Out of control (8 page)

We both glanced at it.

“Looks like it,” I said as I handed it back. “Thanks for showing us that. It’s a relief to know that our theories are correct. Do you have any objections if I tell Mrs. Mackie at Bioscope?”

“No.” …..and then a thought occurred to me.

“Can you get fingerprints from that?” I asked.

“We will be doing so. The answer is ‘probably’. Although I’m not sure that would help us much in solving her murder. And, as her connection to Liam wasn’t a crime, I’d have no access to fingerprint records in France. I’d need a match to identify who sent it.”

The meeting broke up and we all headed for the door.

As we were leaving Ross delayed me for a second with a question.

“Mr. Bruce, might you be planning to dig any further into this patent business?”

“I don’t know yet but very probably. I don’t like what’s been done to Liam and I don’t like the idea of the perpetrators getting away with it scot-free and making millions on the back of it.”

“Are you, by any chance, the Bob Bruce that I read about in the papers seven or eight months ago concerning some investment company and Keith McDowell’s imprisonment?”

I smiled “Guilty, your honour, I’m afraid.”

His parting words were “Well I hope this business isn’t quite as adventurous as that was, from what I heard. But if I can help, let me know.”

I’m sure we both thought that these words were simply an expression of politeness.

Liam and I left and drove back home. It seemed that, as far as we were concerned, things were pretty clear. Irina had been sent from France to extract information from Liam which had resulted in the LyonPharma patent registration. Tough on Helen Mackie, tough on Liam, but there wasn’t anything that could undo the damage.

The only thing left that was bothering me was whether Antoine de Clermont was behind it or not. His friendship with Pierre and the fact that he was a shareholder in Bioscope bothered me greatly.

Helen Mackie had said she had two other projects on the go. Were they also potentially endangered? That seemed to me to be reason enough to get to the bottom of it.

There was no way I could voice my suspicions to Pierre. I had absolutely no proof. He simply wouldn’t believe me.

I 
needed another opinion. I determined to discuss it with Mike. He has a great knack of thinking simply and in a straight line. I didn’t often follow his advice but sometimes his black and white approach to things compensated my tendency to see things in shades of grey (but not as many as fifty!) and helped me to clarify my thoughts and plans.

When we got back to Letham I gave Mike a ring to find out where he was. He was at home and bored.

“Missing Sophie?”

“Piss off!” came back down the line.

Meeting Sophie had engendered a radical change in Mike’s life style. Heather and I were quite amused by it. We had put up with his numerous amorous adventures over the years and, now that he seemed to have got seriously hooked, it was a delight to tease him.

“Well, I’ve got something for you to get her off your mind. How would you like to look after Liam for the weekend? Come down and stay here and get some golf in or go and run up and down Falkland Hill a few times. I need a break and I promised to go up and see Maggie for the weekend.”

“Good idea”, he replied, and we agreed that he would stay on a couple more nights when I got back.

I left Liam in the care of his godfather and drove up to see Maggie for the weekend. I still wasn’t sure whether it was worth doing any more about the patent business. It seemed like a lost cause. But the potential implication of Antoine bothered me greatly. Should I do anything about that? A quiet weekend - a complete change – might help me to decide.

As I drove north I drifted over the events of the last couple of weeks. LyonPharma had lodged their patent. Helen’s had been refused. So that was a dead duck. No matter what we did we weren’t going to change that. At least Helen had her other two projects. I didn’t know what they were and I doubted very much if she was going to tell me but if they came to a successful outcome she would soon forget what had happened.

I just hoped that the company was solid enough. Start-ups are notoriously short of cash during their research and development stage. I didn’t like the idea that she might not be able to follow through because of a cash shortage.

I thought of Pierre. He had stacks of the stuff. He’d probably be interested in an investment opportunity. I made up my mind to talk to her about it when I got back. I did feel a bit guilty that, even if only accidentally, it had been my grandson that had been the source of her troubles.

Liam had taken a mental knock but he was young enough. He’d get over it.

Then I thought about that poor girl. Her death was a tragedy but I tended to agree with Inspector Ross that it must have been related to the drug issue, bearing in mind what we had learned about her past and the organised crime ring that was operating out of Romania into France. Still, that was the business of the police. There was no way I was going to get involved in that.

By this time I was cruising up the A9 and it was approaching coffee- stop time. I decided to peel off the main road and take a small detour round through Dunkeld. I’d stop at the Birnam Hotel for my break for half an hour. That would get me to my destination around six as promised.

I’d just pulled off the main road, my brain trying to handle two things at once – the decision to stop for a coffee and imagining that poor girl’s body and how she might have ended in the river. Then a flash thought suddenly intervened between the two subjects. I 
remembered thinking that there had been something I had missed during our meeting with Inspector Ross – something that had been said and I hadn’t realised its significance.

Then it hit me.

I pulled to a halt outside the great granite building that was the Birnam Hotel and went in quickly to order my coffee, taking it over to an isolated seat by the window.

I thought it through again. I replayed that meeting as well as I could remember it. The more I thought about it the more I was sure I was right.

It wasn’t something I had heard. It was something that I’d seen.

I grabbed my phone and called the police in Stirling, asking for Sergeant MacLean. As soon as he came on the line I asked him if he had access to the letter and the envelope that Ross had shown us.

“I can get it. Hold on a minute.”

He was back on the line shortly. “I’ve got it here. What do you want to know about it?”

“It’s the envelope that interests me. It has a French stamp on it. Am I right that the postmark is legible?”

“Yes. I‘m afraid I can’t make out the date but it was posted from a place called ‘Saumur’. Is that what you wanted to know? I’ve no idea where that is.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to know. Thanks very much indeed. Will you be holding onto it?”

