42

‘A direct death threat? Let’s bring him and his heavies in,’ announced Carson, clearly thrilled that there was an end in sight for the case.

‘We should talk to Nigel Simpson again, first,’ suggested Cross.

‘Why?’ asked Carson, mildly displeased, in the knowledge that Cross’s caution often led them down a long and tortuous road.

‘I think there’s more to his leaving Carnegie’s than he let on,’ Cross explained.

‘Dimitriev threatened to kill Ed Squire if he didn’t get his money back, for God’s sake. He hasn’t been paid the money and Squire is dead. What more do we need?’ asked Carson.

‘He’ll just hide behind a phalanx of highly paid lawyers,’ suggested Ottey.

‘As with all these things, there is no need to rush,’ added Cross.

‘Except for the fact that our suspect has, according to the father of our victim, made threats against the entire family,’ Carson pointed out.

‘You make a good point,’ Cross conceded. ‘But I think it unlikely, with an ongoing investigation which has already approached him, that he’ll be in a rush to go after another family member. There’s been no further communication from him to the family…’

‘Other than the flowers,’ said Carson.

‘Dimitriev’s men have also not been seen in the vicinity of the shop, Victoria’s house, nor either of the children’s,’ said Cross.

*

Nigel Simpson turned up at the MCU, as invited, later that day. They took him into an interview room.

‘Tell us about the Columbus letters. From your perspective,’ Cross began.

‘As I’ve already told you, I have an NDA,’ he replied.

‘Patrick Gibb has already breached the terms of the NDA with us, while helping with our enquiries,’ Cross informed him.

‘Really?’ Simpson asked in disbelief.

‘I’m pretty sure that means you’re no longer bound by it. But even if you were, I think the inference is that, with his recent cooperation, he would give full support to your doing the same. However, we can get him on the phone and ask him directly, if you would prefer. But I think we all know what his answer will be,’ Cross said.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Who was it who discovered the letters were for sale in the first place?’ asked Cross.

‘Patrick Gibb.’

‘And who thought it a way of possibly dealing with the Ed Squire issue?’ Cross continued.

‘Gibb.’

Cross thought for a minute.

‘How was he so sure that he could broker the deal, as it were, for Ed? What about other competitors?’ he asked.

‘At the time I just thought it was down to him and his persuasive negotiating skills,’ came the reply.

‘And what do you think now?’

‘Looking back, I should’ve noticed the paucity of other potential buyers,’ he said. ‘But hindsight’s a fine thing. I should’ve thought something was a bit iffy. I don’t know. Maybe I just didn’t want to, as it did look like a solution to the Ed problem.’

‘Do you think Gibb knew they were stolen?’ asked Cross.

The man became noticeably reticent before replying, ‘I’m not sure.’

Cross looked at him and made a note. He didn’t believe him.

‘Why did you lose your job at Carnegie Books?’ he asked.

‘Someone had to take the fall. The reputation of the firm and its integrity had to be preserved. That someone was me.’

‘So, you’re saying you were fired because it transpired these letters were stolen,’ asked Cross.

‘Yes,’ he replied.

Cross’s phone began to vibrate in his pocket with a call. He decided to ignore it.

‘Here’s what I don’t understand. You’ve just told us that it was Patrick Gibb who sourced the letters. Found out about the sale. Then encouraged you to persuade Ed it was a good thing,’ Cross suggested.

‘He didn’t take much persuading,’ said Simpson.

‘But your role in it, the extent of your involvement, was to inform Squire of the possibility. You had nothing to do with identifying the sale, approaching the sellers, brokering any kind of deal. That was all Patrick Gibb,’ said Cross.

‘Correct.’

‘So what I’m having difficulty in understanding is why you lost your job,’ Cross told him, puzzled.

‘Like I said. Someone had to be seen to take the blame,’ Simpson repeated.

‘But why you?’ asked Cross.

Simpson looked uncomfortable as Cross pushed this simple question. Had he decided he’d painted himself into a corner? Cross thought this was a possibility. His losing his job just didn’t seem to make any sense in the narrative he was presenting.

