Bitter End Part 11

Buchanan acted amused to keep him sweet. 'I'm executor for Vanessa Gra.s.sick's will,' tie said and checked out Fleming's face to see that he was aware of the case.

Fleming nodded comprehendingly. 'Ghengis Gra.s.sick's wife. Nasty way to go, but at least it was quick.'

'Right. How familiar are you with the facts?'

'Not wonderfully -not my sphere of activity these days -but I have the general picture. A gas leak, wasn't it?

Killed her fancy man as well.'

Buchanan uncrossed his legs. 'Ah, he was her lover, was he?'

'Oh, don't take that as gospel, Tam, for G.o.d's sake,' said Fleming, waving a disclaimer with nicotine-stained fingers.

'There may be nothing to prove that one way or another, but what were they up to in the middle of the night, the pair of them, if it wasn't a wee bit of hochmagandy?'

'Very likely,' Buchanan had to agree. It would have been nice if Ian had been able to confirm it though. He had a feeling that he wasn't going to learn much that he didn't know, this morning, but he pressed on. 'I know you had no direct input to the investigation, Ian, but I've spoken to the guy in charge . . .'

'Bob Virgo, yes. Dour big b.u.g.g.e.r. You won't get much help from him.'

The words were spoken lightly enough but Buchanan sensed a real animosity behind them and that gave him 71. hope. Compet.i.tion ran high in the Lothian and Borders police force and, if there was any suspicion that Virgo had skimped the inquiry, a little personal animosity might make Fleming all the more willing to uncover it.

'Since you're familiar with the case,' he said carefully, 'I'd be interested to hear your general impression of the speed at which it was carried out.'

Fleming looked vaguely at a loss. 'Speed? Slow, do you mean?'

'No, fast. Apparently the fire brigade and the police team were in and out in a couple of days. Isn't that unusually efficient?'

Fleming glanced indifferently out of his window as something screeched out of the car park with siren blaring.

'Not necessarily. Depends how cut-and-dried things were.' His eyes snapped round to focus on Buchanan's.

'Just tell me you're not implying that Ghengis Gra.s.sick tried to have the thing hushed up.'

'The thought had crossed my mind,' Buchanan admitted, making Fleming throw himself backwards in his seat with horror and exasperation.

'Jesus Christ, Tam! You shouldn't be allowed out without your mother! This is Fizz's idea, isn't it? You were never this psychotic before she came on the scene.'

'No, it's nothing to do with Fizz,' Buchanan sighed, no more certain of his sanity than Fleming was. 'I just feel I'm not fulfilling my executory duties properly if I pay out before I know the truth of how and why Mrs Gra.s.sick died.'

'You do know the truth. The police report lets you off the hook.'

'Legally, Ian, but not morally.'

Fleming put his elbows on his desk and clasped his head in his hands. Buchanan could hear him laughing deep in his throat. 'You're too sodding good for this world, y'know that? Fizz told me once that you'd be s.n.a.t.c.hed up to the bright skies in a chariot at an early age, and it looks like 72. this is it, chummie. Start making allegations against Ghengis Gra.s.sick and you won't last long.' When he lifted his head he'd stopped being amused. 'And all for nothing, Tam. You'll never prove that Gra.s.sick brought pressure to bear -financial or otherwise -and why would he bother anyway? There was nothing to find out. The explosion was an accident and all the peripheral scandal -if there is any -is n.o.body's business.'

'I hope you're right. However, Vanessa Gra.s.sick's insurance company have an investigator snooping around so, obviously, they're still not entirely satisfied. That means nothing of course, because, if the payoff is as much as I suspect it is, they'd do that anyway. As to peripheral scandal, I just hope that's all it turns out to be. If the truth turns out to be something I can live with, n.o.body will be happier than me.'

Humour him, appeared to be the thought uppermost in Fleming's mind as he took this in. He wasn't the most imaginative of chaps but he had to know that n.o.body stuck his nose into a wasps' nest merely to pa.s.s the time.

He toyed with a handy pencil, considering the matter for a minute and, hopefully, weighing the advantages to himself if his colleague were proved guilty of accepting what must have been a substantial bribe.