He confirmed that it would remain in the file. Irina’s other belongings had been recuperated by her parents but they hadn’t been interested in the letter.

I thanked him again and hung up, distinctly concerned. I knew where Saumur was. It was the nearest town to the home of Antoine de Clermont – about three kilometers away.

Maggie received me with open arms – and they felt great.

Our meeting and her part in helping me recover from my ordeal in the mountains during the AIM affair had developed into a warm and loving relationship – but still with a geographical separation. We seemed to have both accepted the comfort of each other’s company but neither of us had yet brought up the thorny topic of ‘Where do we go from here?’ Pierre was right. It would have to be faced some time.

For me it had been three years since Liz had died, which was about the same length of time since Maggie’s husband had upped and left. I had finally got used to being on my own and adjusting. She had struggled on running the hotel because she needed the income.

It was a pure accident that had brought us together and I think we were both still just thankful that it had happened.

When I arrived I was glad to hear that the few guests in the hotel were mostly hikers – bed early and keen to start at the crack of dawn – so we were able to have a quiet supper together and catch up.

Over our venison and dessert I gave her a brief report on what had happened to Liam but didn’t go into details – nor did I mention the death of the Romanian girl.

Come coffee time we repaired to the lounge and relaxed into large comfortable armchairs.

“So, it seems I’m going to have to put up with your company twenty four hours a day for two weeks if I understood your phone call correctly.”

“Ten days,” I corrected her.

“That sounds a bit more reasonable. I’m not sure I could last a full two weeks.”

She was grinning and her eyes were twinkling mischievously. She got up and came over to sit and snuggle up beside me on the sofa. Her head dropped onto my shoulder. There are sometimes things that are more easily said or discussed when two people are not looking directly at each other.

From down below my left ear I heard her soft voice.

“And what put this idea into your head?”

“Pierre actually, believe it or not,” I replied.

“Pierre suggested we go on a cruise to Norway?”

“Not exactly. Pierre, in the role of older brother, told me that I should make up my mind soon where you and I are going. He suggested that just seeing each other occasionally was perhaps not being fair to you.”

She snuggled closer.

“And….?”

“And so I said to myself that we wouldn’t broach the topic at all this weekend but perhaps a ten day cruise would be nice.”

“You’re a bloody great coward, Bob Bruce.”

“True.”

There was quiet for a few moments and then she said,

“So Pierre thinks we should decide where we’re going?”

She put her hand on my knee for a few seconds then lifted it up and with two fingers started walking north up my thigh.

She looked up with a grin. “But I know where we’re going.”

“Do you?” I said with a certain nervousness.

Her fingers reached their objective, lingered there for a few seconds then she started to get up.

“Yep! To bed. Come on. We’re too old for the rug in front of the fire.”

*

It wasn’t long after breakfast the next morning when Helen Mackie called.

“Mr. Bruce?”

“Yes.”

“Helen Mackie here. I’m sorry to disturb you but have you a moment?”

Her voice was softer than the last time we had spoken - almost apologetic. I told her to go ahead.

“First of all I wanted to apologise for being a bit short and unfriendly at our last meeting but I hope you can understand that I was pretty upset at the time.”

“That’s alright. What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Bruce, this is perhaps a bit of an imposition but perhaps I can explain.”

I waited for her to continue.

“I’m a scientist and a bit naïve in the world of finance. When my partner and I started Bioscope and I was trying to raise money I met a very helpful man at Albion Venture Capital, one of our investors, who I’ve been able to turn to whenever I needed advice but he has now left the company and something has happened that I’m puzzled by and not at all happy about.

“Because you told me that you had been a finance man I made a few enquiries and the feedback that I got was very positive so I thought I’d take the risk and call you to see if, in spite of what has happened, we might possibly meet and discuss my problem. I know it’s an imposition and I’d understand if you said ‘No’, but I’d like to ask your advice about what I should do.”

Being naturally curious I asked her what had happened.

“Albion has been approached by M. Dugain of LyonPharma with an offer to buy their shares in Bioscope.”

“Good heavens. That seems a bit strange.”

“I know. I agree. And as you know what happened I thought I’d call you.”

What could be the reason behind that? It didn’t seem to make much sense at first. However, I’d think about that later. More important was the reaction of the Venture Capital company.

“What did Albion reply?”

“Well, as I told you, the man I’ve been used to dealing with and who knew the company from the beginning has left the company and a new man has taken over his portfolio. He told me that the price offered represented a decent return for them and, bearing in mind that we had missed out on our patent application, he thought he would be recommending to his board to accept the offer.”

“What percentage of the share capital do they have?”

“Forty percent.”

“And the rest?”

“Richard and I have twenty, the other venture capital company has twenty eight and Antoine de Clermont has twelve.”

I did a quick calculation. Forty plus twelve would give control. Helen had no reason to doubt Antoine’s loyalty but I did. I said nothing about that for the moment.

“OK. I’m up in the Cairngorms this weekend but I’ll be travelling back down on Monday. I can easily come by via Stirling. Why don’t we meet for lunch?”

She agreed with a relieved voice and we fixed a time and a place. I asked her for the number of the Albion Venture Capital firm and told her I’d call them on my way down and ask them to delay their response.

She thanked me very much and we hung up.

Now here was a development that was much more up my street compared with dead girls, Romanian mafia and medical research. The psychology, strategy and tactics of acquisitions were fun. I’d done a fair amount of it in my time and the idea of getting involved again gave me a distinct buzz. But I’d leave that until Monday. Meanwhile I had a weekend to enjoy.

The weather was perfect. We walked the hills, read and just appreciated each other’s company. A game of Scrabble in the evening was a welcome change from sitting watching some rubbish on the television.

We agreed not to talk about the future for the moment. We would wait until after Norway. Ten days cruising up the fjords together would tell us something.

*