course of that job that I don’t understand, or something that strikes me as out of the normal scheme of things, I ask questions of those I think may have answers. In the hope those answers might lead me in the right direction.’
She said nothing.
‘You yourself would have facilitated the return of the money. Where had it come from and to whom was it then given?’ he asked again.
‘I don’t know the details. You have to believe me. When the money came in, of course I asked my husband about it. It was an out of the ordinary sum. He told me it was for a sale but the terms of it were so confidential that not even I could have the details,’ she explained.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. I was upset. It caused a lot of tension between us. Married couples shouldn’t keep things from each other, particularly when working together. But he insisted it was better if I just didn’t know.’
‘What was your reaction six months later when he asked you for the money in cash?’
‘Well, you can imagine. Not knowing anything because of some confidentiality was one thing, initially, but now it was going back out of the business I wanted to know why,’ she said.
‘Did he tell you?’ Cross asked.
‘No,’ she replied quietly.
‘But you went through with it,’ Cross pointed out.
‘Not without a fight. I refused initially,’ she replied.
‘Couldn’t he have just done it himself?’ asked Ottey. Victoria looked almost embarrassed by this question.
‘After we had to remortgage the house a few years back I lost patience. That’s when I stepped in, qualified and became the accountant. It sounds terrible, but when it came to business, I realised I just couldn’t trust him. The next “big deal” was always about to come over the hill, was just round the corner. But it never happened. He let the business slide. Torquil was in despair. I think he was glad when I got involved. One thing I insisted on was counter signatures and passwords for all transactions. That way I could stay informed and keep my eye on them.’
‘Except for this one,’ Cross commented.
‘Indeed.’
‘How well did that go down with Ed?’ asked Ottey.
‘Well, he had no choice but to accept it. Especially when Torquil added his voice to the argument. I think Ed found that particularly humiliating. But our bloody house was on the line. The children were still at university and needed financial help,’ she said.
‘You signed off in the end. Why?’ persisted Cross.
‘When I refused, he was angry at first. We had a terrible row. A marriage-ending type of row, if I’m honest. But at the end of it he was basically pleading with me, and I realised he was frightened. Terrified, even. It was as if something awful would happen,’ she said, realising what she was saying as she heard herself say it. Something terrible had happened.
‘What exactly was the money for? Was it commission?’ Cross asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And what was your commission percentage?’
‘It depends. But on this one it was twelve and a half per cent,’ she replied.
‘So, two million,’ Cross said, doing a quick mental calculation.
‘Yes.’
‘The question here is, though, where did it go when it left your business account and why was it withdrawn in cash?’ said Cross.
‘I asked him the very same question.’
‘Six months later…’
‘I know. It didn’t, doesn’t, really make any sense,’ she replied.
‘Mrs Squire, this could be very important. Do you really know nothing about the sale?’ Ottey asked.
‘I don’t. If I did, I can assure you I’d tell you. But I’m fairly sure Torquil will know.’