Cross’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again. Again, he ignored it.

‘What were the terms of your severance that secured your signature on the NDA?’ asked Cross.

‘Six month’s salary. Transfer of my company pension into a fund of my choosing,’ he replied, shifting his body weight in his seat, slightly. Cross surveyed him for a moment.

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said finally, in disbelief. ‘Twenty years’ loyal service. A seat on the board and you take the fall, as you put it, with what can best be described as a rudimentary compensation package, for something you actually had nothing to do with? Why did you really give everything up for that?’

Simpson thought for a moment. Then his body relaxed slightly, as often happened with people when they decide to come clean. It was almost a physical expression of relief.

‘Because he knew. He absolutely did know,’ he said.

‘Who knew what?’ asked Cross, knowing the answer full well.

‘Gibb. He knew the letters were stolen from the get-go. It was a perfect way of silencing Ed for good.’ Then he added hastily, ‘And by that I don’t mean with his death, obviously.’

‘How did you find out?’ asked Cross.

‘I had a sneaking suspicion. But even I couldn’t believe Patrick would be so devious. Then I came across an email which wasn’t meant for my eyes,’ he said.

‘What was your reaction?’ asked Cross.

‘Disbelief at first. Appalled, obviously. Disappointed. This was long before Ed was killed by Dimitriev,’ Simpson told them.

‘Who said anything about Dimitriev being involved in Ed Squire’s death?’ asked Cross.

‘Forgive me, I don’t mean to be rude, but it doesn’t take a detective to work that one out,’ Simpson retorted.

‘On the contrary, I think you’ll find that’s exactly what it takes in murder cases,’ replied Cross plainly.

He could see this immediately put Simpson off guard. He didn’t know if he was joking or not.

‘What happened at Carnegie? Did you make your feelings clear to Gibb?’ asked Ottey.

‘I did. It then became rapidly clear there was no future for me there. From my perspective, anyway. I didn’t want to work at a place that dealt with people in such a way. So I struck a deal to leave,’ he told them.

‘Which was?’ asked Cross.

‘What I told you. But with the addition of a hundred thousand pounds’ worth of stock, which I would repay to them as I sold it. It was just to get me on my feet. Also, a start-up investment in my business of fifty thousand,’ he said.

‘Did Ed know all of this when you approached him?’ asked Cross.

‘I couldn’t tell him that Gibb knew. Obviously that was covered by the NDA. But I wouldn’t have anyway. It would’ve started a battle that would have made the price fixing war look like a snowball fight. I’m ashamed to admit I did try and use the two million he owed the Russian as leverage. I suggested selling the freehold of Park Street, as I told you before, use some of the proceeds to pay off half of the debt. Then remortgage fifty per cent of Berkeley Square,’ he said.

Again, Cross’s phone vibrated. He was tempted to look and see who needed him so urgently but felt whoever it was could wait until the interview was concluded.

‘But that would have meant you taking on an enormous financial liability that wasn’t yours,’ Ottey pointed out.

‘In part, yes. But in the partnership that money would go against Ed’s half. What was more I felt, do feel, and it’s so much worse now that he’s dead, in some way responsible for the whole mess. I felt we could find a way out to the other side of it. I really did,’ he protested.

‘What was Ed’s reaction to this?’ asked Cross.

‘He really wasn’t sure.’

‘What changed his mind?’ asked Ottey.

‘I came into some information about the identity and whereabouts of the Italian sellers. He could give it to Dimitriev, who could then pursue them and the problem might go away,’ he said.

‘Why would Dimitriev be willing to do that?’ asked Ottey.

‘Because there was more chance of his getting back his money from them, than Ed,’ he replied. ‘Also, people like Dimitriev sometimes have an odd sense of honour. He knew they, and not the Squires, were the right people to go after.’

‘How did you come across this information?’ asked Ottey.

‘Actually, through Patrick Gibb,’ he said.

‘Why would he tell you that?’ asked Cross.