'Okay,' he said finally. 'If it's that important to you, Tam, go ahead, but for Christ's sake keep your head down and don't drag me into it. I'm prejudiced against living in a cardboard box.'

All I need is a little information,' Buchanan a.s.sured him. 'You know I wouldn't ask you to do anything that could be traced back to you, but I would be enormously grateful if you would just glance over the report of the investigation and tell me if it looked thorough.'

Fleming laid a hand flat on top of the pencil and started rolling it thoughtfully backwards and forwards. 'Anything in particular you have in mind?'

'A couple of things.' 73. Fleming stopped rolling the pencil. 'Uh-huh?'

'A neighbour, a Mr Pringle, found the remains of an electric heater scattered about the site. I'd like to know if this was eliminated as the cause of the explosion. Mrs Gra.s.sick's house had perfectly adequate central heating and the heater was an old, unattractive model. Was the heater established as belonging to her or her husband?'

'Okay. And the other thing?' Ian narrowed his eyes, looking intrigued but promising nothing.

'Poppy Ford. The wife of the alleged lover. She was taken to hospital immediately following the accident, suffering from gla.s.s cuts she received when her windows blew in. However, she appears to have stayed there less than a couple of days before discharging herself and disappearing.

She hasn't returned to her home and no-one appears to have heard from her, but I believe a couple of her neighbours notified her disappearance to the local police.'

'Nothing sinister in that, Tam. Not necessarily.' Fleming went back to fiddling with the pencil. 'She probably just went back home to her parents. Anything else?'

'No, but if there's any forwarding address for her I'd like to have it. It would be a great help to me if I could talk to her.'

'I'll see what I can do, but remember, you didn't get it from me.'

Buchanan stood up and reached a hand across the desk, his spirits much lightened. 'That's one I owe you, Ian.'

'Not at all.' Fleming levered himself out of his chair so slowly that Buchanan was able to check the progress of his balding pate. And how's Fizz doing? She was looking like she'd been hit by a truck last time I saw her. Did it heal up okay?'

The memory, catching Buchanan unawares, hit him with such a wave of rage that, for a split second, he could think of nothing else. It was twenty years since he'd punched anyone, and he would condemn violence in any form, but the thought of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who had scarred Fizz's baby 74. face could still reduce him to the level of a savage. He managed to fake a smile and say all the right things until the elevator doors closed behind him, but all the way back to the office his teeth were grinding like the mills of G.o.d. 75.

Chapter Seven.

'What's got into Him today?' whispered the Wonderful

Beatrice as Fizz was hanging up her jacket. Fizz didn't need to ask which 'him' was being referred to: Beatrice always gave Buchanan an audible capital.

'Why?' she said. 'What's he been up to?'

'He came in this morning with a face like the Wolfman of Cracow, then stalked out again without saying where he was going, then came back in without so much as a glance at any of us. He's been in a very weird state.'

'California?' Fizz was tempted to say, but Beatrice had no sense of humour so she didn't. She gave her conscience a quick scan and, finding it relatively clear, decided that it would be safe enough to drop into Buchanan's office and take a look at him for herself.

He greeted her entrance with the blank expression he used on clients who were annoying the h.e.l.l out of him. 'Is it important, Fizz? I've got a lot to catch up with.'

'No, not really,' Fizz said airily, dropping into the seat beside his desk. 'Just wondered if you had anything to report since last night. No serious setbacks, I hope?'

Buchanan threw down his pen in an aggravated manner and leaned back in his chair. 'What makes you say that?'

'Don't know. I just thought you didn't appear to be the droll, effervescent old Buchanan we've all come to love and trust,' said Fizz, sowing a little cheer and reaping a scowl.

'I spent half my morning talking to Ian Fleming,' he said, 'getting a promise out of him to check over the 77. Gra.s.sick report. And now I've just had Dennis in to tell me he's had short shrift from the Menzies estate.'

Fizz felt her own spirits sink at that news. 'Menzies is determined on the evictions?'

'Unconditionally. I've seen the letter and, I can tell you, he didn't leave any room for argument. In fact, he seemed to think we hadn't grasped the fact that he'd get more money for the place with the cottages empty.'