‘Torquil Squire. The old man went up to London, marched into the Bedford Square offices and gave him both barrels. Accused him of knowing all along about the letters. Gibb denied it, of course. But the rare book world is a small one and Torquil is well connected. The idea that Gibb knew hadn’t taken long to get back to him,’ he told them.

‘That made Gibb come clean?’ asked Ottey.

‘Apparently he was shocked when Torquil told him about the death threats from Dimitriev.’

‘A change of heart? I’m not sure I buy that,’ said Ottey.

‘No, of course not. It was way more selfish than that. He’s only interested in one thing – himself, and what he calls his legacy. But the truth is it had nothing to do with that. He’s simply terrified of being a fifth-generation bookseller whose family business flounders on his watch. It was when Torquil threatened to tell Dimitriev the identity of the man who initiated the sale, in the full knowledge that the letters were stolen, that Gibb realised he had to do something. If the Russian found out, he would undoubtedly come after him as well. They have a rich stock list, an expensive freehold in Bedford Square and you only have to look at Companies House to see the extent of their cash reserves, despite Gibb constantly denying how rich the company is. He did it out of self-preservation,’ Simpson told them.

‘What did Gibb propose?’

‘That he do some digging and come up with a name.’

‘And he gave you that information?’ asked Cross.

‘He did.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he knew Ed would believe it coming from me.’

‘And possibly because he knew if there were any repercussions, they’d also come back to you and not him,’ suggested Cross.

‘Who knew the book world could be so devious?’ commented Ottey.

‘Oh. You don’t know the half of it,’ he replied.

‘What will you do now?’ Cross asked him, as the meeting came to an end.

‘Um, I think I’ll go back to my original plan. Back myself in Park Street. Clear the joint up. Have a jolly launch party, then start buying and selling books,’ he said, oddly cheerfully in the circumstances.

‘Something tells me you might be the only show in town fairly soon,’ commented Ottey.

‘You mean when Torquil dies?’ asked Simpson.

‘I’m not sure you’ll have to wait till then,’ said Cross. ‘I think he may well have come to the conclusion that he’s had his fill of the book trade.’

‘You think he’ll sell up? Really? I suppose with all that’s happened, it wouldn’t be that surprising,’ he said.

‘With Ed gone and neither of the grandchildren interested, I’d’ve thought he may well sell up sooner rather than later,’ said Ottey.

‘What about that girl Ed had there? His niece?’ asked Simpson.

‘Persephone? I’m not sure that’s a viable proposition, despite what she may think. There’s a lot of inheritance for Sebastian and Charlotte tied up in that building,’ observed Cross.

‘What would you do if he did sell up?’ asked Ottey.

He thought about this for a moment.

‘Try and buy as much of his stock as possible, obviously. I am first and foremost a bookseller, after all,’ he replied, with a little too much opportunism for Ottey’s liking.

*

As they walked to her car Cross took out his phone and saw that he had missed several calls from Christine. He stopped, called his voicemail and listened intently.

‘Everything all right?’ asked Ottey.

‘It’s my father. He’s been rushed back into hospital. From what my mother says it sounds like he’s had another stroke.’

*

‘This is my fault,’ he said as they drove to the BRI.

‘How could this possibly be your fault?’ Ottey asked him.

‘I told him I was resigning from the force,’ he replied.

‘You told him what?’ Ottey said, trying to put aside her shock at this being the first she’d heard about it.

‘I’m resigning,’ he repeated.

‘How did he take it?’ she asked, not entirely sure how she herself felt about it.

‘Not very well. He became quite agitated, in fact. But he’ll come to accept it in time,’ he said, wondering in the moment if this was perhaps wishful thinking on his part.

‘When was this?’ she asked.

‘When was what?’

‘That you told him,’ she said.

‘Two nights ago,’ he replied, quietly. ‘Are you implying I may have caused this?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘It’s clearly a possibility though,’ he said, sounding worried.

But Ottey was concerned that George’s decision to return had simply been a knee jerk reaction to his father’s condition. Had he really thought it through? What would he do with himself if he retired? Come to think of it, what would she do?